Synopsis:

Another BigCloset TopShelf story.

Andy Warhol said,"In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." What if your 15 minutes came late in life, and fame decided to never let you go? Could you survive the circus your life would become?

A 48 year old man will search for the answers to these and stranger questions in ways she never imagined.

Story:

Timeout-Stop/Playback/Rewind: A Whateley Academy Fanfiction

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place,

(http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."

This was first attempt at writing a TG/sci-fi piece. I’m confident it’s derivative, unimaginative, dull, unintentionally plageristic, ungramatical and possibly hazardous to ones health. I ask that you be gentle and constructive in your criticism. I’ve been a good boy, scouts honor. I did this for fun and in my appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe. Take it in that spirit and enjoy. Remember this is non-canon not cannon fodder. All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005 yada, yada, yada. See my agent at the Sirius Cybernetics Corp., Alpha Centari for further details. Any copyright or trademark infringement is purely accidental and please don’t hit me!

Timeout

By John from Wauwatosa

Chapters 1- 3

Chapter 1-Arivial
Thursday December 14, 2006 Dunwich NH

The station master cum book keeper, ticket agent, porter, janitor, section hand, guard, handyman, and damn near anything else that needed doing, had seen a lot of strange things during his years with the railway. The strangest usually involved Whateley Academy in some way, or another.

Little surprised him anymore, not even the sight of those first-year students returning from a daytrip to Boston last October ... what did they call themselves, ‘Team something-ba’ ... Timba ... Jimba ... Bimba ... Kimba, that’s it, ‘Team Kimba’, barely caught his notice. He hardly remembered them at all, the regally cute red head, that oddly oriental looking blue-haired girl, or that strange Goth girl, and their friends made no impression on him. Yup, No siree-bob.

When the conductor called for help offloading some freight he thought nothing of it, until he saw it. The object that caught his attention was in most ways quite ordinary. Whateley was frequently receiving and shipping the most unusual items. Unfamiliar fantastical machines, exotic plants and animals, even mysterious sealed containers from Hanford WA, and other secretive government labs, came and went so often as to be almost routine. It was just a motorcycle after all.

The sight of motorcycles, scooters, or mopeds being shipped via the Grand Miskatonic Shuttle was not unprecedented in his experience. A number of the older students and more than a few of the staff owned them, but this one was different. It looked very old, World War I vintage or even older, yet in remarkably, no, disconcertingly good condition. It wasn’t in mint condition like a museum piece, it showed signs of being ridden recently, yet it seemed too new. It had to be a replica or restoration, no way could the leather, rubber, and paint be original -- and with no rust? But still ... he pondered the enigma as he waited for its owner to claim it. The enigma was a 1915 Harley-Davidson with an F-head twin cylinder engine equipped with original company racing parts, but the station master only recognized it as a very old Harley.

“Sir, excuse me. I’m Joan, and I’ve come for my motorcycle,” a pleasant voice said.

The accent was hard to place, possibly Midwestern, but the station master wasn’t sure. There was something about the voice that bothered him, something familiar. The station master turned towards the voice, and got his second surprise of the day. A tall, slender woman of indeterminate age stood holding out a baggage claim ticket. With her long strawberry blond hair she looked sixteen to twenty years of age, but her copper eyes had a wistful, serious look that seemed much older. She wore an odd mix of vintage and modern motorcycle gear and carried a pair of leather panniers draped over one arm.

“I gather from the freight tag you’re headed to Whateley Academy. Here to visit a brother or sister?” the station master queered.

The strawberry blond smiled in an eager yet slightly nervous way. “No, I’m their newest faculty member -- or so I hope. I’ve got a tryout of sorts as a teaching and research assistant, mostly in the history department. The position I’m trying out for is, well, a sort of Jack-of -all-trades/utility player. I’m to fill in as needed whenever and wherever they need me, but not just in the history department. I’ll even work with maintenance and security in a pinch.”

There was something strangely familiar about the girl. He’d seen her face and most definitely heard that voice before, but where?

“Shouldn’t that be a Jill-of-all-trades,” he said stone-faced, and a bit puzzled.

She laughed replying, “Hey it’s a living.”

While they spoke, she fixed the leather panniers to the rear of the cycle.

“Didn’t Whateley just get a huge grant from some foundation? What was it today’s paper said, fifteen million?” Ha asked.

“It’s from the Meridian Foundation, and its two-hundred and fifty million dollars, as an endowment. They get to use the earnings it generates,” she corrected him. “It isn’t technically official until tomorrow. I have the Meridian Foundation to thank for all this. The position I hope to earn is due to some stipulations written into the endowment.”

She continued speaking while putting on a modern helmet and a pair of old-fashioned leather gauntlets.

“If all goes well, I’ll be working in the history department with the holder of the newly created Meridian Chair,” she paused then said in a low voice, “Very closely in fact.”

She smiled then turned and walked the cycle away from the station, her knee-high black motorcycle boots clicking on the platform.

She rode away from the station, enjoying the stark early winter scenery and remembered back to the start of her strange adventure.

“‘Timeout,’ “she said to no one but herself, “that should do for that code name they said I needed. Anyways I’ve got loads of time to come up with a better one if I don’t like it, all the time in the World.”

Then laughing, she pulled to the side of the road to stop and wipe her tears.

* * * *

Monday July 3, 2006 Fermi Lab near Chicago IL
11:55am

The senior research director had waited long for this experiment, nearly two decades since the cancellation of the Super Collider project. Today finally was the ‘BIG SHOT’. The decades old often modified and upgraded ring accelerator was ready to reach the energy levels and relativistic speeds that the far larger Super Collider was expected to yield. This test would truly ‘push the envelope’ and then some. Back when the Super Collider was canceled physics said an accelerator the size of the big ring at Fermi could never approach a small fraction of the energies and speeds of the far larger machine. Physics at the quantum level had surprised the profession many times in the past. Today’s test would prove that again though not quite as the physicists, engineers, and technicians anticipated.

“Is the ring clear of all personnel?” asked the research director.

“Yes.” replied the systems operator.

“Initiate the test.”

“Test program running in three, two, one, MARK!” the operator called out.

“WHAT? No ‘Yes Master.’ No ‘She canna take it Captin.’ No ‘It’s ALIVE!’

“No, Director, I don’t go for those silly sci-fi clichés. The computer predicts we’ll achieve maximum sustained energy at twelve noon local time.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Why soitenly. Nuk, nuk nuk.”

“Oh no, Three Stooges!” the director groaned.

** * *
Chapter 2-Departure
Wednesday December13, 2006 Amtrak station, Milwaukee WI
8am CST

I begin this journal/diary/notebook or whatever on the advice of my doctor back at University Hospital in Madison. Dr. Sara believes it may help me come to terms with what has happened over the last five months and to better understand the true nature of my ‘gifts’, for want of a better term. It’s worth a try I suppose; at least I might sell my life story for a few bucks someday. They, whoever ‘they’ are, say a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step or something to that effect. This is a prime example of one of my greatest strengths and weaknesses; my knowledge is miles wide and inches deep. That’s kilometers and centimeters for your metric fans.

The single step in my case was taken on a pleasant July third in a tiny roadside park outside of Poniatowski Wisconsin.

* * * *

July 03,2006 near Poniatowski WI
11:55am

I turned my Ford Focus off the granite, gravel and clay road and into a small chain-link square of land carved from the side of a farmer’s field. The tiny park is located on Meridian Road near the cross-roads community of Poniatowski, WNW of Wausau Wisconsin. A nearby sign says ‘Geologic Point of Interest’. This is misleading, the ‘point of interest’ is in fact a geographic point on the map marked with a bronze surveyors marker inscribed with 45:00:00 N, 90:00:00 W. This is one of four points like it on Earth, a point half-way between the poles and equator and halfway between the Greenwich meridian and the International Date Line. One is in remote China, two are in the ocean. The modest park is a sort of poor man’s North Pole, a pole for those on a budget.

I found the park by accident some years before; I was thumbing through a DeLorme atlas when I realized that this geographic point was within a long daytrips reach from Milwaukee. I found it on my second try and was delighted to see it commemorated by a small park. When you need something to clear the cobwebs, a daytrip to nowhere is nearly perfect. I was feeling a little down; it was July 03 after all, and this trip would take my mind off it. July 03 was my late mother’s birthday, her mother’s birthday, her mother’s grandmother’s birthday and the day my grandfather (my mother’s dad) died. My mother had died three weeks prior to her 79th birthday the year before so, the day carried a lot of emotional baggage.

Her death hit my harder that expected as it brought up all sorts of regrets and painful remembrances, foremost of them being my failure to find ‘the right woman’. To be honest it would help if I actually asked them out more often than once a decade, but I was very shy around them. I liked women, I still do -- don’t get me wrong. I simply wasn’t comfortable asking them out, too many self doubts I guess. Mom’s death shook me enough that for the first time in years, I’d gone out on a few dates. Success was limited so fa,r but I had hopes.

This day trip to Poniatowski with the obligatory follow-your-nose route back was just the ticket for the blues, I hoped. Oddly now that I think back on it, it worked, beyond my wildest dreams but not in the way I intended. It’s only now some nine months later that I think I know what happened that strange day. They say, there’s those ‘they’s again, you can never know the past with any real precision, too many points of view for one. Since developing my ‘gifts’ I can come closer than most. My transformation was likely due to a quirky series of coincidences that I later pieced together from various news items of the day and from my own memories. I was precisely in the right place at the right time in space-time or precisely in the wrong place at the wrong time in space-time, depending on how I look at it. I’m leaning towards the former as the later is just too depressing.

Here I was out of my car standing over the surveyors marker at precisely Noon (I was glancing at my watch at the moment) when I ‘felt’ it. Four things happened at once with the prime focus being where I stood, lucky me. The news over the next few months told it all. The first clue was a magnitude 6.0 quake had hit central Wisconsin at Noon July 03, 2006 centered near the town of Poniatowski. That one I knew before anyone else -- I was there. Quakes in the upper Midwest are rare and usually the result of the slow rebound of the Earth’s crust from all that ice we had back in the last great Ice Age. This one was a whopper by our standards, plates fell, plaster cracked and that was about it.

The second clue was the spectacular displays of Northern Lights on the evenings of July 02/03 caused by a series of violent storms on the surface of the Sun. I’d seen them July 2nd, and they were impressive despite all the light pollution in Milwaukee.

The third clue was of a minor accident at Fermi Labs. The large ring accelerator had suffered a power surge in during a test of its latest upgrades. This caused an overload that damaged a portion of the machine. Fortunately there were no known injuries or release of dangerous radiation, or so the news articles read. It was later determined the surge in the incoming power lines was caused by a massive electromagnetic pulse generated by the interaction of the Earth’s magnetic field with a blast from those massive solar storms. It feed into the North American power grid and caused wide spread disruptions.

The fourth and last clue was the announcement of the probable detection of gravity waves passing through the Earth at and around Noon CDT July 03, 2006. These ‘ripples’ in space-time were predicted by Einstein’s theories but only in the last few decades were sensitive systems, often buried deep in old mines, built that might detect them. One could say that the long dead Elvis was easier to spot than gravity waves but such cheap humor is beneath me ... uhm.

* * * *

July 03, 2006 Fermi Labs near Chicago IL
Noon CDT

The lights in the control room flickered, went out then came back on as alarms sounded and lights flashed on the various control counsels.

“What was that?” the director cried out.

The systems operator studied the displays for a moment then spoke. “Probable power spike, Director.” He said then continued after a moment. “Obviously the computers are OK since they’re still up and running. From the system logs, it appears a huge spike in the incoming power overwhelmed our protection features for a moment. Enough got through that the accelerator exceed its new design limits by at least an order of magnitude. This caused us to loose magnetic containment at an unused experiment port on the NNW section of the ring. Luckily no other significant damage seems to have occurred Director.”

~Personal note: Oh yah, like what happened to me doesn’t count! ~

“Any chance of a release of radiation?” asked the Director.

“Unlikely from the readings, we’re heavily shielded as you know. From the logged data any radiation release would have been along a narrow path to the NNW and then at a shallow downward angle. The only place that line intersects the Earth’s surface is in north central Wisconsin, and that’s several hundred miles away.

“Well that’s a relief.” thought the Director. “Just out of curiosity where does that line emerge from underground?”

“One moment Sir.” the operator said. “Of course topography would have some affect, but the location should be very close to 45:00:00 N, 90:00:00 W. That’s near Poniatowski Wisconsin.”

“Where that?” the director asked.

“It’s near Wausau, like the insurance company, sir. From what maps show, it’s in the middle of nowhere, so if any radiation got that far practically no one’s there.”

* * * *

Wednesday December13, 2006 nearing Chicago on the Amtrak Hiawatha
9:15am

Here I was, lucky ol’ me, standing at what amounted to ground zero for the strangest set of coincidences I can imagine, and I have a very good imagination. My knowledge of physics is rather spotty, but there is a phenomenon in particle physics called the Bragg point. Please forgive any misspellings. Matter is mostly empty space so subatomic particle/waves don’t interact with it unless the have a charge or collide head on. This is especially true at high speeds.

A poor but useful analogy is when a water-skier lets go of the tow rope, nothing much happens until he slows below some critical speed. From the viewpoint of a distant observer, the water suddenly swallows them whole. The Bragg point is something like that. Yes I know that’s not really how it works, but back off man, I’m not a scientist, to paraphrase Ghostbustersâ„¢. Do I know my film trivia or what? Or what! Back to the point, from what my doctors say, and they say a lot, their best guess is I was standing at the center of the Bragg point for an unknown type of subatomic particle, possibly even quantum strings

String theory is the latest attempt a Grand Unified Theory or theory of everything, the ‘Holy Grail’ Einstein was searching for but never found. Some of the better theories have ten or more dimensions to space-time. I have enough trouble living in the classic three plus time. To get back to the story, I was standing at the intersection of the Bragg point of the errant particle beam from Fermi Labs, a gravity wave, an electromagnetic pulse generated by the interaction of that solar storm with the Earth’s magnetic field and a piezoelectric shock wave from the local earthquake. They can’t even make a guess as to the odds of this happening. The last time they tried the, computer fried out. If you consider this to be a stroke of luck, then I’m badly overdue to win the Powerball and be struck by lighting many, many, many times over.

I barely noticed anything odd at the time. I felt a vibration but attributed it to a heavily laden milk truck passing by moments latter. The only casualty was my digital watch, which appeared to have lost power then restarted as it was blinking 12am Jan 01. My car was fine, and no one else has ever reported any odd symptoms to date. Apparently the total volume of the interaction of these forces was very limited, limited to yours truly. Oh happy happy, joy joy. Starting my car as I was ready to leave, I noticed something was not quite right with the world or with me. I felt a sudden chill of the sort you get when you come down with the flu.

“Great, now I’m getting sick.” I said to myself but the feeling quickly faded.

I backed around to drive out when I thought I saw a small crowd at a ribbon cutting ceremony, like you’d see at the opening of a new store or public building. It was there for a moment then gone.

“Must be my imagination, but why was everyone wearing those late 60’s style clothes?”

Because of that chill I’d felt I decided to take a quicker route home just in case. By the time I was passing Wisconsin Dells, I’d not had a repeat of any signs of illness, so I turned of the Interstate at Portage, intending to take State highways 60 or 33 instead. They would be slower but far more scenic. This, of course, was when things started to go seriously strange with a big red S, boots and a cape. Portage is aptly named being situated at the point where the Fox which flows into Lake Michigan at Green Bay and the Wisconsin, which floes into the Mississippi near Prairie du Chien are a very flat mile or two apart, an easy portage. A natural crossroads Portage has existed over 300 years, from the days of the first French explorers and fur traders. The native peoples used it to advantage long before that. For a while a canal and series of locks and dams connected the rivers, but the continually shifting sands of the lower Wisconsin River defeated the federal governments attempt to maintain a safe channel. By the late 19th century, the canal was gradually abandoned. Most of the locks were dismantled or filled in by the early 1950’s.

I drove out of downtown Portage, if you can call a couple blocks a downtown, when my aches and chills came back with a vengeance. I nearly caused an accident slamming on my brakes at the sight before me. I pulled to the side of the road to gather my wits. What I saw made no sense but I was strangely compelled to check it out. I walked the 100 feet or so from my car to the apparition in shock. What I saw simply could not be and what was worse I heard it and smelled it. It had to be a hallucination, it wasn’t possible yet it was there. I’m sure any passerby that saw me must have thought I was pretty strange. I don’t fully recall if they did as my attention was so completely drawn elsewhere. My senses were locked on a small riverboat, its decks stacked high with lumber passing slowly through the open jackknife bridge over the canal. As it passed, I heard several sharp blasts of its steam whistle, the steam dissipating quickly in the warm summer air. I could hear the rhythmic pulse of the engine and churning paddlewheels while the wood smoke from the stack made my eyes water.

Everything about the scene made sense and felt real. The problem was it made sense for 1886 not 2006. The bridge was decades gone, the canal blocked of and systematically abandoned over 50 years before. The people, the horse drawn vehicles and well everything else was wrong. I was even able to touch the warning gate blocking the road, which gave me a small shock. Then as quickly as this apparition came, it was gone along with my aches and chills. At this point I was more than a little bit worried about my health and my sanity and more than a little bit spooked.

In my understandably agitated state, I made what in hindsight was without doubt the most foolhardy decision of my life, to drive home and curl up in bed. Driving home I realized how stupid that was. Something was seriously wrong with me, and the best place to get help would be at a major research or teaching hospital. I decided to drive home, take a quick shower, change clothes and drive to the nearby regional medical center after informing my Dad or sister where I was going. I was on autopilot, barely paying attention to where I was as I fought to stay alert and in control. I had felt increasingly tired since touching that phantom warning gate. I no longer had that odd headache but my joints and muscles felt really sore, as if I was coming down with the flu just like I’d felt back at Poniatowski.

I kept it together long enough to get into Milwaukee County and close to home. I was generally achy and very tired, but I felt I could make it home to let my Dad or sister know what was gong on. Tired or not, the weird sensations still came and went. As I was leaving the freeway, my vision blurred for a moment, and I swore that for a moment the cars around me and in my mirror were all 60’s and 70’s vintage, many in very good condition.

I thought, “Must be a car collector’s convention in town this week.”

Saving time I cut north and east out of the County Institutions grounds. I saw an orange bullet nose Milwaukee Road Hiawatha train past overhead as I drove thru a railway underpass.

“A rail fan trip?” I mused.

Amtrak replaced that train over 30 years ago. The Canadian Pacific bought those tracks some years back when the bought out the Soo line who bought the bankrupt Milwaukee Road in the 1980’s. I parked in front of our house to save time. As I got out of my car, the Super Bowl of the Weird went into overtime. As best as I can recall, it seemed like two or more realities were vying for the same space. Rather like when reception is poor, and two distant radio stations fight for the same frequency on your radio, fading in and out as you listen. In my case the whole perceivable universe was fading in and out between alternative realities.

I walked past the large elm tree and the concrete streetlight pole in front of ... Oh, oh. The alarms in my head went off as those were both gone nearly 30 years now.

~I’d better hurry up and get to the hospital. ~ My inner voice sagely suggested.

The air became oddly cold; it seemed more like late winter than midsummer. I opened the wood and glass screen door on the side of the house which had been replaced by a series of aluminum and glass doors starting more than 40 years back. I had little opportunity to consider the incongruity of this for when I opened the inner door and turned toward the kitchen I knocked my mother over. I looked at her lying there, she couldn’t be more than 30 years old, and I was born when she was 31. She screamed at her apparent attacker, me.

“Mom?” I cried out in total confusion.

As I lost consciousness my last sight was of my terrified, attractive young mother in her, I mean, our home.

****
Chapter 3-Revalations
University Hospital, Madison WI
July 07, 2006, 6am

The next few days are a blank. I have only what my doctors and nurses told me to go on. Apparently I gave them a hell of a fright. My condition was deteriorating rapidly, but by a stroke of luck the emergency department was very quiet that evening so the physicians and nurses who saw me soon noticed the nature of my changes and very quickly cordoned off part of the emergency room. They did a fast but thorough examination while simultaneously taking numerous baseline photos, measurements of all kinds and obtaining various samples. A Flight-for-Life helicopter flew me from Milwaukee to the high security section of the University Hospital in Madison where the new paranormal and mutant unit for Wisconsin was located.

I woke from my coma early the morning of my fourth day in the hospital. I was relieved I had somehow made it to the hospital though I couldn’t remember how I got there. Best I could tell I felt fairly normal. I saw the usual IV lines hooked up to me, the saline and glucose labels were easy to read from my bed. Several monitors were attached to me much like you see on TV or in film.

~Well I’m alive and I don’t feel too bad. ~ I thought. ~I wonder what’s happened. Now how do I call the nurse? ~

I saw a control pad clipped to the rail of my bed, and reached to press the call button. I noticed my hand looked, well, like a girls. It was obviously smaller with long delicate fingers, the skin smooth, perfect and nearly hairless.

“Maybe I‘m sicker than I feel, that sure was weird,” I said, then I pressed the button, and a short time later a young nurse walked into my room smiling.

“I see that our sleepyhead decided it’s time to wakeup. I imagine you have lots of questions, so I’ll call the doctor for you. She wanted to talk with you as soon as possible,” said the nurse.

“What’s wrong with me?” I spoke, my voice soft and a bit scratchy, understandable under the circumstances I supposed, yet the voice was not mine.

The few times I heard my recorded voice, I found I sounded a lot like Ron Howard, the film director. To myself my voice is lower and richer, a function of the sound reaching my ears thorough both the air and my bones. The voice I heard now was low, sultry and very feminine, much like I remembered my mother’s voice and her mother’s -- my Grandma’s -- voice. It was somewhat embarrassing going through puberty and realizing that my Grandmother and Mom had low, sexy voices. I tried to make sense of what I’d heard but could not. Before I could start to worry too much about it, a doctor came into the room with that same pretty nurse.

“This is Dr. Sara Grobeschmidt-Taylor, and she’ll explain everything to you. I’ll wait just outside the door if you need anything, dear.”

The doctor gave her a sharp look.

“Nurse Carrie?” was all she said.

“Sorry, Doctor. As I said, John, I’ll be waiting right outside if you want me,” Nurse Carrie said as she walked out the door.

“I know you have many questions but please wait until I finish. This will save time and reduce any confusion. I have good news for you, John. You’re very healthy and should be up and out of the hospital in a few days at most. You were extremely ill when you were admitted; we thought we might lose you. You’re at the University Hospital in Madison by the way; you were flown here by helicopter from Milwaukee when they realized what was wrong. Fortunately you responded very well to treatment, mostly rest and IV fluids, and are nearly fully recovered. As to why you were so sick, we know what your condition was but as to the triggering mechanism we haven’t determined yet,” the doctor explained.

I was very confused by what the doctor was saying, but I kept quiet. I think she saw my fear.

“As I said before, John, you’re now very healthy, healthier than me. I need you to keep an open mind and listen to what I say. When I finish, I’ll gladly answer any questions, ok?” the doctor asked.

I nodded my consent.

“To put it simply, you went through what my specialty calls a burnout. Your body was replacing its cells at a very rapid rate. Normally each and every cell in your body is replaced over a 3 to 4 year cycle with few exceptions. Your burnout was your body replacing every cell in roughly a 48 hour span. You even have a whole new set of teeth, believe it or not, John. The stress of this nearly killed you, but you recovered nicely and soon can get out of bed. You’re the first patient I’ve ever seen survive such an extreme burnout. We need to, or more correctly, would like to do a few special tests before you leave us-purely voluntary but to your benefit.”

I wanted to speak but she gestured for me to wait.

“I have one last thing to say, then you can ask your questions. You wonder why things seem and feel a little different and why you were sick. Here goes, by some mechanism unknown you’ve been transformed down to the genetic level so extensively that you are now what the public calls a mutant. Don’t worry, in appearance and in most other ways you are absolutely normal. You do have some special abilities due to your mutation” ... She said, and paused for a moment reconsidering what she wanted to say ... “and have changed physically as well,” the doctor said enigmatically.

“What do you mean by physically?” I cried out, very worried.

It didn’t help my emotional state when I heard how odd and sexy my voice sounded. I started to cry softly.

“John, please calm down. Your fine, really, just a bit different than before, to put it simply you are no longer a man in his late forties but are by all measures an extremely fit and healthy 16 to 18 year old woman. A woman with all the appropriate equipment -- and very well arraigned I might add,” she said and smiled at me.

“I’m a woman?” I said incredulously.

Then as my mind processed what the doctor said, how my voice sounded to me and the signals my body was sending me, I said, “I AM a woman, aren’t I doctor?”

“Oh yes, and that’s going to take some adjustment, but we’ll get you the help you need. Your life as you’ve known it is gone, and you new life will be strange at first but you’ve gained a lot too. You’re exceptionally healthy and younger for a start. As to getting started again, we’ll get you the necessary documents to prove who you are. The law protects you as well. You can try to go back to your old job if you wish. I’d like you to think of this as second chance at your life,” she said.

A warning light was flashing in the back of my mind, but I ignored it due to the shock from the knowledge of my transformation into a young woman. The warning light and klaxon waited until a little switch in my head flipped as I remembered that other word the doctor used to describe my condition.

“MUTANT?” I practically screamed at her as the alarms screamed in my mind. “What do you mean by mutant?”

By now I’d worked up to quite a decent tantrum.

~Tantrum? Now were did that come from? Guys don’t have tantrums. Children and girls throw ... Ah that’s right; I’ve switched sides haven’t I? ~

At this I broke out laughing, giggling really. My anger and fear deflated by the absurdity of my current situation. This put my humor gears into overdrive. Doctor Sara’s face went through an amazing transformation, from calm reassurance to serious concern to professional detachment to the broadest smile I had seen in some time.

“Well that’s not exactly the reaction I expected. Mind letting me in on the joke?” she asked while struggling to fight back the giggles her self.

“It’s just that the absurdity of my ... condition suddenly struck me. I was about to throw a tantrum like a girl when I realized I am one. That stopped my anger cold. Then I thought, mutant, you can’t get much more mutant than becoming a girl overnight at least from where I used to be. That’s when I broke out laughing, Doctor.”

“Sara, please, call me Sara,” she said then she broke into a major giggle fit.

That got me going again. We must have been pretty loud because Nurse Carrie burst into the room, stopped, then she joined in the fun. None of us were of much use for the next ten minutes or so. The moment one of us started to get some control one of the others would set us all off again.

“Female ... Mutant ... Now those are two words I never expected would apply to me.” I said in a controlled manner, still fighting off the remnants of my laugh attack. “Not that it won’t take some getting used to, but I have to admit it’s not like I never imagined it happening.” I said.

They looked at me dumbstruck. I continued.

“You know what I mean.”

They continued staring at me.

“Think of it like a child’s fantasy; didn't you ever pretend you were a kitty cat, a dinosaur, or a space alien? It's not that I really wanted to be one, or be a girl for that matter, it's was just for fun. It was a great game pretending to be a doctor, nurse, fireman or astronaut,” I offered.

The lights came back on in my new girlfriends’ ... girl friends? ... heads.

“Ah, like pretending to be a fairy princess.” Carrie started.

“Or Batman and Robin,” Sara continued.

“That’s the idea.” I responded adding, “But in your cases, Sara and Carrie, I think Cat Woman and Batgirl are more appropriate. You two certainly have the figures for it.”

~WHAT did I just say? ~

“Sorry, somehow that just came out. I don’t mean to offend,” I said quickly to cover my surprise.

“None taken I assure you, ‘Ms’ John.” Sara said, she emphasized ‘Ms.’ as a wicked smile grew on her face. “If we’re talking Halloween costumes here, I picture you as a younger version of Romana from Doctor Who. You’ve seen Doctor Who, John?”

I nodded yes.

“The first Romana, what was her name?” she asked.

“Mary Tamm?” I questioned, knowing clearly the actress she meant but not fully comprehending or perhaps comprehending too well the implications of her remark.

“Are you saying I look like her?” I replied nervously.

NOW I was worried. It was strange enough becoming a mutant and a female, but being an attractive female was, well ... I don’t know what it was, but I didn’t want to know what it was.

“Not exactly like her, I meant more as a general type of woman,” she tried to calm me. My anxiety level dropped a bit.

“Well that’s okay guess. She was rather attractive back then, but it’s not like I’m her twin sister, is it?” I smiled back in relief. “Just so I’m not some ugly monster.”

“That’s not what I meant either. I’m still not making my self clear.” She said, paused, then said, “Um ... have you seen yourself yet?”

“Well no. I’d only just woke up when Carrie called you in.”

My anxiety meter started to twitch up into the yellow zone.

“Do you think you can get up and walk a bit?” Dr. Sara asked.

“I’ll try,” I managed to say as my anxiety meter crept just short of the red zone.

“I’ll help you,” Carrie said as she assisted me up and out of the bed.

When I got to my feet, I wobbled a bit but managed to stay up. Soon I was feeling fairly normal except for the unfamiliar sensations coming from my chest and um ... other area.

“I’m ready, let’s go take a look,” I said.

I was still a little unsteady but got smoother and more confident with each step.

“I must be getting better, that wasn’t hard at all.” I said.

My anxiety meter started going down. Then I saw the poster on the bathroom door. The kind of poster that a younger Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, Michelle Trachtenberg or some other up and coming artist might put out. The, I’m so young, I’m so innocent, and I’m so sexy, and I don’t know it sort of poster. I stood and took it in. She was definitely hot looking if you go for jailbait, with that open-mouthed look of surprise on her face and her long, wild and unkempt hair combining to great effect.

~The skimpy hospital gown on her tall busty frame is a tad too kinky for my tastes but still ... Hospital gown? ~

My internal voice stopped. I moved forward to get a better look. She moved forward simultaneously. I moved in response. She moved in mirror fashion.

~MIRROR? ~

My anxiety meter went up in smoke.

The next few hours I don’t remember too clearly so I have to take Sara’s and Carrie’s word for what happened.

Apparently I said something extremely cleaver like, “Ththththats’s MEEEE?” in a fairly memorable stutter, cum shriek.

I finished my routine with a one-and-one-half clockwise spin into a backwards dead-faint, difficulty level 3.2 for an overall score of 9.8 out of ten, not bad for an amateur. I lost two-tenths for failing to stick the landing. I would have lost more but I pulled off a perfect tuck into the fetal position to salvage it. They showed it to me once from the security tape. Those CCTV cameras are everywhere these days. I hope they didn’t have one in my bathroom, Ewu! Even now five months later it disturbs me to watch it.

To my dying day, my doctors say that could be a long time from now, I’ll be grateful to Sara and Carrie for when I woke they were both in my room by my bed. Carrie was holding my hand as Sara caught a quick snooze a few feet away in a stuffed chair. That kind of care must have cost my insurance a bundle but its money well spent in my opinion. I owe those girls a debt I can’t begin to repay. I will keep in touch and I will honor my debt. Well, enough of this maudlin stuff and back to my story.

I woke with surprisingly few aches and pains despite my fall, more about why that was the case later. Overall I felt really well and wondered why they were holding vigil on me? Then I remembered getting out of bed, seeing the poster that suddenly moved and...

“That was Me!” I shrieked.

I started to shake uncontrollably and cried like I hadn’t since I was a child. I did so for quite some time, crying from fear, crying for my late mother, crying for the girlfriends I never had, just crying out all my regrets. Whether it was fatigue or running out of things to cry about I don’t know but as quickly as it started it stopped. It’s not like I felt great, I just didn’t feel overwhelmed anymore.

Regaining control, I said, “Could I see myself again? I think I can take it now.”

Carrie smiled at me, squeezing my hand. She turned to Sara.

“Only if your sure hon,” Sara said in a concerned but relaxed tone.

“On second thought, could I have a shower and do something with my hair first. I’m sure I’m a mess.”

I must have said the right thing because they hustled me to the bathroom, got the shower going, then waited just outside the door like a pair of cats watching their food dish being filled. I always took quick showers -- this was no different. Well I did spend a while longer and use up a lot more shampoo on my hair.

“What is it with mutants and long hair?” I said to my angels.

My hair had been short for years. Being as bald as I was, long hair had that Bozo the Clown, David Crosby, comic relief killer from Diamonds Are Forever connotation in my mind. Believe me it’s not a good one. Now my hair was, for want of a better description, everywhere. I could feel it brushing the top of my butt as I showered.

~This is sure different but hey it’s all mine. ~ I mused, that was definitely upside #1 in favor of being a girl.

Upsides #2a and #2b and especially #3a and #3b I couldn’t fully examine with Sara and Carrie there but from the ... um ... brief accidental encounters I experienced, purely as an unintended side-effect of soaping up and washing off I hasten to add, they were serious points in favor of womanhood as well. #2a and #2b were the most obvious “points,” their “points” sticking way out in fact. My mom and grandmother had fairly large breasts for their trim frames but these were embarrassing. I would have a hard time tying my shoelaces with these blocking my view. Alright, so I’m exaggerating a bit here, but they sure aren’t small. As to bra and clothing sizes, I hadn’t a clue. BRA SIZE, now that’s an alien concept.

~I guess now I’ll be the one leaving my dainty delicates dripping in the bathroom. Ah, sweet revenge on my sister. ~

~ Personal note: Insert evil cackle here. ~

I was not prepared for this. The Boy Scouts say ‘Be prepared,’ and I was a former Eagle Scout, but this was nothing they could hold against me. I know what one of those hormone happy adolescents would like to hold against me, but that is neither here nor there. It’s down right about there actually. Whoa! Get a grip, girl. Grip? Ewh, bad word choice there, diary. On reflection maybe it was a good thing the two women were watching me like they were starving cannibals, and I was the main course. I had been a horny little bast ... Boy Scout in my day, but this was an entirely different ballgame. Now those are some well mixed metaphors. I might have rubbed myself raw if they weren’t there.

I gathered what little control I could muster, turned off the shower, and started toweling myself dry. I say started because I nearly didn’t finish it. The roughness of the terry cloth dragging across my new skin was not helping my ... “condition” ... to ease at all. Upsides #2a and #2b were bordering on being dangerously stiff; you could poke your eyes out with them, happily. Upsides #3a and #3b, which had replaced the part or parts previously most in favor of being male, were #3a-swollen and um, expectant and as I dragged the towel between my legs #3b was hot, felt very squishy and OH MY GHOD! I nearly fainted.

~I think that was an orgasm. If that was what it was, please, sir, may I have another helping? I have got to remember about #3a, it’s going to be a favorite. ~

I think Sara and Carrie guessed what had happened because they smiled, then started to snicker. The blush and silly grin on my face didn’t help.

“You may need to rethink how you towel yourself off. Things are a wee bit more sensitive than before, I take it?” Sara offered while trying to compose herself.

“If either of you ask me if I need a cigarette, I’m walking out that door naked or not,” I replied in mock outrage.

That set us all off again, which to quote Ms Stewart was “a good thing.” The bout of laughter took the edge off my arousal enough that I could function again.

“Is there some way I can get help learning to cope with all of this?” I said while gesturing at my body like a model displaying a car.

“Sure, as I started to say earlier, that’s why I ordered Carrie to call me the moment you woke. You need to learn how to take care of your new body in addition to us evaluating your mutant abilities. You need to learn about feminine hygiene, your monthly cycle, how to dress for and act in public, and how to interact with men and women.”

“And how to keep your clothes on and knees together,” added Carrie in a perfect deadpan voice.

Sara looked like she was about to chew Carrie out when I chuckled back, “No, no, Sara. She’s right. How does it go? ‘Hello Daddy, hello Mom I’m your Ch ch ch ch cherry bomb.’ It’s from an old Joan Jett song, before your time, Carrie, or yours, Sara. This is something I never expected to add to my resume, mutant nymphomaniac,” I finished with just the right hint of sarcasm.

“I’m sure it’s just a temporary symptom of your mutation -- well it probably is, maybe. I can’t say for sure, since your transformation is unique in my experience. Complete male-to-female, or female-to-male, mutations are not the norm so far as the records indicate. Late onset of mutant powers is even rarer. This late is almost unheard of. You’re just about off the charts so to speak,” Sara explained.

“Does this mean I’ll be the subject of a groundbreaking medical paper? Perhaps you’ll get to name it after me, John’s Syndrome” I purred in a rather catty manner.

“You go, girl!” spoke Carrie in her best ghetto fabulous/valley-girl voice. “I don’t think you need worry too much about fitting in as a woman. That last remark of yours would shred a couch to ribbons. Meorrrrourer, phitt, phitt!”

I think she added the last bit for emphasis and punctuation; shades of the late Victor Borge here.

“Now that we have that out of or respective systems, is it okay with you if I assign Carrie as your personal 24/7 tutor in the female arts? From experience we’ve found the newly transformed benefit from limiting their exposure to the ‘real world’ until they’ve had time to come to grips with their changes. The one-on-one instruction speeds the process. Carrie’s well-trained, bright, hardworking and a lot of fun to hang around with.” Carrie grinned and blushed. “She’s also the closest to your apparent physical age of all our nurses here. She just graduated from nursing school last December, so she’s the most familiar with current teen/young adult fashions and the hot topics.”

Sara’s face turned serious. “I know your memories are those of a 48 year old man, but by the hormone levels in your blood and by bodily measures of development, you’re closer to 15 to 18 years of age, tops. You’ll need help if you want to fit in with your apparent age. If you don’t, you’re going to stick out like snowman on Miami Beach. It’s probably best to think of it as some great new adventure,” Sara said, paused, and then her face lit up. “It’s as if the ‘tape’ of your life been stopped and rewound back almost to the beginning. You get to choose how it plays forward,” Sara suggested. I thought for a moment as a wry smile grew on my face.

“Stop-rewind-playback, I like the metaphor, Sara. Let’s do it.”

“That’s a good attitude, John; I think you’ll do all right.” Sara said brightly.

“I suddenly feel so happy and ... oh ... perky! Is it me or the hormone talking?” I burbled and tossed my long head of hair as my mischievous streak decided to have a bit of fun or was it something else?

“Probably both,” Sara replied smiling at my attempt at humor.

“Doctor Sara.” Carrie interjected, “What about her, I mean John’s name? John doesn’t exactly fit her now.”

“That’s up to John, Carrie, but a name change could make it easier to start fresh and fit in.”

