CHAPTER 1

The young man used several colorful words as he turned the car around. He was already nearly a half hour outward bound from his parent’s house and now he had to go back. He’d lose a full hour. How could he have been so goddamn dumb as to leave his cell phone on the coffee table? He knew there was no help for it. The Human Resources rep for a pharma company was likely to call about a summer internship he was after. It was a paid internship and a starving college student needed all the income he could manage. So, it was back to the house.

He was cruising a bit over the posted limit as the car sped him away from where he wanted to be, but traffic was light on I-5. To tell the truth, he wasn’t paying much attention to his velocity. He was thinking about her. She was the reason for the trip north. Five foot six with ginger hair, shapely body, and a ‘tude that made it clear the only opinion in the world that mattered to her was…hers. Though they’d only just met, the young man had felt wicked sparks. He was sure she’d felt them too. Now he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

Her face was mostly oval though it narrowed at the soft feminine jaw line. Her cheekbones were high and distinct, not set wide as they are for some women but closer, just under the outside half of her eyes. They were soft rather than sharply defined as they are for those rail thin models. Her nose was perhaps a shade wide for stunning beauty; but how could one nitpick? Despite the attitude, she had no tattoos and no piercings he knew of. She was girl-next-door beautiful and ‘suicide girl’ rebellious. And that was before you looked at her eyes. Once he’d seen the clear blue gems set under her prettily curving brows he knew he would never want another woman! Well, that may be overdoing...but she was prettier than a full house on poker night and a thousand times more valuable.

He’d met her at college. They had a lot in common. They both were majoring in sports medicine and both were football fans. The young man played for the school. He was a slot receiver. He had the body for it: six foot two, and a hundred ninety five pounds. He wasn’t blazing fast, but had very good hands and excellent concentration. More importantly, he wasn’t afraid to go over the middle. He was superbly conditioned, very strong, and had an iron constitution. The team trainers said he might be indestructible. And his coaches insisted he had an outside shot at pro ball. He’d never be a burner, but, if he added a few pounds of muscle, his size and durability were ideal for a “possession type” receiver.

His self-assurance and poise never failed him. Never. He was comfortable in any situation. He exuded such confidence that it infected the people around him. He made his teammates, and his classmates, better. Certainly everybody felt uplifted when near the young man. It was no surprise, to anyone, that, while still a teen, he’d risked his own life to pull a friend from a frigid river. Showboating, the other boy had fallen into the icy waters. There was no question about who’d follow him there; braving the cold and current to attempt a rescue. Courage and character the citation had read. But, even then, the young man had never made much of the risk he’d taken, saying only that he’d done what he had to do; what anyone would have done. Many of his parent’s friends had insisted to the proud mom and dad that their son had a mighty soul.

Girls flocked to him. His chiseled features, strong jaw, and taut musculature drew them. His skin was a Mediterranean olive, taking after his mother’s side of the family. The sprinkling of chest hair also spoke of southern European blood. He’d long since lost all trace of baby fat in his face, which now looked to be composed exclusively of planes and angles. He wore a perpetual 5 o’clock shadow; not because he didn’t groom regularly, but, rather, because his beard grew quickly, thick and luxuriant. The hair on his head had a wave that was almost a curl; a great temptation to a woman’s fingers and he frequently found delicate digits twining through his locks. For that reason, he wore his hair longer than many men. Only in his eyes did he resemble his father. They were green, and looked like crystals set in his head. He smiled as he remembered that one girl once told him he had “emerald eyes that could never lie.” Though equipped with a libido the equal of any, he always treated women respectfully. It was just his way. Even more amazing to the distaff crowd, the young man was insightful; almost disturbingly tuned in. It was as though he instinctively knew what was in their heart and honestly cared about their feelings. He listened. A stud…who always knew the right thing to say. It was because of his sensitivity, as much as his status as a football hero, that his “workouts” weren’t confined to the gridiron. If he wasn’t as aggressive, or as dominant, as some women might want, he clearly had other attractions: substantial attractions. He’d had many girlfriends; and a few to whom he’d grown fairly close. The relationships had never become deeply serious; but, somehow, the parting was always pleasant, and he remained friends with them all. Obviously, at least in his case, girls like “good boys” too. And he liked them.

At the moment, he was obsessed with just one girl. He couldn’t help but smile a bit as he daydreamed of her. He had fallen for her…hard…the attraction one of both respect for her independent spirit and lust for her body. She excited his mind and his manhood; a fact that, even now, he could not deny. There was a stirring in his jeans as he imagined the ways he might woo and win her. A hand dropped to his lap. Smiling at the mental picture of her face, one hand on the wheel and the other on his denim-encased pride, the twenty year old hurried home.

******************************

It happened as it always did. His ‘gift’ had seized him and he’d approached the young woman. When he got close, she’d become aware of him; and the magic was engaged; the ‘hunger’ kindled; both of them subject to its demands.

The girl became increasingly aware of him as he neared her; and the more aware she became, the less able she was to control her emotions…or her lust. Her breathing changed to a soft hurried gasping. He knew what she was feeling. He knew her skin tingled. He could see, through thin bra and light shirt, her nipples harden; just from his presence. It was a dance he’d played out thousands of times before; and he understood well the effect he had on her. There were butterflies in her belly, and weakness in her knees. Between her legs, he knew, there was a flickering of heat. Her mind fogged. She would appear to others to be distracted; a bit confused.

She wouldn’t see him, not really. It was more that she’d be aware of his existence more profoundly than she perceived any other…even her own. But the details of him would escape her notice. Later, she wouldn’t even be able to remember the color of his eyes. To her, he was a force of nature…with no more detail than a hurricane. She would speak to him, answer his questions, and do as he bid.