“Joan or Jean comes immediately to mind,” I said quickly. “I like the sound of Jean better but Joan has the better nicknames. I mean Joanie is a whole lot better then Jeanie. Every time I’d hear the later, I’d feel compelled to blink and head-snap my ponytail. Too damn I Dream of Jeanie for my tastes, Master.” I giggled at that.

~Why a giggle? ~

“Well then, Joan or Joanie it shall be,” Said Sara.

“Call me Joanie, please,” I said. Sara smiled very sweetly then spoke.

“It’s just so strange, but Joanie was the name of one of my best friends in med school.”

“Are you kidding me, Doctor?” Carrie asked. “My best friend in high school was named Joanie, talk about deja vu.”

“Seems I’ve picked the right name then, so what do we do next?”

****
To be continued.

Revised 07/20/06
Thanks to my evil younger sister for proofreading assistance.

Notes:

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Synopsis:

Another BigCloset TopShelf story.

This chapters subtitle pretty much tells it all, Fashion and the Lab Rat. Our heroine gives an accidental fashion show and gets poked, prodded, pricked and dunked, all in the name of science.

Andy Warhol said,"In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." What if your 15 minutes came late in life, and fame decided to never let you go? Could you survive the circus your life would become?

Story:

Timeout-Stop/Playback/Rewind: A Whateley Academy Fanfiction

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place,

(http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."

This was my first attempt at writing a TG/sci-fi piece. I’m confident it’s derivative, unimaginative, dull, unitentionally plageristic, ungramatical, and possibly hazardous to ones health. I ask you be gentle and constructive in your criticism. I’ve been a good boy, scouts honor. I did this for fun and in my appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe. Take it in that spirit and enjoy. Remember this is non-canon not cannon fodder. All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005 yada, yada, yada. See my agent at the Sirius Cybernetics Corp. for further details. Please don’t hit me!

Timeout

By John from Wauwatosa

Chapter 4-Fashion and the Lab Rat
University Hospital and environs, Madison WI, July 8th to 18th, 2006

The first couple of weeks after I recovered from my transformation were arguably the most exhilarating and boring, enjoyable yet frightening time of my life. Nothing I had done before came close except, well nada, no exceptions. The newness of sensations, the subtle and not so subtle differences in how I moved, how I sounded, the absolute absurdity of the whole situation were constant sources of wonder and surprise. My as yet undefined mutant power, or powers, worried me greatly; just who and for that matter what was I?

The doctors, nurses, researchers and staff were for the most part friendly and professional, though I thought one or two seemed at best uneasy in my presence or at worst insulted by it. Fear of the unknown can cause resentment, envy or outright hatred in certain individuals or groups. Racial, ethnic, or national “purity” have been rallying calls for the worst kinds of racism, or even genocide. Mutants sadly weren’t exempt from the list of possible targets. The hospital wisely kept the mutant wing well under wraps, limiting the number of staff and visitors to help maintain a low profile. By my appearance I had little to fear. I looked very normal albeit attractive. I stood out but no more so than any other good looking young person. With the hospitals location on a Big Tenâ„¢ campus in a state capital, I was just one among a crowd of young people, so here I was relatively anonymous. How I got to look this way was unusual, but not the end product.

This would take some adjustment on my part, but I did not fear it -- well not too much. What worried me big-time was the type and extent of my power or powers, and the risks they might pose to my health, life, liberty, and to that of the people around me. Even before I started my evaluations, I knew I must be very careful as to how, when, and where I used my power(s). Anything to do with seeing into the past, let alone altering it, was potentially very dangerous stuff. Knowledge is power is a shopworn maxim, but a true one. My power, if I could learn to control it offered near endless opportunity for misuse and abuse.

-- Note to readers: A thunderclap followed by diabolical laughter may be indulged in at this point. Enjoy. --

It was precisely due to these fears that the Wisconsin State Paranormal and Mutant Unit — the WSPMU for you acronym lovers — had a strict policy of no visitors for new transformies, until both their doctor and they felt confident. There were exceptions in extraordinary situations, a dying patient, or where family members were also mutants, but these were rare. I was initially shocked, but soon agreed with the reasoning. It was late on the day I woke that she told me of the policy.

“Sara, when can I see my family? I’m nearly recovered now; they must be worried,” I asked.

“Joanie, your sister, her husband, and your dad came the first night, but I sent them home. You were unconscious, and burning up: we packed you in a bathtub full of ice, and chilled your IVs and oxygen to get your temperature down to 106 degrees Fahrenheit.” Sara replied.

“106 degrees?” I asked.

I was shocked; fevers that high were very dangerous, 108 or higher were fatal.

“106 in an ice bath, Sara?” I asked again.

“When I said burnout, I wasn’t kidding, Joanie. I’ve seen several individuals who cooked themselves without treatment; it’s a terrible way to die. There was nothing your family could do to help; we were too busy treating you to let them see you, and your appearance mid transformation might have upset them. The treatment kept the fever from spiking any higher, and after 48 hours it came down to normal. You remained unconscious another 24. That’s not to say we didn’t keep your family well-informed,” Carrie took over.

“Dr Sara,“ she giggled slightly as if she was hiding something, “or I called your family several times a day. They know you’re conscious and nearly recovered but that they still can’t visit. We sort of lied, and said you don’t want to see them until you’re further through therapy. We implied you’re uncomfortable with how you might appear to them.” Carrie looked sheepish.

“You sort of lied?” I retorted.

“Only with the best of intentions. Look at it this way, Joanie: We don’t have a clear idea what your powers are; they could be potentially dangerous. Once you’ve had your powers exam and have some time to get used to your new body and powers, then a visit is safe. You’ll be more comfortable and less likely to hurt yourself or them; I’ve seen it happen, dear,” Sara said in a motherly tone.

“Can I at least call them?”

“Your voice is very different; you’ve said so yourself. Even if you convince them You are who you are, you’ll just cause them distress. Better they get the whole package all at once with a visit. It could be days or weeks until you’re ready, I can’t say. Carrie will loan you a secure laptop so you can email them all you want. It’s untraceable, and you can get them used to the idea of your changes without frightening them. You can call them if you like, or even leave after tomorrow. You’re not a prisoner, but I don’t advise it.”

I spent the rest of that first evening considering what I would tell them. I decided to tell my sister I was a mutant, but not go into any details other than I was healthy, and undergoing therapy to get used to my new body. I didn’t mention the possible powers, or the, um teenage girl thing. That little omission would prove embarrassing later. I’d tell my dad I was getting better and I hoped he’d be able to visit soon, but to wait until I said okay -- in other words, vague but hopeful. I spent a lot of time those first few weeks thinking about what happened, and if there was a way back to manhood. It all came down to the warper time powers they said I must have, but it confused the hell out of me at first. Five months later, I’m only now beginning to understand the implications of my gifts.

It’s one thing to know the past, it’s orders of magnitude different to know it with utmost precision, and to manipulate to that end. Yah, I know it’s ”impossible”, or “even if you could” ... “time paradox” ... “yada, yada, yada,” I’m here to tell you time travel is possible, but definitely NOT for the squeamish. Writing down over five months later “real time,” nearly half a year “my time,” I still don’t have all the kinks out of it. The ONE biggie no-no nearly all the sci-fi writers agree upon, the “don’t cross your own timeline” admonition, boy-o-boy, now girl-o-girl were they spot-on. I’ve only myself and my emerging untrained powers to blame for my extreme makeover, and I’m damned if I can find a way out of it. The old time travel paradox traps rear their elegantly ugly heads here in all their labyrinthine glory, but I’m getting ahead of myself here, or is it behind? With all that’s gone on the last five “real” months, it’s hard to tell sometimes.

The day after I woke up, the ever helpful Carrie took my measurements, and that same day walked in with bags of clothes, shoes, and basic accessories for me to try on. She bought enough to last me at least a week, and showed considerable restraint in her taste. This was not the easiest of tasks given that I now apparently was 6 feet  ½ inches tall, a perky 40D-24-35 and 145lbs dripping wet, with strawberry blond hair hanging down to my rear, fair skin, and copper eyes set in a pleasant—looking face. Oh dear, I think I’m getting off on myself.

Note to self: Calm down Joanie. I known I’m my own dream-girl but still, yet another reason to get myself to Whateley ASAP. I still wonder how 40D’s can be perky.

For the most part the clothes were tasteful, fit reasonably well, and showed some sense of style. Admittedly there were the two pairs of 4 and 5 inch high heels.

“High heels with me a mere 6ft  ½ inch?” I asked.

“They’re a necessary evil for more formal occasions.” Carrie insisted. Even the few skirts weren’t too bad as long as I thought of them as,

“A variation on shorts, and you do have the legs for them,” Carrie pointed out. ”A purse and clutch -- well you do have to carry ID and money. Many women’s outfits don’t accommodate a wallet. A women’s watch will fit better, is practical, and you don’t want to be late for your appointments.”

She gave similar rationales for makeup, pierced ears - I had them done that same day in the hospital salon - jewelry and hair doodads.

“All necessary to fit in public, and for practical reasons too; you don’t want your long hair blowing in your face after all,” Carrie thoughtfully added.

As to the tiny, fluorescent pink, thong-style string bikini however, on trying this on I decided it was time to fight back.

“You’ll want to get a tan,” she began.

I might as well been naked -- it covered so little.

“Too much sun is bad for your skin,” I countered.

~ Nordic goddesses do not tan. ~

“What about swimming, or the beach?” she replied.

I felt lucky to breathe without falling out of it.

“A one-piece is more practical and far less likely to pop off unexpectedly,“ I said.

I parried her argument and counterattacked. I thought I had her at my mercy, but she sprang her secret weapon.

“But it looks sooo good on you. Don’t you want to look your best, just like any other young woman?” Carrie cooed at me.

This I was not prepared for, a blatant appeal to vanity followed up with a strong appeal to the logic of looking my apparent age. She had me; I was defeated. She was the master. I was about to hand her my verbal sword when she made a fatal error.

“You’re gong to want to start dating; this will help attract the boys.” The tables turned.

“WHAT!” I was outraged. “So this is your game? Have a boy in mind for me already, little Miss Matchmaker! A bit shy but with a great personality?”

I was red in the face and shaking with fury. Carrie’s expression went from shock, to fear, and then suddenly she began to laugh uncontrollably. I stared in disbelief, and then the light came on. I broke up. We must have been like that for some time, for when we finally got control of ourselves, we had collected a fair crowd of her fellow nurses. They stared though the now open door at the two of us lying exhausted on my bed. I stood up; my 40D’s straining to get free, then smiled.

“Well now that everyone is here, what do you think? Is it me?” I did a quick turn, trying not to giggle or jiggle too much.

“Damn, I gotta get me one like that; my husband will go crazy,” said a fit 30-something brunette.

“I wish I had the figure to pull that off,” a pretty but skinny gal in her 20’s said longingly.

“I wouldn’t be caught dead in that; it’s so tiny,” a voluptuous blonde of about 40 said.

“You’re gonna need a really big stick to beat the boys off, girl,” said a very tall, redheaded younger version of Lucy Lawless, and so it went.

“Oh well, if you got it, I suppose,” I admitted.

I got this wicked thought and gave into the "Dark Side".

“Before you ladies leave, just one question: Is my butt too big?”

“Oh you!” they said in unison.

They left, shaking their heads, the tall redhead looking back towards me several times until she was out of sight.

Now that I had some normal clothes, my powers evaluation could commence. Dr. Sara gave me one of those ubiquitous clip-on photo name badges. It identified me as a researcher in her department.

“This will let you move ‘round the hospital and not gather unwanted attention. This badge is also a smartcard, with it and your PIN you can go to and from the mutant wing at will, and through most other secured doors in the hospital,” Dr. Sara explained.

“Won’t there be questions asked? I look awful young for a grad student or a college freshman for that matter.” I asked.

“I’ve had some experience with the need to conceal an identity,” Sara spoke in a soft almost conspiratorial tone.

Her smile suggested she was having a bit of fun at my expense. Something about Sara’s and Carrie’s interactions and their appearance bothered me from early on, and then it dawned on me.

“Carrie’s a mutant isn’t she, and though it’s just a guess, is she a close relative, a niece? You look so much alike.

Then it hit me, “Your daughter.”

Sara’s eyes flashed at me; I must be treading on dangerous ground. She looked around then leaned in close.

“Don’t repeat what I’m about to say to anyone, ever,” she said in a flat, serious tone. “Your intuition is correct, but I don’t hide the fact she’s my daughter. I do conceal her mutant abilities, so she can have as much of a normal life as possible. Her empathic and telepathic abilities are part of why she’s employed in this department but no one here knows about them. Please be careful, I don’t want her hurt,” she said, struggling to hold back her emotions.

“The last thing I would do is hurt either of you. I know it’s your job and all, but without you two I would ...”

I had to stop, the words wouldn’t come. I don’t know if was my words, or the little lost child look in my eyes, whatever the reason, Sara swept me up in her arms and held me there. We held each other for some time, and when we broke apart, I knew I’d found my new Mom. She could never replace my dear biological mother, but somehow it felt right. In the short time I’d known her, I’d concluded she was what my mother could have been, if she’d come of age in more recent times. Social and intuitional pressures kept my mother from a career in math or science, despite a partial college scholarship. She ended up an executive secretary and stay-at-home mom, not that she ever complained. Sara was definitely a kindred spirit, bright and adventurous in spite of her fears. I would not let her be hurt, not if I had any say in things.

Note to Diary, I wish “Mom” could be with me at Whateley.

* * * *

December13, 2006 leaving Chicago on the Amtrak Lake Shore Limited, 10:30am CST

Dear diary/journal/whatever, I made my connection just in time, and am on my way to Boston, the next major stop in my journey to Whateley. I must have made an impression riding through the streets of Chicago between train stations on my ancient Harley. Thank goodness it’s an unusually mild day; I wouldn’t want to do that in the snow. I hope no one recognized me, though I did get a few odd looks here and there. Now where did I leave off? Oh yah, my first “official” day as a lab rat.

I left my hospital room carrying a gym bag filled with clothes, shoes, a swimsuit, and towels. I dressed simply in walking shorts, a sleeveless “A” sport top, sport bra, ankle socks, and women’s walkers. No jewelry or makeup except for my new ladies triathlete watch, and ear studs to keep my piercings open. They already looked healed when I showed Dr. Sara last night, which surprised her as they should take days, or even weeks, to do that. As a test she took one out, and it started to close up in seconds; she barely put it back in time. She made some notes about that, and told me not to take them out for now.

I was led to my first powers evaluation by that same tall, redheaded nurse. I’d been warned that part of the powers testing was quite physical, so I dressed for battle. With my ID badge clipped high on my top and my long flaming hair scrunchied into a ponytail, I marched bravely into the lab. The physiological tests came first. I stripped, and that redheaded nurse fitted me with a smart, stylish web of medical sensors she glued to my skin. They connected to a small transmitter held over my backside with a belt. I carefully pulled my red one-piece swimsuit over it. It’s amazing how electrical wiring just goes with any fashion ... Not. Carrie chose red because it went well with my eye and hair color -- so she said. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy or pleasant, but it took a while to get comfortable wearing this, um ... network.

“Ah, Ms Joan,” said a powerfully built man. “What I’d like to do first is get baseline measures of your fitness. If you would climb onto the seat suspended above the tank over there, we can begin.”

The 30ish man in his lab coat - how original - gestured at a water tank with large windows on three sides. Water tank ... wires ... electricity?

“And you are?” I raised my eyebrows and placed my hands on my hips in a defiant pose -- that’s assuming one can look defiant in a swimsuit and bare feet. If Mr. Big, Dark, and Muscle-Bound was going to persuade me to get into a water tank wearing my electric swimwear, I at least wanted to know the name of my executioner.

“Sorry, I’m Dr. Alexander James Torkelson III. Quite a mouthful, I’m afraid, but you can call me Alex. He held out his hand to shake. As I did so, I noticed he wore no wedding ring.

~Um, single maybe, ~ I thought.

I also noticed there was quite a mouthful rising up in his trousers, a big mouthful.

~Ewh, I do not want to go there ... but still it is was rather flattering. ~

He noticed where I was looking. Now I was embarrassed.

“See anything you like, Miss?”

He had a broad grin on his face, his eyes locked on my, um, assets. Even through the suit’s built-in bra he could tell I was responding in kind. I looked away.

“I am sooo embarrassed, Doctor, I ... It’s just that ...,” I hesitated, not sure what to say next.

“Occupational hazard; happens all the time really. If you’re not comfortable with this, we can reschedule or assign a different physiologist. The last thing we want to do is be too hard on you.”

I let out a shriek, then began laughing uncontrollably. I got dizzy, and nearly passed out. Dr. Alex caught me and half dragged me to a nearby bench.

I regained consciousness, took a deep breath, and in as calm and steady a voice as I could manage asked, “Did you have to say ‘hard on’?” then I broke up laughing again.

Sometimes I think my inner child needs a good spanking, naughty, naughty. Once I calmed down, I was shocked, I’d never seen someone that big turn that red, not since my swim instructor accidentally did a total pancake belly flop off the springboard some 35 years ago. I noticed Alex’s new skin tone went well with his steely blue eyes.

~Oh, oh, this body will take some serious getting used to. Damn I need a cold shower. ~

“It’s okay Dr Alex,” I said sheepishly, “let’s get the tests over with. It’s just that I’ve only been like this,” I gestured along my body,”for a few days, and I’m just not used to it.”

Dr Alex got that clinical look on his still flushed face.

“Yes, I read your file. Parts are classified so I don’t have everything your primary physician Sara does, but I understand your physical appearance is significantly different than before your mutation,” he said.

“That is an understatement for the millennium, believe me, Doctor,” I replied resignedly.

“Not to pry, but I take it you weren’t nearly this attractive before? Not that you have to answer; I’m just curious.”

“How can I put it? Let’s just assume I was the same species before, and leave it at that for now.”

I decided to hedge my bets. I’d answered polite but very vague.

“Sorry. Would you get on the scale over the tank, please?” Alex asked.

“Okay, Doctor Alex, let’s have some fun, oh happy happy joy joy.” I climbed up onto the sling attached to the scale.

“Hold very still, please,” he said, then he wrote down a figure. “It’s okay to move, but stay in the sling. In a moment, I want you to lower yourself slowly into the tank, then grab the underwater handholds, and after blowing out as much air as you can, submerge yourself completely under the water. When I bang on the side of the tank, you can come up. It won’t take long, promise. This is the best way to measure your body fat to lean ratio. Ready?”

“I’m ready, Doctor.”

“Anytime, Joan.”

I did my bit, he soon banged on the tank loudly, and I climbed out. I forgot sound travels better underwater. I grabbed a bath towel from him gratefully. He looked at some gauges on the tank and wrote a few more figures.

“Thanks, Doc. That water was cold. What’s next?”

I dried myself off, then quickly wrapped the towel around me to hide my stiff and not so subtle highlights. In the meantime, he called in the nurse.

“We’ll measure your height, then the nurse here will take a few blood samples. Next you get to run on the treadmill and breathe through that wonderful mask and hose.”

“Sounds delightful,” I quipped.

“A stress test is not the most pleasant experience, I don’t enjoy them myself, but between the body sensors, infrared scanner, gas chromatograph, airflow measurements, blood and urine samples, we’ll get a good measure of you overall cardiovascular and aerobic fitness.”

He continued as the nurse did her job and left.

“You’ll need to change into your athletic shoes and socks but keep the swimsuit on. That way you won’t disturb the sensors, and you’ll stay cooler.”

“And I’ll show a lot more skin,” I quipped.

“Yah, well there is that too. Honest, it really will be more comfortable, and save you time.”

~Yah and he’s enjoying the view. ~

“I’m game if you are, let go.”

The nurse confirmed my height at 6ft  ½ inches and weight at 145 pounds.

~Gee I lost less than two inches and over 80 pounds, not bad. ~

“145’s not fashion model thin, but okay I guess with my height.”

As he spoke, she hooked me up to the treadmill.

“It’s towards the very lower end of the recommended weight range for your height, but these charts can be misleading. The body fat and cardio/aerobic measures are more accurate. The water displacement and height to weight measures suggest you’re very healthy, very lean but not underweight. We need to be sure you’re not underweight, as that could cause serious trouble as you get older. Too many girls try to look like fashion models and teen singers, and some end up seriously malnourished. It sets them up for reproductive problems, and osteoporosis, in later life. You’re what, sixteen? Strange they forgot your age on your chart. Sorry, it’s marked as classified, um?”

“I’m of legal age if that helps, Doctor Alex,” I said.

“So you’re 18 then,” his face took on a curious blend of smiling and frowning, very odd.

“I’m over 18, Doctor. Let’s leave it at that,” I said defensively.

“All the more reason to do these tests, Joan, if you want to avoid trouble later on. I see you’re scheduled for a bone density test tomorrow, and radiology is examining the x-rays they took while you were still unconscious to check the maturity of your growth plates. Good, that means we’ll have news for you soon.”

He was deep into “professor” mode, I knew it well. I’d often been that way in the presence of a girl I was attracted to. I intervened.

“So, Alex, honey, when do we start this stress test?” I said this in the sexiest tone I could manage without breaking up - note the subtle emphasis on honey; I do have my moments.

“Oh, ah,” he said, “Right, on the count of three; one, two, go!”

The machine started, and so did I. After 30 minutes of gradually faster and steeper runs it slowed, and tilted back level to cool me down. We stopped; he looked at the printouts and smiled.

“Joan, you are in great shape; you must be on the university cross-country team, or play tennis or soccer for them because your response to exercise is that of a top endurance athlete.”

I smiled, knowing how far he was from the truth, but I kept quiet for now. He looked puzzled.

“In fact, your results are even better than that. Are you in training for the 2008 Olympic team?” I kept smiling. “Let’s get some more blood samples right away, nurse!

The rest of the morning went the same way. Every test we did, he thought the calibration of the machine was wrong, or set up incorrectly. I was pricked, poked, prodded, and made to pee in so many cups, I felt like a fast-food soda fountain. Alex finally thought I was some up-and-coming star of the Olympic team sent here as a practical joke on him. A med school rival and he interviewed for a job with the center in Colorado, He’d lost out, and thought this was a sick gag. He’s finally had enough.

“That’s it, a joke is a joke, but this is a waste of my time,” he said angrily.

“What do mean, Doctor Alex?” I was confused by all this.

“Don’t Doctor Alex me -- you’re not a mutant patient here; you’re just part of a practical joke that’s gone on too long and ... “

“But, Doctor Alex!” I cried in surprise.

I was hurt and scared; what had I done to anger him?

“If you think you can con me with that ridiculous sexy/innocent act of yours, you’re very much mistaken; you’re no mutant!” he said.

I looked away and started crying.

“And if you think a cheap trick like ... You really are crying aren’t you?”

I nodded my head, still trying and failing to slow my tears.

“You are a new mutant here for testing,” he said very calmly while moving on to the bench next to me and placing an arm around me in comfort.

I nodded yes again and resumed crying worse than before.

“I’m so sorry Joan. Just let it all out, it will be okay girl. Please forgive me, I was wrong to treat you like that,” he said, and my crying slowed to sniffles. “That’s better, Joan. I’m sorry if I was cross; it’s just your tests all came back so damn normal.”

“Normal, what do you mean by normal?” my crying stopped abruptly.

“Most mutants I’ve tested show unusual physiological responses. By that I mean they exhibit super speed, super strength, TK or telekinetic powers, electromagnetic abilities, and the like, but you don’t show anything.”

“I thought this was just the baseline physical testing, not a powers exam, Doctor Alex. What’s going on? I need an explanation.” I looked him in the eyes. “Please!” I pleaded; I was a wreck.

I guess the calm of the last few days was the lull between storms. The stress of this last week must have caught up with me.

“Joan, to be honest we were testing both at the same time.” he admitted.

“But why would you do this to me? I’m not...“ I said very worried.

“No no, it’s nothing to be frightened of, Joan. We just do the first powers tests on the sly, to get a more honest assessment. Not surprisingly, most new mutants try to conceal their powers, or give inaccurate test results because of unfamiliarity with their powers. The stress of the testing regimen is designed to make your powers come out by instinct, and that’s hard to fake or conceal.”

“So you trick us into using our powers?” I said with some anger.

“That’s a rather cynical way to put it, but basically true. It’s not that we’re devious or have sinister motives. Just think for a moment, Joan, I assume your transformation was unexpected, disorienting, and more than a little frightening?” he asked calmly.

“Yes, I’m still not very comfortable with what happened and why.”

“It’s often that way. You can understand how as stressed as most new mutants are, they don’t make for calm, cooperative test subjects. Sort of like walking into class, finding the all-nighter you spent cramming for math is really an essay on Hamlet.”

I smiled and stifled a laugh; Doctor Alex was being very nice. I had to respond but how?

“Thanks, Alex, I do feel better now.”

He smiled back. I noticed the time.

“When do we get a break? It’s nearly two if that wall clock is accurate. I’m getting very hungry. Oh and please call me Joanie.”

“You’re right, Joanie; we’re way overdue for a break. We should have stopped hours ago. Let me make it up to you by taking you to lunch in the Doctor’s Lounge, my treat.” he said; he seemed very sincere in a little-boy-lost sort of way.

“Alex, can I at least get out of these sensors? They’re getting uncomfortable.”

“Sure, we don’t need them anymore today. I’ll have them off in a jiffy. Let me get the nurse and the solvent, and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

That tall redhead came back again. Strange, I still don’t know her name. Doesn’t she have a nametag? Thirty minutes later, I was free of those annoying sensors, showered and dressed. Ah heaven, at least compared to the “network” I’d been wearing. I now wore fresh lingerie, a simple blouse, slacks and deck shoes I’d brought in my gym bag, put my hair back in a ponytail clip and was on my way with Doctor Alex to a very late lunch.

“I’m sorry that took so long, Joanie,” he said after a waitress took our orders. “Typically a test session breaks every 2 or 3 hours, we went nearly 5. I guess I got too wrapped up in it ... and you.”

The last bit he said under his breath, obviously not intending to say it out loud. I don’t think he meant for me to hear it, but I did.

“Doctor Alex, um.”

“Yes Joanie, call me Alex.”

“Alex, what did you mean by,” and you”?”

“You heard that?”

“Yah, I most certainly did. Care to elaborate?” I questioned him.

This was dangerous ground for him and me, but I was tired, very hungry, and wanted to be entertained, or maybe it was something else. Was I sizing him up as a sexual partner? This was weird on just so many levels.

~He’s one of my doctors; I’m way older than him chronologically; I’m way younger than him physically; I’m getting hints that I might have the beginnings of something good going on with Nurse Carrie, and I was a man less than a week ago. ~

If this kept up, I was going to make a lot of psychiatrists and lawyers very wealthy, very soon.

“Joanie I, ah, I,” he stammered.

“It’s okay Alex, I’m flattered, really I am, but we’re both under stress here, and I think we forgot ourselves a bit. Let’s not read too much into it; let’s both keep calm, professional but friendly and see how it goes from here, deal? I could sure use some more friends, especially male friends right now, and I hope you might be one for me,” I said to indicate we needed to back off, but that I was not totally unreceptive to his interest.

Note to diary; did I really think that then already? I’m still not sure of my interest in men, and it’s five months later, though I’m definitely warming to it -- as to females, more on that later. Sometime I feel like that old joke about answering a question on a form, “sexual preference; male/female? Yes, please.” I’m still very confused.

After an awkward pause, he spoke.

“I told the lab to rush your blood work and other sample tests. This afternoon,” I glared at him. “Yes, well what remains of it, will be easy, no physical stuff, promise.”

I smiled as he said this. A repeat of the morning marathon was not welcome. After lunch, we returned to his office off the lab.

“Ah good, the results are back. Give me ten or fifteen minutes to review and make some notations, then we can go over them. Where we proceed from here, the test will tell. Feel free to walk around the lab; just don’t touch anything, okay.”

Twenty minutes, and only one smoldering scorch mark on the wall later, he was ready, “That death-ray just went off by itself, Alex: I didn’t touch it, honest.”

I did bump its cart with my butt, purely by accident, but I wasn’t going to admit that to him.

“Joan, so far it all looks very good though a bit puzzling.” He said Joan? Okay.

“What do you mean, Doctor Alex?”

“Please, Joanie, ‘Alex.’ I thought we settled that back at lunch. Doctor Alex comes off so stuffy, okay?” he said and raised his eyebrows very Spock-like.

“Sorry, Alex,” I snickered.

He was getting a bit silly, but he had made me relax, which was his intention, I guess.

“Well, Alex, what are the results?” I asked.

“I’ve got good news and better news. Good news is you’re very healthy, and surprisingly normal as mutants go. If I didn’t know you were a mutant, it would be hard to tell from the tests so far. This should make it easier for you to live a relatively normal life,” he said.

“That sounds great, Alex, but how did I do? The way you were going on and on earlier about me not being a mutant, and being part of a practical joke, had to come from somewhere.”

He still hadn’t said much. I was curious as to why.

“How can I put this best? The tests failed to reveal any obvious mutant powers. You don’t have super speed, super strength, super elasticity, or anything like that. You don’t generate an electric field any different than so called normals, and you don’t project a telekinetic or TK field. Your blood, urine, sweat, infrared heat flow, and gases are all very normal. Your primary doctor says you show no signs of empathic, telepathic, or other so called powers of the mind. “

“Ok I’m Ms. Vanilla Ice-Cream here, Alex. So what is different about me that you don’t seem to want to tell me?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to; it’s that I just don’t know yet, though I have some theories I’m going to test with your help. That’s the better news; we get to spend more time together as you’re still quite a mystery to us.”

He looked very pleased with himself, like he’d won the lottery. Gee maybe I am that good looking. I figured I’d better derail that line of inquiry quickly.

“Can you tell me anything, Alex? Like what’s your best theory so far?”

“They’re all pretty raw mind you, but I’ll try. The big tip-offs to your powers fall in two areas. One, your physical measurements are very human, but near perfect for a normal human,” he said, groping for the right words at times.

“Perfect? How do you mean perfect?” His answer confused me.

“All your physical measures are at or very near that you’d expect of a top athlete or an Olympic champion. That’s why I thought you were an Olympic candidate. Your strength relative to your size, your speed, agility, reflexes, flexibility, well everything, is just so above the norm, but not supernormal. That is a clue in itself. No one normal is all these, not even a decathlon champion, iron man winner, or top woman gymnast. Your results are so good that with sufficient training to get the forms down, you would likely medal in any sport you wished.”

“What a shame mutants are banned from the Games. Sounds like I could have some fun,” I said a bit flippantly, but Alex smiled.

“The other clue is your endurance, Joanie. All the tests and samples we took point to the same conclusion. You have an incredible resistance to fatigue --how much so we can’t tell yet.”

“Come to think of it, the tests seemed awful easy. I never did feel tired on that crazy treadmill of yours.”

“That’s the point; you should have been exhausted. The Energizer Bunny couldn’t have done better, and we did check to see if you’re an energizer.”

“An energizer?”

“They can tap into electromagnetic fields or other sources of classical energy to augment theirs, but you showed no unusual energy flows in or out, nor any signs of magical forces at work, I may add.”

“Magic?” This was a surprise to me.

“We had our resident magic expert, or mage, a sorceress technically, check you out while you were being tested earlier. But she found no evidence of ley lines or any other sources of magical energies being disturbed. Before you ask, all objects are linked by ley lines. It’s a bit like gravity that way, but it’s magic, not classical physics,” he said; the light bulb flashed in my mind.

“Ah, the large mirror on the wall.”

“Very perceptive of you, Joanie,” he smiled, and snickered a bit.
.
“About as perceptive as a steamed clam, that window is obvious once you look for it, which, to be honest, I didn’t till now,” he smiled again.

“That what’s so puzzling and interesting, Joanie. You’re burning up all these calories in the tests, yet the blood work, urine, heat flow, and other tests give results as if you’re hardly working at all. You so show some metabolic waste products or fatigue chemicals in your samples, but at far lower levels than we’d expect, and your recovery time is way too fast,” Alex explained.

“So you’re saying I’m doing all this physical work, which should burn up loads of calories, but you can’t account for where it’s coming from or going to, right? Are you saying I’m violating the laws of thermodynamics and the conservation of mass and energy?” I asked quickly; this was getting weird.

“Have you taken a lot of physics, Joanie? That’s exactly the enigma you pose for us dear,” he asked.

~Dear, humm? ~

“Give me your best guess, Alex?” I asked; I was a little worried, and it wasn’t just about my strange metabolism.

“Most likely you’re a warper. Warpers manipulate, or ‘bend’, space-time.”

“Like the warp drive in the old Star Trek series?”

I was shocked; this was weird with a capital W.

“That’s pseudoscience or science fiction. We’re talking real science here, brew ha ha ha ha!”

He faked an evil laugh. I giggled a bit.

~Giggle? Oh oh! ~

“You got me hooked, Alex. Just what does a warper like me do?” I asked.

“In your case, it’s nothing to do with gravity; we measured nothing strange there. We -- being your Doctor Sara and I -- think your powers are liked to the time component of space-time, and possibly cross-linked to dimensions other than the classical x, y, z and time,” he said this with a very serious face.

I asked the obvious, “How does this affect me? What powers do I have?”

“We’re now sure yet, but it’s likely related to time. Some warpers can move themselves or objects through space like a sci-fi teleporter. From the symptoms you had at the start of your mutation, Doctor Sara and I think you’re a time-sensitive at minimum. That means you can definitely see or hear the past, and just possibly see into the future, to a limited extent.”

“But why could I see, smell, hear, and touch things in the past? I must have been there; it was so real,” I said, hungry for an answer.

“Two possibilities are the most probable. Visions of the past can seem very real, and most time-sensitive warpers are that way. They can see the past, but not interact with it. A small subset of time-sensitive warpers can alter the rate time flows relative to themselves and a small subset of those can actually travel from one time to another, but usually it’s very limited as to how far back in time and in duration. We think your powers fall into this last group,” he answered.

“So I travel through time, Alex?” I asked.

“Possibly; we’ll need to do more tests,” he replied.

“What about my appearance. Why am I so young?” I asked, realizing too late I may have said more than I should.

“You’re not barely over 18, Joanie?” Alex seemed surprised; Sara must not have told him everything.

~Oh yah, my charts had no age on them. ~

“Sara said you are a very special case, and I’d have to ask you for any of the restricted information. How old are you, Joanie?” he said, dropping the big one.

I decided he needed to know; I hoped I could trust him.

“Alex, one week before this Christmas I turn 49. I was born December 18, 1957.”

I waited. His jaw slowly dropped. I could see the shock in his eyes.

“That explains why some things you say sound so odd. The way you talk and act makes you seem older than you look. You sure are one for the books, Joanie,” he said, and looked embarrassed.

“Why are you embarrassed, Alex? I can tell.”

I didn’t fully understand him.

“Here I’m worried I have feelings for a patient who says she’s over 18, but all the tests, including her x-rays, suggest is 15 to 16 tops. Then I find out you’re old enough to be my mother. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this.”

So, okak; he’s a bit agitated but basically cool with it.

“Think of it from my end, Alex. One day I’m middle-aged, next say I’m ... well ... jailbait. Not that its all bad; I am young again. They’re gonna freak at my 30th high school reunion. That’s for sure.”

“Need a date, Joanie?”

We both broke up. Nothing much got done the rest of the day, but we did set a schedule for the next day’s tests. I also got an offer to go to dinner at one of the better restaurants around the Capitol Square, which to my surprise I accepted. Sara said I could leave the hospital for short periods now as long as I kept her informed, longer with a chaperone. Hey, who am I to turn down a free meal?

Anyways this is just a social occasion to help me get at ease with my new self; it’s not like it a date. What kind of a girl do you think I am? I’ve enough complications without adding sorting out my sexuality into the mix. Let’s take things one step at a time, walk before we run, and so on. I told myself this frequently, those first few days after my transformation. I admit that part of me was eyeing Doctor Alex with less than professional interest, as another part of me saw Carrie in a similar light. I decided it was best to just take it slow concerning these issues, back burner them so to speak, and just work on getting myself together. I needed friends now, not lovers.

* * * *

University Hospital, Madison WI, July 9th and 10th, 2006

Alex and I finished our tests early the next afternoon. We weren’t much closer of the answers to who, why, and what I was, but we were closer to having a definite plan to find out.

“We’re finished for now, Joanie. I’ll write up my findings then meet with your Doctor Sara to devise a game plan for you,” Alex said.

“Game plan, Alex. What sort of game plan are we talking about?” I thought I knew but wasn’t certain.

“That’s what Sara and I will discuss. We need a plan to bring out your powers so we can learn their nature and limits, then you can gain control over them. The tests so far revealed only the barest glimpse of your potential. We need a way for you to explore and exercise your powers rather like an athlete in training. The trick is to figure out how to do it safely and discreetly.”

“How soon and what do I do in the meantime?” I asked.

“With luck, by the end of the week at the latest,” he said.

“Today’s Monday, so I only need to wait 4 or 5 days, I hope,” I wished out loud.

“That’s the goal. Sara may have interim results for you before then, so don’t worry too much.”

“I admit to being impatient, but I think I can wait that long Doctor Alex,” I said without thinking much about it.

“Why the ‘Doctor Alex’, I prefer plain Alex. I think of you as a friend, not just a patient Joanie.” He seemed a little hurt.

“Oh sorry, it’s just I need to keep my life simple for now, no complications. I don’t mind us being informal; I’d like to be your friend too. Can we just leave it like this for now? These last seven days have been very confusing, you know?”

“That’s fine with me, Joanie. I was a little worried I was getting too ... friendly with you. It’s always a risk when people work intimately together. It can be a quagmire for physicians, sometimes. I wouldn’t knowingly breach a patient’s trust, and the very nature of your condition makes that critical. I’d rather work with a friend than a patient any day.”

“So you see me as more a friend than a patient?”

“Frankly speaking, I see you, Joanie.” I smiled.

“And,” I prompted. This could be fun.

“Joanie is my very attractive friend, who I intend to do everything in my power to help find herself, as both her friend and doctor.”

“And,” I prompted him again.

“That’s good enough for now,” he finished.

That bomb was defused for now. Time would tell as to what might happen or not.

“Now that that’s settled, Alex, I’d still like to take you up on that dinner offer.”

I threw him a bone; anyway I needed to get out somewhere, anywhere. I was going a bit stir-crazy.

“You still want to go out with me?” I’d surprised him.

“Why not? You’re my friend aren’t you, Alex?”

“Guess I am at that,” he smiled back. “Is this Saturday, six pm too soon?”

“No, that’s fine, I’ll let Sara know. Just one condition, though.”

“Yes?”

“I’d like Carrie along as well. She suggested we go out clubbing sometime soon. She told me,”

“You have to have some fun, let off some steam and get back a bit into the real world,” he stated.

“I can’t think of anything I like more than a night out with you two.” I said this quickly, as I didn’t want Alex to think I was afraid of him.

I was more concerned of what might happen if we had too much to drink and ... oh my! Given the things I’d dreamt of since my change, I didn’t know if I could trust myself around anyone male or female. I hadn’t been this way since puberty.

“Alex, do I need to dress up? This restaurant doesn’t have a dress code, does it?” I asked nervously.

He laughed, then said, “Not much of one, Joanie, business casual is fine.”

“So the Daisy Dukes and braless crop top are out then?” The humor bug bit me again.

“Y ... you have D…daisy Dukes?” He took the bait, and I hadn’t even got to the braless part.

~You’re mine now, sucker. ~

I reeled him in.

“What do you think, Alex, dear?”

I love The Southern Bell. If I laid it on any thicker I’d have to join the Plasters Union. He floundered for an answer. I decided to let him off the hook and throw him back, um ... a fishy motif here. I could barely contain myself.

“The look on your face was priceless, Alex. Just having a bit of fun, Ghod I need to get out. Knee length skirt, sleeveless blouse and pumps okay?” I asked; I’d had my fun for now.

“That will do fine. Hell, you could wear leather and high heeled boots, and they’d let you in. Anything you can wear in some great public building is fine -- just don’t try setting fire to one. I know I have.” Alex replied.

“So you’re a fan of Monty Python too? Great we’ve got two comedians here.”

Note to Diary: little did I know how prophetic Alex’s leather comment would prove.

* * * *

To be continued (revised 07/21/2006)
Special thanks to my evil blonde sister for proofing assistance.

Notes:

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Synopsis:

Another BigCloset TopShelf story.

In chapter 5, Joanie has a nice meal, meets the cream of the Dairy State's mutants, gets early results from her medical and powers exams, and finds her social calendar may get very busy, fast.

Andy Warhol said,"In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." What if your 15 minutes came late in life, and fame decided to never let you go? Could you survive the circus your life would become?

Story:

Timeout-Stop/Playback/Rewind: A Whateley Academy Fanfiction

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place,

(http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."

This is my first attempt at writing a TG/sci-fi piece. I’m confident it’s derivative, unimaginative, dull, unitentionally plageristic, ungramatical and possibly hazardous to ones health. I ask you be gentle and constructive in your criticism. I’ve been a good boy, scouts honor. I did this for fun and in my appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe. Take it in that spirit and enjoy. Remember this is non-canon not cannon fodder. All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005 yada, yada, yada. See my agent at the Sirius Cybernetics Corp. for further details. Please don’t hit me!

p.s. Any sugestions as to a better agent or agency are welcome, share and enjoy!

Timeout

By John from Wauwatosa

Chapter 5-MSG and I’m a What?

Oriental Express’s Chinese Buffet Restaurant, Madison WI,July 10th, 2006

Yah yah dear diary/journal/whatever, I know chapter 4 goes from July 8th to 18th, but chapter 5 is July 10th, so sue me. It’s not like I’m all that competent with my warper powers yet, so I do tend to mess up the time line on occasion. Don’t worry; I’ll fix it long before Jerry Lewis is even close to becoming the 40th President. Hey it could be worse and that Regan guy gets in. Fooled you! Um, Regan never was President, was he? On second thought, maybe it’s easier to edit my diary/journal/whatever.

I ate with Carrie and Sara that evening at a local Chinese buffet. Cheap, tasty, and I was finally out of the hospital, whoopee! Well for a few hours anyhow. I said as much to them between mouthfuls.

“You needed to get out. All work and no play make Joanie a sad mutant,” Carrie said. Her mom just smiled unconcerned. I was worried with a capital W.

“What are you doing, Carrie, trying out me?” I whispered angrily in her ear. “You have no idea who might overhear that. If the wrong person hears or tells I’m dog meat.”

Carrie replied nonchalantly in a normal voice, “Nobody here cares that you’re a mutant, Joanie.”

“What? I thought you were a friend,” I nearly shouted.

I took a breath, turned and spoke in a low voice.

“And you, Doctor Sara.” I said, putting emphasis on Doctor, I was livid. ”My own doctor not caring a hoot about my safety. If this is how you really think of me, I’m out of here!”

I got up to leave. At that point, Sara then Carrie broke out in the biggest giggle fit I’d ever witnessed. Mad as I was, I got caught up in it, collapsing back in my chair crying and laughing my head off. Despite my distraction, I noticed all the other dozen or so patrons and workers in the restaurant laughing or smiling as well.

Once things calmed down, I asked out loud, “Would someone please tell me what’s going on here?”

I noticed a closed private party sign hung on the glass entrance door. A powerfully built, short twenty something man spoke first.

“I’m Badger Boy, and yes, I look a bit like and have similar abilities to that larger member of the weasel-family-monikered super hero but my claws are titanium, not adamantium steel. The cute oriental girl filling the buffet - she smiled and waved at me - is Ginseng Glory; she’s our resident magic user and has TK powers. The man at the register owns the restaurant; he’s Oriental Express and is a speedster.”

“So this is the Mutant Support Group you told me about the other day, Sara,” I said, then it hit me, MSG? “MSG meeting in a Chinese restaurant, that’s sick. Sara Sara Sara, shame on you. I damn near wet my panties.”

I grinned my biggest, happiest grin. I was Safe!

“You are as quick as Doc Sara said,” one of a pair of identical-twin college age boys said.

“And I’m happy to say you’re every bit as lovely as she claimed,” said his other half.

“We’re projecting empaths, and I think you’re one hot babe too,” said twin #one.

“And you two are?” I asked.

“The Platteville Pair,” they said in perfect unison. “Yes, we know it’s a lame code name, but the Dynamic You-Know-What is sooo copyrighted.”

“Holy injunction, Plattmen! To the Platt-cave!” I just couldn’t resist. I could hardly keep from singing, “Dada dada dada dada dada dada dada dada Plattmen!”

Okay, so I didn’t resist that either, I’m weak.

“Oooh ... that is just sooo BAD, I hope you’re one of the good guys and gals. If you’re not, were all DOOMED!” said an Amazon of a twenty-something redhead. “I’m Big Red, your basic super powered ‘brick’ little Miss Pun-O-Matic,” Red said with a silly grin on top her impressive frame.

“Little Miss? I’ll have you know I’m a full six foot plus, these babies are all mine,” I said pushing up my breasts with both hands, “And my hair is not out of a bottle Ms. Clairol light auburn!”

Red looked mad, maybe her hairdresser did know? I calmed down or got sane, whichever.

“Don’t hit me,” I said in my best impression of a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar; I opened my eyes wide and innocent, a sexy pout on my lips.

“Oh you!” she exclaimed straining to hold in her laughter.

I wised up, finally.

“You’re one of the nurses from the mutant wing, I recognize you from my lab tests and my unintentional fashion show the other day.”

I walked over and put out my hand to shake hers. She wrapped me up in a more than friendly bear hug as one hand squeezed my ass cheek.

~ Is she coming on to me? ~

She let go but gave me a good, slow, look up and down.

“I said it then, and I’ll say it now: you’re gonna need a really big stick to beat off the boys ... and the girls too,” she whispered that last bit in my ear.

Well now I knew which side of the fence she was on or straddling, or maybe she was just winding me up. I was so awestruck, I was verging on clueless or was it just my hormones?

Carrie introduced the rest of the group. “The spiky haired boy is Hodag; he’s an energizer. Don’t let him near your computers or TV. The boy with the crimson hair and cowboy shirt is The Cranberry Kid, he’s a TK flier. The Viking centerfold is Glacier Girl; she absorbs heat. Next to her,” she pointed at a spectacularly curvaceous brunette in bib overalls, “is Dairy Maid, a great devisor/gadgeteer. Last but not least, the young man in the cargo pants, duster, rock-pick holsters and cowboy boots is Driftless Dan. I forget what he is,” Carrie said grinning.

“Driftless Dan, how’d you get that moniker?” I asked.

“Cause I live in the driftless area. Don’t you know your Wisconsin geology?”

“Oh, where the glaciers didn’t reach or didn’t reach much. No glacial drift, i.e. no glacial deposits, thus driftless area,” I replied — I’m not a ‘blonde’, I only play one in real life.

“Beauty and brains yet nearly a blonde, amazing,” Driftless Dan smiled then slouched back in his chair. “By the way I’m a phase shifter and have electromagnetic powers. The rock picks help me focus that last power.”

Sara spoke, “I brought Joanie along to our bi-monthly meeting to prove to her she’s not alone in this. If we can move into a circle here, I’d like you to tell Joanie and the rest of us a bit about your powers and origin. Joanie’s still is being evaluated, so we don’t know her powers in any detail, but they’re definitely warper class.” Several looked impressed as warpers are comparatively rare I was told later.

“Joanie, do you have a code name yet?” asked Ginseng Glory; that girl had pixie cute down to a science.

“No, not yet, I’m very new at all this mutant business,” I said a bit timidly.

“Gin, Joanie’s mutation started this July third,” said Sara.

“Wow, no wonder I’ve not seen you here before. I’d remember you if I had. By the way, I was the sorceress that evaluated you in the lab,” said Gin.

She had a hungry look in her eyes. What am I, bi-bait? I’ve been in the group barely ten minutes and at least three have hit on me if you count Platt-man two or was that Platt-man one — sorry, four people.

“You know,” I said very matter of fact, “A famous comic book superhero once said ‘with great powers come great ... risk of lawsuits for copyright infringement.’ Or something to that effect;“ I said -- several members snickered, “But with the way you guys and gals have treated me, it should read ‘with great powers come great libidos.’ My social calendar will be booked for months sorting through you lot.”

Most of the gang laughed, Sara rolled her eyes at me, but a few blushed with embarrassment. Now I really know why they call her Big Red.

“Sorry if I hurt anyone’s feelings, but seeing as we’re all young looking and super whatever, we’re bound to be a bit wild in the hormone department,” I said; Sara nodded. “Hey, I don’t mind, flirt away, just don’t get too serious about it. I haven’t sorted out myself out yet,” I said, then I laughed slightly nervously but it felt good to get it out in the open.

The Mutant Support Group, MSG, proved a big help, I kept in touch with them often, Big Red stopping by my room regularly and e-mailing me when she was out of town on MSG business. Privately a very soft, sweet gal despite her impressive build and brick powers, I think she saw me as her “little sister” as we were physically similar. At least that’s what I thought then, though later ... Sara had kindly provided me an encrypted laptop, so I could remain discreetly in touch with my immediate family. My dad and sister knew I’d had an “accident” and could not have any visitors but were out of the loop for now. Once my powers were evaluated, we would know if it was safe to try and resume my old life.

The next few weeks and months were a blur of woman 101, taught by Carrie and some members of MSG, particularly Big Red and Ginseng Glory. Red and Gin were especially helpful in developing my sense of fashion and social graces, respectively. This is not to diminish Carrie’s role in the least, she was the glue that held everything together, very sexy looking glue at that; damn my new hormones. Red and Gin supplemented Carrie, they did not replace her. Red’s 6ft 2in flawless Amazon body with her pale skin and red hair was much closer to my appearance than Carrie’s, as lovely as the 5ft 6in olive skinned brunette was. Gin, though equally attractive, was a pixyish Hmong descendant, so styles suitable for her seldom worked for me. That was very important, as the purpose of all this was to reintegrate me with society. I needed to look and act the part of a tall, pretty teen coming of age. Hide in plain sight comes to mind. It’s not so much I wanted to dress and act like I eventually did; it’s that I had to for my own safety.

Gin came from an immigrant Hmong family in Wausau not far from Poniatowski, may that name ever be cursed or blessed. Hers are very traditional parents but pragmatic and want the best for their three daughters. Gin, the oldest, is the only mutant so far. As to her magic and TK powers, she’s a Tasmanian devil, but it was her social skills I needed. From Gin, I’ve learned quiet grace and elegant manners. I’ve become quite a refined young lady, honest, no lying. - Note: sticks out tongue defiantly. - It was on an end of summer road trip, with Gin, Carrie and Red, that I made the breakthrough utilizing on my powers.

Sara, Alex and my friends at MSG tried every trick they had to get my powers to surface, but it fizzled mostly. They tried hypnotherapy, sleep deprivation, drugs, visualization, role playing, hand to hand combat, even electrical shocks but to little effect. A few times in tests, the precision chronometers showed a difference between my personal time and the real world. It was just a momentary asynchronicity, a few tenths of a second but it was measurable. For comparison, the Apollo 12 Moon landing was the furthest and fastest mankind had traveled, at that point. They theoretically earned a few billionths of a second overtime due to relativistic effects. Sara and Alex were excited when this occurred.

“Just relax and don’t think too much; it will come to you in time,” Sara offered.

“Your first time powers episode was by accident, maybe you’ll rediscover them in the same way; One day nothing then the next, Eureka,” suggested Alex.

“Alex, what would I be doing at a boat lock on the upper Fox River? I don’t even own a boat.”

“Eureka, very funny, Ms. Wisconsin Atlas.”

Alex smiled his usual “Oh Baby, want to come to my place and fornicate?” smile. I figured he did it unconsciously, but when I asked Carrie, she said about the only time she’d seen him do it recently was when I was around.

“I have to talk with him in private real soon. Know any place I can get a large can of pepper spray? It’s either that, or he gets neutered.”

Carrie laughed but she knew my discomfort with my newfound status of walking, talking sex object. My big shock came when Carrie admitted to not being immune to my newfound charms and didn’t want to be either.

~Oh my! ~

Sara had told me I could tell her or her daughter my darkest secrets as they were there to help me and considered me a friend. Carrie confessed the night after our dinner with Alex that she was bi and felt a growing attraction to me. It was more than just the “forbidden fruit” aspect of being a patient or the “exotic appeal” of my being a former man, it was the “Goldilocks Syndrome” as I came to call it. Big Red was too red and strong, Ginseng Glory was too dark and too petite, but I was strawberry blonde and just right.

“If it bothers you, I can get Mom to assign another girl to you, Gin or Red would be good choices,” she said this apologetically and looked sad.

“No no, Carrie, that’s unnecessary. It’s very forthright of you tell me, and I don’t think any less of you personally or professionally. I’m flattered, honest.”

She relaxed and smiled. I resolved to stroke her libido or was I mine?

“If anything it will make you a better instructor in the womanly arts,” I said sensuously.

She perked up and asked, “Womanly arts, Joanie?”

“After girl 101, I’m eventually going to need some, um ... advanced education. Give me a little more time; I may just need you for some one-on-one instruction,” I smiled seductively.

She made this high, squeaky shriek, then gave me a most wonderful hug and polite kiss on my cheek.

“My pleasure, Carrie,” I said softly, I meant it too.

~ Whoa that felt gooood. ~

“You’ve made me so happy. If you really mean it I can wait, Joanie.”

Okay diary/journal/whatever readers, now that its some five months later and I’ve left Madison for Whateley, what if anything happened between Carrie, Red, Gin or even Alex and yours truly? None of your damn business! I may throw you a crumb or two later but for now, suffice it to say, I didn’t leave Madison because of any of them. I’ll let my recollections of the Labor Day road trip speak for itself, when I get to it.

* * * *

December 13, 2006 somewhere in Pennsylvania on the Amtrak Lake Shore Limited, 5:30pm CST

Sorry diary/journal/whatever readers for jumping off track. Here I’m talking about my emerging sexuality and I haven’t even described the results of all those tests. I was curious too at the time, still am. That’s another reason for my trip to Whateley; they still haven’t fully determined my powers or their extent. We know a lot more, and I have considerable control over two of them now, though not in time to prevent a lot of complications that made my choice of Whateley all the more urgent. Mind you something good, very good, came of it, I’ll explain later. Anyway, there are still some blanks to fill powers wise, thus Sara and her mentor both recommended Whateley, so here I am derailed in a manner of speaking. Speaking of jumping off the track, that’s why I’m stuck here in the middle of Nowheresville PA, we’re waiting for track repairs. Should still make Whateley on time, I planned for this.

* * * *
I met with Sara, Alex and Carrie a few days after our night out.

“Joanie, we’re stuck for the moment on how to proceed with your powers training. Frankly, we still don’t have your mutant powers fully categorized or rated beyond a rough and ready guesstimate. I’ll summarize were we are now, then we can look at were you need to go. Between the four of us, we should come up with something productive,” Sara said.

“I’m listening, Sara.” I said.

“For now, I’ve classified you a level 2 or 3 exemplar and a warper, subclass time sensitive, level unknown but probably 3 or above. You’re a high level regen, level 4 or higher and there’s an outside chance you’re an empath/telepath, but we’re not sure.” Sara waited for this to sink in then went on. “In plain English, exemplar means you’re an idealized version of yourself, the level 2 or 3 means your physical measures are as strong, flexible, quick and attractive as a human can be without being superhuman. In all physical aspects, you’re human but a very fine one.”

“So no super powers then? I so wanted a cape, boots and spandex body suit,” I said, then pouted — why did I do that?

“Not like in the comic books, no, Joanie. No heat vision, super speed or mega strength, but with some practice you could kick ass in the WAAU or NCAA,” Alex added. “You have world or even Olympic class physical performance but are no brick or speedster.”

“So the exemplar stuff means I’m a very athletic and attractive girl, but what does the rest mean?”

Sara spoke. “We’ve confirmed you’re a warper with time related powers. Warpers manipulate space-time, the very fabric of the physical universe. Potentially very powerful but usually limited to specific abilities. Some warpers fold space-time and teleport objects or themselves. Some warpers alter their density or their phase and can pass through solid objects. Think of phase as similar to a radio frequency. Some warpers bend light or alter their density and become invisible. Warpers are not a common type of mutant, but you, Joanie, fall into the very rare subclass of time sensitives/time manipulators. Most see visions of the past -- your classic clairvoyant. A few can navigate the possible time streams and see a bit of the future -- these are the precognitive. You are one of the rarest of the rare, an actual time traveler/time manipulator. In theory you can physically move between the now and past points in time and back again. You can even interact and bring objects with you. The tests and day of your mutation prove most of that. You may also be able to alter the rate that time flows within a limited area. This means you may be able to slow or stop time, maybe even back it up some but to a limited extent. No clues as to you and precognitive powers, but it could be part and parcel of your class of warper.” Sara waited for my response.

“I’m a top of the line human but not superhuman, and I travel back and forth in time, interact with the past, alter or stop the flow of time over a limited area, and maybe even see into the future, but we haven’t a clue how I do it? Did I leave anything out?” I said taking a much needed breath.

“That’s basically it, Joanie, except for the regen powers,” said Alex.

“I’ll bite. What’s a regen and how does it relate to me? I’m guessing regen is short for regeneration or regenerator.” This was getting interesting.

Carrie spoke, “Very good, Joanie, regens have unusually fast or powerful abilities to heal themselves or sometimes others, and extreme resistance to disease. Mom and Alex think you’re a high level regen -- that’s level 3 and up.

“You like TV trivia? You certainly spout it often enough,” said Sara.

“Yah yah, Sara, I talk too much some, well lots of times. What’s the point?” I was a little miffed.

“We think you’re like those old watch ads, you’ll take a licking and keep on kicking.”

~Oooh that one was painful, I must be rubbing off on Sara. ~

“So you think I’m real tough. Sorry, Sara, I stubbed my toe the other night, and it hurt like hell.”

Alex spoke next, “Your resistance to injury is not so much the issue as to how fast and well you recover. You’re not bulletproof: you can’t leap over tall lawsuits in a single cliché, but should you ever get injured, even life-threatening or usually fatal injuries, you’ll quickly and flawlessly recover.”

“I can’t be permanently hurt?” This conversation was getting too strange.

“That’s what the cell cultures and your aerobic fitness results suggest. It was your pierced ears that helped clue us in on this, Joanie. I’ve sent samples and copies of your tests to a facility out East that specializes in mutants, ARC. Doctor Otto there was a mentor of mine, and he’s agreed to consult on your case, but we’re both keeping it discreet. You’re just an unknown mutant who’s undergone a male to female...

--THUMP! —

Alex? Alex? Alex can you hear me Alex?”

Sara held his limp head as he lay collapsed on the floor.

She spoke very slowly, “You didn’t tell him about that aspect of your transformation yet, did you ... Joanie.”

It was like she was Mom, and I was holding a red crayon in my hand, red crayon marks all over the wall as she waited for me to confess.

“The right moment hasn’t presented itself yet.”

“And pray tell what is the moment you were waiting for?” she said in her mother knows best tone.

“Hell freezing over felt pretty good,” I admitted sheepishly.

“Ah!” was all she said.

“I wanted to tell him for some time, but you’ve seen how he looks at me,” I tried to defend my actions or rather inaction. “Every time I got even close to talking about my big ‘secret,’ he’d get these huge puppy dog eyes and ...” I had to stop for a moment.

“You didn’t have the heart to tell him,” Carrie said completing my sentence; the girl’s an empath/telepath after all. Carrie paused for a moment, “My Ghod you’ve got the hots for Alex.”

Carries tone said she didn’t want to believe what she’d sensed in me. I wasn’t any happier myself at her revelation, but she was right.

“I may be a former man, but this body has a mind of its own. Looking at him, what gal wouldn’t be interested at some level, not that I’d do anything about it now at least,” I explained.

I’d decided it was best I talk to Carrie privately and soon to let her know that, in no uncertain terms as a former man, this woman was still attracted to particular women, and she fit the description perfectly.

Alex came to. “I just had the strangest dream; I thought you used to be a man.”

“Up ‘til July third but not anymore, sorry I didn’t tell ... Alex ... Alex?” I had more pressing issues to deal with. “Sara, while Alex recovers, okay if Carrie and I take a coffee break, back in say half an hour?”

“Sure he’ll be fine,” Sara replied.

“Carrie, let’s go.”

I smiled sweetly and motioned for her to follow. She came but still looked sadly disappointed. We found a quiet corner in the staff lounge, put down our coffees on a table and sat facing each other.

I checked we had some measure of privacy then spoke, “Carrie how do you see me? Please be honest.”

She had a confused look on her face but as she spoke it slowly shifted to one of hopeful joy.

“I see a beautiful young woman whose mind is a mix of naíve wonder at her new life and body and of years experience as a man. I see a woman full of deep regrets and fear but overall an increasing sense of joy and optimism for her future. Most of all I see a shy, almost timid individual who’s swiftly blossoming into a confident, outgoing and utterly irresistible creature I am strongly attracted to.”

“And?” I asked trying to conceal my evolving feelings for her. A look of surprised delight came on her face.

“You are attracted to me as more than a friend.” She looked very happy.

I answered teasing her a bit but in a nice way, “And why wouldn’t I be? I made a lot of mistakes in the past, and I don’t intend to repeat them. I may not feel comfortable in my new relationship to men, but I’m still attracted to women.” I paused for effect. “And you dear, Carrie, most definitely qualify as a Woman.”

“I’d like that more than you can imagine, Joanie, but I don’t want to hurt you. It’s also possible that this could be considered a breach of professional ethics on my part.” Carrie’s longing and concern were etched on her face.

“You’re not my doctor or therapist so I don’t see any conflict of interest. If we act on our feelings, it would be by two consenting adults, so don’t worry, whatever happens, happens. Okay, Carrie?”

“Okay, Joanie,” she said with a sly impish smile, “just not too slow. I turn 18 in a month after all. I wouldn’t mind a present.”

“No wonder Sara is so, you know; until 18 then, cutie.”

I gave her a peck on the cheek. I hadn’t done that in years, it felt great. We’ll see later, I guess.

~ She’s 17? ~

Carrie and I started our way back to Sara and Alex.

“Tell you one thing I learned, Carrie.”

“What’s that Joanie?”

“Now I know why Alex seemed so upset when I insisted he take us both out to dinner, professional detachment my ass.”

“I think he’s interested in more than your ass, Joanie.”

We must have been a sight giggling as we walked slowly down toward the mutant wing.

* * * *

To be continued (revised 07/30/2006)
Special thanks to my evil blonde sister for proofing assistance.

This chapter is dedicated to my older sister Ann who died 12/31/2005 aged 50. You’ll be missed, your brother John.

Notes:

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Synopsis:

Another BigCloset TopShelf story.

Joanie learns first hand of the "joys of womanhood". Later her girlfriends devise a plan to make her look more like an adult -- albeit a kinky one -- instead of perpetual jail-bate.

Andy Warhol said,"In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." What if your 15 minutes came late in life, and fame decided to never let you go? Could you survive the circus your life would become?

Story:

Timeout-Stop/Playback/Rewind: A Whateley Academy Fanfiction

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place,

(http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."

This is my first attempt at writing a TG/sci-fi piece and you can tell. I’m certain it’s derivative, unimaginative, dull, unitentionally plageristic, ungramatical, and possibly hazardous to ones health and sanity. I ask you be gentle and constructive in your criticism. I’ve been good, scouts honor. I did this for fun and in appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe. Take it in that spirit and enjoy. Remember this is non-canon not cannon fodder. All rights reserved in perpetuity, which is a very long time. John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005 yada, yada, yada. See my agent at the Sirius Cybernetics Corp. for details. Share and enjoy. Please don’t hit me!

p.s. Sugestions for a better agent or agency are welcome. I’m desparate here, mind you they’re better than my previous agent Mr. A. B. Normal. He quit to work for L. Ron Hoover and the Church of Appliantology.

(If you figure out these last two silly references, boy do you know the 70’s — my condolences.)

Timeout

By John from Wauwatosa

Chapter 6-Leather
State Street, Madison WI, August 9th, 2006

December 13, 2006 near Albany New York on the Amtrak Lake Shore Limited, 11:30pm CST

And now for something completely different; it’s ... my last entry for the day. Sorry about that diary/journal/whatever I’m remembering my relief at surviving the first few weeks of August. The month started out bad and went downhill from there, or so I thought at first. Funny what you think was so bad at the time wasn’t and might even been good after all. One experience in particular was very uncomfortable, but the implications are joyous in the long run.

My life settled to a routine after those first crazy few weeks in the hospital ended. Sara moved me into a small apartment block just off campus, a sort of half-way house for mutants. Sara and Carrie lived in the building, so help was just an intercom away. Mornings were spent in various physical activities and tests, often with the help from MSG. We followed the game plan suggested by them at the Chinese buffet meeting. This combined strenuous physical conditioning to improve my fitness if possible and my body image awareness, which I definitely could improve on. We hoped as my mental body grew to match my physical body I might discover how to control my power, i.e. mental image=physical reality=BIT=eureka. You can tell I’m not a mathematician, but you get the concept. At least it would keep me busy and make me more comfortable with my new body.

Afternoons were a mix of occasional medical tests (fewer and farther between), basic mutant history and mutant laws taught by MSG or Carrie. Then followed the most important of all, Woman 101 taught jointly by Carrie, Big Red and Ginseng Glory. Woman 101 was increasingly a field course, I found to my delight and occasional horror. From the last week of July on I was subject to a constant and merciless bombardment of womanhood by The Gang of Three. Everything from fashion and makeup styles in vogue today to highly practical lessons like woman’s hygiene or hair care and control i.e. styling. Long hair may be sexy, but it’s high maintenance.

The um ... hygiene lessons came in handy starting at the end of July when I discovered to my joy I was not just a mutant but a PMS’er. I just thought I was a bit moody and well, um sexually frustrated for some reason, stress maybe. Waking August 4th I learned where my moodiness and other symptoms came from. The stress of my mutation had delayed the start of my cycle a few days. I clearly was a heavy flow type, ewh what a mess! I’ll never tease my sister or any woman about it ever again, promise; well maybe a little. It helps to laugh about life’s tribulations sometimes. The really fun part, at least for the gals and my sister when I finally told her, is that none of the usual drugs to ease menstrual symptoms such as ibuprofen or naproxen sodium worked for me. Sara’s tests show I metabolize drugs, any drugs, so fast they can never build up to a therapeutic level in my blood. Oooh such a big word ... and they say a college education isn’t what it used to be.

It’s not that bad at least I don’t get violently sick to my stomach like my mom did up until her first pregnancy. Pregnancy, now that is one way to control my PMS for a while. I’m not sure I like the side effects of that prescription though I’m told getting it filled can be a lot of fun. Enough with the smutty double-entendres and on to what you know you want, dear diary/journal/whatever readers, Shopping! Cue music: Valley Girl by F. Zappa. Sorry, got over enthused there.

I was feeling pretty good by the night of August 8th, so The Gang of Four -- I was now a member in good standing -- decided I needed cheering up so a shopping expedition to State Street was planned for the next day. State Street is a pedestrian friendly area of quirky shops and bistros that cater heavily to the nearby UW-Madison crowd. They explained it to me the morning of the 9th.

“But I’ve plenty of clothes now,” I said in protest.

“Two pairs jeans, two pairs brown slacks, four blouses, one plain blue over the knee dress, four pairs of shoes including trainers, some socks, six bras, ten panties, a red one-piece swimsuit, no stockings, no pantyhose, no skirts and only one bikini -- that’s not a wardrobe, that’s not even an emergency care package, girl,” said Carrie with considerable emphasis.

Red spoke, “How we see it, Joanie,” they all nodded conspiratorially, “You need to develop a style suited to your looks, and build, and acquire a wardrobe to match. We see a proper wardrobe as key to solving two of your biggest problems. Number one, your total lack of a costume or even a personal style, very important for us superhero mutant types.” She grinned. “Seriously, your image is important, and you may want to have a second persona handy if you ever need to protect your personal life from too much scrutiny. Number two, your body screams Female and SEX, your face screams naíve and Jailbait. No one will ever take you serious as an adult, and Carrie has assured Gin and I you are an adult despite looking like you do.”

Gin took over. “What Red’s saying is we need to work with what you’ve got and work around what you don’t have. We’re changing your look from teen SEX object to sexy, confident young woman. We’re gonna make you look older, confident, classy, a bit dangerous and worldly. Face it, you look like the cover girl for some jailbait monthly or worse, 'Tigerbeat'. As your friends, we’ve come up with ‘The Plan.’”

“And ‘The Plan’ is?” I asked apprehensively.

“LEATHER!” they shouted in unison.

“Leather, what do you mean by leather?” I asked,

Red spoke first. “Joanie, with those legs, your tall athletic body, and those breasts, all that hair, and those eyes, you need leather.”

“Like a bomber jacket? I know they look great but in the Summer?” I questioned.

“No, no, no, dear Joanie.”

Why was Red calling me dear?

“We said leather; we meant leather.”

Gin took over. “By leather Red means everything leather. Leather shoes, slacks, hot pants, mini skirts, bustiers, bras, bikinis, vests, caps, gloves, accessories, you name it.”

“Leather everything? That’s going to be awfully expensive and physically uncomfortable,” I argued.

“Not totally leather -- you can wear some great lacy black or red undergarments, black silk blouses, hose and such as necessary, but leather will embody the overriding concept and be the primary components of your outfits,” Carrie explained.

“And don’t forget the boots -- high heeled, high top custom boots,” said Gin with a tad too much enthusiasm for my comfort.

Red was practically drooling after Gin spoke, and Carrie, well, Carrie had that look in her eyes -- that look of anticipation and lust. Ghod I hoped I was truly a card carrying lesbian or at least bi, or the next few hours were not going to go too well.

“Okay, say I agree with your premise, I still can’t see how to afford it.”

~There, I’ve got them. I’m acting reasonable but I’ve put up a legitimate roadblock in their path. ~

Red spoke, “That’s why we’re going to State Street and not some suburban mall. Some of the best, “

“Funkiest,” injected Gin,

“Sexiest,” added Carrie,

“Used and vintage clothing shops are on or near State Street. That’s how we can both get you a distinctive style and do it on a budget,” said Red with real conviction.

“But how are we going to find anything that fits? I’m not exactly a standard size. How many six foot one-half inch tall, 145 pound, 40D-24-35 women are there. Be reasonable.” I was grasping at straws now; I was desperate.

“Ah dear Lady, that’s where our inscrutable Amerasian friend comes in so handy.”

~ Good lord, Carrie’s doing a bad Charlie Chan impression, as if there are there any others. Damn me and my fondness for old films. ~

“What Carrie means is, I know how to tailor and sew clothes, especially leather.” Red gave Gin a knowing grin and a nod. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

Gin made a sexy pout. The gears turned in my mind and something clicked.

“So ... if we can’t find any woman’s leathers that fit you’ll cut down and re-tailor plus size and men’s leather goods. Well thank you, Martha Stewart Jr.”

I raised my arms in surrender and we climbed in Red’s F250 crew cab (red of course) for the short trip to State Street and my date with ... the horrors of retail. Brew ha ha ha!

* * * *

Cue music: Black Leather by Grand Master Flash, sung by Joan Jett

It wasn’t as bad as I thought though; the gods of retail/resale were merciful. Most of the stuff they mixed and matched for me was of good quality and in decent taste. A few items were a tad racy; the dark red bustier, skin-tight hot pants combo in calfskin comes to mind. I have to admit when I saw it on myself in the shop mirror, I had to agree with the choice. I did look good in them, scratch that -- I looked great. The way they clung to my body and complimented my skin tone, hair and copper eyes was amazing. That and those fire engine red go-go boots with the funky 5 inch heels, Steve Zink number twos -- I think they’re called. No one would mistake me for jailbait in that getup. I looked like a refugee from an adult version of Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-in. Sock it to me!

We ransacked the shops like some bizarre Viking raiding party. The shopkeepers weren’t too happy with us at first with mess we made, but we all bought a lot of stuff, especially me. Mind you, Red and I managed to get some serious discounts, if you had to deal with two six foot plus gals who looked like escapees from the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition would you say no? That helped us stretch our dollars, shame on us.

~If Dad can get a senior citizen discount, it’s only fair I get a serious cleavage discount. Particularly after the way that last clerk drooled at me, shame on her! ~

After a while, we had quite a crowd of admirers, male and female, following our manic shop-till-you-drop crusade, and they bought stuff too. Monkey-see-monkey-do I guess, that and the effect of all those hormones we stirred up. We broke from the crowd and carried our loot to the pickup.

“That wasn’t near as bad as I thought, girls. What’s next, lunch and unpacking our stuff?” I asked.

“One last stop, Joanie. Don’t worry you’ll love it,” Carrie said.

~ Oh oh. ~

I didn’t like the mischievous look in her eyes. We locked up and walked back towards the shops.

“Be afraid, be very afraid,” I muttered under my breath.

“You will be afraid,” Gin said, this in her Yoda voice.

She must have heard me. We turned the corner and I saw it.

“Please don’t tell me we’re going in there.”

“We’re going in there, Joanie.”

“I asked you not to say that.”

“Get Smart, Agent 86,” they said simultaneously.

“I think we’ve been spending way too much time together,” I said. I looked at the shop window. “I really don’t feel too good about all this. This place looks like it sells fetish gear.”

“Well duh,” said Gin, ”but they do make the very best custom footwear. Their boots are to die for.”

Gin did a rather sexy turn for me, and I realized the slick looking ankle boots she wore must be from here.

“If yours are an example of their workmanship, I’m game.”

- Note to readers: 'These Boots are made for Walking' is appropriate music at his point. Indulge yourselves.

I ended up ordering three pairs totaling over 1000 dollars, but damn it, I’m worth it. Perhaps it’s being an ex-male, but I’m embarrassed to say my favorite is a pair of custom fit knee high cavalry boots with retention straps and three inch block heels with a steel reinforced insole for motorcycle riding.

“One number seven Steve Zink special modified with motorcycle heel,” the shop owner called back to his shoemaker.

Apparently the number seven usually has a six inch spike heel. The motorcycle is another part of ‘The Plan’. My sexy, confident, competent adult look required a coordinated vehicle, or so they told me.

“But I’ve got a 2005 Focus; it’s barely a year old!” I argued forcefully. Red replied with obvious distaste.

“Yes, but green?”

-- Note: actually light tundra according to Ford. Gees, who comes up with these names? --

“So it’s stealthy. Sometimes a low profile is good,” I said.

“Joanie, it’s so low it’s practically underground,” she replied.

Red saw my feelings were hurting. Man, uh girl can I do a pout or what. She backed off some.

“I’ll admit its practical, but you need something flashier like a pickup,” Red offered.

“Yah, you would say that Ms 4X4,” Gin said in mock anger, “Not that it doesn’t suit you and your Amazon warrior chic, but Joanie here needs something uniquely her.”

“PT Cruiser,” Carrie suggested.

“Too girly in a sexy retro way. Screams suburban mall rat,” said Gin.

~ Odd she drives a PT Cruiser. ~

“A hot convertible in red, yellow or black, maybe a Thunderbird or Mustang, since Joanie’s into Fords?” Red countered.

“Closer but predicable, much too tall blond Barbie Doll-esque for my taste; just picture it in pink, euw!” Gin said.

Mind you, she is barely five foot three.

Carrie spoke carefully, “This is Wisconsin after all -- how about a Harley, at least for the warm weather months?” This had some merit.

“My grandfather worked for them many years, so it’s kind of appropriate though he did forbid his daughters to ever ride on one. He said they were too dangerous,” I replied; Gin argued with that.

“Well you’re not his daughter, and a cycle is like just so kick-ass biker kewl!”

“Oh dear I’m hanging with a Valley girl Hell’s Angel. Did I just say that out loud?” Her steel-toed boots kicking my increasingly sore shins soon confirmed my hypothesis.

“Okay okay, I’ll get a motorcycle sometime next week. Damn it, Gin, that hurts!”

“Not soon enough. Badger Boy has a friend who restores and sells used cycles. I called and he has a couple Soft tails and a Sportster on hand. You’re getting properly dressed, then we’re off to the shop, Today.” Red said pulling up to her full height.