Mostly, she would want him. Nothing would matter to her save the immediate and undeniable desire she had to bed him; and the pleasure she knew that coupling would bring her.

The man paid little attention to who she was, how old she was, or how she looked. He held himself to just three requirements. She must be of legal age. He wouldn’t rob any cradles. She could not be a virgin. He would not steal from any woman the potential magic that might exist for her when she gave herself to a man for the very first time. Finally, she could not be married. Though many married women could, no doubt, use his services, he would not be responsible for the possibility she might feel guilt when the lust and pleasure faded away. Boyfriends, on the other hand, got no thought from the man at all. He was alpha. They were obviously so much less.

In keeping the limits he placed upon his conduct, the man felt himself virtuous.

This particular girl was young, but not too young. She told him she was eighteen and he knew when they lied. She was in her first year at the University, and lived at home. She wanted to be a lawyer. She was very pretty; though that was of little importance to him. And she wasn’t a virgin, though he could sense that her experiences were few…possibly no more than a single lover or two.

He had met her in the evening, on a street outside a mall in downtown Salem, Oregon, where they both lived. She had been shopping with girlfriends, and all of them carried bags containing the treasures they’d found. He saw that one of hers bore the label, “Victoria’s Secret.” He wondered why he noticed. No woman had any secrets from him. Yet, that was the reason he chose her among all her friends. From such inconsequential considerations can come a decision that changes lives.

He’d hovered on the edge of their group, until they separated; each in her own vehicle. As she started the ignition he walked up beside her car door. She turned her eyes to him, looking up through the window. She was only barely aware of lowering the glass. After a few moments of conversation she slid to the passenger side, too fevered with arousal to operate the car, while he, more experienced in handling the hunger, could safely do the driving. Her parents, she told him, were vacationing in Cabo San Lucas. Her brother was visiting but was not expected back for quite awhile; possibly not until the next evening. Rather than take her to a motel, he decided they would travel back to her deserted home. It would be easier when the parting came.

CHAPTER 2

Chapter 2

The trip to the girl’s house was short. They arrived within 20 minutes. She’d been unable to keep her hands off him during the drive. She’d tried to snuggle into him but the bucket seats prevented intimacy. Finally, she’d undone his trousers, pulled his manhood free and dropped her head into his lap. He could have simply commanded her to bide her time, and she would have obeyed. But he saw no harm in this little episode. He chose not to climax, but enjoyed the ministrations of her mouth. Soon they were pulling into her drive.

Her family was comfortable. They had five acres, mostly in pasture, for the horses they all enjoyed riding. There were few neighbors and none close. The man had no reason to suspect they’d be disturbed. The garage door opened when he pressed the button on the remote clipped to the visor. He told her to stop what she was doing while he parked the car. He buttoned himself back up and they got out. She was flushed and panting with need. She leaned on him as they climbed the two steps to the door in the left wall at the back of the garage. It opened into the kitchen. She fumbled the keys, but finally managed to gain entry.

The girl’s father liked to leave a few lights on around the house, even when the family wasn’t home, and the kitchen was brightened a little by two small bulbs in the exhaust hood over the stove. Illuminated, in the dim light, was a large and functional kitchen. The wall on his right was counter space, extending all the way across the room. In that counter was an enameled sink. Large gaily curtained windows would brighten the kitchen with the day’s light. The left hand wall held the oven, refrigerator, freezer and pantry. In the middle was an island. Above it, copper bottom pots and pans hung from a rack suspended from the ceiling. The rack curved about half way round the island extending from both sides of the exhaust fan located directly over an inset stove. Against the far wall cupboards framed a swinging door that led to the dining room and the rest of the house.

They got no farther than the kitchen. The door had barely shut behind them before she pressed her body against him, and whispered that she had to have him…now. He smiled indulgently, and began to undress her. She let her head loll backwards languidly as he pulled her blouse from her torso and unhooked her bra. Both garments dropped to the floor where they stood.

Her breasts hung free now. They were not “epic” but large enough to sway with the movement of her body. He cupped one in his hand as he thought about how he would use her. There was no need for foreplay. His presence brought her to fever pitch, and her body shivered with its need. Her nipples were erect and distended. Her pussy was wet; prepared for a hard visitor. He had little experience with arousing a girl in any event. For him, it was simply never required.

Without a word, he walked her to the island, circling it till he found a place clear of appliances, cutting board, or mail, turned her, and bent her over it. To his left was the door to the garage. To his right the swinging door. He pulled down her pantyhose and panties, opened his pants again, and plunged his rigid shaft into her trembling sex.

She squealed, and then moaned. He knew it was only a matter of minutes before she would experience her first orgasm of the evening. He was not wrong, and soon the moans gave way to the cries of climax; her nectar coating him. He withheld his own orgasm. He didn’t want to fill her too quickly.

To him, the sex was what it always was; pleasant, but routine. He was alpha. He would do as he must; and derive from it the pleasure that was his due. He looked down at the cute bottom, round, naked and quivering, tapering into her narrow waist, and rocking in time to his thrusts. As he examined it, he felt an interesting reaction. He was glad she was pretty. It rarely mattered to him. An ancient crone served his purposes as readily as a young temptress. Better in some ways, for she was more likely to truly need the release he offered. Still, he felt it no sin to treat himself, now and then; and this girl was an apt dessert.

After she climaxed a second time, he withdrew, turned her, so she faced him; the small of her back resting against the counter. This time he wanted her to see him as he took her. He wanted her breasts available. The hunger was on him too, and he would touch her and taste her.

“Remove your shoes, your skirt, and your underthings,” he commanded. She quickly obeyed. He stepped back to shed his own clothing. No one cared where the garments fell. When they were both naked, he lifted her to sit at the edge of the counter. She spread her legs once more. Her hands gripped his shoulders as he entered her again.

*********************

The young man’s trip down I-5 had been uneventful. The evening had turned to night as he’d traveled through the rural countryside bisected by the interstate. The fertile Willamette Valley spread to either side, bordered to the east by the Cascade Mountains and to the west by the coast range. Down the middle of the valley ran the Willamette River. It was farm and nursery country between Portland and Salem. The valley produced some of the best grass seed and nursery stock in the world.

For his part, he’d be glad to leave it behind. He loved his family, but he couldn’t help the growing sense that this was not his place. He felt constrained by it; as though it tied his spirit. He felt he could not grow here; could not become what he was destined to be. The girl he’d been on his way to see felt the same way. She wanted freedom, and was wild enough to go seeking it. He’d find out if pro football wanted him. If not, he had some decisions to make.

These thoughts occupied him as he pulled off the freeway at the Kuebler exit, a bit south of Salem proper. His family’s place wasn’t too far, a quiet little faux farm nestled near the top of a gentle hill. Soon he was there. He parked in the driveway and walked the flagstone steps to the front door. A lamp that burned in the front bay window, along with the porch light, gave him more than enough light to key the lock and step inside. Sure enough, his phone rested on the living room coffee table, right where he’d left it. There were no messages.

He turned to make a quick exit when low sounds caught his attention. He couldn’t make heads or tails of the noises, but they seemed to be coming from the kitchen. His sister must be home, and making herself a bite to eat, he thought. There was a TV in the kitchen. He smiled as he thought of his pretty sister pigging out while she watched some chick flick.

He thought about sneaking out. If she hadn’t heard him come in, he could make a clean getaway and be sooner on the road. But, in the end, he figured he’d better check in with her. Besides, he was a bit peckish. A little snack struck him as a great idea. Smiling, he walked through the living room and dining room. As he approached the kitchen, the sounds became clearer. It must be a really steamy movie.

He opened the swinging door, switched on the lights, and stopped dead.

There was his sister, her naked butt planted on the island in the middle of the room. Her legs were spread wide while her arms…her arms…encircled a man. He was fucking her. She was moaning. Both of them ignored him.

He opened his mouth to excuse himself, but no sound emerged. He decided to quietly back away, but his body wouldn’t obey the commands of his mind. His feet would not move. He was rooted to the spot, powerless to do anything but watch the sexual scene playing out just a few feet from him. For a moment he thought he should stop them, tell them to take it to the bedroom…or, even better, a hotel, rather than get all sweaty, and god knows what else, on mom and dad’s island.

But he didn’t. The expression on his sister’s face, the look in her eyes, was mesmerizing. That face showed pure pleasure. She was in ecstasy. He could not bring himself to interrupt. So, he watched her roll her hips in time to the man’s thrusts, her breathing coming in rapid pants.
It was then that he looked at the man; and the earth…shifted.

The man between his sister’s legs was tall, even taller than him. He was imposing; strong…powerful. The hair on his chest could not obscure the size and definition of his pecs. His arms bulged with rippling muscle. His hands, upon the girl’s hips, were big…masculine. Soon one of them moved to cup a breast, then roll a nipple between thumb and forefinger. The young man’s own nipple seemed to tingle from a phantom touch.
The older man’s broad shoulders looked like they might support the world. He was Atlas, narrow hips perched on legs more solid than the trunks of trees. He was everything a man should be. He was the distillation of manhood. It was only right that he should have any woman he wished.

The young man felt something…emanating…from the older specimen before him; something ancient and compelling. It could not be denied. The room seemed full to bursting with the strength of his will.

The temperature of the room rose…warm…then hot. The young man felt the heat as though it radiated from a single source. The man. Waves of warmth flowed from him. It seemed to beat upon younger man; reach inside him. It kindled a flame in his belly…a slow burn that seeped outward from his center; that ran down the arteries and veins of his body, spreading liquid fire throughout his system.

He heard his sisters moans grow more insistent; the man’s thrusting more rapid. And, watching them, he burned. It was almost as though he, himself, could feel the man; feel his touch, feel his hands, feel his manhood. And he could sense, just as completely, his sisters’ lust, her need. And he knew, without a doubt, they were both close to fulfillment. The closer they got to climax, the more intensely he burned. His blood was molten in his veins. He burned…and he sensed them. He knew every emotion they shared. He could read their passions, their needs, their strengths and their weaknesses. And the coals of his body glowed hotter still.

He watched them reach the pinnacle together. He felt the man’s penis spasm; and the pleasure of his orgasm. He felt his sister’s vagina clench; and the joy of her climax. His own body reacted as though he himself had both penetrated and been penetrated; both orgasms ripping through him, transporting him; but not fulfilling him. He was alive with need.

He dared hope that, as they cooled, so might he. He strained to control his body. He could not. The volcano inside him never stopped its eruption.

It was then the man, still hard inside his sister, turned his eyes to the doorway. Older essence of man locked eyes with the younger male. There was no challenge in the Alpha’s gaze; only confidence, surety, and certainty. But, even as the younger man acknowledged the might that suffused those eyes, he saw something else; something lost…something fragile.

And, as though he were his sister, he felt the hunger. It gripped him. It demanded to be fed. He moaned slightly as his cock stiffened in his jeans.

His mouth opened…and he tried to speak.

“I want….I need….Oh God…”
His blood roared in his ears…the hot burning blood. His eyes lost focus and his heart began to pound. He was a boiling cauldron of desire.