To cut to the quick, I bought a late 1980’s Harley Soft tail in pretty decent condition at a very reasonable price. He threw in licensing and lessons for free. We were friends of Badger Boy, though I think the clincher was the outfit I was almost wearing.

“Girls, this outfit’s positively obscene. You can practically see my nipples out the top of this busti-whatever.”

“That’s bustier, Joanie,” said Carrie. “Don’t worry, the cups have a special gripper lining. You could bounce on a trampoline all day, and they won’t pop out, well, not too often anyway.”

“Okay then, but these hot pants are worse. I swear my cheeks are sticking way out, and the way this leather molds to my skin, I don’t even want to think about what’s on display in front.”

I was upset and scared but more than a little turned-on. I admitted as much to the gals.

“That’s the whole idea, Joanie,” Carrie said.

“To look, and feel, like a slut?”

“No to look and feel like you haven’t a care in the world and could care less about what others think. Anyway your French-cut panties cover all your vital bits,” said Gin confidently.

“Yah and really well too,” said Red with all the gay abandon of an alcoholic in a brewery.

“Down, Red, bad girl,” I said then grinned. “Not that I’m unappreciative of the thought. Just keep it on hold for awhile, okay, Red? I’m still getting used to my mutant makeover.” Red looked a bit embarrassed and disappointed. “Now I’ve hurt your feelings, Red.”

She was fighting back the sniffles. Imagine an Amazon crying. Eeek!

“Carrie, we may need to re-think the privacy seal on my, um ... origins. I trust you and I trust Red and Gin to be discreet. It’s time to let them in on my two little secrets,” I said quietly.

“Red, Gin what we say here never leaves this room, swear it,” Carrie said. They agreed. “You both know that Joanie’s appearance and physical age changed considerably as part of her mutation this July third.”

“So what if she was thirty and a plain Jane, she isn’t anymore and that’s what counts.” Red seemed upset that we’d implied she was a shallow person.

“Tell them, Carrie.”

“What Joanie wants me to say is ... well she used to not ... ah she ... “

“Oh hell I’ll have to say it. I was born December 18, 1957 and my given name was John.” Carrie was stuck, so I bit the bullet.

“You were a 48 year old man?” Gin said in disbelief.

“I saw Joanie partway through her transformation; it’s absolutely true,” said Carrie.

“That explains why you know so much about the past and almost nothing a girl would know. And I thought my mutation was strange,” said Red.

“Strange?” I asked.

“Since you let your cat out of the bag, I guess I should too. When I mutated seven years ago, I was a mumble-four year old dark skinned five foot four inch African American with a flat chest, bad hair and braces. Honest.” We looked at her shaking our heads. “Ok I was five foot-nine and light skinned but the rest is true, shocked the crap out of my family, “ she said, sounding sad and upset.

“Would you believe, I was a five foot eleven blonde fashion supermodel,” said Gin in a Don Adams voice.

“I don’t I believe that,” I replied in mock German.

“How about a five foot seven inch red-head Playboy centerfold?” Gin suggested.

“I don’t believe that either,” Carrie said in faux French.

“A five foot three inch Hmong American with a skinny body, acne and glasses?” Gin admitted.

“Thank you, Agent 86,” said Red in bad Swedish. We all laughed.

Carrie looked scared. “Its okay, you don’t have to tell anyone, Carrie,” I whispered softly to her.

“No,” she said softly. “I have to tell someone someday, and I know I can trust everyone here,” giving us all hugs as she spoke. “I’m sure you wondered why my mom and I come to MSG, and why I rarely participate as other than a moderator.”

“You don’t have to, Carrie,” said Gin.

“I should, and as I said I trust you all. I’m sure you know Mom’s a low level devisor/gadgeteer and an empath, very useful in treating mutants,” we nodded. “I’m an empath/telepath of a fairly high level and a density shifting warper. See why Mom and I conceal my powers.”

“Intelligence agencies and criminal organizations would love to get their hands on you or failing that kill to prevent anyone else from succeeding,” said Red.

“We never speak of this again unless another’s life depends on it, agreed?” I said.

“Agreed.”

* * * *

The last part of ‘The Plan’ was makeup and accessorizing. It was kind of fun. Amazing what a little lipstick, eye shadow and such can do to change your appearance. I thought the blood red lipstick over the top, but it does send my don’t-mess-with-me-little-man factor through the roof. I will need this look at times. For cooler weather, we added lined leather slacks, tight fitting pullover sweaters, the ubiquitous bomber jacket and insulated four inch heeled cowboy boots with a waffle sole for traction, Steve Zink number fourteens, I believe. Add a trench coat for cold weather, my old male one, Gin re-tailoring it and adding a Kevlar lining to the shell. I may not be bulletproof, but my coat is bullet resistant. They picked up an old fashioned aviator cap minus the goggles and insulated gauntlet style teamster’s gloves for really cold days. Gin resized my trusted old Tilley bush hat to complete the ensemble. With the trench coat, leather slacks, cowboy boots and Tilley I thought I looked like Indiana Jones and said so.

“More like Indiana ‘Joan’, Joanie,” Gin said surveying her expert tailoring.

“I’ve never seen a trench coat fit so well. They usually look like a tent, but this fits like an Italian suit.”

“That’s the idea Joanie. Sexy, confident, classy and womanly all in one,” Gin replied.

* * * *

To be continued

p.s. Did anyone catch the James Burke, Connections, reference?

Revised 07/30/2006
Special thanks to my evil blonde sister for proofing assistance.

Notes:

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Synopsis:

Another BigCloset TopShelf story.

Joanie and her mutant friends roadtrip in the tradition of National Lampoon's Animal House, she discovers an unknown power while saving a childs life and gets her fifteen minutes of fame and then some.

Andy Warhol said,"In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." What if your 15 minutes came late in life, and fame decided to never let you go? Could you survive the circus your life would become?

Story:

Timeout-Stop/Playback/Rewind: A Whateley Academy Fanfiction

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place,

(http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."

This is my first attempt at writing a TG/sci-fi piece. Gentle, constructive criticism and advice is welcome. This for the pure fun of it and in appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe. Take it in that spirit. Any violations of copyright or use of real people or incidents and such is accidental or parody, which gets me off the hook, yay! All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005- 2006. See my agent at the Sirius Cybernetics Corp. for details. Share and enjoy.

p.s. I need a new agent & agency real soon, I think they’re on to m ... I am very happy with my agency and will never ever leave them, Master.

Adult Content Warning: this chapter is a bit racy comparied to the previous six. Those uncomfortable with lesbianism or other adult sexual topics are advised. You’ve been warned. Actually, its pretty tame stuff and not graphic at all, but its best to play it safe. If you’re on this website, you know what to expect, so there.

~ Actually with any luck this warning will boost my readership skyhigh. Oops, didn’t mean to say that outloud. ~

Timeout

By John from Wauwatosa

Chapter 7-Road Trip

Madison WI and the four-state area (WI, IL, MN, IA), August 31st thru September 09, 2006

December 13, 2006 nearing Boston on the Amtrak Lake Shore Limited, 4:30am EST

I should have set my watch to Eastern-time back somewhere in Indiana, but did I, noooo. Oh well, no harm done, except nearly going to NYC instead of Boston when they split the train. Thankfully my cycle had the proper tags, so I only had to run with my panniers in my nightwear to change berths. I’ll have to send the Conductress, who caught the berthing error and woke me, a nice thank you gift. I wonder if she likes music. Good thing I shipped most of my stuff ahead and could travel light.

Mind you, it gave the passengers who were awake a good show; I should have slept in my bra. Why they put me in an NYC bound berth, I’ll never know. Ticket clerks, Arrrg! Tried going back to sleep but too excited about Whateley, and my nipples were, um, hyper-sensitive. It was a good thing I only had to run through a half-dozen sleeper cars, now I know why most women wear bras. It’s not just for the support.

~Why does my new body have to be so, um, responsive? I’ll need a shower before I dare step out in public. ~

More than anything, the reason I’m on this train tonight was the fallout from The Gang of Four’s Labor Day road trip. Maybe I can nap, during my short layover in Boston.

The Labor Day weekend was when I discovered how to access one of my mutant powers and the day my life nearly went to hell. The Gang of Four decided, well the Gang of Three decided and Ms. Newby acquiesced, to take a road trip around the holiday weekend. I’d completed Girl 101 and Woman 101 so was now into the advanced courses. No, I don’t mean the one-on-one tutoring I hinted at with Carrie. I mean practical, everyday stuff like pretending to love children, especially your best friend’s charming twin two year olds who just learned to say ‘no’ and say it all the time for any reason — in stereo, euh! The womanly art of claiming you really prefer salads and fish over ten-ounce, New York Strip steaks with home fries. The womanly art of politely turning down the advances of a man who’s had too much too drink and who’s bigger and stronger than you. You get the picture.

* * * *

We voted on which vehicle to take.“ How about Red’s F250 crew cab?” I asked.

“Lots of room but piss-poor gas mileage,” said Gin.

“My Focus is cheap to run and handles us tall girls with ease,” I suggested.

“Would you sit in that back seat all day, even if you were my size?” Gin replied.

”And it’s green, eeeuh!” Red said sticking her long, sexy tongue way out.

~ Maybe I will take her up on that offer? ~

Gin’s PT Cruiser got some votes.

“It’s retro kewl and holds nearly as much as a minivan,” Carrie said.

“Looks like a street rod sort of, definite cruising potential,” said Gin; Red and I vetoed that.

“On the count of three, Red; one, two but it’s a Chrysler, eew yuck!”

“You both have Fords, you’re biased,” Gin said.

“That’s redhead bashing, shame on you,” I scolded.

Carrie’s Grand Caravan might have worked, but Sara needed it for a seminar that weekend, in Dubuque of all places.

“Sorry, girls, but I need the van, can’t miss the 10th Annual UMRVMC.”

“Huh?” we all said; I was tempted to sing, “UMC, VMC, MOUSE.”

“Upper Mississippi River Valley Mutant Conference; got to keep up in the field. Doctor Otto plans on attending, so we’ll have time to discuss your case in depth. In fact, we’re presenting a joint paper on your transformation,” she sounded excited.

“Won’t that tend to undermine all the effort we’ve taken to protect Moi?” My Miss Piggy was not the best, but she got the point.

“You’re safe, this is a closed conference, and you’re just a case number, no names or addresses,” Dr. Sara assured me.

“But what if someone makes the connection? They know you work at the University Hospital. What if someone comes and asks a staffer if any new mutant patients were admitted in early July, 2006? They might put the puzzle together, given enough pieces.” I was not assured my identity was safe.

“That’s why I issued you the student researcher ID. Lots of people at the hospital know you as a student researcher; just a handful know you as a patient of mine and recent mutant. Excluding Alex, only those in this room know your whole story.”

“Mom’s right, Joanie, I don’t even know your old address, just your former name,” said Carrie, in defense of her Mom.

“That’s okay then, I guess. Sorry but I’m touchy on this subject, ladies.” I calmed a bit. “Back to our discussion, we still don’t have transport for our road trip.”

“Simple, take Gin’s PT Cruiser this time and Red’s 4X4 pickup for the Christmas break trip. Switch off between your Focus and Carrie’s Caravan for any fall day trips,” my doctor said authoritatively.

The Gang of Four, trumped by Sara. It did break the deadlock though, bless her.

“You’ll love it, Joanie. The girls had a great time last year, UP, skiing wasn’t it?” she continued,

“Yah, it was a blast. You should have been there, Joanie. Gin’s a demon on the slopes, and Red made other women green with envy,” Carrie said.

“If you recall, last Christmas I wasn’t exactly qualified,” I said.

“You do now; it really was a wild time and the men were just so hunky,” said Red.

~Red said the men were ... hunky? ~

“Red nearly turned straight, the guys were so hot, but we got her back on the bi-wagon, didn’t we, Red?” Gin said and smirked.

“Ms. Sara, did your daughter always keep such low company?” I asked, getting into the spirit.

“Why no, Joanie, the year before I came along on the ski trip, and no one stayed sober or celibate with either sex,” Sara said straight faced. “I’d tag along more often, but the girls say I’m a bad influence.”

Sara licked her lips and struck a sensual pose. The room suddenly felt much warmer.

“I’m surrounded by perverts, deviants and degenerates, oh my! Where do I sign up?”

“Oh you!” they chorused.

* * * *

December 13, 2006 Boston MA, departing Amtrak Lake Shore Limited for station, 5:05am EDT

Cue music: ‘Wowie Zowie’ F. Zappa, Freak Out/Mothers of Invention with Frank Zappa 1966; ‘Road Runner’ sung by Joan Jett, The Hit List 1991, “I Drove All Night’ written for and sung by Roy Orbison 1992 release.

To enhance your reading experience, may we suggest the above music to put you in the proper mood? I know this isn’t normal for a diary/journal/whatever, but it’s mine and I’ll do as I want. -- Sticks out mental tongue in triumph -- I’d better check that my cycle got offloaded; I’ll need it later today.

“Oh conductor!”

* * * *

The road trip was, well, a trip. I, we all had a blast. Ghod those gals know how to have fun. I won’t describe all the crazy stuff that went on but to satisfy your craving for the more intimate details, let me leave you dear diary/journal/whatever with a few tidbits. I found that six foot two inch Amazons are far softer and cuddly than one would first imagine and very flexible. Mind you, don’t turn down busty brunettes; they can be very sharing, particularly when it comes to cute Asian girls. Almost sounds like something that Wholeman person writes for those TG adult fiction websites. I’m not saying one way or another if certain well known ... positions and techniques were employed by yours truly and company. Just know we had a lot of fun and leave it at that.

I know we passed through Galena IL, at least once, and we did stay a night in Davenport IA. I think we were in Red Wing MN the next night, or was it Winona, and La Crosse for another, but the whole trip is a blur. Ghodess, can those girls party. That and there were um, other distractions, giggle. There’s another giggle, what’s with that?

So here we are Labor Day morning, sticky, sweaty and our hair a collective mess.

“Hey it’s not my fault we forgot the hair conditioner and detangler spray. That wasn’t my job,” said Carrie.

“I still think we should stop at a drugstore or someplace,” I said for the twentieth time. My hair was by far the worst. “Damn you, Gin and Carrie, for your pixie cuts.”

“That’s what you get for letting your hair hang to your butt, Joanie. Red’s almost as bad off as you, what with her hair nearly as long. I don’t hear her bitching,” said a smug Gin.

“That’s only because Joanie’s letting me play competitive sticky fingers with her, while I rest my hung-over head on her oh so comfortable twin pillows. I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. A little higher, Joanie, ah that feels nice.”

“Not that I’m unhappy with the ... Ah ... oh ... oh ... OH Ghod ... ooh that was good, situation here, Red, dear, but if it wasn’t for those two pitchers of margaritas none of this,” I gestured widely at our disheveled selves with my free hand, ”would have happened, certainly not as easily on my part.”

“Joanie, it was four pitchers, and Gin kept topping off your drink, when you weren’t looking,” Carrie said embarrassed.

“But I was topping off Joanie’s too,” said Red.

“No wonder I got drunk, sort of.”

“Sort of drunk?” said Red incredulously. “You were stewed to the gills, when we left the bar last night.”

“Yeah, but it wore off really fast. I barely had a buzz on by the time we walked back to our motel room,” I explained.

“With all you drank, no way you were sober,” Gin said.

“My new body burns off most drugs very fast. Ask me about it next time I have my period, even the prescription stuff is useless.”

“But that means you were ... “, started Red.

“Faking it like a pro.” They stared at me like I was a space alien. “It gave me the perfect excuse to, um ... let my hair down. Don’t look at me like that; all of you’ve been on me to loosen up, so I took you at your word. I have no regrets just don’t expect this every time.” They seemed okay with my revelation. “Okay ladies, what’s next on the menu?”

“Oh ... You,” said Red, and I was.

Good thing the PT has really dark window tinting, that and a generous amount of rear seat leg room. If Red was a recruiter for the LGBT community, I was seriously considering a lifetime membership.

“Red, uh ... oh ... AH, stop. Please.” She was definitely an artist. “Another time okay? We’re getting into a city, and we don’t want to frighten the natives.”

“Spoil sport,” Red said grinning from ear to ear. “I was just being neighborly.”

“Well howdy neighbor, glad tah meet yah.” I gave her my best hug and kiss.

Purely G rated mind you, okay pg-13, well nearly R, satisfied?

We got a motel on Prarie Du Chein’s main drag, then got an early lunch. “So what’s on for the rest of the day?” I asked, my stomach filled and my hair finally under control. If you’d been asked like Red to stop and pick up some conditioner and hair detangler the way I asked, you’d have done it too. I was starting to get the hang of being a jailbait temptress, shame on me. Still yah gotta use the tools at hand. We drove to the state welcome center that’s just off the US 18 bridges over the Mississippi River, to get some ideas and maps.

I suggested Effigy National Monument, just a couple miles north of the Iowa end of the bridge, “Great scenery, very secluded and quiet,” I pointed out.

The secluded and quiet they liked, the 400 to 600 foot climbs up and down the bluffs on the other hand… We decided to look for a public beach or pool on the Iowa side and sunbathe.

We got to the welcome center and found the grounds full of dignitaries dedicating an addition to the faculties. You know the deal; bored jaded news crews filming bored but smiling politicians with bored spouses and extremely bored children all waiting for the ribbon cutting ceremony to end. Nothing unusual except this ceremony was bigger than normal. The minor additions dedication was an excuse to announce a joint Iowa and Wisconsin effort to stop a planned upgrade and deepening of the locks and navigation channel that nobody but The Army Corps of Engineers and the barge companies wanted. The usual assistant state tourism director and mayor VIPs were instead the heads of both states DNRs, both state Governors and three US Senators plus their assorted wives and children. Problem was, there are no other bridges for miles either way -- we had to cross here.

We got some brochures and fixed our hair and makeup -- hey this is a road trip, and we have an image to uphold. We soon were ready to go, not the easiest with all the hoopla. Heard the expression ‘a good deed never goes unpunished’? I was about to find out the truth of it in spades. We were about to get in the PT when I saw something that still gives me nightmares. Two children had wandered away from the ceremony and started a game of tag dangerously close to the busy US highway. I heard the squeal of truck and car brakes, horns blasting and a child screaming. In their flight from boredom, the younger of the two, a ten year old girl, had run into the road.

I was horrified; she didn’t have a chance. Next I know, I’m running towards her screaming out my frustration. As I ran headlong to her, I noticed the traffic had inexplicably stopped, for that matter everything around me seemed either stopped or moving very slowly. The closer to me, the slower it moved. I grabbed the now motionless girl from a scant ten feet in front of the truck, smoke and dust surrounding its tires but also not moving. I got hold of her, and she came out of her torpor screaming. I pulled the girl into my arms and ran back with her to the safety of the grassy picnic area at the tourism center. I collapsed exhausted and everything started moving again.

I looked in her terrified blue eyes. “Thank Ghod you’re okay, little girl.” I said holding her tight as I gasped for breath. “Don’t you know how dangerous it is to play in the street?”

The girl stopped screaming and started kissing and hugging me then said excitedly, “You’re my very favorite bestest new friend in the world -- that was so kewl what you did -- can we do it again -- what’s your name, pretty lady I’m Melissa I’m ten years old I’ll be eleven in four days -- can you be my big sister -- I like your pretty red hair its so long and shiny -- would you like to borrow my ponytail clip?”

~ I thought I talked too much; when does Melissa ever get a chance to breathe? ~

I was calming her down, as my three friends ran up to help us and the older boy she’d played with. Unfortunately for me, the cameras had been pointed in the general direction of the near tragedy, and everything got recorded. Everything: the kids nearing the road, the girl running into traffic, the strangely distorted image of a tall, shapely young woman running toward the children as the images surrounding that woman seem to twist and warp and well look like a surrealist painting made sense in comparison. They even got some color still photos of me in action.

~Oh great, I’ll end up a pinup poster on some horny teen’s bedroom door.~

Next I remember the six of us — Gin, Red, Carrie, Melissa, her brother Eric I learned later, and I -- were surrounded by the press, two governors, three US Senators, a squad of unhappy state troopers, and one extremely grateful thirty-something mother.

“How did you do that?” the woman practically screamed at me, in her excitement.

Then she’s keeling on the grass next to me, hugging and kissing her kids, who are hugging and kissing us ladies. I tried to answer the woman.

“I saw them run toward the road, and I had to do something,” I said very quickly; I was still pumped with adrenaline and a bit in shock.

A short sixtyish man with graying red hair walked up to me and said in a soft voice, “Do you know what you just did?”

“I just helped a girl out of trouble,” I managed to say.

~Do they think I’d tried to harm her? ~

“You saved the life of my only granddaughter, the daughter of the Governor of Iowa.”

“Huh?” I wasn’t too articulate at the moment, still in shock I guess.

“I’m United States Senator Joseph P. Williams of Iowa, and I am very glad to meet you brave lady. And you are?” he asked and very graciously, I might add.

“Joanie?” I replied as if I wasn’t sure who I was. Then I started crying, and I passed out.

I came to in the back seat of a stretch limo, the rest of The Gang of Four sitting facing me looking very concerned.

“Thank Ghod, you’re okay,” Carrie said as I opened my eyes and sat up. “They let us carry you into the Senator’s limo to check you out. They wanted to call the paramedics, but Red and I showed them our RN credentials, and Red and Gin wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“What are we going to do with you, Joanie? Do you realize the trouble you caused saving that girl’s life?” Red was squeezing my hand and smiling, but I could see she was worried. She paused. “They ‘made’ us and by that revelation, I think you’ve been made too.”

“Who or what was ’made’ by who or whom and what does it have to do with us or we?” What was Red talking about, and why had my grammar gotten so strange?

“The VIP’s and the press ‘made’ us, that is, they recognized Gin as Ginseng Glory and myself as Big Red. We’re known mutant super-heroines and public service spokespersons, after all.”

“I remember, you did some spots and billboards for The Wisconsin Dairymen’s Association, and Gin did a TV ad for the Department of Tourism,” I said.

“Put the pieces together, Joanie; the press already has. Think of it from a purely news-biz point of view. A gorgeous,” I blushed, “tall young woman saves a little girl from certain death, the daughter of a state governor and possible Presidential contender, on TV in front of dozens of press and dignitaries, in a manner that can only be explained by that young woman having mutant superpowers. She is seen immediately afterward in the presence of two known Wisconsin mutant supers, and she does it all clad in a skin-tight, deep v-neck leather crop top, leather mini skirt, and silver trimmed high heel cowboy boots -- very photogenic. Need I say more?” Red finished.

“I’ve just outted myself. Crap!”

“You said, Sweetie, not me,” Gin replied. “Just wait until you see the tight shot one of the camera men got of your lace panties when your skirt slid up after you collapsed on the grass. Oh, if it makes you feel any better, the footage went national about half an hour ago. You’ve been unconscious for 45 minutes,” Gin concluded.

“Kill me now!”

There was a knock on the door.

“Is Joanie okay? My daughter is really worried.” It was the governor’s wife.

“What do you want to do, Joanie? Can’t hide forever,” Gin said.

“Let them in and only them,” I said wearily.

Red opened the door carefully, letting in Melissa and her mom, then gave the press who were straining the police line a look that said, “Come any closer and prepare to be filleted.”

“Joanie, my daughter has something to say to you.” She waited then Melissa spoke.

“I’m so very sorry I was careless and ran out in the road, and you had to save me ‘cause no one could have got to me in time, and I would be dead now, and all those TV people will bother you and make your life a mess, and Its All My Fault!” She started crying.

~Good Ghod, she even apologizes nonstop! ~

I was feeling a bit queasy, ~Strange I hadn’t noticed it earlier, nerves? ~ I thought.

“Does she always talk like this?” I said and made a gesture with my hand opening and closing very quickly.

“Yes, Joanie, I’m afraid she does.” She had a wistful smile on her face.

~Oh well, in for a penny... ~

“That’s great because I like to talk a lot too, Melissa.” She grinned so I said, “What do your friends call you, Melissa? All my friends call me Joanie,” I said, gesturing at Melissa, her mom and The Gang of Three.

“I can be your friend, Joanie?” She grinned widely. I nodded, and then it hit her. “You’re friends with Big Red and Ginseng Glory; oh that’s just soo kewl!”

If she was anymore excited, she’d have exploded. She was bouncing in her seat.

“Wow, Joanie! Oh, sorry everyone calls me Mel. Hi Joanie, I’m Mel. Can you come over to my house, and we can have a sleepover and watch TV and make smores and popcorn and give each other makeovers? I can braid your long hair if you like, and I’m learning to use makeup -- you’re so very pretty, I bet you can teach me lots -- how did you get so tall -- I really like your clothes, they’re so kewl -- my mom won’t let me wear leather yet she says when I’m older, but it looks so good on you -- I wish I had nice boobies like you and mommy and ... “

“Whoa, slow down Mel!” I said.

“She called me Mel, Mom; Joanie called me Mel!” Melissa started bouncing again.

~ Is she a poster child for the sugar industry? ~

I turned to her mom. “I’m a little embarrassed here, but I don’t know your name,” I admitted.

“Barbara Anne Williams-Johnson, I’m Governor Bob Johnson’s wife, the governor of Iowa. Please call me Babs, all my friends do and you certainly earned that right today,” she said warmly.

“Babs not Barb or Barbie?” I asked.

“Do I look like a Barbie doll?” She gestured along her pleasingly shaped but petite body. “Babs is because I was constantly wearing this sleep shirt when I was in my teens. I refused to sleep in anything else.”

“Babs Bunny, from the Warners cartoons, I have a Pinky and the Brain pocket t-shirt, myself.” Babs smiled and stifled a laughed.

I felt someone tugging on my arm. It was Mel.

“Joanie, please can you come to my house for a sleep over?”

~ Ooh, she made these puppy dog, kitten in the rain eyes at me. ~

“But my friends and I have to get back to Madison tomorrow.” I tried to let her down lightly.

Mel frowned then grinned all the wider, if you can believe. “I have this oh so kewl idea, have your friends come too, we have lots of room. Oh my, you’re friends with Big Red and Ginseng Glory, they’re just the greatest mutant superheroes -- wow you must be a mutant superhero too, except you’re all girls, so you’re all mutant super-heroines, Mommy, can I have a mutant super-heroine sleepover pleeese!” Mel was hugging me so hard, I was amazed.

“Wow yourself, Mel, you sure are strong. You sure you’re not a mutant super heroine and don’t know it yet?” Mel giggled at that and started bouncing again, but at least she shut up for ten second straight.

“But they have to go home tomorrow, sweetie,” Babs said.

“Daddy can fix it and Grandpa Joe too. Daddy’s a governor and Grandpa’s a Senator, and Daddy says Grandpa knows where all the bodies are buried -- that’s why he’s such a good senator, and they can fix it with your moms and dads and schools and stuff, and you can come to my house, and we can do girl things, and in four days it’s my birthday, and you can be at my party... “

“Mel, it’s not just up to you, maybe Joanie’s friends have families who’d miss them if they don’t see them,” Babs was trying to help.

“But Mom!” Mel shouted, “Joanie’s my very bestest friend, I’ll just die if she can’t come over and...” Mel was bawling, Babs didn’t look too good and yours truly?

“Okay, okay, I’ll come, I don’t know how but I will, promise.” Now I was crying and I felt a sharp twinge in my lower belly.

~ I haven’t felt this bad in a month, Month? Let’s see, cramps, mood swings, feeling queasy; July 03 to September 04 is sixty-two days less four days for my transformation and one or two more to fully recover makes fifty-six days which is twenty-eight times two. Oh joy, my “friend” is back, just one more reason to hate math. ~

“Babs, can I have a word with you please.”

“Mel, can you give me and Joanie a moment dear? What is it, Joanie?” she asked sweetly.

“As much as I like to not disappoint Mel, I don’t know if I’d be the best company the next few days.” Babs looked at me strangely, I whispered in her ear. “I just started my, um you know, today. I only realized it now what with the crying and cramps I felt.”

“Then we have no choice,” she said out loud. I was relieved. “We’ll just have to put you up for the week.”

“What?” I gave her a look of utter surprise, this was unexpected.

“I just started my period today too, and mine are a bitch.”

“Mommy!”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t use such language.” Babs slapped the back of her own hand. Mel giggled. “Joanie, if anyone deserves to be pampered, it’s you dear. Your friends are welcome too. My husband can have a state plane fly you home together or individually, as necessary. I ... we owe you.”

What could I say now? Either way was a problem.

“This has to be a group decision, you understand, Mel, Babs?” They nodded in absolute unison.

~Like mother like daughter I guess, freaky. ~

“Babs, can you promise me I won’t, correct that, we won’t,” I pointed at The Gang of Four and Mel, “be set upon or set up to the media? I’m not interested in becoming famous, and Mel here, it wouldn’t be right to drag her into this,” I said very frankly.

“I can guarantee that, Joanie. Between Bob and my dad, no one will bother any of us,” she spoke grinning as excitedly as her daughter.

~ Ghod, what other traits do they share? Dad? Right, the senator is Babs’s father. ~

“Girls, what do you say?” I asked, Red spoke.

“I can stay one night, but I have to be at the UW Field house early the morning of the sixth to prepare for a pep rally, I’m coordinating the medical staff assigned there.”

“Three hours by national guard helicopter, less than two by state plane,” Babs said.

“Gin?” I asked.

“I teach a seminar at UW-Stevens Point in two days, but what about my PT Cruiser?”

“Piece of cake; several Iowa Air National Guard C130s are flying reservists to Wisconsin’s Fort McCoy/Camp Douglas the same day. They could make a quick detour to Central Wisconsin Airport. That’s a short drive from Stevens Point, and the airport handles commercial jets that need much more runway.”

~Babs has an answer for everything, just like her ... Oh dear! ~

“Carrie?” It was her turn now.

“Mel, Babs, Joanie’s sort of my responsibility.” They both looked surprised. “Okay if I tell them, Joanie?”

“You know I trust you, Carrie,” I said, giving her hand a friendly squeeze.

“Joanie came by her powers recently; she’s only been a mutant since July third.”

“No wonder my dad and the rest were so concerned when they couldn’t figure out who Joanie was. It was obvious she’s a super, but no one recognized her,” said Babs.

“My mom is Joanie’s doctor, and I’m assigned to her 24/7 as nurse, confidant, and personal trainer, so where she goes I go. Anyone for smores, I love them.”

~Wonderful, Carrie’s an X-Girl Scout and fellow sugar addict. ~

* * * *

To be continued
Revised 08/06/2006
Special thanks to my evil blonde sister for proofing assistance.

Notes:

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Synopsis:

Another BigCloset TopShelf story.

Joanie and Co. spend time with family of the girl she saved, make a boy happy and Joanie and Carrie attend a birthday party -- how dangerous can that be? The fifteen minutes of fame go into overtime.

Andy Warhol said,"In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." What if your 15 minutes came late in life, and fame decided to never let you go? Could you survive the circus your life would become?

Story:

Timeout-Stop/Playback/Rewind: A Whateley Academy Fanfiction

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place,

(http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."

This was my first attempt at writing a TG/sci-fi piece. Gentle, constructive criticism and advice is welcome. This for the pure fun of it and in appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe. Take it in that spirit. Any violations of copyright or use of real people or incidents is for purposes of humor or parody, which gets me off the hook, yay! All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005- 2006. See my new agents Bill & Ted of San Dimus, CA, ‘Be excellent to each other and party on dude’.

p.s.These guys are a lot nicer but seem like a couple of airheads to me.

Timeout

By John from Wauwatosa

Chapter 8-Road Trip, Part two

Madison, WI and the four-state area - WI, IL, MN, IA - Sometimes we didn’t know were we were but it was fun, - August 31st thru September 09, 2006

December 13, 2006 Leaving Boston on connecting train to Grand Miskatonic Shuttle, 6:30am EST

Getting from the Boston AMTRAK station to the Grand Miskatonic Shuttle was complicated as there is no direct connection, at least not a convenient one. I could ride my Harley between the north and south Boston AMTRAK stations to their Downeaster, but I’m not familiar with Boston and its old, narrow, congested roads, a traffic nightmare for this soon to be ex-Midwesterner. I could ride direct to the Shuttle, but that’s much farther and more of the same. That left sending my cycle separately via a freight connection to the Shuttle or using Boston’s Light Rail and Interurban system for both me and the Harley. It was tricky, but I had called ahead about this and managed to pull it off. I did need to use my charms on a couple burley male commuters to get their help hefting the cycle on the interurban, but they were very helpful and the dark haired guy was a stud. They got some very enthusiastic hugs and kisses from me. They deserved it.

It was awfully tempting to ask one or both out for a drink and back to his place. I think this body is pushing me more and more towards men; that I even fantasize about it is proof enough. Not that I’m not still attracted to women. I swear sometimes this body just wants sex, period. If it’s attractive, the gender doesn’t matter. Male or female, I respond and it’s not easy staying in control. I wonder if they can help me with “that” at Whateley. At least it will make for something interesting to discuss with their doctors.

I did have a nasty run in with someone at the Boston AMTRAK station, but I’ll write about that later. First, back to Mel, Babs, the rest of the Gang of Four, and Mel’s brother, Eric Johnson.

* * * *

For the next few hours, the seven of us rode in the limo; seven you say, we only counted six. Mel’s brother Eric had to come and apologize for putting his sister and me in danger. His apology was delayed due to the tongue-lashing his dad and grandfather gave him. There was this one other little complication, actually for a boy of thirteen in the throws of puberty, it really wasn’t that small, judging from the embarrassing bulge it made in his dress pants, and it was partially my fault. He’d started out okay, very remorseful and charming.

“I want to apologize to both my sister and you, Miss Joanie, for being reckless and putting you both in danger. I knew better than to play near a busy highway or to tease my sister even though she deserves it, the little twerp.”

~ Ah, this last bit was certainly honest, he must be her brother. Sibling rivalry, I know it well. ~

“I’m not a twerp; you’re just being mean. MOM! Eric’s being mean to me,” Mel whined, smart girl.

“What did I say to you earlier?” Mom was upset.

“Sorry, Mom, that was rude of me. I’m sorry too, Miss Joanie, I really like my sister, but sometimes I forget she’s younger, and we play too wild. I’m so glad you could save her.”

“I’m glad too, Eric,” I said as I bent forward to shake his hand.

This was a mistake as it gave Eric a very good, close view down my cleavage — my ample, flawless, oh-so-delectable cleavage. I realized my mistake, but it was too late.

~ Oh joy, just what we need now, throwing gasoline on the fires of male puberty. ~

I swear his voice dropped a full octave in a matter of minutes. He sure looked uncomfortable in his pants; part of him had to be. I could see his considerable bulge twitching against the fabric.

~ Ghod, I’m lusting for a thirteen year old boy, BAD BAD BAD libido, down girl, stay. ~

I’m afraid the rest of the girls saw his predicament and engaged in a game of tease the boy. They couldn’t get too raunchy, with Mel and Babs there, but it was almost more erotic for being so tame. The poor boys eyes nearly popped out when Red did this slow, big stretch -- her long, muscular, tan legs straightening all the way out to her pointed feet. The backwards arch of her torso combined with an almost feline rub of her arm against her head gave Eric the full benefit of her wonderfully toned middle and her marvelous chest. Carrie played the sweet and innocent but always was smiling when Eric looked her way. And Gin? She took a cue from my boob flash but upped the ante by opening a button or three and untucking her red silk blouse in a very sensual near striptease. I gave Gin a look.

“I’m just getting comfortable, Joanie, dear,” she whispered to me. “I saw how he reacted to your accidental boob flash, so Red, Carrie, and I decided to help Mel out by teasing him a bit. You know, show him how great it is to have a girl around. Maybe he’ll stop teasing his sister and ask her if she knows any nice girls his age.”

“You three did this and didn’t tell me? I’m hurt,” I whispered, then I pouted and broke out in giggle.

“What’s so funny?” Eric asked, his voice cracking.

“My friends decided you were mean to your sister and decided to play a trick on you,” I said. Then I went into sex kitten mode and in my most sultry voice said, “Did us big, bad girls make ‘little Eric’, um ... uncomfortable?”

Babs, the Gang of Three, and I broke out in howls of laughter. Eric looked like he’d wet his pants in the middle of a school assembly, and Mel looked like I’d given her the best gift ever -- revenge. It was time to let Eric off the hook, well a little.

“Eric, I’m sorry we teased you, that was as mean as you calling your pretty sister names.” Eric was contrite, Mel was grinning from ear to ear.

~ Must have heard me say she was pretty. ~

“Eric, if you’re nice to girls, they’ll be nice back. From how you’ve reacted to my friends and myself, I think you’re starting to like girls, maybe even thinking of doing stuff with them like going to dances or dating,” I said in a soothing tone.

“Eric, are you blushing?” Babs asked. “It’s okay, hon, boys your age are supposed to start noticing girls; just let Dad or I know what you’re doing, alright?”

“What everything?” Eric seemed worried.

“Just let us know where you’re going and with who. Remember to behave nice and remember the talk Dad had with you on your last birthday. Maybe it’s time we both have the talk with you.” She smiled but Eric looked embarrassed.

“Mom: in front of all these girls!” he complained.

“They’re women; that’s what your body is telling you, if you’ll listen, but you need to be a gentleman. There were lots of men who pursued me when I was their age, but I married your dad because he was a good-man not just because he’s so handsome,” Babs explained.

She got this look in her eyes, the same one my mom had when she especially happy with Dad. I changed seats to sit next to Eric; I put an arm around him and held his hand.

“Eric, girls can be lots of fun to be with. Why so you think your dad married your mom? Just don’t tease us, we’re people too. You’ll find girls can do just about anything boys like to do, but we’re much nicer to cuddle with.”

I gave him a good hug and a tender, lingering kiss on the cheek. On an impulse I gave him a quick one on the lips -- why I haven’t a clue. He was stunned.

“When you get a little older, maybe you’ll find a special girl that likes you too. See, I told you girls are fun.”

~Odd, that felt, um ... pleasant, must be a girl thing. ~

Babs was smiling, the gang looked at me with awe, and Mel was dumbstruck.

“Earth to Mel, earth to Mel, come in Mel, over,” I said, my hand cupping my mouth to mimic the sound of a WWII radio communication.