The young man tore at his clothing…buttons popped off his shirt as he pulled it from his body. With fumbling fingers he removed his boots, yanked at his belt, pulled open the button of his jeans. He shucked them, along with socks and underwear. In moments he stood naked before the alpha, his erection pointed to the sky.

A look of shock embedded itself in the older man’s features. Other men, lesser men, should be moved to follow…not to fuck. And yet, he read something in this youngsters face; something…new.

He looked at the girl, withdrawing from her. “Gather your clothes," he said. "Prepare for bed. You will clean yourself, then you will sleep. You have pleased me. You have earned your rest.” She smiled, pushed herself off the counter, and did as he bid; his semen seeping from her pussy, running down her thighs. She could do nothing else.

When she was gone, the older man advanced toward the younger. For the first time in his long life he didn’t know how to proceed. No man had ever before responded to him by manifesting the hunger. It was astonishing.

For his part, the young man now understood his fire. He burned with lust. He had to have the alpha. He had to! Gathering himself, he bent his will to clearing the mists from his mind…and restoring focus to his eyes. Still, his hand began to stroke his penis as he wondered how it might be that he and the man might... Oh God the fire. He was going to combust. The morning would come and would find only his ashes.

His eyes went wide in silent supplication. Would the alpha acknowledge his penis? Would he…allow...Surely not! Yet something had to be done!

The young man struggled to regain control of himself. He fought the hunger with every resource at his command. He would not give in to lust. He would not have sex with another man…even so great a man. It was not right. Never in his life had he desired it. Never in his life had he found his own gender attractive. He would not now! The Alpha would not, could not, satisfy him with mouth or bottom…and he would not offer to give himself to the older man in that way either. Not for the sake of sex. Never.

The Alpha could read the emotions playing out before him.

“No,” said the big man. “I am made to fuck. Not to be fucked. It cannot happen, boy.”

Even as he said it, the Peer became aware something more; something amazing. For the first time, he felt an attraction for another male. It made no sense. Even more astonishing, he realized that the boy felt the hunger as powerfully as any woman, yet he had not moved; he had not thrown himself mindlessly at the Alpha! He was controlling the overpowering urge. He was coping.

At that moment, their eyes locked again. The alpha read the rage of passion in the younger man’s soul…but also something else; something more. The big man imagined he saw kindness, understanding, courage and strength of character. He shouldn’t have seen any of those things. To his mind, the “boy” should have felt nothing but admiration; as any girl should have felt only desire. For his part the younger man gazed deeply into the Alpha, and, through his eyes, comprehended him; more clearly and completely than any other being, Peer or normal, ever had. He saw the distillation of manhood; the raw animal attraction of him. It could not be denied; or even long resisted. Yet, he saw the fissures in the granite of the man’s soul. He knew what no one else could know: that those fissures could, and someday would, crack. For the Alpha was isolated…always alone.

At that moment, the young man lost his heart; every beat proclaiming it’s new purpose: to sustain the alpha. The young man knew what he must do. He must heal the hurt before him. He must end the loneliness.

The lust would not be denied. Neither would the love.

Wordlessly, the young man did what he never imagined he could do. He dropped to his hands and knees and turned; facing away from the man. The youth, who had never even considered a male lover before, offered the alpha his virgin bottom.

Yet again, the alpha reacted with astonishment. Nothing in his experience prepared him for what was happening; and, for an instant, he considered the proposition before him. Such resilience the young man showed. Such depth of feeling. But, in the end, the man believed that it could not be.

“I am Alpha,” he said. “I am made for woman. You are not woman. To have me, you must be.” Even though the Peer knew it was impossible, something compelled him to ask: “Boy, are you willing to go that far?”

The young man, who had just lost his heart, felt it break. The shattered pieces splintered through his chest; the lava in his veins flamed like the core of the sun. He could not bear to fail. If he did, there would be ruin for them both.

He collapsed back, onto his heels, turning, crabwise, still on his knees, to face the big man. The rejection was agony. Despite the hunger, he used hands and feet to slide away until his spine came to rest against the wall beside the swinging door….his legs pushed out before him, his bottom pressed against the linoleum floor.

But he did not leave the room. Neither did he beg for satisfaction. The hunger was killing him, but the boy refused to lose to it. He refused to let it take his mind.
‘How could he have such strength of will?’ thought the Alpha. The alpha then surprised himself. He said, “If you were woman, I would take you. It must be that way.”

As his words died away, the conflagration consuming the young man exploded.

He changed.

His face seemed to lose focus, becoming malleable, then resolved into feminine form; the shape more oval. All the planes and angles that had marked his features softened. His forehead smoothed. His ears diminished and became more shell-like. His brow ridge receded while the brows themselves grew slender. The nose shortened and narrowed, tilting upward slightly at the end. His lips seemed to expand and thicken; and the top lip arched higher. The skin itself changed, adopting a finer, smoother, more silken texture. His eyes moved closer together, and seemed to widen; accentuating the emerald jewel of the iris.

Those eyes never left the alpha. They were fevered; the hunger was a flood covering everything in it’s path; as inexorable as a tsunami. But, in spite of the intense lust, the young man’s eyes searched the alpha; and seemed to see into him deeply. They intense gaze never ceased; even as the changes went on.

The fine texture of the skin extended downward, eventually covering every square inch of the young man’s body. The alpha watched in wonder, knowing the transformation to be a miracle.

The young man’s neck grew longer as his shoulders narrowed. He lost height and mass. His arms and legs thinned into gracefulness. There was muscle there, but it was long, smooth and flexible; far less bulk than had existed before. The young man’s waist narrowed while his hips flared. Hands and feet shrank; the digits fading to slender beauty. His chest grew, buds of breasts forming; pushing outward. At first they showed no signs of stopping, expanding to ridiculous proportion.

The alpha’s eyes widened. He was clearly unhappy with the size of the breasts; and they began to subside.

It was then the transformation reached its critical point; as the young man’s penis, which had stood so proud and erect just moments before, telescoped inward, reducing its size…his testicles pulling up into his body. Soon there was nothing but smooth skin where his manhood had been. The young man’s eyes did not leave the alpha, as there appeared between his legs, the cleft of a female. The vagina formed; the folds of the labia growing more prominent as the clitoris pushed outward. The hood over the new nub of pleasure also appeared…but did not cover. With any arousal at all, his little clitty would be exposed and sensitive to even the lightest contact.

And, in that moment, it was no longer possible to call the person on the kitchen floor “him.”

She had emerged from the chrysalis of what she had been. The final bit of change came as all the hair on her body fell away save for that on her head; and the triangle above her sex. Both the new woman and the essence of man suffered a moment of “déjá  vu” as the universe shifted to embrace a new reality.

And still her eyes did not leave him. She hungered, yet remained motionless.

The alpha approached her. She was lovely. Dark of complexion, she exuded a smoky sensuality that seemed older than her years. She wasn’t tall, but was very well proportioned. She was long of leg, narrow of waist, with smoothly round hips and a smallish, but clearly female, bottom. Her breasts, when they came to rest, were appropriate to her body; petite, but ample: full, proud, and soft. The nipple that topped them was large, the size of a silver dollar, the dark areola dotted with tiny bumps. The nubs protruded a full quarter inch and were thick and firm. Her shoulders had narrowed, but did not round. They were strong.

His eyes travelled up, drinking in the graceful swans neck…and upward still. Her green eyes like stained glass, flecked with gold, rested in a face that reminded him of Barcelona. She boasted high cheekbones, full lips, and a jaw that was strong and yet still managed a profound femininity. Above those stunning eyes, narrow eyebrows arched prettily. There was no obvious attempt at artifice, no shaping or penciling, just a graceful curve. Her hair was a rich ebony that seemed to shimmer with black pearl-like luster. She shone with a beauty so natural it could have properly belonged to an earth angel. She looked something like her sister…but concentrated.

When he dreamed of a woman, this was the one he saw.

He knew she burned for him.

The woman moaned, her mind fogged with both lust and an overwhelming desire to heal, nurture and comfort. Slowly and carefully she rose, flowing toward the man. Then, she stopped. She could barely think, and did not think at all of her changed condition. She knew only that she must master herself. She must offer him more than just a sexual release. She must bring him to her. So, with an exercise of sheer will, despite her rampant desire, she stopped. He must come the final few feet to embrace her.

To the Alpha’s vast surprise, he did as she wanted; closing the gap between them. Taking the girl into his arms was a joy the like of which he had not felt in an age. She lifted her lips to his, expecting a kiss. He gave her what she wanted; kissing her deeply. It had been long since any woman had seen past his erection. His kiss was out of practice; but he was Alpha. Pleasing women came naturally to him. And, if pleasing this one required he be adept at kissing, he would be better than any man who ever lived. And he was.

His erection throbbed painfully as they broke the connection. “On your hands and knees,” he commanded.

She refused! Instead, she let her mouth roam…kissing his neck and shoulders, the tiny nipples on his chest. How could a woman in the throes of the hunger disobey? He could not imagine it.

“I am partner, not slave,” she whispered, managing to voice the thought despite the hunger-induced delirium of her mind.

Her hand wrapped around his genitals as she kissed his chest. She began to caress his already throbbing member.

His own hunger now burst forth. He roared his pleasure. It was more than satisfaction with her form; it was admiration for her being. She dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth. If any trace of her sister remained, she did not taste it. The only flavor she noticed she knew to be him. He lost his fabled control over his own body, and came into her waiting mouth, his semen geysering from him. She accepted it, swallowing as much as she could…the rest seeping from the corners of her mouth to run down her chin.

She had tasted him. He knew he must taste her in return. Gently, he settled her on her back, whispering to her that she completed him. His hands gently cupped her breasts. He kissed her mouth, tasting a remnant of himself on her lips; and not caring. His lips roamed her, kissing eyelids, her temples, her ears and her neck; pausing at a spot on her throat where he found that kisses made her tremble. All thought save her pleasure vanished from his consciousness. His lips moved downward still.

The hunger raged in her, fogging her mind. Each touch he gave her sent waves of electricity through her body. Her spine was charged with current and lightning arced between the nipples that sat atop the mounds of her breasts. The feeling multiplied a hundred fold as she felt his mouth engulf her distended nipple, pulling gently at it with his lips, and nipping at the base. His tongue explored her areola, as though he would count every bump that pebbled it. And still his head moved downward; to kiss bellybutton, mons, and thigh. He nipped and nibbled at the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, from just above the knee, working back toward the center of her womanhood.
Finally, he placed his kisses upon her sex. Any sense of self that might have remained vanished in her. She disappeared completely into her pleasure. His tongue ran along the ridge of her pussy…then penetrated its petals, opening her, and darting inside.

A low sound of pleasure escaped her full lips, as she parted her legs further so that he could more easily reach her. Upwards went his attentions. Her juices flowed, offering him nectar sweetened with the flavor that was unmistakably her. She was startled by a girlish moan when, at last, he reached her bud of pleasure. He rested there, teasing, taunting…then suckling.

His attentions had the desired effect. A few moments later the tidal wave of climax flooded over her. She felt she would drown in it, the victim of concentrated delight. It buffeted her, and she was carried along by the tide; flotsam riding the wave that engulfed her being. Slowly, the waters began to recede.