“You kissed my brother on the lips, ewwh!” Mel made a yuck face.

“Mel, it’s not like I kissed my own brother, I just wanted him to know it’s much better for him to be nice to girls than tease them.” Mel still looked grossed out. “Mel, you’re beginning to develop into a very pretty young woman, and your brother is fast becoming a handsome man. Having a good-looking older brother will be a real advantage.”

“How’s that?” Mel asked, clearly puzzled.

“The pretty ladies he’ll be dating will often have equally good looking brothers you might want to date.” Mel and Eric looked sick. “Don’t give me that ‘Euh! Yuck, sex’ look. Boys and girls can do lots of fun things together. The yucky sex stuff can wait ‘til you’re much older like even ‘til you’re married like your parents.”

This was tricky ground, but Babs nodded her approval, I think she thought I could walk on water when it came to her children.

“Anyway, Mel, it’s not as if I’m dating Eric,” I said, and Mel looked happier. “Doing anything next Saturday, stud muffin?” I cooed, Mel shrieked and everybody started laughing, even poor Eric.

~Bad bad Joanie, but Ghod that was fun! ~

* * * *

December 13, 2006 North of Boston MA, interurban in route to connection with the Grand Miskatonic Shuttle, 7:30am EST

Dear diary/journal/whatever reader, you’re wondering what’s with this no good deed going unpunished? Other than my face in the press, what harm was done? That’s the insidious nature of fame, it bites you when you least expect it. The damage was done, the harm would come eventually. Why do you think I’m on the way to Whateley? It’s not just to finish up my girl training.

Much good did come from my “outing.” Red and I got a break from our bout of lesbian lust. With the tension broken, we could concentrate on my training and just being friends, not that we haven’t fooled around since then. She knows I still have things to work out and is just happy to get what she can out of our relationship. Gin and sweet Carrie became closer as well, I think they’re a couple now, though Carrie has gone out a few times with Badger Boy, and Gin gets all dewy-eyed around Driftless Dan. Mind you, he is rather hunky in a Harrison Ford/Clint Eastwood, Indiana Jones /spaghetti western crossover way.

That road trip cemented them as my sisters, as much as marriage or birthright would have. The Girls say they might road trip to Whateley, after the spring university semester ends; they’re curious to see Whateley as my research intrigues them. That and the stories they’ve heard, Sara and Dairy Maid are alumna after all. The going away party the Gang of Three threw me was memorable, particularly the whipped cream and cherries mini orgy we had. It was Red’s idea, something about indulging an old male fantasy they figured I had. It was a good choice, a children’s pool full of pudding is way too hard to clean up after, and Jell-O stains so. Why blow this ex-man’s lesbian paradise, you ask? I found out that Halloween, I was not ready to protect myself from the darker forces my “outing” unleashed. I still may have ended up at Whateley anyway but that made it imperative.

It started out very innocently at Mel’s eleventh birthday party. I always suspected karaoke was a menace but that night confirmed it. The Gang of Four had to break up, as Red and Gin had commitments in Wisconsin, but Carrie and I stayed with Mel, Eric, and Babs at the Iowa Governor’s Mansion, Terrace Hill. The Victorian home was open to the public on the first three floors, but the fourth and tower were all ours. I enjoyed my time with Mel as I got the chance to be the little girl I never was. My inner child was female now, and she had a blast. We did all the things the TG fiction people write about, and I enjoyed much of it. We even did some horseback riding and swimming and why, because it said so right on my tampon box -- shame on me. Sorry but I couldn’t resist that old chestnut. Honestly, I had a lot of fun with Mel. In many ways she was older than her years, and I was younger.

I found Mel was heavy into the teen pop idol period of her life, her room full of pop star posters and teen magazines. After talking with Babs, we made arrangements to hold Mel’s birthday party at a local family-friendly supper club that had a karaoke room, which we rented for the night with her dad’s, the Senators, assistance. With Babs help, I bought a warm and decorative wool bed spread from the Amana Woolen Mill in the historic Amana Colony. Babs was upset at the cost until I suggested we mention who it was for and see if they’d give us a discount. Her “Daddy” made a few calls for us, and the next day we received it at cost. They would have sent it for free, but I insisted we pay something. Senator Joe sure has some clout in Iowa.

The party was fun; good food and her friends in their best casual clothes, “This is a birthday party not a photo op,” Babs explained to me.

The karaoke was my downfall, me and my pretty mouth! Senator Joe had gone all out. He adored his granddaughter, but I think he was trying to impress me, little Miss Nobody. I don’t think he intended things to get as out of hand as they did, but even political geniuses screw-up sometimes. The girls and the couple of boys who were invited ~ um ... boys ~ took turns singing along with the machine. Some were okay. Some were awful, one or two were pretty good. Mel was great, but then I’m biased. Everyone had fun, even her brother Eric. Then the shit hit the fan, but we didn’t know it at the time.

Unknown to us, including the Senator, digital cameras were snuck into the room. They were disguised as the regular security cameras. An employee of the restaurant was dating a local TV reporter and got word to her of the upcoming birthday party for the governor’s daughter and that the mystery girl who had saved her was a guest. Remote control cameras with built-in microphones were watching our every move. This was bad in itself but survivable. What made the shit fly was Grandpa Joe had called a fellow US Senator from California, who called his contacts and got a record producer who specialized in young singers to run the karaoke night. He brought in a far better, professional machine that had more songs, a great sound system and recorded your performance. That and he brought along several of his industry pals. I think they wanted to lobby the Senator.

Everything still might have worked out, but Mel was having so much fun and everyone else had sung, so she says, “Mommy: why haven’t you, Carrie or Joanie sung, it’s lots of fun?”

Several songs later an embarrassed but happy Babs and Carrie had finished their duets, the cowards.

Then Mel turned to me, “Joanie, please sing for me. I bet you have a pretty voice. I won’t laugh.”

Everyone giggled, clapped and pounded the tables like in an old prison film. I figured if I’m going to make a fool of my self, might as well do it big and get it over.

“Got any oldies?” I asked.

“All kinds, what do you fancy?” said the karaoke man.

“I’m feeling suicidal tonight, got any Roy Orbison?”

“Sure, I’ll bring up the menu.”

Orbison’s a favorite of mine; a fine singer-songwriter, a member of the rock and roll hall of fame and the Country Music Hall of Fame. The Rock Hall of Fame in Cleveland was dedicated to him on its opening, a few months after his death in December of 1988. His songs are often hard to sing, as his voice had a wide range, and he wrote for his falsetto as well. Women don’t have a falsetto, so I knew this would be hard, but it was for fun, who cares?

“Let’s start easy, play Oobie Doobie,” I said.

A mid fifties rock-a-billy song, Orbison’s first recording. It’s very easy to sing and has a catchy tune -- it was even in Star Trek, First Contact. I thought I did well, Mel liked it, she said the lyrics were silly. Then I sang Blue Bayou. Linda Ronstadt did a great cover on an album in the late 1970’s; it’s tougher to sing but very sentimental. When I finished, the kids were silent for a moment, then they started clapping wildly. Mel was very happy, and Babs and Grandpa Joe were looking at me like, well I don’t know, but it was good what ever it was. I noticed the karaoke man and the men who’d come with Senator Joe were paying attention too; they’d seemed bored before. I didn’t think much of it at the time, this was too much fun. It was late but Mel wanted one more.

“Oh what the heck”, hey these are kids, “You got Crying?”

“Up in a minute, Joanie,” he replied, somehow he’d remembered my name.

~Maybe he’s hot for tall strawberry blonds? ~

Mind you, the peasant blouse, above the knee skirt and ankle boots combo was pretty sexy. This is a difficult song, it won K.D.Lang and Orbison the Grammy for country duet of the year in the mid 80’s, and she sang the low part. As strong a voice as she had, it wasn’t up to some of the high, loud, emotional notes. I surprised myself; I got through it easy, no problems. I thought I held the high notes loud, long and clear.

~Gee, I always thought that was a tough one. Maybe my mutation gave me a decent range? ~ I thought.

When I finished, I was in for a shock. They all sat there wide eyed with their mouths hanging open.

“I wasn’t that bad, was I?” I asked.

~Are they playing some birthday party joke on me? I’m no birthday party expert. ~

Mel shrieked, ran up to me and hugged me hard. Everyone else started clapping and screaming, even Eric, Babs, the Senator and his strange guests.

“That was just so kewl, Joanie, where did you learn to sing like that -- I said you had a pretty voice -- I wish my voice was as pretty as yours -- if I ask Grandpa Joe I bet he can get a record company to let you sing for them and I could hear you on the radio and TV and you could give concerts and I’d be your biggest fan and ... “

I knew it was a mistake to give her the piece of cake with all those extra frosting decorations on it, that and all the soda. Sugar overload, aoooga!

“I’m glad you liked it, Mel, but I’m no singer. That was just for fun, and cuz I likes yah, silly girl,” I said smiling.

I gave her a hug and a mild noogie. I had to defend myself from ‘Sergeant Sugar Rush’. The party wound down; the kids headed home, giving us their thanks as they left. The Senator arranged limo rides for every child; he’d pulled out all the stops. Mel, Eric, Babs, Carrie and I were among the last to leave. Mel was still gushing over her presents; she loved the bedspread, sweet kid. Her mom taught her great manners. Mel kept saying how great I sounded, even Carrie and Babs got into the act.

“Why didn’t you tell me you could sing like that?” Carrie said.

“I didn’t know I could,” I said.

“I’ve gone to countless concerts, over the years with my dad and husband, and I’ve never heard a voice like yours,” said Babs.

“That bad huh?” I replied; now I was creeping out, this was beyond embarrassing.

“You’re very, very good, Joanie, professional singer good,” Babs asserted.

“She’s right, you know,” the karaoke machine man spoke up.

“And why do you say that?” I was getting annoyed, this much praise was disturbing.

“I say that because it’s true. The Senator asked a fellow Senator in California if he knew someone in the recording industry who wouldn’t mind running a karaoke machine for his colleague’s granddaughters birthday party. He called in a few favors, so here I am,” he explained.

“And you are?” I asked.

Damn, why did I ask that, why didn’t I just shut up and go home? If I’d just shut up, I not be in the mess am today.

“I’m VP for new talent at Warner Records, the man in the blue suit is a producer for Virgin, and the man in the grey pinstripe is with Sony and handles all their young female teen singers. We all agree you’re that good,” he explained; I looked at the Senator.

“Is this on the level?”

“Sorry, Joanie, but it is,” he said, and looked embarrassed, he’d sensed my discomfort. “They’re right and so are all the children, my daughter, your friend Carrie, and my grand daughter and grandson. You have a wonderful gift if you chose to share it. With that voice and your looks, no telling how far you can go.”

“Now that’s just ... I’m not ... What I meant was ...“ I sputtered. I was rattled, I couldn’t get the words right.

“Oh, one last thing, Joanie,” the karaoke guy said as he held out a business card, “I saw you first. Want a contract?”

They all gave me their cards, and private direct numbers, and said to call them if I was even a little bit curious about singing professionally.

It was late as we left; the party had lasted far into the night by eleven year old standards and the ten o’clock news had started. We stepped out the doors into a barrage of photo strobes and TV floodlights. The local ABC, NBC, CBS and FOX affiliates all had live remotes.

~How did they know the Senator was here? ~

“Joanie, Joanie can you speak to us, who are you?”

~Oh oh, they’re not calling his name, are they? Ghod, they know my name! ~

Senator Joe was used to press gauntlets, so was Babs, even Mel and Eric to some extent, but this was over the top. How we got into the Senator’s limo, I don’t know. It was a nightmare; I was on the edge of panic. Cooler heads took action, and with his and Babs’ connections, the police were soon out in force and freed us from the feeding frenzy.

“I’m so sorry this happened. I don’t know what to say.” Senator Joe was upset.

“You okay, Joanie? Dad can have you both on his private plane and back to your home tonight, if you’re worried,” Babs said trying to calm me.

Carrie looked in shock and was holding my hand tight and Mel?

“I told you, I told you. That was so wild all the TV stuff and cameras flashing, and you’re gonna be a famous big singing star, and I’ll be your biggest fan, and this is so kewl ...“

~Does anything faze this kid? ~

Thank Ghod the long day caught up with her as she soon stopped her happy nonstop chatter and lay smiling, snuggled up against me, her head resting on my lap. Carrie and I decided to stay a couple more days, in hopes that it all would blow over.

* * * *

The next morning the TV, radio and newspapers showed how far and fast it flies these days when it hits the fan. Like any well equipped political domicile, Terrace Hill had a media center with multiple TVs, tape and digital recorders, radios, press wire service feeds -- the works. They had a computer dedicated to searching the Web for any references to the Governor or his opponents. The governor and his/her staff could keep abreast of any politically important developments with ease.

It had flung everywhere. My picture was on the cover of the states biggest newspaper and inside several regional ones. I even made the cover of USA Today.

~Must have been a slow news day. ~

A piece on me showed up on the BBC World Service, geeze-Louise. I was the lead or feature story on every Iowa network affiliate and several western Wisconsin stations, including all of the major Madison ones. I made special note of that.

“There goes any chance of getting around Madison unnoticed, just freakn’ great.” I was so very pleased, yah, sure I was.

Babs got my attention away from the local and regional media. “Joanie, dear, I don’t think you’re going to like this one.”

FOX got wind of it first, and then the rest followed up their lead, MSNBC hit the jackpot.

“Repeating, MSNBC reports that the so called ‘Mystery Girl’, who saved the life of the daughter of Iowa Governor and Presidential contender Robert ‘Bob’ Johnson five days ago, is a recently discovered mutant who currently resides in Madison Wisconsin. Reliable sources told MSNBC that the Mystery Girls name is Joan or Joanie Brown and her amazing rescue of the girl, who is also the only granddaughter of four term US Senator Joseph P. Williams of Iowa, was due to Ms Brown being a warper with rare time related powers. Sources further report Ms. Brown’s story is all the more remarkable, in that until early this July she was a 48 year old “...

- THUD! -

I woke on Mel’s bed, her mom and grandfather watching intently from chairs, as Carrie checked my pulse. Mel stood on the other side of the bed, quietly crying.

“What happed?” Expecting Shakespeare? I’d only just come to.

“You feel like getting up, Joanie? You had us worried,” said Carrie.

“I’d like to crawl down a deep dark hole, but I can’t, so I guess I’d better get up,” I said feeling depressed.

Mel sat next to me on the bed looking very confused. “Is it true, Joanie, that you were an old man before you, you know, mutated?”

“48’s not that old. Your grandfather is a lot older than 48, and I don’t think he’s old, he’s distinguished. 48’s not old!” I made a pout, and I didn’t do it deliberately, I swear!

“That is just so, you’re so amazing, Joanie, my brother’s never gonna live it down that a guy, well a former guy kissed him -- I’m gonna tease him about it for years -- this is the best present ever -- I love you, pretty Joanie -- you’re the kewlest!” she stopped talking and started bouncing on the bed as she hugged and tickled me.

When she’d calmed down some and was only hugging me to death and grinning inanely, I asked, “Is she always like this? Doesn’t anything ever get Mel down?”

“Nope,” said Grandpa Joe.

“Sometimes, if she has to eat some vegetables she doesn’t like, but that’s about it,” Babs said.

“Once when she was four, we said she couldn’t have a kitty cat because she was too young,” said a tall, forty something man who’d entered the room.

“Bob, when did you get back? I thought the Conference of Governors ended tomorrow,” Babs asked.

~Bob? ~

“You’re the happy machine’s dad, Governor Johnson?” I asked.

“’Fraid so; can I call you Joanie as everyone else here seems to.”

“Joanie Brown, at your service, Governor,” I said shaking his big, strong hand.

~Oooh, he’s buff and sooo tall. Big hands, hum, I wonder if it’s true … No, I told you libido down, stay. Good girl. I have got to talk to Sara about this development. ~

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay to thank you for saving Mel, but Babs said to go on to the Conference of Governors as she’d take care of things. I came back as soon as I could, I skipped the closing ceremonies. Joanie, Mel here is probably going to keep after Babs and me until we adopt you or let her keep you as her pet.”

He smiled, Babs and I giggled, Carrie and the Senator stifled laughs, and Mel said, “She’s my bestest friend, can she be my sister, Daddy? Please?”

“Don’t do that, Mel, it hurts my ears,” I said, then I giggled again.

~Why am I giggling so? ~

Mel insisted we have pancakes, as they always cheered her up, and I looked like I needed it. As we ate, FOX news came back on.

“We have exclusive footage our affiliate station shot, of mystery girl Joanie Brown entertaining at Governor Johnson’s daughter’s eleventh birthday party, last night.”

“Father, you promised you’d keep the press away,” Babs said with some anger.

“I wasn’t me, Pumpkin. I made absolutely sure the press knew the party was off limits; no camera, no reporters, period. Someone’s in serious trouble; this was a closed, private party.”

It was only TV sound, but there I was talking and laughing with the guests. They edited bits together and got some good close-ups of my face and profile but the kicker was the karaoke. They played the last thirty seconds of Crying, the sound was a little tinny but...

~ No, that can’t be me. I don’t sound like that? ~

I looked so happy singing, I was positively glowing.

“I really sound like that? I never knew. Carrie, what do I do now?” I started crying, a big sobbing cry.

“What’s wrong Joanie, why are you crying? You should be happy you sing and look so pretty and are my best friend. Don’t cry, please,” my new bestest friend said, and she hugged me hard.

~Mel’s talking normal for once; she must be very concerned for me. ~

I sucked it up like a former man now reluctant superheroine and told Mel.

“It’s not that I’m not happy I have a nice voice and pleasant looks, it’s just I wanted a normal life, and that doesn’t seem possible anymore. Not unless the press forgets about me.”

“It’s all my fault, Joanie, for running in the road. If you hadn’t saved me, no one would know.” She was distraught, poor child.

“It’s not your fault, that was an accident. People would have found out about me eventually; this way it happened a little early, that’s all.” She smiled some but still sniffled. I had an inspiration; I hoped it’d prove true. “Mel, ask your mom and dad, or better yet Grandpa Joe, he’s been in politics for years. Bet you, a few months from now, hardly anyone will remember me.”

“I don’t know if it will be that soon, but stranger things have happened. You’re right though, once a bigger story grabs the headlines, things should calm down, assuming you can keep those copper eyes of yours out of the headlights.”

~Senator Joe noticed my eyes; my, is he’s a smooth one and still so very fit. Damn but my libido’s playing nasty today, I thought it’s supposed to ease during my period? I’ll have to ask Sara about that too. ~

* * * *

To be continued

Revised 08/06/2006
Special thanks to my evil blonde sister for proofing assistance.

Notes:

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Synopsis:

Another BigCloset TopShelf story.

Joanie kisses an admirer, gets a second dose of the menace that is karaoke and gets helpful advice from Red. Joanie gives her sister a shock and learns a posible key to harnessing her time stop power.

Andy Warhol said,"In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." What if your 15 minutes came late in life, and fame decided to never let you go? Could you survive the circus your life would become?

Story:

Timeout-Stop/Playback/Rewind: A Whateley Academy Fan fiction

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place,

(http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."

This is my first attempt at writing a TG/sci-fi piece. Gentle, constructive criticism and advice is welcome. This for the pure fun of it and in appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe. Take it in that spirit. Any violations of copyright or use of real people or incidents is for purposes of humor or parody, which gets me off the hook, yay! All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005- 2006. See my new agents Bill & Ted of San Dimas CA, “Be excellent to each other and party on dude.”

p.s. They get better.

Timeout

By John from Wauwatosa

Chapter 9-Road Trip, Conclusion and Breakthrough
Des Moines IA & Madison WI and points in-between, August 31st thru September 09, 2006

December 13, 2006 at station waiting for the Grand Miskatonic Shuttle
8:30am EST

With help of two college boys and the station master, we muscled my Harley off the interurban and on the platform. The Grand Miskatonic Shuttle has a mixed light freight; baggage car with a small portable loading ramp, so getting my cycle on the train should prove easy. Correction: that should read Station Mistress -- she was much stronger than she looked. We girls took one end, the boys the other; she was nearly as strong as the two wiry college boys combined, I just helped to steady the load. I was tempted to ask if she was a mutant, but that’s her business. Now that I’m one, I notice mutants more often; at least I think I do. Not that we’re common, but there are more of us than I imagined. I gave them my thanks and sat on bench for the Shuttle, due to leave at 9am.

Des Moines, IA, September 10th, 2006

Through the governor, we arranged transport on one of several Iowa Air National Guard C130s due for Wisconsin’s Fort Mc Coy/Camp Douglas to pick up some reservists flown previously. Gin’s seminar wasn’t over yet, so she arraigned for Driftless Dan to drive up and meet us at the gate to the airfield.

~Oh joy, I get to ride in a pickup truck, for an hour or two. ~

Driftless Dan’s, “please do not call me DD”, truck was a Dodge Durango. Weird or what? Riding in his pickup truck for an hour or two was not my idea of fun, but we would avoid the press.

We said our goodbyes. Mel and I exchanged e-mail addresses, so we could keep in touch. I promised to call as soon as I was safe back in Madison.

She knew it was best I leave, but she hoped I’d return. “I know you can’t be my sister as much as I wish it, but you can still be my friend so call and come visit when you can, please. I’ll miss you so much, and I’ll just die if I don’t hear from you, so I’ll e-mail you every day so we can talk -- my brother has a crush on you; he said you’re really hot for a girl who used to be a guy but isn’t anymore -- he got your picture from the internet and printed it on photo paper -- I saw him put it in his wallet, and I heard him tell a friend of his he accidentally saw you in the shower, and you’re a real strawberry blond and you kissed him, and it felt so nice and ... “

“Your brother saw me in the shower?”

“Uh huh Joanie.”

“Eric is going to get an earful from me, he is so grounded,” Babs said. I had an idea; it was perfect.

“Babs, he’s your son, so do as you think best, but I may have a better idea. Do you have a camera, preferably digital?” I whispered the rest. She agreed and asked Mel to escort Carrie to our limo and wait there.

“We won’t be long, just lady stuff,” said Babs.

“Okay Mom.”

I winked at Carrie, and she smiled back. I quickly changed into the same leather crop top and miniskirt combo I’d worn the day of Mel’s rescue but improved on it with those knee-high Steve Zink high heeled boots. I took my long hair out of Mel’s ponytail clip and tarted up my makeup a few notches. I took a page out of Gin’s book, opening most of the buttons on the crop top, so I displayed a lot of cleavage. When Babs saw me, she could hardly keep from laughing.

“Joanie, that is just wicked. Eric won’t know what hit him. Do me a favor and don’t wear that getup near Bob or my Dad. I don’t want to be a widow or orphan at my age. Ghod, I think I’m attracted to you now.”

“Good, that’s the look we need. Ready?”

Eric was shooting hoops with a friend. This was just what I wanted; he was dribbling with his back to me.

“Eric, honey, aren’t you going to say goodbye, dear?” I cooed.

He turned; the ball stopped bouncing and rolled away. I walked slowly to Eric, slinking like a cat.

“Oh and you brought reinforcements. How sweet, but you know you’re man enough for me.”

Eric stood there stiff as a statue, ALL of him. I noticed his predicament.

“I see you want me too, and so soon after all we did last night, tiger.”

I pressed my thigh into his groin, put one hand on an ass cheek, grabbed his hair with the other and bent him into me.

“Take me now, lover,” I growled.

I kissed him full and hard on the lips with just a bit of tongue. A camera flashed, Eric started to push away.

“What are you two doing? Get out of my house, you tramp!” Babs was quite an actress. “And you, young man are in such trouble, when your dad and I get through with you ... “

“But I didn’t do anything Mom, I’ve never even been with a ...“

Babs and I put our arms around each other and broke out laughing. As we walked to the limo, I turned my head back to Eric.

“Hey Eric, when you turn eighteen if you’re still interested, call me.”

“Ghod, you’re such a tease, and you’ve only been like this for two months?” asked Babs.

“What can I say? I’m a natural.”

I was so happy with myself, it was a while before I realized my nipples were stiff and I had this tingly feeling in my...

~Ghod, I’m getting off on Eric. I’ll need to talk to Sara about this too. ~

* * * *

Driftless Dan dropped us at a side entrance to the Hospital where Alex was waiting, as we’d phoned ahead and learned the press was camped by the main entrances. I went back to my routine of class work, tests, powers instruction and advanced girl stuff. Things seemed back to normal for week or so.

Little did I know, it was about to get flung again and higher too. Several things happened to change my quiet existence. I received a CD in the mail from Iowa. The Karaoke machine was a professional model that recorded your performance. Senator Joe arranged for every party guest to get a copy of the Karaoke and a few photos of the birthday party he had taken himself. All our performances were on it including all of mine. Trouble was the kids got to bragging about the fun they’d had, how Mel had this kewl super-heroine guest at her party, how pretty she was and how well she could sing. Copies of the CD ended up in the hands of several radio stations, two of which were parts of nationwide radio empires and one of the kids posted my songs and photos to the Internet.

Busy as I was, I ignored TV and radio so it came as surprise when I got a call forwarded to my answer machine from the Karaoke guy asking me to please call him back ASAP. I’d given the Johnson’s Dr. Sara’s line as an emergency contact and she forwarded it to me as this way it was untraceable. I ignored it and went to the biweekly meeting of MSG at the Chinese Buffet. Oriental Express’s food was excellent as usual and for some odd reason, the topic for the night was how to keep your real identity secret. We discussed mistakes we’d made and ways to reduce risk.

“That’s why it’s so important to have a super name and even a separate code name. It’s critical to not let the public know your real name if you want or expect any privacy. Only a few of the top supers can get away with being fully out in the open.” Glacier Girl said. Apparently personal security was an area of expertise. “So remember rule number one, unless there is no other choice, always give out your super name and never your real name, Joanie.”

“Twist the knife deeper, why don’t you, GG? It was an accident. So what do I do now?” I asked.

“Pray and try to keep your lovely face out of the papers for a while.” said the Cranberry Kid. “Don’t feel bad, I f***ed up almost as bad myself when I mutated. You’ll not make the same mistake twice.”

“Yah, I’ll make a new and improved mistake,” I said sardonically.

“You’ll be okay, Joanie. GG is working on protecting your ID from unauthorized scrutiny and researching a new legal identity for you as a backup. Once you’re no longer flavor-of-the-day, you’ll be fine,” said Big Red.

Gin spoke next. “You need cheering up in a safe place. Most of us missed your, um concert, so lets go to the UW Memorial Union it’s ... Karaoke night.” Gin and several others said in unison.

“I suppose there’s safety in numbers,” I said unenthusiastically. My thoughts were less positive.

~Though I walk in the valley of death … ~

We drove to the Memorial Union - it’s a very big campus - and got carded. They didn’t want to let me in.

“Hey, no high school girls, we’re serving alcohol,” the bouncer barked.

They confirmed my ID, we got some decent tables not too far from the stage, got some pitchers of beer, margaritas and soda and sat back waiting for the fun to begin. I stuck to cola. The first hour went fine; various students got up, made fools of their selves or not then sat down. A number recognized some of us as local supers but left us alone. The second hour, they started to run out of volunteers, so some of us went up on stage. A sadder bunch of Madonna wannabes, there never was. Gin wasn’t half bad as an Asian Christina Aguilera. Red and Glacier Girl did a great job on “These Boots are made for Walking”.

We forgot about the menace of picture cell phones. Some idiots snapped pictures of MSG and yours truly and sent them off to a local TV news station hot-line, others called their friends. Forgetting myself, I suggested we do a group song, ‘Going to the End of the Line’, by the ‘Traveling Wilbury’s’, George Harrison’s all-star pickup band. Gin would sing verses one and four — Harrison -, Red the second - Jeff Lynn? -, my self the third verse — Orbison - and the rest the bridges - Dylan, Petty? - Then we’d all sing at the end. Prior to our song, a reporter and camera man snuck in with compact, low light, HD model we failed to notice. As we sang, the crowd grew rapidly. Why so many late comers, I wondered, had some large evening lecture let out? We sang, had a great time, and the crowd seemed to like it. Some one called out,

“Joanie, can you sing one by yourself?” I thought it was one of MSG.

“Okay, got any ideas?” I requested.

Various songs were shouted out, one gave me an idea.

“I’ve got it,” I said.

I told the karaoke operator what I wanted, and she cued it up. I was wearing the same outfit I teased poor Eric with, and it came to me, Black Leather by Grandmaster Flash, a rap song written for Joan Jett who’s known for her sexy, tough, working-class image ... perfect. I simply changed “my name is Joan Jett” to “my name is Joanie,” not bad in a pinch. I sang my heart out; giving it everything I had and vamping up a storm. I was wild on stage, Gin told me as I came off.

“Ghod you were hot, girl. I hope you didn’t do that at the birthday party.”

“Nah, purely G rated stuff. I’m not stupid enough to do that in front of preteens -- I have some level of control,” I said smugly.

The crowd wanted more, but it was late and I wanted to sleep. We walked out the doors straight into a mob of reporters and TV lights.

“Joanie, Joanie, is it true Warner and Sony have offered you recording contracts?”

“Are you going on tour?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Is it true you used to be a man?”

Things went all funny again, then black. I came to slung over Red’s shoulder, the rest of MSG running interference between us and the press.

“I’m okay, Red, put me down. I can run real fast, don’t worry.”

She set me down, and we took off cross campus. Five minutes later, we were many blocks away and out of sight. Red was slightly winded; I was fine other that being somewhat nervous. I hardly broke a sweat.

“For someone who’s not a speedster or a brick, you’re a damn fast runner. You know, we ran over a mile and one-eighth in five minutes. That’s only a little over a four minute mile pace and blows away any women’s marks, yet you’re barely even sweating. I’m supposed to be the brick here, not you,” Red said between breaths. She knew of my enhanced endurance, but it was one thing to see it in the lab, another to experience it in the real world. We’d never had a chance to test it this way.

“Sorry, Red, but these boots slowed me,” I grinned.

“Remind me never to challenge you to any distance events. Now power lifting…”

“So where do we go?” I asked.

“My place is nearby; I’ll hide you there.” Red phoned the rest of MSG, told them were I was and turned on the TV. “Want to check out the damage?” she said cheerfully.

“No news, please, how about something light and fluffy, Entertainment Tonight?” I suggested.

“You’re on, Joanie. Set your cute butt next to mine and get comfy.” I stared at her.

“Just a cuddle to help you relax; okay Joanie?”

It was relaxing, actually. The ad break ended, and the show came back on.

“On the music scene, singing sensation Joanie was seen tonight performing for friends and students at the University of Wisconsin-Madison Memorial Union.” They showed a clip of me from my cover of Black Leather.

“There goes any chance of you singing in a church choir, Joanie. That makes Madonna look Republican,” Red quipped.

“Varity reports that at least three major companies are actively trying to sign Ms. Brown, a recently discovered mutant, with Warner rumored to be in the lead. Interest in the tall, redheaded super has been at fever pitch, since her dramatic rescue of the daughter of presidential contender Governor Johnson of Iowa. Speculation was furthered by her appearance at the girl’s birthday party and Joanie’s apparent close relationship to the Johnson family and their daughter’s grandfather, Senator Williams. Little is known of Ms. Brown’s origins other than she only recently became a super. Rumors persist that she is the illegitimate daughter of Senator Williams, his mistress, or that prior to her transformation she was a middle-aged man from Milwaukee, Wisconsin.”

“My father -- if they find out where he lives! If he gets hurt, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“It’s probably not that bad. The press thinks they know your last name, but they don’t know your old first name. Plus you have a very common last name, thank Ghod,” Red said trying to reassure me.

It’s just that I haven’t told him everything that happened to me.”

“What did you tell him, Joanie?”

“I e-mailed him a couple times and said I was getting better and in rehab, but I wasn’t allowed visitors. I told my sister most but not all what happened.”

“Not all?” Red asked.

“I told her I’m a lot younger looking and a mutant ...”

“But not ... “ she prompted.

“A teenaged mutant female sex bomb.”

“Hero with a half bra, girly power,” Red sang.

“Ha ha, so droll Sensei, I’m not an animated turtle. I feel such a fool,” I admitted.

“You got some ‘splaning to do, Lucy,“ said Red in a surprisingly good Ricky Ricardo.

“First cartoons, now old TV, I give up. “

“Hush Joanie, the show’s back on.”

“In a follow-up to our lead story, the unauthorized release of a recording of Joanie’s birthday party performance is causing headaches in the legal departments of the studios involved. No written or verbal permission was obtained from Ms. Brown to release or even record her voice or image. Legal experts say the fallout could be in the millions of dollars. “

Turn it off, Red. Can I use your...”

“Phone, sure,” she answered before I could finish.

“Now cut that out!”

“Jack Benny couldn’t have said better himself, Joanie.” It got my mind off my troubles for a while.

~Thanks Red. ~

* * * *

It was late, but my sister was still awake. “Hello,” she said sleepily.

“Sis, it’s your evil brother; it’s not too late to call?”

“I’m awake now. Is that really you, John? You sound so strange, still not fully recovered?” she sounded very concerned.

We had lost most of our aunts and uncles in recent years as we were the children of the youngest of their families.

“Remember, I e-mailed you and said it would be a while before I’d be back to normal?”

“You’re not dying, John?”

“No, far from it -- it’s just I held back a lot because I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Ghod, the mutation’s disfigured you. You’re missing limbs or grew a tail? Oh my poor brother,” she said with alarm.

“No no, I’m fine, better than I used to be in fact,” I said.

“Please tell me the truth; I’m all worried now.”

“You keep up with the news, don’t you, Sis?”

“I read a lot, sure. Making a dumb blond joke?” she asked.

“Read about the mutant who saved a girls life in Prairie Du Chein on Labor Day?”

“You know Joanie, the mystery girl? Who is she, what’s she like?”

“You’ve already met her,” I said and paused.

“I’ve met her ... Oh No!”

“Yours truly, what can I can I say other than, can I borrow that nice pleated purple linen skirt of yours for Saturday?” I missed teasing my sister.

“Dad’s gonna freak. When are you coming home? You have to see me,” she said in rapid-fire.

“Probably not for a few months; the press is too curious now. The conflicting rumors help but eventually someone will connect the dots. This isn’t fair, but could you break it to Dad? I’ll owe you big time, Sis, and I am a super.”

“Well okay, but you better bring me up to speed soon. Can you meet me somewhere?”

“I don’t know. Is the sci-fi club still meeting twice a month on the second and fourth Saturday’s?” I asked.

“Yea sure, you’re not thinking of coming?” She sounded shocked.

“Why not, can you think of a group of people less likely to draw a crowd?”

“We are kind of geeky,” she agreed.

“I’ll just say, I heard of your club from your internet site and decided to check it out. I may bring a few friends, don’t worry you’ll recognize them. You can always explain us as a group of sci-fi nerds trying out costumes for a convention. Still the same locations and times?”

“No change there, little sister,” she snickered.

“That’s a low blow, Blondie. Tell yah one thing.”

“What‘s that, my former older brother, now younger sister?”

“You’d better be on your best behavior, or I’ll steal your man,” I said.

“Oh you!”

* * * *

I returned the call from the now frantic Warner Records exec. I said I was interested in recording but had several nonnegotiable conditions. First: a satisfactory security arraignment, as I feared for my safety and that of friends and loved ones. Second, this was a one time deal, though I would give them first right of refusal if I decided to record again. Third, I wanted 30% of the gross before all expenses. As I ‘d already provided them with free publicity, all expenses related to promo, production, distribution, and such would come out of their 70%, half of my 30% would go to mutant research at UW-Madison. Lastly, any promo touring, photo-ops, concerts or TV and radio appearances were strictly at my discretion. If I wasn’t 100% satisfied, I walked.

He hemmed and hawed but agreed. “If I were you, I wouldn’t settle for less. I understand your fears and despite the restrictions, we’ll still make a tidy profit. The charitable angle is a great one, good for the university, and it could boost your sales.”

“One minor change, of my personal half of the 30%, send one-third, that 5% of the gross to the American Cancer Society under my name in my mother’s honor. I can’t give her name as my dad is still alive,” I requested.

“I’ll have a contract ready tomorrow. Got a fax number?”

I gave him the number to the mutant wing fax.

“Okay if my lawyer reviews it before I sign?” I asked.

“I was going to recommend you do that. Who’s your lawyer?”

“Senator Williams,” I replied.

“Tell me, he’s not your father is he?”

“No, and I’m not his mistress -- he’s just a good friend. Now, no more questions, okay?”

“Talk to you later, Joanie, and thanks. You won’t regret this.”

“Ghod, I hope not. I’ll be in touch,” I said and hung up.

It’s over three months later, and I still call him Mr. Karaoke. Silly ain’t I?

* * * *

MSG, Sara and a still confused Alex found the silver lining to my Labor Day disaster -- the video and still images gave them something to analyze.

“We think we found the key to your powers or the “trigger” if you will and have an experiment to test this when you’re willing,” said Sara.

“Well lead on, Mc Duff,” I replied.

“I don’t know why it didn’t happen before; perhaps you were still in shock from your mutation. You have Badger Boy and Dairy Maid to thank for it,” Sara said.

“What is it? You’ve got me all wound up, and it’s very frustrating.”

“Precisely, Joanie,” said Alex. “Emotion or more correctly, the release of adrenalin due to strong emotions is the key, we believe. From your own admissions, the sight of the little girl... “

I interrupted. “She has a name, Doctor Alex.”

I was pissed, did I care for Mel that much?

~Damn I think I’m going into mother mode. I’m thinking like a mother? Where’s Rod Serling? ~

“Melissa Johnson or Mel as she prefers, Alex,” I said testily.

“Sorry. When you saw Mel running into the road, the fear you felt jumpstarted your fight or flight reflex. In your case it’s so strong; it triggered one of your powers,” Alex explained.

“Come again?” Oh goody, pseudo-science, gobblety-gook time. “Plain English please; you’re giving me a headache,” I complained.

“Okay. Somehow, you tapped into those other parallel dimensions you’re linked to, Ghod knows how, and generated a time dampening field, for want of a better term,” Alex continued.

They had told me a few days before, they believed my time and regen powers were tied into the string theory concept of multiple coexisting universes. At the moment of my mutation, I got cross linked to them somehow and that might be the source of my inexplicable abilities. With any luck, they’d soon have more for me but needed to run the evidence by Dr Otto at ARC and a couple mutant physicists first.