At that moment her eyes opened to see his face above her own. He was between her legs; the tip of his cock poised at her entrance.

“Fill me,” she said.

He did.

She hissed as her maidenhead tore. The man had violated one of his basic rules. He had taken a virgin.

He was huge, and she was newly deflowered. She should have felt nothing but discomfort. But somehow, it was not so. Whatever had changed her, had built her for this moment. Her clitoris was near the entrance of her pussy and was in near constant contact with his cock. Each stroke was bliss for them both. She looked at his face, and read well the joy she gave him. It was no less than that which she received. Nothing that had ever happened to her compared to this. He was hers. He was bliss. Together they climaxed again. She passed into unconsciousness.

CHAPTER 3

Gradually the waves of pleasure dissipated and, slowly, oh so slowly, her reason returned. Something had happened. At first she could not recall what. She imagined she had dreamed. Perhaps she had fallen, and hit her head. She? She knew that was wrong. She was he. He was he. His sister had been here…with a lover. That’s when she had started dreaming of things that could not be. The hunger no longer gripped her. Like fog fading in the morning sun, the mists clouding her mind began to clear.

With awareness came recollection. With recollection came a breathless, nameless foreboding. It would be wrong to call it fear. Her character of now was no less courageous than his character of then. Even more, how can one be afraid of something so obviously impossible? It was inconceivable that she should be a girl. As she considered it, she vaguely supposed it must have been some kind of hallucination or walking dream. She didn’t know how it had happened; but it must have been. She didn’t dare open her eyes. Keeping them tightly shut allowed her to prolong the fiction that everything that had happened in that kitchen had been a product of temporary delirium. Nevertheless, she had to know for sure. Still on her back, in the position she’d been in during the last sex act, she touched herself. Tentatively, she put her hands on her breasts–and gasped as her “delusion” rubbed against her palms; her nipples stimulated at the touch. Courage she had aplenty; but some things are just too much. Confirmation that she had a woman’s breasts teetered on the edge of colossally too much. Now, openly terrified at what she might discover, she moved those delicate hands downward stopping at the place where her penis could no longer be found. Panic, the mind-killer, erupted like an exploding power station; flaring electric sparks that went shooting through her.

Desperately she tried to keep her mind balanced. She felt she walked a tightrope; a fall to one side leading to hysteria; to the other…oblivion.

For his part, he was standing now, leaning against the kitchen counter, his cock limp, curved downward; but still long, still thick, and still the essence of man. His condition surprised him. He couldn’t recall the last time he was flaccid in the presence of a beautiful naked woman. Surprised or no, hard or dangling, he found he didn’t want to leave her side. Even more than that: he realized he couldn’t bear to part from her. At first he thought it was just curiosity that held him. He’d had no reason to linger with lovers before. He’d made countless exits while they recovered from the pleasure he’d given them. None had ever suffered by his disappearance. But then, they’d all started the tryst, and ended it, as women. This one though…this one was, obviously, unique. Even he did not know if she would recover.

But, shockingly, her recovery mattered. He could not, at that moment, figure out why.

Equally unexpected was his growing awareness of how important it had become that he do his best to help her. His gift had, without fail, always brought women joy. That he might leave one stricken gnawed at his conscience. Perhaps, he thought, it would be all right. In fact, considering what he was, he was sure it would be. She’d look up and see him once again, and, as was always the case, be overcome by him. No matter how many orgasms he might give them, they always remained enraptured, ready for more, till he left them. Perhaps, as yet another possibility, she might revel in her new gender; recalling the sex and eager to experiment further. He was man, writ large. That alone, he believed, would set her right. Or, perhaps, she would return to manhood. He didn’t understand why that particular thought troubled him.

In any event, the man was wrong. She did none of those things.

Instead, she wailed, a piercing call of confusion, fear and grief. She curled into a fetal ball, crying for her lost manhood; in dread of what may have taken it. Her shoulders shook with whimpering sobs as tears coursed down her cheeks. For many minutes she lay upon the unyielding kitchen linoleum; her thoughts scattered and unfocused. Sometimes she tried to convince herself that, when next she looked, her breasts would be gone and her penis would be back. At other moments self-pity washed through her; bone deep...soul deep. Still other times she asked God how this might have come to be…or cursed God for letting it happen. These things occupied her, by turns, over and over and over again.

He gave her time to manage the initial shock; but watched her carefully; anxious for her well-being, and ready to try to pull her back to sanity should she show any sign she might completely slip away into madness. It occurred to him that, if the worst should come to pass, he would lament her loss…keenly. That thought, though foreign to his nature, came strongly.

“What’s happened to me?” Words torn from a raw throat.

“You have become a woman,” answered the commanding presence that guarded her; determined to protect her during her bewilderment and anguish.

“What did you do to me?”

“Nothing; except make love to you.”

“But I'm a girl.”

“You are a woman.”

“It can’t be!”

“It is.”

Once again her body shook as she wept. Her sorrow tugged at his heart.

‘Why does she cry still?’ he thought. ‘How can she resist the hunger?’ He believed his voice alone should have reawakened her lust. His very existence in the room should have forced her into subservient arousal. He was stunned that it did not. He cast about for some other way to help her. He could think of only one other thing he could do. It seemed such a small act.

He knelt beside her and began to stoke her hair.

He spoke calmly and softly recognizing she was crystal and could shatter with just one more blow. For the first time that he could recall, he wanted to comfort a lover; to look after her. He had never left a woman in need; but this was a different feeling; more profound. He could not imagine from whence it had arisen.

His hand at her hair, his words in her ears, his presence by her side…were all that kept her from emotional collapse.

“But how? It’s not possible,” she whispered.

“It is possible. The proof is you.”