“The closer to you, the stronger the damping field -- at its peak, everything within thirty meters of you stopped or was so slowed we can’t see movement, even comparing from frame to frame in the video. Beyond this, objects move faster and faster until at fifty meters, motion appears normal. When you collapsed on the welcome center grass, it all snapped back in a fraction of a second,” he said.

“So I stopped motion; that sounds like a force field or energy damping,” I hypothesized. Hey, I can spout pseudo-science with the best.

“That’s been ruled out; we observed relativistic effects in the evidence,” Alex said.

“Relativistic as in relativity: i.e. Einstein?” I asked.

“Yes Joanie, all the classic stuff was recorded; gravitational lensing, Doppler light shifts, compression and expansion of objects as seen by an outside observer, and time dilation,” explained Alex.

“Time dilation?” whoa Momma! We’ve hit the big-time. Out with Rod Serling and in with “The Outer Limits,” I exclaimed.

“A State Patrol squad got caught in your time stop. The onboard computer was reported as malfunctioning at the precisely same time as the rescue. Its internal clock was out of sync with atomic time by nearly twenty seconds,” Alex said.

“Huh?” Real intelligent on my part, don’t yah think?

“The police computers keep very precise time for evidentiary reasons, calibrating radar, time stamping on-board video and for data encryption, very hush-hush. Badger Boy found out through his police contacts and offered our help investigating. Dairy Maid found the computer had lost twenty seconds relative to its equivalents, yet no error messages or any excessive processor usage were recorded in its internal logs. The computer tested out perfectly, under every scenario she could conceive of. The only explanation remaining was time travel.”

“Why didn’t it snap back like everything else did?” I questioned.

“It did, but it took just long enough for the clock discrepancy to be reported over the police data network. The squad computers report to the network every few seconds, the link itself is always on. When you began the rescue, it started drifting off channel, Doppler shift, we think. The circuits compensated but eventually lost the link for ten seconds. It came back on but out of sync, only returning to normal shortly after you collapsed,“ said Alex.

“Why twenty seconds?” I asked.

“Given how fast you ran in testing and the other night with Red, the distance covered, stopping to pick up Mel and then returning to safety, the whole rescue took you personally from thirty-five to forty seconds,” Sara replied, taking over for Alex.

“But the whole rescue takes maybe fifteen to twenty on the video they keep showing.” I said

“Seventeen point five seconds, according to the video recorder clocks.” Gin said. “Like Alex said, time travel is the only way to explain it. For part of the thirty-five to forty seconds, you were essentially in your own universe where time moved at your command, your Majesty.”

“Your Majesty?”

“How else should I refer to someone who controls a fundamental aspect of space-time? Such powers are those of the gods or at least kings and queens of myth,“ Gin said in a overly formal voice.

“But I’m me, I’m ordinary, well a mutant but?”

~Set stand by for panic mode. ~

“I’m being melodramatic, but that’s how some might see your powers.”

* * * *
To be continued
Revised 08/12/2006
Special thanks to my evil blonde sister for proofing assistance.

Notes:

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Synopsis:

Another BigCloset TopShelf story.

Our heroine learns how to control one of her powers, visits some old friends and tests another devatating power -- the power to turn men into drooling idiots. Oh, and she learns just how radically her life has been changed by her mutation.

Andy Warhol said,"In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." What if your 15 minutes came late in life, and fame decided to never let you go? Could you survive the circus your life would become?

Story:

Timeout-Stop/Playback/Rewind: A Whateley Academy Fan fiction

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place,

(http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."

This is my first attempt a TG/sci-fi piece. Gentle, constructive criticism and advice is most welcome. This for the pure fun of it and in appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe. Take it in that spirit. Any violations of copyright or use of real people or incidents is for purposes of humor or parody, which gets me off the hook, yay! All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005-2006. See my agents Bill & Ted of San Dimas CA, their moto, “Be excellent to each other and party on dude.”

Timeout

By John from Wauwatosa

Chapter 10- Field Test and Revelations 2
Madison and Baraboo WI, Late September to late October, 2006

December 13, 2006 on the Grand Miskatonic Shuttle, 9:05am EST

The station mistress and I had no difficulty rolling my cycle up the ramp and into the baggage car. Nice gal -- I still swear she’s a mutant, but I didn’t ask. She recognized me but was very discreet about it. She told me I’d like Whateley and to say hello to Ms. Carson for her. Maybe she is one? Won’t be long now ‘til I reach Dunwich NH: next stop Whateley.

* * * *

At the meeting, Gin told me what they’d planned. “Red’s helping with an experiment to test if you can trigger your time-stop effect at will. You’ll need it to protect yourself, as word of your abilities spreads. If the press can figure your powers out so can the unscrupulous.”

“So how do we test this hypothesis, Professor Glory?” Gin smiled back feraly.

“Just follow Red around today. When it happens, you’ll know.”

“A mystery, yummy.”

“We thought you’d like it, Ms. Brown.” Fair is fair I suppose.

“Yah, great.”

What Gin didn’t tell me was they were, in essence, recreating Mel’s accident but under controlled conditions. I couldn’t be told, or it might not work. Where they got their hand on an Abrams A1A tank, I don’t know -- the local National Guard I think. One moment I’m in the country near Baraboo, jogging with Red on a quiet hiking path at the huge decommissioned Badger Ordinance Plant grounds - MSG had a training facility there. Next I know there’s a flash in the distance, and the ground explodes in our rear moments later.

“Run, Joanie, we’ve wandered into a life fire exercise!”

“Well duh!”

A second, much closer explosion encouraged us. In hindsight, the whole scenario made no sense, but would you argue logic with explosions and a tank coming at you? We ran zigzag towards what looked like cover. “Shit, a stripped out tank, it’s probably a target,” Red screamed. The tank closed quickly, we turned, I saw it stop and fire -- I knew we were road kill. I felt this feeling of nervous calm, very much like the day I saved Mel. I reached Red, who was time-stopped in mid-stride, I grabbed her hand running, and she came out of stasis. We ran straight for the firing tank, its main gun’s flames still visible but motionless, fixed in my time field and now helpless. Red soon had the tank rolled on its side, I collapsed, and the shell exploded safely away from us. Its turbine stopped as I came to, and I could hear Red laughing hysterically.

“What you ... laughing ... at?” I said between gasps.

“Damn girl, what a rush, Sorry to scare you. That was Gin’s test. All the explosions were set charges remotely detonated by an observer, and the few real shells were blanks and plastic paint rounds I could easily shield you from, if anything went wrong.”

“You bitch, we could have been ... No, we couldn’t have been killed or hurt, but I have to believe that was dangerous; also clever, mean, sick and cruel but mostly clever.” I slowly got up.

“Gin and I figure that now you’ve experienced the time stop effect several times, you can reproduce the ‘feel’ and get you power to work on cue, at least that’s the idea,” Red explained.

I was still pissed, but my energy level was near normal again, I was getting better at this and fast.

“You mean like this.”

I concentrated on the odd feelings I’d had, and Red soon stopped moving. I studied her for a moment, then tried something new. I grabbed her clothing, trying not to un-time-stop her. She came partially out of it but was moving extremely slowly as I stripped her naked.

~Yup a natural redhead. ~

Mind you I did know that from the road trip, still I wish I had my camera,

~Ghod, what a body! ~

I moved fifty feet away then relaxed.

“I know you like to show off your great figure, but isn’t that a bit much Red?” I asked, mocking her.

“Give me back my clothes you little.... You did it, Joanie! Uh, can I have my clothes back, Joanie dear, please?”

“Okay but you’ll have to make it up to me,” I said with a pout.

“What you have in mind?”

“Got any whipped cream at home?” I grinned in triumph.

“Joanie,” she said in a serious tone, “you’re one kinky girl.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I said and giggled.

Red laughed, and I returned her clothes after a quick tickle or two. Don’t look at me like that dear d/j/w. After that tank stunt, I’d earned the right to some retribution - and Red blushes so cute.

“Oh, Red,” I said as she finished dressing.

“I think the National Guard would like their tank picked up.”

“Oh, yah.”

* * * *

Gin’s field test results gave me the germ of an idea. They, there’s those “they’s” again, say that money is power. I has little of either and a lot to lose, given my recent publicity. I could count on Sara, Alex and MSG for help in an emergency, my sister, my aging dad, and probably the Williams-Johnson family but otherwise I was on my own. Between the publicity seekers, con artists, psychos, corporations, criminals and the less savory government types, I was a cherry ripe for picking. I was a potential threat to the health and welfare of my friends and family. As word of my abilities spread, threats to them could be used to pressure me.

~Ghod they might try to kidnap sweet Melissa! ~

This was simply not acceptable. I needed power and protection. It was thoughts like these that lead to my devising “The Plan”. Like all good plans it was simple, and like most plans it had its flaws, but it would do.

Step one: lay low but not too low. Don’t make myself an easy target.

Step two: invest for my future in both financial and security terms. This meant acquiring wealth quickly and using it to “leverage” my position.

Step three: continue to develop and refine my powers while minimizing outside knowledge.

Step four: use steps one through three to ensure the safety of my friends, family, and myself.

Step five: this was the final step and most difficult to swallow. Find somewhere to live on an intermediate to long-term basis more secure than my current situation. As good as Sara and the mutant wing were, they had serious limitations. Mel’s birthday party and the UW-Madison Karaoke night convinced me that if the press were this bad, what would the serious nasties be like? I suspected that spy, terrorist, and criminal types would find me an attractive target.

My “safer” home research came to several conclusions. I needed to join a larger, more powerful organization, be it a supers group, the military, the intelligence ‘community’, or a large corporation -- otherwise I was on my own. I was leery of the military and intelligence community, seen too many films I guess. Plus I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut. Existing large corporations were a possibility, but I worried about being exploited and the strength of their security. My best options were joining a big cities super group or form my own non-living entity whose sole purpose was protecting me and mine. This last option gave me the most control, but it was a daunting task. I needed money, lots of it and a better handle on what I was and wasn’t capable of.

I sent an e-mail to Babs and Mel and asked them to contact the Senator for his advice. Babs was eager to help, so while I chatted with an enthusiastic Mel, Babs got her dad on a three-way. I explained the record contract offer, he agreed to have his legal staff review it and fax it back ASAP. I asked for his help setting up a foundation or corporation to protect my self and assets. In days I was a signed recording artist and the CEO and sole stock owner in “Joanie Enterprises”. I could use his staff via encrypted e-mail until I could screen and hire my own. I was overwhelmed by their generosity.

“If you ever need my help, just call me,” I told them.

They said my saving Mel more than paid for it but should Bob make a serious run for President, they might ask me to entertain at a rally or fundraiser. Mel and I talked again afterwards, and she was ecstatic I that I would record. I promised her a pre-release copy delivered in person. I swear the phone started bouncing.

On Senator Joe’s advice, I joined the Madison Supers Group, yes I know the initials are also MSG, but it saves on stationary expense. Joining made me a reserve officer in the Wisconsin National Guard, which gave me access to their resources. With the help of the mutant wing, MSG, and the Guard facilities, we refined my super’s skills. By Halloween of 2006, I could run a mile at the world record time for men and barely break a sweat. Where the heat I generated went and the energy I used came from, our best guess was an inter-dimensional transfer. Mind you, it gave me a huge apatite but by classic thermodynamics, it didn’t add up. Of course I’m not the classic John 1.0 but the new and improved Joanie 2.0.

My training was bearing fruit. My “graduation” involved time stopping a pair of Air National Guard A-10 Warthogs as they taxied for takeoff, then boarding the aircraft, placing giant pink and white bunny ears over their helmets, shades of A Christmas Story, then exiting the aircraft, photographing my handiwork and watching them takeoff. Girl, I was tired after. The pilots were very embarrassed when I showed them the photos I’d taken; I let them keep the ears though. I had to take them to dinner to make it up to them -- like their male egos couldn’t take it and needed soothing, yah sure. They just wanted a night out with the babe. Well at least they were good dancers.

Dairy Maid’s analysis of my “graduation,” Gin’s “tank” experiment and Mel’s rescue proved that the mass or speed of objects time-stopped made little difference. The area or volume involved, the time stop’s duration and the amount of my physical activity did.

* * * *

As a break from training the Gang of Four piled into Carrie’s Grand Caravan and drove to my old sci-fi club’s meeting. The risk was low, and I had to talk to my sister and dad. I’d called and found the meeting was moved to an alternate site, a large Victorian steamboat house that one of the club members roomed in. It was one of a pair of houses built in the 1880s by two brothers; the term steamboat refers to the shape and layout of the house. This was a break for me as a private home minimized any risk of discovery. We got into Milwaukee early enough to stop by my sister and brother-in-law’s home. She noticed how, um, “close” the four of us were and teased me.

“Gee Joan,” she put a lot of emphasis on Joan; I think she relished the chance to be the older sibling for once. “I know you always wanted to get in a girl’s panties, but four at once is a tad greedy, don’t you think?”

We’d always been competitive in a friendly way, but this was War.

“I may be late to the dating game, but I’ll tell you one thing, Sis, I’m ready for the Big Leagues now.” I said giving my breasts a push up with both hands, then posing like Linda Carter in her famous Wonder Woman poster, smiling with my hands on hips and chest held proudly. Then I stuck my tongue out and giggled.

“Oh you,” they all said.

* * * *

We had fun with the nerds. I mean sci-fi fans. They’re good friends and even though I couldn’t tell them who I used to be, they treated us well. The costume idea was a bust; they soon identified us from the Labor Day coverage and public service ads but were thrilled that us “celebrities” were fellow enthusiasts, and kept quiet about it, unlike the people at the Memorial Union. I only made one mistake and it turned out okay, I wore my leathers. The weather was cool, so I was in a long sleeve silk blouse, leather vest, form fitting leather slacks, my Steve Zink cowboy boots, some jewelry and my hair in a long braid.

-- Note to self: who the hell is this Steve Zink? Mind you, I love his boots.--

The rest of the Gang of Four was in similar attire. How should I put it, we could give a corpse an erection. We weren’t dressed like sluts -- we were just really hot. When one of the club members, Chuck, saw my friends, he pretended to have a heart attack, but none of us would fall for giving him mouth to mouth.

I snuck up behind and said breathily, “I hear you like girls in leather, care to have a gander, Chuck?”

If he’d died that moment, they’d have never got the grin off his face. He recovered quickly and was very polite and attentive to us the rest of the night as were several other single guys -- I wonder why?

I joined in a game of Risk they nearly always played. A member collected old board games and the classic French import was a favorite. We didn’t keep campaign books like Arnold Judas Rimmer of Red Dwarf, but we were a little fanatical. I must admit to cheating, though it was legal. I found if I kept my elbow in tight as I shook the dice, my forearm made my breasts jiggle in a most distracting manner, distracting for the men, that is. It merely made my nipples stiff and my panties damp, enjoyable, but I could control myself. Between this jiggling and my, um, pointers, the guys made several serious errors in their attacks. I cleaned their clocks. That’ll teach them to stare at a woman’s breasts like that. I don’t think they cared that they lost though, giggle.

~Why am I giggling in my diary/journal/whatever? I’ll have to ask Sara about that too. ~

We found a room at a downtown hotel; the desk clerk thought we were high-class call girls until we showed our ID. That was the best night sleep I had in years, yah sure. Just say the road trip added another chapter, Whoa momma! Did I forget to mention they had really big beds in the room?

We stopped by my dad’s the next day. My sister had told him, and we had talked on the phone, but the sight of me still shocked him. I was reminded of the problem as we were passing old family photos around, and I caught him comparing me to pictures of my mom at the same physical age. The resemblance was uncanny, I was much taller, with different colored hair and somewhat bustier, but I could see why my Dad was having a hard time. I could have been her sister; damn, I could have been her twin from certain angles. I talked to him in private, and said if he wanted to pretend I was her for a moment and hug me I didn’t mind, and I didn’t think Mom would either. He was a nice hugger, so warm and reassuring. He sure must miss her -- I do.

* * * *
One week before Halloween Sara called me to her office for as she put it, “A private conversation with Alex and me.”

Sara was always discreet when discussing the more unusual facts of my mutation, but she was especially careful today. She even placed Carrie, Red and Gin on guard in the corridor outside her office to make sure no one approached her locked door without our advance notice.

“Joanie, the reason for the hush, hush is I finally got the results back on your genetic and cell culture tests, and they are unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I did a discreet literature search and went so far as to consult with my old mentor, Dr. Otto at ARC, and even he was impressed. He’d like you to come to ARC for testing, but it’s up to you. He still only knows you’re a middle-aged male to teenaged female mutant but not your name.

I was intrigued, “What does this all mean, Sara?” She usually was straightforward with me. Why did she seem evasive?

“Remember our talks about how powers can affect a mutant’s health and lifespan?” she asked.

“You mean how burnouts can kill and how some magic users have very long life expectancies?” I replied.

“Exactly, Joanie,” she said “Now you need to be careful who you share this with. You’re at risk from people and organizations that will want to learn your secrets. I’m serious; you need to be very careful.”

“You’ve got my full attention, Sara. Be very, very quiet, were hunting Joanie. Ha ha ha,” I said in my best Elmer Fudd. “Sorry but the mood was getting a bit too heavy, I’m not being flippant, just , you know me, Sara.”

She smiled again then continued. “The tests, including your aerobic fitness tests, all point to the same conclusion. What took so long was all the rechecking we and ARC did as they are, um ... so unusual.” If she didn’t have my attention before she had it now. “Barring severe injury or some fact we haven’t considered, you’ll likely live a long time.”

“How long Sara?” I asked.

“A very, very, very long time.” she said emphasizing long.

“How long, best guess?” I needed details.

“Read the Bible, Joanie?”

“A little, my parents never forced their religious beliefs on us kids,” I replied honestly.

“Heard of Methuselah?”

“Said to have lived many hundreds of years? I know the general story, sure.”

“By your standards, he died in infancy.” Sara said calmly.

“So I could live many hundreds of years?” I asked incredulously.

“Heard of the Fey?” she asked.

“The magic folk of Celtic legend?” I replied.

“Yes, Joanie, they do exist -- I met a few in my career. There’s even one who’s a student currently at Whateley, my old school. They’ve been known to live over a thousand, even two-thousand,” she said seriously.

I was flabbergasted. “I could live to two-thousand?”

“No, Joanie, they can live to two-thousand. You won’t have aged a day by then,” she clarified.

“Not a day in two-thousand years?” I was very nervous.

“That’s not quiet right, either. All your tests indicate you won’t have aged a second in two-thousand years,” Sara explained.

“That sounds uncomfortably like immortality. That’s supposed to be impossible.” On a weirdness scale of one to ten, today was a twelve and going up fast.

“I believe it’s all linked to your BIT and how it relates to your powers. Your Body Image Template is essentially the blueprint for ‘you’ and controls the interaction of your genes and mutant powers. It’s like a super set of DNA, but it controls all aspects of your mutation, not just your physical body like DNA does,” Sara said.

“You mean my BIT was for a female and immortal?” I asked.

~Huh? ~ I thought.

“Then why was I born male, and I aged? From what you’ve said about the BIT, I should have changed at puberty.” This was confusing.

“It’s a raw hypotheses, not yet a theory, but Dr. Otto and I think you BIT was altered as part of your warper powers when you mutated. Something triggered it much later in life than usual,” she explained.

“How can a BIT change? I mean could mine change again?” This was seriously weird stuff and it was all about me

“You’ve heard of string theory and how there may be multiple parallel coexisting universes?” she asked.

“I think PBS had a special on it a few years back. So how do these multiple universes relate to me?” I asked back.

Imagine your genes as letters on a piece of paper in a great cosmic typewriter, XX is female, XY is male. Overstrike or type over XY on top of XX and you get XX. Overstrike XX on top of XY and you get ...”

“XX and a female,” I finished her sentence.

“Bingo!” Sara replied.

“That might explain the gender change, but why the extreme life extension?” I wasn’t getting it.

“Some how, we believe, all the possible BIT sets and gene sets across these multiple universes got cross linked at the moment of your mutation. You ended up with the best of the best of these BIT and gene sets and that was recopied across the multiple universes. It’s like having a near limitless supply of backups to a computer’s memory. No mater how often you erase or corrupt it, the backups restore it, thus backing up themselves, very redundant. In essence, unless all of your backups are destroyed at the same time or the links to them severed, you can’t be killed, at least not easily,” Sara said.

“I can’t be killed?” I was close to hysterics, this couldn’t be real.

Sara sensed my fear and tried to reassure me. “You can be killed, but every cell in your body would have to be vaporized or the other ‘backup’ Joanies would quickly restore you.” She said this calmly and smiled sweetly.

I forced my self to keep cool though I was full of questions.

“How can you be certain?” I asked.

“We considered cutting your head off.” Sara said. “Sorry but I’m entitled to a fit of sick humor too, Joanie.”

Alex laughed and we gals giggled. It worked, I was calmer.

“From your cell culture tests, the aerobic fitness results too. We burned them, baked them, attacked them with chemicals, we froze and thawed them; we even put your sealed cultures in the university’s research reactor. Short of total destruction, your cells restored themselves perfectly every time. We can make them dormant but only by freezing or starvation followed by drying, and even then they’re still viable. We have them all stored in our highest security vault and then only as test numbers that are themselves kept in under heavy encryption. There’s nothing to tie them to you, Joanie,” she said.

“The tests show my cells are very tough, but that’s not proof of the anti-ageing hypotheses, time goes on after all.” I needed convincing.

“Ah but that’s the whole point, time does pass for your cells, but your BIT and by extension your genes are all cross linked to a single point in time in all universes, July 03, 2006. The time line for the various Joanies are all anchored to that point in time and linked strongly to your various selves by your warper time powers. Your BIT cannot age because it is effectively ‘stuck’ at July 03, 2006.” I was dumbstruck, not an easy thing.

“Dr. Otto and I speculate that as your BIT tries to ‘move’ in time it’s like stretching out a bungee cord, at some point the tension is too great, and it snaps back to the state it was at the moment you cross linked. That moment in time is so strongly tied to your BIT and the BIT to your genes which are tied to that moment in time; it’s a recursive loop, the more it ‘tries‘ to change, the more it restores itself. Add to this the concept that the rules of physics may be different in different universes -- the one and only constant through them all is July 03, 2006.”

This was heady stuff but a nasty thought came to mind. “But I can move, eat, sleep; I even have a monthly cycle now. How if my BIT is stuck am I not stuck as well and ... Oh Ghod, can I have children, or am I sterile?”

I’d never fathered a child, hell I never been with a woman, but the thought that I never could was sickening. Sara reassured me.

“No Joanie, It’s your BIT that’s stuck, not you. Your cells divide and grow and replace themselves, they just do it perfectly. We harvested an egg during your recovery, and it fertilized normally. Your personal time field shouldn’t interfere with conception or gestation. In fact since your BIT keeps you locked at your current state, every time you ovulate, the tissues lost in ripening the egg are quickly and perfectly replaced. You are not only fertile; you will remain fertile until you die.”

“I’m gonna make the Tampax and Pampers people a fortune. If I’m not careful, my daycare bills could finance a manned Mars mission.” Sara smiled at my poor jokes, but I wouldn’t show her any mercy. “Sara does this mean I suffer from perpetual PMS, I’m a perpetual emotion machine?” I said giving her my most innocent smile, then quickly ducking behind my chair and covering my head with my hands in mock terror. “No no, I’ll be good, don’t hit me, Mommy.” If a conversation ever needed a good laugh this one was it.

“It’s good to see your taking this well, Joanie, but remember as word gets out that a mutant exists that has time related powers and is the next best thing to immortal, your abilities and body will become valuable commodities to the unscrupulous, special ops types, criminal organizations and the like. Not to mention the tabloid press, religious fanatics and such. And you can be sure the word will get out despite our best efforts here. Eventually enough will leak for someone to put two and two together and get ...” Sara started to say.

“Me,” I finished. “Doesn’t that make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside? Great, now I’m either somebody’s money tree or a permanent lab rat.”

“Good, you realize the dangers and, Joanie ... “

“Yes, Sara.”

“Stop completing my sentences for. “

“Me.”

“Oh you!”

Okay, dear diary/journal/whatever, I did ask the other obvious question, and the answer was maybe.

“Will my children inherit my powers or lifespan?”

Sara spoke next and in an admonishing tone asked, “Alex, have you been fornicating with the patients again?”

I burst into the giggles so hard I nearly wet myself, Sara laughed so hard she cried, and Alex turned this lovely shade of red. He answered me.

“If the children are anything like you two, we’re all doomed.”

~Wow Alex actually cracked a joke, whoda thunk it. ~

“Maybe , maybe not, Joanie, but from a purely genetic standpoint the genes they’ll get from you are so robust their likely to live as long as say the Fey even with out any mutant powers.”

* * * *

To be continued (Revised 08/12/2006)
Special thanks to my evil blonde sister for proofing assistance.

Notes:

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Synopsis:

Another BigCloset TopShelf story.

Joanie's life becomes a three-ring circus in chapter 11, can she survive? Please note: no Canadians were hurt in the making of this chapter.

Andy Warhol said,"In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." What if your 15 minutes came late in life, and fame decided to never let you go? Could you survive the circus your life would become?

Story:

Timeout-Stop/Playback/Rewind: A Whateley Academy Fan fiction

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place,

(http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."

This is my first attempt a TG/sci-fi piece. Gentle, constructive criticism and advice is welcome. This for pure fun and in appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe. Take it in that spirit. Any violations of copyright or use of real people or incidents is for purposes of humor or parody, which gets me off the hook! Don’t yah love the fair use doctrine. All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005-2006. See my agents Bill & Ted of San Dimas CA. Frankly their moto should read, ‘They get better.’

Timeout

By John from Wauwatosa

Chapter 11- Halloween, the Press, Field Tripping for Dummies part 1
Madison WI, October 31 to November 10, 2006

December 13, 2006 on the Grand Miskatonic Shuttle, 9:25am EST

Dear diary/journal/whatever, gee dear diary sounds awfully girly don’t it? Oh yah, I’m one now, giggle. That last giggle was deliberate, but still I do giggle so these days, and it’s not as if I’m an airhead. Sara’s tests show I’m smarter, learn faster and have a near perfect memory, part and parcel of the exemplar package. It’s been a huge help in coping with all the changes. The giggling still bugs me though. Everything from having a female brain, to the stress of my transformation, to “It’s a girl thing” was suggested. The simplest answer is the one I believe, I’m happy. Even after all the possible threats to my freedom and existence and the necessary isolation from my old friends and family, I’m happy. I’m healthy, that’s an understatement, young, attractive and my body is sooo um, responsive. I’ve got these cool, sorry Mel, kewl powers, some great new friends in Madison and Iowa, I saved a precious someone’s life, and I get to go to this strange and interesting school. Nothing will get me down now; I won’t let it, not even the memories of last Halloween; Ghod I hate Canadians. Okay just these Canadians, better?

* * * *

Monona Terrace Convention Center, Madison WI
October 31, 2006 Halloween

Cue music: ‘It’s Money that I Love’ Randy Neumann

Warner’s agreed to record it in Madison; this eased my security concerns. The release was set for November first with a big party, the only one we could agree to, held on Halloween at the Monona Terrace convention center. Warners wanted NYC or LA but agreed the Frank Lloyd Wright designed building was perfect. The party was a blast, many top artists and VIPs were flown in, Warners sparing no expense. It was like Christmas and a birthday rolled into one; I was amazed at all the famous people that came and a little frightened.

~Suck it up girl, time to schmooze the crowd, ~ I kept telling myself.

I wore my signature leathers, erotic but not slutty and was baring a lot of skin -- hey sex sells. They even flew in a live band comprised of top secession musicians, many who’d worked on the CD. Several members of MSG were here in costume to help emphasize the charitable angle and the drinks were flowing.

I didn’t know about the live singing prior to the announcement at the party. I thought I was there to smile and mingle while they handed out promo copies.

I was surprised when Mr. Karaoke announced, “And now as a special treat, Joanie will sing a few songs.”

“Thanks for telling me now.” There was polite laughter. “Since they were so nice and didn’t make me tour I suppose I can do a couple.”

We did several from the CD, the crowd was enthusiastic. I think they expected lip syncing, but we did it all live, and it must have sounded good. Then I gave them two songs we’d recorded but not used on the CD.

“I’d like to do two more then call it a night. First a sentimental love song, ‘It’s Money that I Love’ by Randy Neumann,” that got some chuckles as it’s a very satirical piece. We did the number perfectly, we rocked. “For my last song there will be a short pause while I put this on,” I held up a very blond wig, “as I need it to like get into character, whatever.” We launched into ‘Valley Girl’ by Frank Zappa; I spoke Val-speak like a native.

I was well into the dumb blond routine when armed men rushed the stage and held us hostage. The crowd thought it was a stunt until they fired at the floor to ceiling windows, blowing some out. There was little we could do; they were spread too far apart for the MSG or security to stop a once. I didn’t dare use my time-stop as I couldn’t be sure they were all in range; if any weren’t, the consequences were lethal. They must have seen the vids of Mel’s rescue because they Tazered me and dragged me away. I was tied, blindfolded and hustled to a waiting speedboat on Lake Monona while some stayed behind as a diversion. I learned MSG and security overcame them quickly with no harm to anyone but not in time for me. I was transferred to a van and driven around town, then dumped inside a solid concrete room -- must have been an old factory or warehouse. I woke chained tight to a wall.

“What is it with you villain types and abandoned factories, it’s so cliché?” I was pissed and not thinking strait, clever repartee this was not.

A man in a preppy suit walked up and slapped me hard in the face, brave man as I was chained, four goons training guns on me.

“Quiet, Joanie, I’ll do the talking, you listen. I’m with the Canadian Revolutionary Army of Patriots, and you’re helping us, you decadent American blonde-bimbo.” These were fighting words.

~He called me a blonde? Death is too good for him. ~

“You may speak, slave.”

“No disrespect, but I’m not a blonde or a bimbo, and let’s get real, Canadian terrorists? Plus the acronym of your group is CRAP. I demand to be abducted by real terrorists, not rejects from Second City.”

I was trying to get them to do something stupid. I hoped I was a quick healer, a regen, like Sara said, and I hoped the radio tracer in my boot was still working. I was chained and couldn’t break free unless I could get the key, then freeze them.

“You’re stalling for time.” He hit me harder than before, I could taste blood. “Tazer her, strip her, then tie her up. She probably has a tracer on her.”

~Damn, the high Hoser honcho has a least three working brain cells. ~

As I passed out, I thought; ~That’s strange, repartee always worked for James Bond. ~

I woke naked, sore and spread eagled on a steel table, my arms and legs tied down painfully. They may claim to be Canadian, but they were true bastards. I was scared, seriously scared. I knew a kidnapping could happen but had put it out of my mind.

“Who’s laughing now, Bitch? Sorry, my manners, you’re a whore and a bitch and a real strawberry blonde, I see. I apologize for the blonde remark, very rude of me.” He waited. “I said I was sorry, why don’t you answer back? Oh, that’s right; I had my associates gag you. I suppose you want to know what we intend. Blink once for yes, twice for no.” I blinked once.

~When I get free, this man is toast. I mean real toast, I intend to broil him alive, then cover him in butter and jam; I just have to decide on the flavor. ~

I amazed myself, here I’m thinking of my silly comic revenge and not cowering in fear though I was afraid.

~A side effect of my mutation? My confidence in general is way up; the sexual romp during the road trip was proof of that. ~

“After we take a few photos and send them over the Internet, your buyers will arrange pickup and payment. Just to make certain we’re doing a test before we do. Our sources say you heal very quickly -- perhaps you do. I can see no cuts or bruises on you, but our customer demands proof. He shot a few photos, the pervert. “Number one,” he called to a goon to my left, “break both her legs.”

He came at me with a piece of rusty pipe.

~Oh shit! ~

“MMGFFFS!” was all I could manage.

“What did you say, I couldn’t hear? Break both my hands too? OKAY, if that’s what you want, you sure are a kinky girl.”

The goon swung the pipe hard. The pain was indescribable, fortunately I passed out. I woke to the sound of gunfire then a wall of my cell burst open, it was Red. She ripped the table from the floor and carried it and me to freedom. She untied the gag, then carefully broke my restraints, I was free.

“How are you feeling, Joanie?”

“Very sore, tired and hungry; how are my hands and feet, Red? They started smashing them with a pipe, then I fainted.” I was still in some shock.

~This is strange, why am I so calm and clearheaded? ~

“I can’t see any obvious injuries, there’s dried blood on the table, but you look fine -- you sure it’s your blood?”

“Sure I’m sure, you’d think I’d make up something like this?” I was so upset I forgot myself, sat up and got off. “Hey, I feel alright, no pain, Red.” That’s when I saw the press photographers and TV cameras. “Um, Red, honey, thanks for the rescue and all, but do you think you can get me some clothes or maybe a blanket? I seem to be naked here, not that it won’t give my record sales a boost.”

Red quickly moved between me and the cameras and got a Mylar space blanket out of her bandoleer -- a utility belt is just so Batman -- and wrapped it around me. I grabbed a length of the ropes she’d removed and made a belt.

I was feeling very angry. “Give me a moment, Red.”

“Uh, you’re not going to do something foolish are you, Joanie?”

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” I walked as dignified as one can wearing a crinkling orange and silver space blanket wrapped around them like some bizarre beach towel. With hindsight it seemed more a parody of the classic LBD.

-- Note to self: You know with the addition of a breathable fabric lining, it might just work. I’ll have call Gin about it someday. --

Sorry, back to my story. I got up close to the press who started acting worried. The clicking of cameras slowed then stopped for the most part.

“Um,” I purred in my sexiest voice, “did you folks get some good ‘candid’ shots of me?” I turned to a couple of guys with big telephoto lenses. “Get any ... ‘beaver’ shots did we.” They looked very guilty. “I should ask for all the film, drives, recording media, or whatever or better yet smash your cameras, but this is a public place. However my tall redheaded friend over there,” I pointed to an extremely angry looking Big Red, “might have ideas of her own.”

~They look like they are about to ... YES, success ... wet their pants. I have got to find out how Red does that. ~

As the stains spread, I spoke. “I’ll ask you to do this then, would you please use only the more ‘G’ rated images? If anyone forgets, there better be fat checks donated to the American Cancer Society in my name, or I will sue. Given my looks, I think a jury might considerer this as attempted child porn, and there’s always the option of civil suites. Remember that my chief legal advisor is a United States Senator. Do we have an understanding?” Everyone nodded. “Good. Oh, and boys, I expect 8 x 10 glossies of every photo taken of me today, and I do mean all of them. I’m making a scrapbook, four of each should do. Mail them to MSG in care of my friend Red; you all know the address, ta ta!” I turned and walked jiggling and crinkling with Red to a waiting ambulance. “Red, once I get cleaned up, we’re going to the Chinese, I’m starving.”

She looked at me and shook her head, I could see the signs of her arousal straining through her top.

~Have I got it or what? Now if I can just keep folks from trying to steal it. ~

* * * *

They got the kidnapers but couldn’t get a handle on the buyer. They still don’t have them; they’re part of why I’m on this train. At the mutant wing, Sara insisted on x-rays, an MRI and lots of blood work, while Alex and my pals at MSG analyzed the blood and hair stuck to the pipe and other physical evidence. I was ravenously hungry, so Carrie got me some energy bars and sport drinks to help replace what I lost.

“You are one tough girl, Joanie. The tissue, blood and hair stuck to the pipe and the blood and gouge marks on the table are consistent with vicious, crushing blows, yet Dr. Sara says the x-rays and MRI show no evidence you were ever injured. From the digital photos your captors took, they broke both your legs, broke your right wrist and nearly severed the fingers on your left hand. The photos made me sick to look at them. You have The Cranberry Kid and Glacier Girl to thank for locating you. They homed in your backup transmitter; it was very low power, so you were hard to find,” said Alex.

“Backup transmitter?” I asked.

“Why’d you think GG gave you that rather too friendly hug just before you left for the promo?” Carrie answered.

“She wanted to cop a feel?” I suggested. GG is sweet but sometimes too ‘playful’ for my confused tastes.

“She planted a dermal patch transmitter on you. Nearly invisible, the trade-off is low power and short lifespan. It lasted just long enough,” replied Carrie.

“I thought I had an odd itch near my crotch, but did she have to place it there?”

“Would you think to search there? Be glad she didn’t shove it up your ...“

“I get the picture, Carrie.” Ewh! She left Alex and me alone.

“Some good’s come of this; we know you’re a higher level regen than we estimated. You’re a four or five at least; we’ll go into that another time. Carrie brought some clothes for you, so have a shower, get dressed and go out and get something to eat, okay, Joanie?” I was feeling unsure of myself, I think he noticed. “Joanie, if it helps the police and those MSG present say the same, you saved lives by not resisting.”

“I couldn’t do anything, I didn’t know were they all were, then they Tazered me. I felt helpless.”

“You weren’t at first, but even if you’d time stopped the ones near you, some terrorists were beyond your effective range. They would have soon noticed your attempt and reacted by killing innocents. You did good, Joanie; you took the bullet for them.” I cheered up, Alex often had this effect on me, but why were my nipples suddenly so stiff? He answered a quick phone call.

“Red says she has news about your abductors as soon as you’re dressed. She’ll tell you over some Chinese, and Joanie?” Alex asked.

“Yes, Alex?” I loved it when he talked to me.

~Oooh. Ghod I’m hot for my Doctor! ~

“I heard how you handled the press. If you don’t mind, can I have some of those candid 8X10 glossies? Whoa Momma!” Alex exclaimed.

“Pervert!”

~How dare he. ~

“Guilty as charged.”

“I’ll think about it.” I thought for one second. “Okay.”

~Dr. Hunk likes me. ~

The thought of him ogling my nude pictures made my panties wet. I was very confused and aroused. Alex grinned like he’d won first prize. He’d come very close to winning my cherry. I was on the edge.

“I suppose you’ll want them personalized, something like ‘Thanks for a great BIG time, Alex, lover” signed Joanie with little xxxxs after my name?” I fought to stay in control. I left the room before he could answer, or I ripped off his clothes. Warning hormone alert to Defcon Five!

“Joanie,” Red said discretely as we ate MSG’s favorite Chinese buffet, “Carrie and Gin are assisting the police in questioning your hosts. A little hocus pocus here by Gin and an empathic suggestion there from Carrie, and they’ll sing like canaries. If they don’t, GG and I can break something.” I snickered. “Meantime, what do we do about you, girl? You are becoming one serious security nightmare.” She smiled; it made her look so sexy.

~Ghod I am horny today. ~

“Tell me about it. “ My panties were damp again.

~Damn, I just changed those. ~

“It wasn’t totally unexpected, Red. I’ve got some feelers out on better security or safer locations. One intrigues me: heard of a private boarding school called Whateley Academy?”

“Aren’t Dr. Sara and Dairy Maid alumna? Glacier Girl is taking on-line courses from them, I think. It’s in New England?”

“Near Dunwich, New Hampshire, a couple hours train ride from downtown Boston. Sara says it’s pretty good, and Dr. Otto of ARC swears by the place,” I explained.

“It’s a college prep school for mutants; you’re not a teenager, Joanie.”

“Look closely at me, Red. If I don’t dress right and wear all the bangles, makeup, and boots, how old do I look?” The lights came on bright in her regal head.

“Ghod, how can I forget? You can pass for sixteen or seventeen, maybe even fifteen without much effort -- younger still if your breasts weren’t so well developed. It was hard to make you much more that twenty even with all the leather, make up and boots,” she said excitedly.

“Precisely, Red.”

“But Sara said that it costs a bundle.”

“I can believe it, imagine all the damage hundreds of mutant teenagers away from home for the first time can do or just hundreds of normal teenagers,” I offered.

“Holy liability uncapped ingénue!”

“Narrowly escaped copyright infringement there, Red, but it‘s true enough. Most Whateley students either have massive scholarships, whopping great grants, or fabulously fat fortunes. Sorry about the embellishment, but it felt so good.” I said with a satisfied smile. “Got a cigarette?”

“I know, Joanie, bad English is addictive. I’m in a twelve-step program myself, Adverbs Anonymous,” Red said straight-faced then stick out her tongue. We broke up laughing.

“Gee, Red, you sure do turn red when you blush.” On our way to her place I told her my financial plan, it took my mind off my urges. “I’ll need a ton of cash for Whateley and to beef up my personal security. That’s why I agreed to the recording contract -- that and to repay what you and my friends at MSG have done.”

“That’s not necessary, and you know it. They did the same for me; you’ll do the same for someone else,” Red said almost insulted.

“No, Red, I value what you and the others did for me as friends. It’s sad to say but some things take cold hard cash, and now I’m in a position to help. This is a supplement to my personal commitments, not a replacement.”

“So you’re not buying our friendship?” Red said mischievously.

“Heaven forbid, Red. If I wanted to buy your friendship, I wouldn’t use cash.” She looked at me like Spock from classic Star Trek. “I’d do this. “

I leapt onto her wrapping my arms around her neck and shoulders, my legs around her waist and played tonsil hockey with her for a minute or so -- I wasn’t counting. I released her from my embrace, straightened my clothes, and walked calmly as if nothing happened. We walked in silence for a few minutes.

“Joanie, let’s stop at that convenience store.”

“Why Red?”

“’Cause I need to buy two thirty pound bags of ice for the bath I need.”

“That good, huh?”

“Yup.”

“My pleasure, Red.”

“Ah, Joanie, we were talking about Whateley and your plan to pay for it before you so pleasantly interrupted,” Red said like a lecturer.

“Sorry, but I needed it. It’s strange but despite the kidnapping, assault and baring my genitals on TV well ...”

“Well, what is it, Joanie?”

“I’m feeling so ... aroused.”

“Aroused, Joanie?”

“You know, hot to trot, primed and ready to go, all systems horny,” I admitted playfully.

“That bad, huh?” she was interested, very.

“I’ve been like this all day, if anything it’s getting stronger. I nearly raped Dr. Alex, and he knows I used to be a man.”

“So were talking fifty pound bags for your bath then?” Red joked.

“I’m so surprised; you’d think sex would be the last thing on my mind after all that,” I said honestly.

“Some people do react oddly to stress, but I wonder. When was the last time you felt like this?” I thought for a moment.

“About four weeks ago.”

“When did your last period start? “ Red asked.

“A little over three weeks ... You don’t mean?”

~No, no, not me. No way. This is insane. ~

“Uh huh, could be,” Red said in a sympathetic tone.

“I have got to see Sara. I mean every girl has the right to be a nymphomaniac once and a while but every 28 days? My sister will never let me live this down. Oh no, I just thought of something else. Call Sara on your cell, I need to see her now!”

* * * *

“What’s worrying you Joanie, Red said you needed to see me ASAP, “ asked Dr. Sara

“I’ve had this recurring problem every 28 days since my transformation.”

“Your period’s causing discomfort?”

“My periods a nuisance sure, it’s what happens a few days before that’s the problem. I get ... well I feel like ... it’s kind of embarrassing, Sara,” I said, and started to blush.

“Your sex drive increases, Joanie?” I nodded while pointing at the ceiling and whistling.

“That’s very common, nothing to worry.”

“You don’t understand, it’s like I’m a different person. I nearly raped Alex today; it took everything I had not to knock him to the ground and screw him to death right there, I needed it so,” I said in all honesty.

“I’d put you on the pill to regulate your cycle and ease the symptoms, but your system would react to the hormones like any other drug, so it wouldn’t be effective. We can try biofeedback, relaxation techniques or behavior modification -- they may help, Joanie.”

“Any other options?” I asked.

“A practical one, lots of self stimulation when the urges get bad. Get a vibrator, several, and lots of batteries” I snickered nervously. “I’m serious, Joanie; a good series of orgasms should take the edge off your cravings. If they don’t, hey you’ve had some fun.” How she kept from laughing, I don’t know.

“Could be inconvenient at times, but I’ve no objections, though the neighbors might --- I’m kind of loud.” Sara cringed as we lived in the same building. “Any more ideas?” I asked.

“The only other one is to get into a long-term relationship with an understanding partner, a very understanding and athletic partner, and buy lots of condoms. Do that in any case as normal birth control won’t work for you. We could try an IUD, but they have problems too, and your body might just expel it.”

“Great Doc, so I’m Miss Easy Bake Oven, what else?” I said sardonically.

“One sure cure, pregnancy, well not really, as many women crave sex more after the first few weeks. Whether is due to hormones and/or psychological we’re not completely sure but at least you can’t get any more pregnant unless you’re a kangaroo, which you’re not.”

“Very funny, Sara, my other concern hit me when I remembered a piece of TG fiction I read. I have a hymen, right?” She’d given me a though gynecological exam after my recovery, that was different. Not your usual “turn your head and cough.”

“Yes most girls have one, but it’s not a true proof of virginity. It can tear in sports competition or by incorrectly inserting a tampon. In some girls, it’s flexible and simply moves out of the way, only being lost in childbirth. I hear such women are very sought after in the sex trade.”

“Exactly, Sara.”

“I see what you mean. To quote a favorite film of yours, ‘you’ll be t’rrifically popular’.

“This must be some divine cosmic joke. Every time I have sex with a man I’ll be a virgin, a perpetually nymphomanical virgin. Ha ha ho ho how funny; Joanie, every brothel owner’s dream.” I said, my words dripping sarcasm.

“All the more reason to be careful, Joanie, but its not all bad news.”

“Huh?”

“Thought your regen powers make you permanently fertile, your actual fertile days are the same as any other young woman. You can only get pregnant on certain days in your cycle and then your odds are only somewhat better than average. That’s only because your eggs are equally as efficient as the rest of you. Also you have shown an extreme resistance to disease. Either you won’t get sick or at worst you’ll start to, then your immune system roars back, and you’ll never catch it again,” Dr. Sara explained.

“Viruses too, even AIDS?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t go and deliberately expose yourself to AIDS or some other potentially fatal disease, but the cell culture tests suggest you’re immune. That doesn’t mean live virus might not survive in your vaginal fluids for a few minutes to hours. You should be safe, but you could act as an uninfected carrier.”

“So safe sex to avoid pregnancy and to protect my lovers?”

“Not a bad practice, Joanie.”

“I feel a little better,” I replied.

“One last thing, dear.”

“Yes, Sara.”

“If you ever bed Alex, do be gentle. With your endurance you might kill him, and he took so long to train.” I rolled my eyes.

“Great another comedian.”

~Just like my mom. ~

* * * *

Red and I met the rest of The Gang of Four at her house where I explained ‘The Plan’ to them. Gin paraphrased it to prove she understood.

“Let’s see if I have it, the record contract is for ready cash. Meanwhile you’re accumulating old currency, so that when you suss out your time travel powers, you can make stock and property investments in the past, so that by the near future you control an incredible amount of wealth for your personal and charitable needs? Did I leave anything out?” she asked.

“That’s pretty much it, Gin,” I said.

“Are you -- scratch that -- you are crazy. It’s not I don’t doubt you can eventually manage time travel, but think of the risk. The very best evidence of what can go wrong is your own transformation, one momentary encounter with your mother in the past and bobs-your-peter.” Gin grinned nervously. “Sorry for the gallows humor, but I’m seriously worried. If in one moment you managed to so alter the timeline that you’re a girl instead of a man, what bigger messes could you cause.”

~Gin is rightly to be worried. Damn, it made her look so hot and sexy. Oh joy, a week of this. ~

“You mean Jerry Lewis was not the 40th President of the United States?”

“Be serious for once, Joanie.” Gin snapped. Believe me you do not want to make a sorceress angry.

~I swear her eyes are glowing. Ghod it makes her so cute, ooooh. I have got to get laid or take that ice bath. ~

“Just trying to ease the tension, Gin, I know it’s risky, but it’s worse if it just happens at random. I have to believe it’s less risky to time travel knowingly with control than unknowingly and out of control,” I argued.

“See that you learn some control, Joanie. I may have something that helps. I’ll hobnob with some of my fellow wizards and witches and see if I can’t whip up a magical reality recorder,” Gin said and grinned.

“Gin, what’s with the Wizard of Oz reference?”

“Something to tell you if anything major has changed in the timeline so you can go back and fix it, assuming you don’t make it worse,” she gave me a feral grin.

I didn’t know whether to kiss her, thank her, or run screaming. Magic users are so hard to read.

* * * *

To be continued

Thanks to Renae for the use of her ta ta. FYI, Dr. Sara was quoting Young Frankenstein if you didn’t guess.

Revised 08/30/2006
Special thanks to my evil blonde sister for proofing assistance.

Notes:

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Synopsis:

Another BigCloset TopShelf story.

Joanie learns the "terrible price" her time-travel power demands, with help from her MSG pals. She has fun with men in uniform and visits a sugar addicted friend's family.

Andy Warhol said,"In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." What if your 15 minutes came late in life, and fame decided to never let you go? Could you survive the circus your life would become?

Story:

Timeout-Stop/Playback/Rewind: A Whateley Academy Fan fiction

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place,

(http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."

This is my first attempt a TG/sci-fi piece. Gentle, constructive criticism and advice is welcome. This for pure fun and in appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe. Take it in that spirit. Any violations of copyright or use of real people or incidents is for purposes of humor or parody, which gets me off the hook! Don’t yah love the fair use doctrine. All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005-2006. See my agents Bill & Ted of San Dimas CA. Got my bill for their sevices the other day, bogus.

Timeout

By John from Wauwatosa

Chapter 12- Field Tripping for Dummies part 2 and Sleepover part 1

Madison WI, Des Moines IA - November10-12, 2006

December 13, 2006 near the Massachusetts, New Hampshire boarder on the Grand Miskatonic Shuttle - 10:00am EST

Cue music: ‘Going to the End of the Line’ by The Traveling Wilburys

Need to hurry; the Conductor says we arrive at Dunwich in minutes. I need to change out of my travel clothes and into my cycle gear for the last leg to Whateley. Overall the rail trip’s gone well. I’ve had little trouble with people recognizing me; the novelty’s worn off some in the public eye. Warners wants a follow up album; I wonder if it could be done at Whateley? I’ll have to see.

Oh sorry, as to not being recognized, it’s amazing what a little less makeup, simple blouse, sweater, skirt, hose and tennis shoe combo does to change my look. Add a baseball cap, sunglasses and my hair in a braid, and I’m a different girl.

Some people asked if I was “Joanie” or if I was related, but all I had to say was, “Can you picture me in all that leather and those silly boots?”

I have a dozen pairs of those silly boots in my luggage waiting for me at Whateley; how did I become so shoe obsessed? As to my fellow passengers, most were good about it. A couple young girls asked me politely, and I admitted I was her. They got personalized photos and CDs from me for keeping a secret - I brought some along just in case. I told them I’d e-mail them just so they could see the expressions on their parents’ faces. It will be nice to have some pen pals.

A few times there were troubles. An obnoxious -- is the any other kind -- intoxicated man would not take no for an answer. A word to the Conductor, and he was put off the train and into the hands of the police. One very nasty man followed me into an empty woman’s room at the Boston AMTRAK station and grabbed me from behind. No one assaults me! I time-stopped him, stripped him to his shorts, tied him up, then called the cops He’s lucky I didn’t do worse; after my ordeal with those kidnappers, strange men grabbing me makes me very upset. I was very lucky he didn’t try to knock me out. I still have occasional nightmares about my kidnapping; I hope this doesn’t set them off again. I’ll need to send a thank you to the Boston Police, nice people. Got to finish, I’ll write more after I get to Whateley.

* * * *
Gin offered to help me attempt a controlled time trip. She suspected the trigger involved some kind of meditative state as my only prior experiences all occurred when I was relaxed or distracted. Sara concluded that the reason it had not recurred, was I was subconsciously blocking my power. I was so traumatized by the experience of meeting my own mother, my subconscious would not allow a repeat. They both believed relaxation or similar techniques could surmount this.

“Gin, dear, your idea sounds like a sort of Don’t Worry Be Happy method for time travel.” She glared at me a moment and laughed.

“Joanie, most magic requires fierce concentration, meditation often is useful for this. It’s worth a try, and at worst you’ll have a great stress relieving tool at your disposal.” She seemed so sincere. “I can ‘see’ ley lines, the magic lines of force between various objects. I ‘see’ them much like you see things in your peripheral vision when driving a car. That’s what I need you to do, relax and concentrate on nothing directly, let your peripheral senses take over.”

We set up where no on would see us or surprise us, on the top of Bascom Hall, on a high hill on the UW-Madison campus, its oldest building. She set up magical wards to warn of intruders, then coached me towards that desired state. She held both my hands and spoke.

“Imagine you’re floating in a pool of warm, still water, not a care in the world, all is well,” Gin said in a soft, melodious tone. “Reach out with your mind, feel the totality of your body, the warmth of the sun and the water, the gentle touch of my hands, the smell of my perfume, the sound of my voice.”

“Are you trying to relax me or seduce me? The way I feel now either is go. Ghod I feel so aroused, relaxed but aroused.” Gin giggled slightly but remained calm.

“Concentrate on something that happened here in the past. Concentrate on an image, Joanie, my love.”

~So she is doing that as well, the minx. ~

I thought of something then got an odd sensation, a cross between a headache and an impending orgasm. I heard Gin gasp then speak very carefully.

“Joanie, open your eyes slowly, sit up and look around.”

She held on tight to my hands. It was obvious in her tone she was excited and scared. Bascom Hall is the oldest building on campus, well over 100 years old and still commands a good view in many directions. The crisp, dry November day was replaced by cold, snowy winter. From the roof we saw nearly all the familiar buildings gone. In the distance a great plume of smoke and flame rose to the sky, from the hill on the isthmus where the State Capitol should be. It was on fire, but this last happened in 1904!

”You did it, Joanie, we time traveled to 1904 and the last time the State Capitol burned. That’s what you thought of, wasn’t it? Gin said excitedly. “Let’s take a walk around.”

“It was, Gin, but shouldn’t we be getting back? I’d like to stay and look around but baby steps here, remember? Don’t screw up the past.”

“Forgot myself, Joanie, I’ll take a few photos from here as proof, then we’ll go back; you feeling okay, girl?”

“Just cold and extremely aroused, more than before -- damn headaches gone though,” I said in a deep, womanly tone, almost a moan. “Ghod, my panties are soaked through, and it’s not from the snow. Hurry up Gin, shoot or strip, take your pick.”

I was desperate for relief. She held my hand tight as she snapped a few.

“Okay, Joanie, think of where we came from, the smells, the sound, the feelings you had, and try for that again.” It took a few moments, the feelings came, and so did I. Oh Ghod did I, and it felt so good.

“Joanie, we’re back, definitely back. I can tell from my wards and the sticky notes I put across the rooftop door jamb.” I took a moment to answer as I felt another after climax.

“You really trust your magic, don’t you? Sticky notes, ha!”

“It’s an update on the old matchstick in the door jamb trick. How do you feel now, Joanie?” Gin asked clinically.

“Apart from a fading orgasm, ooooh ... and a minor headache which is almost gone, pretty good, Gin. At least I’m not so aroused anymore, and I am a little sleepy. Dr Sara’s advice was right about my urges ... Got a cigarette?” Gin snickered.

“You’re one damn lucky girl, Joanie; I use my powers, I get exhausted. You use yours and you get off, and you didn’t even touch yourself. I’m jealous.”

“Gin, they say half the fun of going somewhere is the journey itself, oooh baby!” Gin threw her pad of sticky notes at me.

* * * *

“So your time travel powers seem tied into your sexuality, or at least that’s how your body senses the power?” Sara paraphrased what I told her.

“That’s about it, embarrassing huh?”

Sara got that look in her eyes.

~Oh oh. ~

“You’ll have a very, um, rewarding life won’t you, dear.”

I couldn’t let her get away with that.

“One thing for sure, Sara, I’m carrying tampons and panty liners with me at all times. I was soaked by the time Gin and I got back from our ‘research’ trip. Travel is so educational,” I said, then I rolled my eyes and faked a moan. She just shook her head.

* * * *

In the first two weeks of November, I did several more with Gin’s help and that of MSG; we did a big test out at Badger Ordinance, where I took the entire Gang of Four and Red’s F250 crew cab along as a test of my limitations.

“From the test objects that traveled with us and those that did not” — tooth pick flags, and you thought they were only good to hold sandwiches together — “the area your time field envelopes is at most a radius of 30 meters or 100 feet.”

“What Red means,” Gin said, “Is you can take some pretty large objects back and forth in time but nothing like whole armies or large buildings.”

“Wow, a one-hundred foot circle!” — I’d impressed myself — “Still, there goes my plan to ‘try and take over the world’.” My Brain — as in Pinky and the Brain, NOT my mind dear d/j/w -- was not the best but it seemed appropriate.

“Ah yes. But it comes at a cost; your mind went off-line for nearly an hour afterward, some sort of trance it seemed. We worry you’ll get stuck like that if you push it too far, and it does make you very vulnerable. The larger the area transported and to some extent the mass, the longer the recovery time. Years do not seem to be the problem as much as volume,” Gin said with some concern in her voice.

Gin was unusually patient today; well I had been paying her a lot of close, personal attention recently.

~Ghod I’ve got to get my libido under control, ~ not that Gin objected.

“No pain, no gain or so they say.”

“We’re not kidding, Joanie!” Carrie sounded cross and worried. “We thought we’d lost you. Consider how vulnerable you were,” she said, and she was right; it had placed me and them at risk.

“You’re right, Carrie, anything could have happened. Good thing you gals came with me.” I heard nervous giggles from all of them.

“Ah ... Joanie, we weren’t unaffected,” Red said looking embarrassed. “We all felt tired afterwards and um, aroused.”

“Aroused? Red, you came so hard I thought you were having an epileptic seizure,” said Gin.

“You should talk, Gin. I haven’t seen that look on your face since the Labor Day road trip, and I, let’s say I feel great. I wonder if this isn’t some empathic effect. Mom suspected you might have some talent but couldn’t be sure, Joanie. Someday we’ll need to test you for it. Oh, and Joanie, thanks, you were the best I’ve ever had.” It took several minutes for us to all stop laughing.

“I’ll keep it in mind, Carrie.”

* * * *

It was time for a break and alone; I needed time to think, and I needed to see if I could take care of myself. Early on the second Saturday of November, I took off in my Focus for the first time solo since July 3rd. I’d not driven it much since, though Sara had my car transported to Madison back in mid July. I told Sara I was going for a few days but would keep in touch. I bought a prepaid cell phone just in case, giving only Sara my number. I didn’t want the Gang of Three running to the rescue unnecessarily, and I had to test myself, stand on my own two Steve Zinc number 11 clad feet.

~How do they make these so comfortable? ~

I understand they make some really sexy cat suits. I headed south west on US HWY18 / US HWY151 for Iowa and a long overdue visit.

I arrived at Terrace Hill some seven hours later, I did have to eat and go, you know. I wore my brown MSG bomber jacket, personalized with “Joanie” sewn across the top back and front top pocket, over a cream, wool turtleneck and black leather vest, black leather pants and the boots, my hair in Mel’s ponytail clip, very stylish. I was stopped at the gate by a guard.

“Have an appointment, Miss?”

“No, just a friend of the family here to visit,” I politely replied.

He glanced at me, and I got this look from him, like he was dismissing me as unimportant, just some dumb girl.

“Sorry, you need a pass, security you know, 9-11? No pass no entrance.”

Oh he loved his job.

“If you can get Bab’s or Mel on the phone, they can vouch for me,” I offered.

“Bab’s or Mel?” he looked at me closer; I think he was ready to call for reinforcements.

“I’m sorry; I mean Ms, Williams-Johnson or her daughter Melissa. I’m a friend, my names Joan Brown, call me ‘Joanie’,” I said this cheerfully. He looked at me like I was a lunatic with a bomb. “If you’ll just call them ...“

“I don’t know who you are, Ms. Brown, if that’s who you really are. Don’t move -- I’ve called for backup. Try something, and you’ll regret it.”

~Ooh, he’s a power hungry jerk. This is going to be a fun day, I can tell. ~

A squad car raced up behind me, officers jumping out with guns drawn.

~Damn, one has a shotgun!, ~ I noted with some fear.

I felt like saying something but one: I didn’t fancy being shot despite my proven regen powers and two: I preferred they dig their own graves.

Officer Rambo, as I now thought of him, barked at me. “Get out of the car slowly, with your hands held high, turn and place your hands on the roof, arms and legs spread.”

I decided not to point out how this would make opening the door, let alone releasing my seat belt difficult, I didn’t think he’d appreciate the subtle humor. As I did this who should come by but the Governor; he was jogging with two security aids.

“What’s going on?” he called out as they ran towards us.

“Stay back, Governor, situation under control. We caught this ‘woman’ trying to break into the grounds, possible mental case.”

“I suppose being the best friend of my wife and daughter could qualify her as a mental case,” Bob chuckled.

“Hi, Bob!”

“Hi, Joanie, why are you standing with your hands and legs like that, looks uncomfortable?” Bob said, trying to calm me with some humor.

“Stretching?” The squad officers and Rambo saw the light. Rambo did not look so sure anymore. They put their guns away and said it was okay to move.

“Sorry, Miss, just a mistake,” A squad officer said as he stared at Rambo.

“Do any of you fine officers know who Joanie is?” the governor said.

This looked to get real interesting, real fast. I watched as Bob continued the show. They shook their heads, obviously not news junkies. Bob broke out in a wicked smile.

“Joanie, do you want to tell them? I’m afraid I’ll start laughing or fire people or both, I haven’t decided yet.” He looked very pleased; hey he’d just done me a personal favor.

~Ghod I love this family. ~

“Any of you have school age kids?” One nodded. “Teenagers?” he nodded again. “They buy CD’s?” he kept nodding. I think he was catching on. “Hear of one called ‘Timeless’, classic rock and country covers sung by a new, tall, long-haired strawberry blond, leather clad young female, um?” I shook out my long hair as a visual aid.

“You’re that Joanie?” he said very quietly.

“That is the secret word, and the contestant wins one-hundred dollars.” I said in a bad Groucho. I wanted one more, slow twist of the knife. “One last thing, Officer?” I hinted I needed a name.

“Schmidt?” he said doubting his own words.

“Remember how this ‘Joanie’ got discovered, Officer Schmidt? Perhaps something involving Governor Johnson’s family, this Labor Day? Hum?”

“I’m toast!”

“With butter, jam and coffee on the side, explain it to the rest of the Three Stooges, I’m off to surprise a friend.”

~That felt so good on so many levels. ~

“Mel will be so happy, Joanie. She couldn’t sleep the night your signed CD arrived. Coming dear?”

“Lead on, Bob.”

* * * *

I drove, following the Governor up to the mansion. I pulled even and spoke out the driver’s window.

“Thanks for everything back there, Bob. I hope you don’t mind me saying, as I used to be a card carrying member of the male gender, but for a man nearly my real age, you have a fine ass.”

“Not at all, Joanie, just don’t say it in front of Babs.” he said between deep breaths.

“I can see why she married you, you’re very attractive, well to me now, not the old me, he liked girls, but well, I’m noticing men more and more. Please stop me before I stick my foot any deeper in my mouth, as it makes driving difficult.”

~Why did I say all that? I’m babbling to Bob just like I did when I talked with a pretty gir ... Now I’m attracted to Mel’s dad. Great! I have got to get a boyfriend, girlfriend or both and soon. ~

* * * *

I parked and followed him into Terrace Hill, trying hard not to stare at his tight buns as we walked up the flights of stairs to the private fourth floor. He did some stretches to cool down, the hi-tech fabric of his all-weather running suit doing little to hide his still trim and muscular physique. He turned and I could clearly see the impressive bulge ...

~Now I’m sneaking peeks at his genitals. Naughty Joanie, bad, bad, bad girl; he’s married, Bab’s a friend and Mel would never forgive you, girl. Oooh, but he’s sooo Big ... NO NO NO Joanie. I need those biofeedback lessons bad or a damn cold shower. I may have some control over my powers, but my libido is gaining control over me. This gets any worse; I should be on Desperate Housewives or in a Planetary Agents/Peapod crossover. Hum ... if GG and Dairy Maid joined and made us the Gang of Six? Oh my! I’ve got to get my mind off the subject. ~

“Bob, could I go somewhere and freshen up. I’m uncomfortable after my long drive, and I’d like to be presentable for Babs and Mel.” I was trying hard not to seduce the poor man.

“Sure, Joanie, guest rooms at the end of the hall, shower, Jacuzzi and everything. Toss me your keys, and I’ll bring up your bags.”

“You don’t need to do that; I’m a big girl now,” I said petulantly.

Bob deliberately broke eye contact and looked down for a moment “I’ve noticed. Sorry, just trying to be a good host, and that was too good a straight-line to pass on Joanie. Toss me the keys; I’ll be back in a jiff’,” he said holding back a laugh. I threw him my keys and went to the guest room.

* * * *

I showered, and got some blessed relief in the Jacuzzi. Bob had left my bags on the bed. I was sitting on the bed finishing dressing when I heard excited voices.

“Who, Daddy, who’s here to visit me, Daddy: tell me, tell me, tell me please!” Mel sounded ready to go into bouncing mode.

“Tell me too, Bob, please.” It was Babs. “Who’s come to visit Mel?” She was calm but as insistent.

~Now I know were Mel gets it from. ~

“Oh, just some girl from Wisconsin,” I could hear the smile in his voice even down the hall and through my closed door.

“I don’t know any girls from Wisconsin, Daddy?” Mel said, confused.

I heard a squeal and feet pounding down the hallway.

“Joanie, are you here, Joanie?”

She burst through the door and leapt onto the bed.

“When did you get here, Joanie; how long can you stay -- we can have a sleepover again -- I’ll call all my girl friends, and they’ll come over, and we can have lots and lots of fun together -- oh how I missed you, Joanie!”

She ran out of steam and simply stared at me with those sapphire puppy dog/kitten in the rain eyes. Once she got older that look would be devastating, the boys wouldn’t stand a chance, lucky boys.

“I missed you too, Mel. Not certain how long I can stay, but we can have some fun, sure. Just so long your mom and dad say okay,” I said; she just smiled and bounced.

“Hi, Babs, I see you cut down on her sugar intake.”

Babs giggled, “I was the same at her age, a Williams’s girl curse. Glad you came, Mel keeps talking about you, and it’s driving us crazy.” She rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue.

~Definitely like-mother-like-daughter, Babs is the grown up version of Mel, no doubt. ~

“Meant to come earlier, but things got in the way. Can I have a quick word with your Mom and Dad, Mel? I won’t be long. You can stay and listen if you want.”

“It’s okay, Joanie; I want to get my collection ready to show you.”

“Collection?”

“Her Joanie collection: every time she sees an article in a newspaper or magazine about you, she keeps it for her collection, posters too.”

“There are posters of me? I didn’t know.”

“Warners made them for the displays that promote your CD. Mel begged the man at Sam Goodies so hard he gave her one of theirs, that and the life-size cardboard cutout of you in that leather outfit,” Babs explained, smiling warmly.

“Now I’m a giant cardboard cutout, what’s next, a Barbie doll?” Babs snickered.

“She has two of those, special limited edition Barbie dolls, one she plays with, the other in its factory sealed box, as an investment she says.”

“I’m a Barbie doll?” I was shocked. “I never authorized that.”

“Actually you did, I asked Dad. Don’t worry, you get a very nice royalty on each, a large part of which goes to the charities you designated, says so on the box.”

“But a Barbie doll?”

“Not Barbie but her new friend ‘Joanie’, and you have an action grip.”

“What?”

“You can hold the included microphone or grasp Skippers wrist as you drag her to safety.”

“That’s something I suppose.” I said resignedly. A piece of me was ecstatic.

~I’ve hit the big time, an action grip, wow! ~

“What I wanted to say is, I’ve worked on my powers control so I think its safe to have a sleepover, just she shouldn’t say I’m here to be safer,” I explained.

“You mean that time-stop you saved Mel with?” Babs said.

“I’m better with that too; no, I mean my primary power, the one I experienced the day I mutated but not again until recently,” I said excitedly. I had to tell someone.

“You have another power, what super speed, or x-ray vision?”

“Don’t be silly, Bob.” said Babs.

“It’s better than that, it’s time,” I said.

“It’s time for what, Joanie?” Babs was confused.

“Sorry, I said that poorly.”

~Whew, caught myself, nearly said, ‘my bad.’ ~

“My primary power is time-related like my secondary, the time-stop. Put simply, I time travel,” I said calmly.

“Like in sci-fi, as in H. G. Well’s The Time Machine?” asked Bob. They looked pale.

“Right out of Doctor Who, I’m my own TARDIS.” I hoped they’d heard of the British cult TV classic.

“The one with the time traveling police box -- you can do that, Joanie?” Babs said.

“Pretty much, Babs: except I travel though time, not time and space, well not as such.”

“Not as such, Joanie?” Babs asked.

They were still confused but so was I. This was about as clear as the instructions to program a VCR.

“I can travel to the past and come back in a different place. I can even transport sizable objects and interact in the past, but I move in distance the normal way. I walk, ride a bike or take a bus and such.” They nodded. “As to my kidnapping, that trick won’t work on me so well now as most of my clothes are carbon nano-tube fiber enhanced. Even some of my hose -- it cost a bundle. Don’t worry, if things get too hairy, I’ll bug off, I won’t put Mel or you at risk.” I smiled and gave them hugs. Ghod it felt good.

* * * *

Mel showed off her collection. It took an entire bookcase and the corner of her room, including the cutout. You know, I did look hot in that outfit. Mr. Karaoke was right to choose that one, and I thought it was for autographed photos. She’d spent a lot of effort on her collection, and it showed. She had everything sorted by category and cross-referenced by date. She’ll make a great museum curator someday, very organized.

“I was so scared when they said you’d been shot at and kidnapped, and they couldn’t find you,” Mel said barely stopping for breath.

“Slow down, Mel, you’re making me dizzy.” she giggled.

“When they rescued you, and Big Red got you free, and you stood up without any ...” Mel looked embarrassed.

-- Note to self: I’ll need to see if they sent those fat checks. --

“That’s okay, Mel, those nasty people stripped me so they could hurt me more, but I’m fine now.”

“I was scared for you, Joanie, but I wanted to say you looked so pretty even without any clothes,” She said this still smiling.

“I looked pretty when I was naked, Mel?” This was strange coming from an eleven year old girl.

“Yah, Joanie, you’re so tall and not fat, and you have such nice boobies and stuff.”

“Why are you talking about my boobies, I mean my breasts, Mel? That’s a little personal.” Mel got all conspiratorial looking.

“Want to know a secret, Joanie?” She was grinning.

“Okay, sure.” I rubbed my hands with glee, she giggled again.

“I’m growing breasts too, want to see?” She raised her printed t-shirt revealing a pretty lace trimmed bra. “I wear a bra now, it’s a training bra ‘cause they’re little, but Mom’s helped me measure to myself every Saturday since you first met me and they’re bigger every time. I’m almost an A cup.” She looked very proud.

“So Mel’s becoming a woman, I’m so happy for you. You’re gonna be very pretty; look at your mom and dad, you look a little like both. Give me a model’s turn so I can see.”

She turned slowly for me. I was so happy for her, nice kid. Plus if they get anywhere near her mom’s size, it should curb the bouncing -- just too painful.

“Mom says I’m developing a woman’s waist and hips, see?” She spun again then rested her hands on her hips to show off. We both giggled.

“I like my parents, and school’s okay, but sometimes I just wish I grow up real quick. Being an adult is so kewl.” She frowned a bit.

“It is, Mel, but being a kid is fun too. No responsibilities -- not any big ones anyway. Maybe that’s why what happened to me happened.”

~Oh that was clear, any more confusing, and I could write fine print for Hollywood contracts. ~

“I mean, Mel, maybe Ghod if you believe in one, fate, or whatever figured I need to see life from a new perspective, you know a different point of view. Maybe all this,” I gestured along my body, “is some great cosmic joke. All I know for sure is I saw life as a boy and then a man. I now see life a young woman, yet I remember the boy and the man. The trick is to balance these and come out a whole, sane person. Throw in the mutant powers and wow, I’ve got one crazy life. For the most part it’s good, and you’re a large part of why it’s good, Mel. You made me realize I need to help people and be with them, not just exist. You understand?” My, I was philosophical.

“I think I do, Joanie.” She got this puzzled look on her face then got real serious, real Girl serious. Oooh, smell the estrogen. “I know this, Joanie, you’re as much a lady as Mom and as much a girl as me. I don’t see the man or boy in there. Maybe they come out when you need to be strong, I don’t know. I just know you and Mom are the girls I most want to be like.” She stopped; I thought I saw a tear. I gave her a quick hug and a big smile.

“Cheer up, Mel, don’t let Joanie get you down. Time for serious stuff is over, what you want to do for fun, girl?”

* * * *

To be continued

I’m experimenting with some of the tips Cathy_t and Amelia_R sent me and am trying to format more in the Whateley canon style. Let me know if this chapter was easier to read. Let’s see now, independent clauses, subordinate clauses, Santa Clauses. Thanks.

This latest version follows in the style I’ve adapted from Itinerant, thanks to all who have helped.

Revised 03/22/2006
Re-formatted and revised 09/04/2006
Special thanks to my evil blonde sister for proofing assistance.

Notes:

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Want to comment but don't want to open an account?
Anyone can log in as Guest Reader -- password topshelf to leave a comment.

Synopsis:

Another BigCloset TopShelf story.

Joanie visits a friend and attends an all-girl sleep-over. She learns of the speed and power of modern marketing and has a close-call with the press. She discovers something personal that worries her greatly.

Andy Warhol said,"In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." What if your 15 minutes came late in life, and fame decided to never let you go? Could you survive the circus your life would become?

Story:

Timeout-Stop/Playback/Rewind: A Whateley Academy Fan fiction

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place,

(http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."

This is my first attempt a TG/sci-fi piece. Constructive criticism and advice is welcome. This for pure fun and in appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe. Take it in that spirit. Any violations of copyright or use of real people or incidents is for purposes of humor or parody, which gets me off the hook! Don’t yah love the fair use doctrine. All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005-2006. See my agents Bill & Ted of San Dimas CA. They just renegotiated my publishing contract and got me a big increase in royalties, excellent.

Timeout

By John from Wauwatosa

Chapter 13- Sleepover part 2

Des Moines IA — November 11-12, 2006

December 13, 2006 near Dunwich, New Hampshire on the Grand Miskatonic Shuttle - 10:15am EST

The conductor announced “next stop Dunwich;” we’ll be there in five minutes. Ghod I’m so nervous I could wet myself; me, Joanie, who’s run screaming into a busy highway to save a girl not knowing, she could stop time. Joanie, the terminally shy person now professional recording artist and girl-on-girl make out expert. Joanie, the gal clad in only a space blanket and rope belt that told off a salivating press mob and sassed back to kidnappers while naked in chains. Where has your courage gone? I can barely type this, I’m shaking so. I feel like I’m gonna puke. Com’mon, pull yourself together, girl. This is what you want. Don’t give-up just short of the finish line. Think of all the people who helped you get to this point -- don’t let them down. Don’t let yourself down, damn it. If you made it this far, you’ll do fine. Now I’m spouting platitudes, pathetic, but I am calmer.

~Now is everything ready? Let’s see, travel clothes repacked, cycle gear on or at hand, baggage claim ticket for cycle in blouse pocket, no? Try purse in left pannier, no? Don’t panic, girl, how about top inside zipper pocket in my MSG bomber jacket? Whew! ~

I have got to stop scaring myself, deep breaths and relax, Joanie. Got to stop soon and pack my diary/journal/whatever safe in its padded case. Last check: personal care items, oh thank the Ghodess Sara packed those condoms for me, and I thought she was joking, not that I ever will need any but still? What was it they said in Red Dwarf, “You never know” but then I’m no Duane Dibbley. And thank the stars for that. Road map with marked route, check, letters from Sara to Ms. Carson and Dr. Polland, check, letter from Meridian, check. Nearly there now, just watch the scenery and think of the fun you’ll have, just like the sleepover at Mel’s but with older kids, for whole semesters at a time and coed, oh my. Got to go, we’re slowing for the station. I’ll finish this at Whateley.