“It’s never happened to anyone before.”

“I haven’t heard of exactly this,” he admitted. “This is new…and…incredible. But transformations are not entirely unknown; almost, but not completely. It requires tremendous power and need…power and need that transcends physics; that overwhelms the laws set upon nature. Those who undergo such a change never, ever, talk about it to others. I have lived a very long time. I am well traveled. I have…acquaintances…who know a very great deal of the workings of the arcane world. I have heard rumors of similar things, but till now I had never witnessed it. And all the adepts I have heard speak of this kind of ability told of transformations far less complicated…far less controlled…than this. Some great mystics are said to be able to alter their shape; but only in trifling ways, and only in the most ancient stories are there examples of shifters who could alter their mass. And to have altered both mass...and...reality...is an accomplishment only hinted in the oldest of our texts. Still, there are, in the records, examples of profound transformations. It is certainly true, though, that what has happened here far surpasses anything I have experienced; anything I've heard of having happened in...centuries.

She might have wondered exactly how he came by such curious and remarkable knowledge. But the question didn’t occur to a mind that had all it could do to maintain a grip on the thin fragile thread that tied her to reality.

“You must be magic…a sorcerer…there must be some explanation. Change me back! Her luminous green eyes were transparent windows revealing an unstable mind as she bounced between hope and anguish.

“No, not a sorcerer. I am something else.”

“Please, please change me back!”

Slowly, still stroking her hair, he whispered, “I can’t.”

Her breathing stopped at his words; then, after a few moments, resumed in rapid shallow gasps like a dog’s panting. The thought ‘I am a girl’ flared across her mind like a comet, to be followed by twin meteors ‘how did this happen?’ and ‘what will become of me?’ Then, as the cosmic fireworks faded, darkness gathered round her, closing in, her area of awareness contracting smaller…and smaller still…till, as though seeing the sun from the bottom of a well, she stared through a small circle of light. She struggled to hold that circle open; to keep her connection to the light. Her head shifted, and with it, the focus of her vision, till, finally his face came within the small window of consciousness. She saw his eyes; a lifeline that tied her to reality. With that connection, the contraction of her consciousness stopped.

His power was not diminished. He was constant. Just as she had at the moment she first laid eyes on him, she sensed raw animal vigor. She recognized his utter masculinity, his physical strength, and his complete mastery of himself. But his effect upon her was no longer instantaneous lust. Instead, in his eyes, in his presence, she found something else. She found kindredship. She found a companion dedicated to her revival. Her soul became a tuning fork, vibrating to the beating of his heart. The clear musical note their proximity created between them was the anchor that held her reason in place. His look of sympathy and understanding generated yet another thread connecting them. She drew strength from his gaze.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Eventually, her breathing slowed. The look of wild panic drained from her eyes. Little by little, she relaxed, and the circumference of her universe expanded.

Finally he spoke again; his voice gentle. “I do not know how it is that you can be in my presence and not…”

“Not throw myself at you?” she said; the words pregnant with bitterness.

“Exactly.”

He considered for a moment, realizing he’d never encountered another soul like hers. Not among the usual folk; nor even among his special friends. A note of awe entering his voice, he said, “There is nothing in the world like you.”

Tears filled her eyes anew as she whispered, “I know. I'm a freak.”

He shook his head forcefully. He looked deeply into the green agate of her eyes as if he hoped the mystery of her existence would be revealed in them. What had happened to her was beyond imagining. Even now, she behaved as no other could. Her will, her awareness, her courage, had to come from resources within her.

She did not flinch or fidget as his eyes bored into her. He saw her; really saw her.

"Your strength…your sense of self…amazes…amazes even me. The unbelievability of what just happened, and the ripping away of identity, should have destroyed you. Yet you have overcome it. That is…impressive."

She turned her face from him; doubt etched upon her features.

“Be easy, breathe deeply, rest…and I shall explain as best I am able.” What had been the young mans shirt was nearby. He reached for it and folded the flannel into a pillow for her head. He never stopped petting her. Soon he began speaking. In a way, it was as though he was trying to work things out for himself, as much as he was trying to help her to understand.

“I can’t change you back because I did not change you to begin with. All that I provided was the inspiration.”

“Then how…?” she whispered.

“You weren’t supposed to be home,” said the magnificent man kneeling beside her. “Yet you were. I should have sensed you. But I did not. You entered the house. You walked into this room.”

“Yes.”

“You came through that swinging door. Remember?”

“Yes.”

“You saw me…and your…sister, I imagine. She was here…,” and he pointed to the counter. I was between her legs. We were pleasuring each other.”

“Yes.”

“You saw the look upon her face.”

“It was delight. I saw delight on her face.”

“Yes, you did. She was nude and I was in her.” His tone sharpened. “Your sister, sitting naked on your parents kitchen counter. Yet, you said nothing. You did not scream out to me to stop or threaten me. You made no sound, nor did you move to interfere, as I fucked your sister,” he said, his language deliberately provocative.

“No.”

“Why? Were you frightened? Were you weak?”

“I just couldn’t. I could see how…joyous…she was; how deeply and intensely you were pleasing her. I couldn’t take that away from her.”

“So, it wasn’t weakness, but a care for your sisters happiness that stayed your hand.”

“Yes.”

“And, at that moment, a fire was kindled within you.”

“Yes.”

“It burned inside you.”

“Yes.”

“You knew your sister burned too; but with a different sort of heat.”

“Yes.”

“You felt your sister deserved her pleasure?”

“Yes.”

“And you saw as we achieved climax together.”

“Yes.”

“You saw her face.”

“Yes.”

“What did you see?”

“Bliss.”

“And the fire inside you flared hotter.”