* * * *

The sleepover was set for 6pm that night. I helped Mel call, I dialed and she talked, trying not to give away her secret. She had me listen in, sneaky girl.

“Mel, you’re acting weird. What’s up?” her friend Lisa asked.

“Nothin’ Lisa: just trying to have fun.”

“I’ve known you since first grade, Mel; you’re only like this when you have a secret you can’t tell. You can tell me, you know I won’t talk.” Mel put Lisa on hold.

“Lisa’s a good friend but can’t keep a secret. She’s almost too nice and honest.” I nodded, and Mel put Lisa back on.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret, and I want to surprise you.”

“Please, Mel, I’ll be good, I can keep it for a day.”

~Oh my, Lisa can talk like she had puppy dog/kitten in the rain eyes, scary. ~

I succumbed to the Silly Side of the Force, “If Mel can’t say I’m here, then she can’t say I’m here, Lisa.”

Mel giggled when she heard my fake girly voice.

“Who was that Mel? She sounds familiar,” asked Lisa.

“Another friend who’s come to visit, that’s why I want a sleepover.”

“I’m from out of town and can’t see Mel often. I hope you come, Lisa, they’re lots of fun.” I tried to sound girly but Joanie kept leaking out.

“Tell me, Mel. Please!”

~Ouch! Lisa could teach a class in whining. ~

“I can’t, it’s a surprise.”

“Then I’ll have to guess.”

“This sounds interesting,” I whispered to Mel.

“I’ll star with the facts,” said Lisa. Mel told me later Lisa read lots of girl detective novels, Nancy Drew and her successors.

“Your friend’s a girl from out of town, probably far away ‘cause she says she can’t see you often. You have no female cousins. I’ve heard her voice before, but she’s disguising it. How am I doing so far?”

“Fair,” I squeaked.

“You’ve been to a sleepover of Mel’s, you said so yourself, Mystery Girl,” Lisa stated.

Mel snickered as she remembered the press calling me that.

“Wait, I remember. I heard you at Mel’s birthday party this September. Most of the kids were from school except for Mel’s brother and a couple others.”

Sharp girl, she was very close. Then I heard doubt in her voice.

“That doesn’t make sense, I must be wrong. The only others were your Mom, Grandfather, those three strange men and ...” the phone went silent. “No, you couldn’t have, I mean she’s so famous now, she wouldn’t.”

I gave in. “I wouldn’t what, Lisa?” I said in my normal voice.

She was a good friend of Mel’s after all. Lisa shrieked and dropped the phone. We could hear a distant conversation.

“Lisa, are you okay? Why did you shriek?”

~Must be her mom. ~

“Mommy, Mel’s invited me to a sleepover, and she has the greatest secret, and I can’t tell you.”

~She’s trying. ~

“That’s nice dear, what can’t you tell me?”

“That Joanie’s visiting her ... “

~She tried. ~

“Joanie from the birthday party: Joanie the singer?” Her mom asked.

“Yes, Mommy, isn’t it great! Can I go? I have to,” Lisa said excitedly and loud; my ears hurt even with the phone on the floor.

“Ok,” Mom said; Lisa shrieked again. “But you have to pick up your room first.”

Mom’s, yah gotta love um. We could hear Lisa running back to the phone.

“You still there?” asked Lisa, breathless.

“I’m still here,” we said in unison and laughed.

“I take it your mon said yes, Lisa?” I asked.

“Mom did, and I won’t tell, Joanie, I promise.”

“See you at six, Lisa. Bye.” Oddly enough she did keep her word; however, some of the other girls…

* * * *

Around 5:30 the first girls showed.

“Can’t be late for your sleepovers, Mel, yours are the best,” they all said or something like it.

Bob was off to a fund raiser, so it was girls’ night out or is that in? Babs handled the door, and Mel led them upstairs to party room, the converted fourth floor media center, mattresses on the floor, snacks on a table, a cooler full of soda, you know. I was ensconced in the Media room wearing the height of fashion, red lace panties — not thong, this was a girls party — matching bra, my own personalized, autographed MSG oversized sleep shirt with my name sewn on the front and pink bunny slippers with eyes, ears, whiskers and tails. Yah, I know the slippers were a bit racy but still.

I know it was Mel’s party and at the Governor’s mansion, Terrace Hill, but I was amazed how many older brothers had insisted on — “helping carry in all the party stuff” - for their beloved younger sisters, such kind hearted boys, sure.

Seven girls were invited; seven came along with eleven older, helpful brothers who just had to carry those heavy snacks and sleeping bags all the long way up and into our party room. Apparently potato chips and snack mix are heavier than I remembered.

“No, no, Mrs. Johnson, we wouldn’t dream of letting our sister Julie carry all this heavy stuff by herself,” said the twin brothers of a petite blood girl.

All the boys were so helpful though once they saw me; it was hard to get them to leave.

~Hum ... could they be here just to, Nah. ~

It was six and the last two, the twins, hadn’t got the hint -- bold action was called for.

“Mel, dear, we’re all girls here right?” I said blatantly ignoring Frick and Frack. Mel nodded. “So we can let our hair down, so to speak, so long as we behave.”

“Sure, Joanie, what you want to do?”

The boys grinned like sharks at a free surfer buffet.

“I got up so early and drove so far to get here, and I’m feeling really uncomfortable; okay if I go braless?”

“Okay, sure,” Mel said.

I reached under the back of my nightshirt to grab the clasp, raising my nightshirt in the process. By the time my navel was exposed, the twins were running down the stairs. I stopped what I was doing, straightened my clothes and started laughing. The girls soon joined in, it was a while before anyone could speak.

“Thank you, Joanie, my brothers were pains all day once they found out you’d be here,” said Julie grinning widely.

Mel spoke. “I keep telling you, Joanie’s the greatest.”

Was I goanna argue with eight teenage girls? Well almost teenagers.

I almost wish I’d started out as a girl because strange as it sounds, I was enjoying this girly stuff or my inner child certainly was. They talked about school and their siblings. A few talked about makeup and pierced ears as they were old enough for their parents to allow it. A couple even talked about which boys were hot ~ooooh? ~ Somehow that got them asking about my makeup, eventually that lead to the inevitable, and no it wasn’t “do you have a boyfriend?”

“Joanie, what’s it like to be you?” a redheaded girl asked.

“Come again?”

“On the news they said you used to be this old guy, and now you’re a teenage girl and a mutant.” She seemed embarrassed asking me.

“It’s okay to ask, Debbie? I might not give a straight answer, but you can ask.” I smiled back. “I’m surprised myself how comfortable I am with this whole girl package. Plus the mutant powers are so kewl.” I said as I gestured along my body. “It was hard at first, learning what to do and not do and it was a change from my previous, um ... experience,” I explained; several girls giggled.

“Weren’t you scared, I’d be?”

“I was more in shock than scared. The transformation took so much out of me; I slept though most of it.”

“I’m amazed how well you’re handling it. If the TV hadn’t reported it I’d never suspect you used to be a man -- Mel had to confirm it, I didn’t believe at first,” Debbie said.

“Truth is I didn’t handle it well at first. I thought I was okay, then the first time I saw myself in a mirror I fainted, really.”

“Like in a movie?” one of the girls asked, it may have been Lisa.

“Just like one, the hospital has it on tape.”

“Why’d you faint? The shock of not being a man anymore or ‘cause you’re so much younger?” A tall and slender blonde asked.

“Kim is it?” She nodded. “Maybe both, the one thing I remember thinking about at the time was how young, pretty and sexy the image was. It was such a surprise how I looked, I thought for a moment that wasn’t me but some big poster like the hot new singers and actresses put out.” I was being very honest.

“Like your poster in my bedroom?” Kim said. Posters, there are more posters?

“You have one too? I thought Mel was the only one, and hers was part of a music store display,” I asked.

“You can get them all over the place now. I bought mine at Sam Goody. Chrissie got hers at some gift shop, and, Julie, where’d you get yours?” asked Kim.

“Walgreens.” the petite blonde said. “Same place I got my Barbie doll of you, Joanie,” Julie said.

“I’m on sale at Walgreens?”

~Ahooga, mass marketing gone amuck! I only signed the contract in September, this was fast. ~

“They sell you CD too; you were in the top 25 countdown last weekend,” Julie said.

“My songs are on the Billboard charts?”

“Crying is number seven this week, up from number 30 on the pop chart. You’re number three on the country chart,” said Chrissie. “VH1 ran the video from Mel’s birthday party last night.”

“Number seven and three after two weeks -- how will I ever go out in public again? I’ll never have another day’s privacy in my life.” This was upsetting, I started to cry.

“Face it, Joanie, you’re famous, like it or not,” Babs said from the doorway. I calmed down some.

“Hi, Babs,” I said.

The girls giggled in response.

“Hi yourself, Joanie, tell you girls something kewl; my husband’s campaign people took a poll this week. You know what a poll is?”

“Where they ask you who you’ll vote for and stuff?” Kim said.

“Exactly, they wanted to know how well known Mel’s Dad is for his re-election planners. More people could identify Joanie, by her name or picture and who she was, than they could Mel’s dad, and that poll was taken in Iowa.”

“Be afraid, be very afraid,” I muttered softly, Babs heard though.

She smiled her big smile and said, “Bob told me he hoped you’re not running for Governor because he might lose,” then Babs giggled.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope, Joanie, cross my heart and hope to die not joking.” Bab’s inner child was staging a comeback.

~Ghod what is she wearing? ~

“Babs, is that a Babs Bunny sleep shirt you’re wearing? Ghod, you’ve got on the exact same bunny slippers I’m wearing, you bitch!”

I mimed a cat scratching. Babs leaned against the doorjamb to keep her balance, she was laughing so hard.

“Mel, your Dad and I were saving this for Christmas, but as all your best friends are here,” she smiled at me, “we thought you could have one early.” Babs smile was like the Cheshire cat, friendly but mildly worrisome.

“What is it, Mommy? Show me, show me, show me, please!” Mel was in full bounce mode.

A security aid wheeled in a large gift wrapped box then left.

“Are you gonna open it, Mel?” she said. Mel tore off the paper; it was a home karaoke machine.

“I have but one life to give for my country,” I said then mock hanged myself.

I was acting very mature ... for a five year old. We all helped set it up, and the words I’d been dreading were spoken.

“What yah gonna sing for us, Joanie?” someone asked.

“Yah got me, arrrrg!” I said in a pirate voice as I mimed being shot and spun to the floor.

The girls and I had lots of fun taking turns singing along with the included discs. Mel’s brother Eric even got in on the fun when Babs wasn’t looking.

“You were making such a racket I had to see what was going on.”

That and since he was a couple years older and girls mature faster, the temptation of so many girls in skimpy night attire was too temping. I just knew what he’d be doing once he got back to his room. Yours truly would likely be featured in his ... fantasizeations. Writing about it months later makes me nervous, and there’s this odd twinge down in my ... Marvelous, I’m fantasizing about underage boys. Must be near my time of the month, euw! But that ended weeks ago, and why now as I’m ... Ghods, I’m fantasizing about Eric. I’ll have to call Sara and ask her about that one.

Before we went to sleep, the girls begged for a demonstration of my powers.

“Ok, I guess but nothing too big, let’s keep it safe,” I said.

I threw a soda can in the air and time-stopped it. I’d been practicing my fine control by time-stopping small objects and was pretty good at it.

“Oh my Ghod, Joanie, that’s so ... uh, can I touch it?” Lisa asked.

“You can try.”

She couldn’t get her hand nearer than a foot due to the time differential acting as a force field.

“Catch, Lisa,” I called then released the can.

She was so startled, she nearly didn’t grab it. They each had to have a try, but I didn’t mind, and they gave me such warm hugs afterward I cried from joy. It’s so nice to have friends.

* * * *

I woke early in the morning, my bladder aching for relief, surprised to find Mel spooned tight against me with an arm around my waist. It felt so nice, Mel was a very cuddly young lady; she’d make a great mother someday.

~Why did I think of that? Don’t tell me I’m warming up to the idea of motherhood already? The Horror! ~

Us gals got cleaned up, ate breakfast and called home for rides. I went to my car to load up, Eric insisting on carrying my bag for me, probably so he could walk behind me and ogle my legs and ass. He made a very astute comment as we approached my Focus.

“Miss Joanie,” he kept calling me Miss Joanie, either he’s very polite or he’s trying to get me to like him. He wants a date?

~Oh this would be wonderful, “Hey Dad, meet my date. He’s only 35 years younger than me.” That would go over great — not. But still? Put it out of your mind Joanie. Ms. Libido, I told you to behave, if you don’t behave, no Mr. Pulsating Shower sprayer tonight. ~

“Miss Joanie,” he said again, “You may want to reconsider leaving right now, looks like the press found out you’re here.”

I carefully turned and saw an army of reporters and the general public. My Focus and I were outmatched. With this mob that A1A Abrams tank would be outmatched.

“Oh lovely, Eric, would you be a nice man and find your mother, then wait with her in the media room, I have an idea.” I gave him as sultry a smile as I could and stared into his eyes.

“Uh, sure Miss Joanie,” he said, his voice cracking.

~Hope I didn’t lay it on too thick. ~

We met in the room minutes later.

“Babs, Eric told you about my pest control problem?” I asked.

“You mean the plague of reporters? Kinda figured that would happen when all those helpful older brothers came last night. Eric says you have a plan? Cum’mon girl, give.”

”Three ways to go I think, bold as brass, diversion or camouflage. Bold as brass is simple but painful. I drive out not a care in the world. Maybe even give the press a quick quote. This is my when all else fails position. Diversion, as the other girls leave I go out the back way. That puts a lot of burden on you to distract the press, and we could have a nasty traffic accident if the press gets wind of my leaving. Camouflage, I dress as non-Joanie as possible and leave with the crowd. My Wisconsin plates are the problem, a dead give away. I’ve considered using my time-stop, but the area I need to cover is too big, and it would strain me so much I might pass out behind the wheel, very dangerous for all,” I explained.

“So what’s the plan? I’d like to help, Miss Joanie,” Eric asked.

~My, he sure wants to look good in my eyes, smart kid. ~

“Camouflage and diversion but I need the loan of some Iowa plates, that and I need you, Mel and Eric, you’re the diversion. You drive to the gate, tell the press they missed me, and you’re going out to eat. Preferably some kid-friendly restaurant the press hates and won’t follow you to, Chunky Cheese perhaps. I’ll drive out with the others right after you, and meet you there or some other place to return the plates or even mail them back. With the Iowa plates, I can be explained as a young campaign volunteer helping out with last nights party -- it’s worth a try.”

Eric left and soon came back with some plates and a screw driver. We went to switch mine when I realized my error.

“This won’t work, Eric; they can see me change the plates. Time for bold as brass, I’ll just have to drive out with the rest.”

We walked back into Terrace Hill, “Thanks for trying, Eric, that was very kind of you.”

I gave him a quick hug and a kiss. I swore he was blushing. Hey, he’d earned that hug.

“Good luck, Miss Joanie.”

“Thanks I’ll need it, Eric.” I gave Babs and Mel quick hugs and kisses, ~must be a girl thing ~ said my goodbyes to the rest of the sleepover guests and finished dressing.

I wore my leather Indiana Joan outfit, It was warm, comfortable and retailored with carbon fiber to short out Tazers. The light weight Kevlar layer didn’t hurt either. I waited until several cars were leaving and got into line with them behind a minivan and prayed for luck. Babs, Mel and Eric made a big fuss over a vehicle loading behind me so the press was distracted. I hoped this would be enough. With sunglasses on and a ball cap I drove to and out of the gate. I’d made it onto the road before I was spotted. I drove off at a safe speed, knowing they now had my make, color and plate. I hope that GG and my other friends at MSG had done their job and protected my records.

“Well there goes the neighborhood,” I said.

I thought of what might happen when the press matched my plates to the Wisconsin DMV records. My ray of hope was if GG managed to expunge all my old records and change the name and address to my current one, which was a PO Box at the University Hospital, at least my dad, sister, old friends and relatives would be safe. The worry was someone might have an old copy of the database, but that was nothing we could do anything about. Some press tried to follow, but the Iowa police kept them on their toes, and I soon lost them. I didn’t speed; I just have a stealth car. It’s nothing hi-tech, no James Bond gadgets, simply a light grayish green — light tundra Ford calls it — four-door car like my Focus is so common, it blends right in. It’s like that old ad parody about the VW Beetle being the perfect get-a-way car.

All the way back to Madison something troubled me, but I couldn’t think what it was. I was soon back to my halfway-house apartment and my car safely in its locked garage. I gave my Dad and sister a heads-up call to be safe and got seriously into researching and financing “The Plan.” Yes, I know “The Gang of Three” called my new look “The Plan”, but it’s not copy-written, so there. I went to bed tired but thankful I’d pulled off my escape, and then I realized what had bothered me all day. Why when I hugged and kissed Babs, Mel and Eric did I kiss the girls on the cheek but Eric on the lips? I still don’t know why, and it’s a over a month later. It scares the willies out of me, am I sexually attracted to men? It was bound to happen, and I know Alex and a few others have excited me, but why Eric? Maybe the doctors at Whateley can help me figure that one out too. Their head doctors will have their hands full with me.

* * * *

To be continued
Next stop Whateley

Revised 09/04/2006
Special thanks to my evil blonde sister for proofing assistance.

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

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Anyone can log in as Guest Reader -- password topshelf to leave a comment.

Synopsis:

Another BigCloset TopShelf story.

Joanie perfects her time-travel power and only causes one tiny oops in the timeline. She devises a scheme to secure her furture financially and checks in with Administration at Whateley.

Andy Warhol said,"In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." What if your 15 minutes came late in life, and fame decided to never let you go? Could you survive the circus your life would become?

Story:

Timeout-Stop/Playback/Rewind: A Whateley Academy Fan fiction

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place,

(http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."

This is my first attempt a TG/sci-fi piece. Constructive criticism and advice is welcome. This for pure fun and in appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe. Take it in that spirit. Any violations of copyright or use of real people or incidents is for purposes of humor or parody, which saves my poor ass - oops, sorry. I love the fair use doctrine. All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005-2006. See my agents Bill & Ted of San Dimas CA. They lost the last five chapters I sent for proof reading, most heinous.

Timeout

By John from Wauwatosa

Chapter 14-The Plan or How I got to Whateley on Budget

Madison WI — November 12, 2006 — December 13, 2006

December 13, 2006 between Dunwich, New Hampshire and Whateley Academy, 10:45am EST

Stopped off the side of the road to compose myself, I thought a bite or two of a Pearson’s Salted Nut Roll, a sip from my water bottle and a quick entry in my diary/journal/whatever would calm me. Thinking of a code name got me thinking how I’m likely to outlive everyone I’ll ever know. I guess that’s why I cried, not a good thing while riding down a narrow, winding road at 55 mph. It doesn’t pay to linger on it; maybe Whateley will help me get perspective. As to this code name idea, I understand in concept, but somehow it’s not me. Maybe I can use it to keep my pubic persona of Joanie separate from the student/staffer Timeout? Nah, I’ll stay Joanie, but Timeout can be useful when I need anonymity. Maybe it can be my security call sign or web nickname. Joan may even work.

Such a nice day for a ride, but I have a destination to reach, and Sara said the cafeteria is very good, just to be careful what you pick up as they cater to extremes of diet. The truly unusual stuff is not in the normal food lines, but sometimes they screw up.

~Let’s check the map again, I turn left at New Hampshire Hwy ... then four miles to ... got it, the route’s a piece of cake from here.~

I think I’ll call Mr. Karaoke Man and tell him no dice on a second album, at least for now. Like I need more money or publicity -- ghod he’ll probably want me on some big TV network late night talk show, not a chance in hell. The odds of me agreeing to that are about as good as my giving birth to twins in the Whitehouse, and I have yet to have sex with a man. I haven’t even found one I like enough to date, let alone you know. Get yourself established at Whateley, Joanie, then when you’re comfortable with it, you can think about guys or girls or guys and girls.

It never fails, tell a teenager not to do something, and they do the opposite, now how am I going to stop my teenaged libido from thinking about sex? Think of accounting, that’s safe, think about double entry.... Now that was a mistake; time to pack it up and say hello to Whateley.

* * * *

Cue music: Magical Mystery Tour, The Beatles; Who Are the Brain Police? and Lets Make the Water Turn Black , Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention; 1712 Overture, P.D.Q Bach - AKA Peter Shickele

The period from mid November 2006 to early December was one of intense preparation for my intended goal of Whateley Academy. I spent long days digging through microfilms of old newspapers, magazines, trade papers and annual reports. I compiled a list of stocks, land sales, business mergers and the like, concentrating on well known, long lived, stable corporations for the most part. I found several hundred good risks and noted when the stocks made big moves. This was critical to the success of my investment scheme.

Dear diary/journal/whatever readers, you’re saying why not just time travel to do the research, invest in a few huge companies just before they made it big, and make a killing the easy way? I know, buy a ton of HP, IBM, Microsoft, Sony and such at their inception, sit back and relax. Wrong, wrong, wrong wrong, wrong, to paraphrase Monty Python. One: time travel despite any, um personal rewards, was and is dangerous; the less I did, the less risk of mucking up the time line. I needed to be selective and discreet. Two: I needed to amass a sizable fortune to insure my long term protection, and remember I may live a very long time. I had to spread my investments widely so not to unduly affect the future economy and the time line. Duh? If I got too greedy in any one investment, it could change the future, plus draw attention to my actions. Millions or billions spread across the whole of the US economy or even just the Standards and Poor’s were drops in the ocean, in a handful of stocks, a Tsunami. And I needed sums that large, sad to say.

I continued working on my self defense and warper training. The self defense came courtesy of the Wisconsin National Guard and MSG. I was fortunate that the male members — pun not intended, but it was true - were not the least adverse to sparing with me, in fact when it came to breaking out of a persons hold, they nearly all volunteered. I learned later of the few whom didn’t --three had jealous wives or girlfriends, and for the other they said, don’t ask don’t tell. The grab-her-from-behind-across-the-chest moves seemed particularly popular. Mind you, I found it unintentionally, ah ... energizing as well. Cold showers worked for all of us — giggle - though they did exacerbate my ‘headlight’ problem. No, I didn’t shower with the guys, though they offered.

My time-stop got easier and more precise, and my ‘research’ trips, as the Gang of Four called them, got better too. Not to say there weren’t a few, ah mishaps and a lot of soaked panty liners. Nothing real serious went wrong, honest. Okay. I admit the Canadian invasion of Japan caught me off guard — just joking. Nixon winning in 1960, that I agree was a serious blunder but then Kennedy must share the blame. Served him right too, what a letch. I never should have attended that rally prior to the Wisconsin Primary. Fortunately I remembered what happened, and with Gin’s magic, we got things back on track. You’d think having a famous man make a pass at you wouldn’t cause much trouble; of course my slapping his face in that never to be famous photo didn’t help. Hey, this girl is not some cheap political groupie, the nerve of him! Anyways, he had a bad back, he’d never have kept up with me, giggle. - I just giggled in my diary again, oh dear — The press photographer was a problem but Gin had a spell to fog photographic film and saved our collective bacon.

With Sara’s and Dairy Maid’s connections, I put together quite a file on Whateley and its current head Ms Carson or should I say Miss Champion and others over the decades. This research plus Sara’s and Dairy Maid’s endorsement of the school convinced me to attend Whateley, but how and as what? I could pass for 15 or 16 with ease, but did I want to go through high school again and what after graduation? I needed something long term or at least indefinite in length.

“Whateley sounds perfect, but how do I get in?” I asked Sara, Carrie and Dairy Maid.

“We could write you a letter of recommendation, as alumna Dari — Dairy Maid’s real first name — and I have some influence.”

“I don’t know if you’d want her endorsement. “ Dari said grinning. The girl could light up a city when she smiled. “I graduated Whateley in 2000, that’s deca …” Sara looked at Dari with a “don’t go there, Girl,“ expression. “That was a number of years later, and our Sara here still had a reputation as a mistress of the practical joke, at least one of which the school head, Ms Carson, fell victim of.”

“It wasn’t anything the students at MIT wouldn’t do if they had access to a gravity inverter,” Sara said then laughed until she cried.

“You okay Sara?” I asked.

“Fine, just remembering the fun I had, you’ll love it there, Joanie. Sorry, as to getting in, I can get Dr. Otto to endorse you; he knows who you are now. Even he follows the news eventually,” Sara said.

“The problem remains, as what? I can’t be a student forever, and please, no jokes about my years in grad school,” I added.

Carrie made a comment that gave us the key. “Pity you can’t get in the way my Mom did for you.”

“What, Carrie?” I asked.

“As a visiting scholar, research assistant, staff worker, something like that.”

“You’ve got something there, Carrie, now how to make it work. It must be ironclad and reasonably permanent,” I said, Dari gave me the final piece.

“It’s unfortunate you’re not rich, or you could do like many retired politicians do and buy a chair at some university.”

“What, bribe my way in?” I said with disgust.

“Joanie, Dari means you could endow a chair at Whateley. With your gifts, the history department‘s a natural, but it takes a lot of money.”

“Why do you think I’ve done all that historic research into securities, land sales and businesses?” It hit me, Eureka! “I knew I’d need money down the line, now I know what for.”

* * * *

From late November 2006 until a week before I left for Whateley, I worked long hours implementing The Plan. Regrettably that meant no holiday ski trip but The Gang with Sara, oh my, promises to come to New England in February and party. Sara claims she’s really coming to see Dr Otto about me but that’s just for a day or two so why book a New Hampshire ski lodge for a week? The girls and I spent considerable time, whipped cream and maple syrup consoling each other over the loss of the winter road trip; I miss them already.

I researched respectable law firms and brokerages that survived and prospered over the span of my investment plan. My investments had to be done with a minimum of direct interaction on my part and sufficiently diffuse to prevent disturbing the time line by distorting the flow of capital. Calls to my dear friend Babs and Senator Joe got me a wealth of legal and business advice and gave me another excuse to talk with her wonderful children. I had to be fair and talk with Eric too. I’ve gotten to know him better, and he’s really quite a nice young man. He’ll have the pick of the girls soon. Mel, well Mel’s, Mel; how else can I describe her? I’ll miss them all, but I may chance flying out for holidays to see them and MSG. My investments should pay for private charters, much safer.

The last three weeks were a whirlwind of activity. If it wasn’t for my mutant constitution, I don’t know how I could have pulled it off -- some days I barely slept. I made many investment trips and in 1902 established The Meridian Trust, a very reputable and stable group of law, brokerage and accounting firms running it, according to a series of detailed letters I “sent” them. I was, of course, the sole owner, but that was kept deep under wraps. The multiple firms served both the diffusion goal and to keep each other honest, i.e. watch dogs to watch the watch dogs. I acquired a sizable collection of vintage clothes and accessories to facilitate my “research and investment” trips, Gin playing an invaluable role. She both assisted me on my ”trips” and as a skilled seamstress, was able to tailor the period clothes to fit us to perfection.

My various aunts, great aunts and great great aunts represented the “face” of Meridian to my proxies. Great Great Aunts Jane and Jenny followed by Great Aunts Jill, Josie and Jessie kept an occasional eye on Meridian from it’s inception through well into the 1950’s. Aunts June, Janet and Jillian brought my scheme up to the present. Odd how all the girls in the family were tall, long-haired strawberry blonds and had names beginning with “J.”

Jillian negotiated with Whateley, proposing the Meridian Chair and the fine print mandating my hiring and acceptance as part-time student. She signed the agreement a week prior to my departure for Whateley. If Ms. Carson saw through my disguise, at the Boston meeting with our lawyers, she didn’t let on. Ms. Carson was upset by the requirement that Jillian’s niece be the first holder of the Meridian Chair, but when she saw a sample of Joan’s “research” into Whateley’s and “Ms. Carson’s” past, she was impressed. It was not blackmail, just a demonstration of Jillian’s niece’s qualifications. I planned on earning my place, but it never hurts to have a fallback. As of the day before my departure, the last time I checked, my personal earnings as Joanie approached two million dollars. Meridian was worth in excess of 17 billion dollars, not bad for a month’s work.

* * * *

I considered stopping myself from meeting my Mom in the 1957, but that was pointless, the time travel paradox again. Even warning her to get a cancer checkup was out; I might never have been in Poniatowski to be mutated in the first place. I might never have saved Mel’s life, as Bill and Ted would say, bogus. Any thing that directly affected me or my past was out, the investment scheme worked because it was so indirect. Thus the irony of time travel power, it was useful to everyone except me.

I did risk one personal perk, I made several carefully prepared “research trips” and learned to whom, when and where my grandfather sold his 1915 Harley. My Great Great Aunt Jenny purchased it from the man he sold it to, “a present for my husband,” she said. Jenny rode it to a remote site “we” knew had not changed over the years, and time traveled it to the present. No sense tempting fate and crossing my own grandfather’s timeline; Mom might never be born. I wanted a tangible reminder of my heritage, and the bike did go well with my leathers. Image is important.

With practice the, um side effect of my time travel could be delayed, which made all this possible, though not eliminated or reduced in intensity. If anything delaying it made it worse, and thank Ghod for that, I’d miss it. — Why are you looking at me like that diary/journal/whatever reader? This girl just wants to have fun. Don’t groan, you knew that one was inevitable. —

* * * *
December 13, 2006 Whateley Academy, 11:05am EDT

I made it, dear diary/journal/whatever readers. I write this from my temporary room in Poe Hall, these quarters are only until they can find something elsewhere as there’s a shortage of space for transgendered students. The girls on my floor say it was a storage room a few days ago. I arrived late morning, parked my grandfather’s Harley and walked into administration, panniers in hand. A few students and staff between classes noticed my arrival but soon ignored me; guess they see a lot a strange stuff at Whateley. I walked up to one of the staff, an attractive, well dressed woman sporting a Greek alpha pin. She had her hair up in a severe bun; it detracted from what could have been an elegant look and made her, well, bitchy. I noticed the nameplate on her desk said A. Hartford.

~Joanie, shame on you, you know better than to trust first impressions. ~

“I’m here to see Ms. Carson.” The woman glanced up from her pc, looking at me dismissively. The eclectic biker gear didn’t help her perception of me a bit.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked suffering, like I was seriously wasting her time.

“No but I am expected. Hi, my name is Joan Brown.” I put my hand out in friendship, she ignored it.

“If you’re here to interview for admission, I need to see your paperwork first.” I tried to straighten her out.

“I don’t have any paperwork thought I do have a letter for Ms. Carson. I’m not here as a student; I’m here as a new hire,” I said politely.

“You’re awfully young for a staff position; what are you, a cook’s assistant or housekeeper?” My first impression was proving sadly accurate. This woman was not getting on my Christmas card list, but I stayed patient for now.

“I’m sorry if I confused you. I’m Joan Brown, and I’m here as a student, instructor and researcher in the history department, among other duties.” I smiled sweetly.

“I don’t see a hiring memo for you, Ms Brown,” she said with some impatience and …

~Was that a touch of smug self-satisfaction? ~

“I’m a special hire direct through Ms. Carson, you may have to ask her. It was arraigned at the last minute, sorry,” I said apologetically.

“This is most irregular, I’ll see Ms. Carson, but you’d better not be lying, young lady,” She said briskly.

~Oh, young lady? I do not like her tone at all. ~

“Pompous bitc ... “I muttered.

~Whoops, almost said a bad word. ~

While Miss Priss was gone, one staffer asked, “What did you mean by ‘among other duties’?” She asked nicely, so I responded in kind.

“I’m here on a trial basis, Ms. Carson agreed to try and see where I’ll fit in. I’m also here as a student, as I’m a recent mutant, and my doctor recommended I continue my training here. She’s an alumna.”

“You look and sound familiar, but I can’t place you. What did you say your name is?” the staffer asked.

“Joan Brown, lately of Madison, Wisconsin, but you can call me Joanie.” The light bulbs over their heads flashed brightly.

“Joanie, as in the singer Joanie?” a younger staffer asked.

“Yes but don’t tell anyone; it will spoil the fun.” I smiled and giggled.

~These people are alright. ~ I giggled some more. ~Oh dear. ~

“Ms. Hartford will have kittens; she hates celebrities,” said the first staffer to speak.

“I’m hardly a celebrity, more a flavor of the month.”

“I wouldn’t call someone with two or more songs continuously in the top twenty-five for the last month and a half, a flavor of the month,” said the young staffer. They’d released some of the CD as singles, and they’d done okay.

“I’ve had some success, but it’s luck and all that accidental publicity,” I said, trying to remain modest.

I’m not comfortable with my success at all. We could hear bits of Ms. Carson’s and the pri ..., tight as ... not nice person’s conversation, and it was not a happy one.

“Joanie, that was talent that got you were you are. As to the publicity, saving that girl did the mutant community proud. You did from love and a sense of duty; I could see it in the images,” a secretary said.

“You’re one of us now, and we’re glad to have you. I’m a mutant, and I hate it when the press badmouths us. You put them in their place; I loved how you handled the press after your kidnapping. Great outfit by the way,” a cute young brunette said. Her Latino heritage was obvious.

~They must have seen me in the news and remembered it, ouch! ~

“The crinkly orange and silver Mylar wrap around or my birthday suit?” I asked.

~This is interesting. ~

“Decisions, decisions: they were both hot. Seeing anyone currently, hon?” the cute brunette licked her lips alarmingly. It was a stunning effect.

“I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again; what’s with mutants and lesbianism? Not that I’m complaining. If we’re talking boyfriends, no one currently, if we’re talking a girlfriend, that’s debatable.” I thought fondly of the rest of the Gang of Four.

“So your social calendar is open?” the Latino brunette asked.

“Possibly, I’m not certain, I just got here.” Ms. A mealworm ... Ms. Harp ... Hard ... that fu ... the imperious lady came out of Ms. Carson’s office and motioned me in.

“She’ll see you now,” then muttered something under her breath.

“Thank you, Ms. Hartford,” I said very sweetly.

I looked back as I entered the office she indicated. The staff tried not to stare and laugh but did not succeed.

~Oh, she is not gonna like me, her loss. ~

* * * *

“So you’re the mysterious Joan Brown your Aunt Jillian requested I hire.”

She was a handsome woman of indeterminate age and exuded a sense of business like authority and confidence. As we stood and shook hands I couldn’t help but think how much she reminded me of the actress from that old Wonder Woman series, Linda Carter was it?

“Have a seat, please.” I sat to the side of her desk, less formal that way. Her face lit up as I spoke.

“Thank you, Ms. Carson. I’m Joan Brown, but all my friends call me Joanie.”

“Not so mysterious as I was lead to believe. I see my staff has figured you out, Joanie.” She smiled.

“Sorry about Ms. Hartford; made a bad first impression, I guess.”

“That’s the way she is -- she’s very good at what she does but has an unfortunate attitude. Please understand she went though a harrowing experience some time ago, and it didn’t help matters any,” she said with considerable sadness.

“I’ll try not to be trouble, Ms. Carson,” I said, and smiled angelically, I thought.

She broke out in a most glorious laugh. She quickly composed herself but smiled warmly.

“Oh, I suspect you’ll be a handful. I know who and what you were and who and what you are, Joanie, everything. Dr. Sara and I had a very long phone conversation; I believe she was checking up on her younger daughter,” she said still smiling.

“Daughter?”

~What is this? ~

“A condition of your being here, I decided you needed a sponsor and emergency contact, and she volunteered. She said she often felt like your mom.”

“Sara and her daughter Carrie were very helpful to me during and since my recovery. I like the idea of her as my foster mom.”

“Mind you Ms. Babs was upset when she found she’d been beaten out but she agreed to be Sara’s backup.”

“You talked with Babs, I mean Ms. Johnson-Williams, uh Williams-Johnson too?” she had me rattled. At this rate I’d likely get Ms. Carson’s name wrong and call her Ms. Carter. I am not good at interviews.

“And her daughter Melissa, she insisted I talk with her. That girl worships you, Joanie. Ghods I wish I had her energy.” She said and laughed. I relaxed.

“I like her too, she a sweet girl.” Something clicked in my mind.

“What do you mean by everything?”

“I know your general life history, the nature of your mutation from middle aged man to young woman and your concerns for your safety. And they are justified given your kidnapping and assault. We’ll go into duties and other details tomorrow. Let’s get you settled in and familiar with the campus for now. Temporarily you’re assigned a single in Poe Hall; with your security needs off campus housing is problematic. We’re working on several on campus alternatives. As you’ve offered to be a security auxiliary, we may persuade Sam Everheart to share.”

“You’re thinking of housing me with a man?” This was a surprise.

~Ooooh, a man; settle down libido, I know the trip was hard on y ... now you’ve done it, Joanie. ~

She must have noticed the lust flash in my eyes.

“Sam is short for Samantha, and you have much in common.”

~Did Ms. Carson suppress a chuckle, hum? ~

“You’ll learn it time. I’ve called for someone to give you the quick campus tour, then escort you to your room. My staff will get you ID, so you can use the cafeteria in Crystal Hall. Welcome aboard, Miss Brown.” She stood to shake my hand again.

~Damn but she looks like Linda Carter. ~

“Oh and thank you ‘Jillian’ for the Meridian endowment and say hello to your other ‘aunts’ for me.”

“You know that? I’m impressed, Sara was right to recommend you and Whateley. I hope I’ll fit in.”

“You’ll do fine; there are others here with similar backgrounds, surprisingly. It’s our duty to insure our students acquire the skills to make it in life as a person and mutant.”

“That’s a major reason I’m here, Ms. Carson. I hope I’ll prove a good student and a useful asset on staff.”

“From what Sara said I doubt you’ll be good, but I’m sure you’ll do well.” She held in a laugh. “Babs had nothing but praise but said you have a strange sense of humor. They both told me to watch out for you, I’m not sure which way they meant it.” Now I nearly broke up.

“Thanks, Ms. Carson.”

“Thank you again for the Meridian endowment. When Ms. Hartford hears how much was donated and who the first chair is, she’ll have a whole basket full of kittens. That alone is worth having you here.” She struggled to control her laughter. “Now get out and be a girl, Joanie.”

~Now this is a woman I could like. ~

* * * *

To be continued in,

Timeout-Pause/Record/Fast-forward

Revised 09/04/2006
Special thanks to my evil blonde sister for proofing assistance.

Notes:

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