“Yes.”

“And you envied her pleasure.”

“Yes.”

“You would not rob her of her moment…but you wanted what she had. You wanted it too.”

“More than anything.”

“And that fire spread…till you felt it in every part of your body.”

“Yes.”

“Where did you feel it?”

“In my belly. In my chest. My heart. My head. My arms and hands. My legs and feet. My eyeballs burned.”

“And your cock and balls?”

“Yes, in my cock…a bar of flame….my balls…boiling.”

“The more you looked the hotter the fires.”

“Yes.”

“Then what happened?”

“I was filled with it…filled with the fire. I couldn’t believe it didn’t shoot out my eyes and burn everything I looked at. I had to put it out. I had to quench the flames or I’d die. But to do that, I needed to know how! I needed to know where they came from. I looked at my sister. She didn’t cause me to burn. I looked at you. You were…are…wondrous. I don’t know…splendid. But there was more than that; there was more than how entirely you aroused me. It was as though I could see past the passion; past the lust, into…you…how you really are. And, when I looked deeply, I found…something else. You are so alone in there. You are….you are so magnificent…and so tragic.”

“Empath,” he said.

“What?”

“You have a capacity; a talent. You know what others feel, what their emotions are. You can affect how they feel. That is why the hunger came to you, a man…you had the ability to see me as women do; and to see even deeper, far past the limits the hunger imposes on all others. You are an empath. I imagine you have always been this way.”

She thought back. That she could perceive such things would explain much.

“Being with me magnified that skill…many times. And so, with your talent, you saw what no other has. You saw beyond my penis.”

“I felt insanely aroused by you. I had to have you. And I had to…” She searched for just the right word. “I had to sustain you. I had to nourish you. You needed me as much as I needed you. You were the source of my fire. But not…not just…the sex. Sex was a way to…join…with you…be with you…help you. I burned for your…affection.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “you did.”

“Only you could put out my flames.”

“I know.”

“I thought sex might be enough. I thought I could become one with you through sex.”

“I have been told that can happen.”

“I looked at your mouth…hoping you would let me use it…douse my flames with it. But I knew you wouldn’t. I looked at your ass…perhaps I could find relief there.”

“But you couldn’t.”

“No. You are male; blindingly male. You wouldn't take me into mouth or anus.”

“No, I would not. Damn me for it. For a creature like you, I should have.”

“You would not submit to me. I knew I must surrender to you.”

“And the flames grew even more fierce.”

She moaned. “Yes.”

“Your asshole trembled.”

“Yes.”

“How did it feel?”

“It…overpowered me. I felt empty and lost. It was though I was hollow inside. I had to be filled.”

“What did you do?”

“I turned and lowered myself to the floor; on my hands and knees. I offered you my ass.”

“For the sex?”

“Yes…no. Not entirely, not even mostly. Of course I wanted the pleasure. Oh God, I needed the pleasure. But more than that, I needed to touch…your heart…your soul. Somehow I knew you’d gone so long with nothing but the sensual. I hoped that maybe I could use the sensual to reach deeper inside you. You were so familiar with sex that I couldn’t imagine it would be the path to your soul. But it was all I had. I couldn’t think of any other way to help you.

“And the bonfire that was your being grew white hot…agonizingly hot.”

“Yes.”

“But I would not take your ass.”

“No.”

“What did you feel then.”

“Despair…the despair that a person must feel when facing a…an…

“Abyss?” he offered.

“Yes, an abyss. I thought…no, I knew it somehow, that, without you, I would be alone and lonely, as you are. And I knew, if I didn’t reach you somehow, that we’d both be doomed. Isolated...for all time.”

“Eternity.”

“Yes.”

“Like me.”

“Yes.”

“And you thought no one can bear to be so solitary.”

“Yes.”

“And still the fire flowed in your veins.”

“Yes.”

“And a thought came?”

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

“That you might…accept me, might make love to me, and allow me to comfort you, if I were a girl.”

“And the heat within you became molten; incandescent as the sun.”

“Yes.”

“And then it happened.”

“It happened.”

He shook his head. The events of the night, for a moment left him speechless. When he gazed on her again, in his eyes was something of the awe that others felt when they beheld him.

“Woman,” he said decisively, seeming to have worked through this miracle: “That nova within you melted you…it boiled your flesh from off your body…it turned bone to ash and scoured it away. From the puddle that remained, something was fashioned, something we both could accept. Something I would more than accept. Something I would want. Something that would touch the core of me. A woman…a woman wrought by you, ruled by you…but made for my heart.”

The corners of his lips turned upward in a little half-smile, “I didn’t change you,” he said, “You changed you.”

The young woman gasped as the truth of it hit her a hammer blow.

“You built that face…altering it as I watched and searching my mind for emotion that would signal I liked what you imagined…you shrank yourself, growing more petite in every way, till I signaled enough. You fashioned your limbs, your hands and feet, adjusting them till I smiled. You made your hips and your bottom; rounding them, softening them. You made your breasts; which, at first sight, made me scowl, for you made them ridiculously large, imagining such a caricature to be my preference. Then you shrank them, making them more what you wanted…till they suited your petite frame and your own internal images of beauty.

A flash of insight lit up the man’s face. “In the end, you didn’t become my idea of beauty. You became your own. What I wanted, what you read in my emotions, even then, was my desire that you become what you are destined to be.”

That face, your face: You fashioned the face of an angel. You made it entirely yours, as you imagine it should be…yet…it is wondrous to me. Finally you burned away your penis. With a supreme act of will, a titanic demonstration of resolve, spirit, and, yes, a ravenous craving; you shaped womb, and egg, and pussy.

“Yes,” came the long miserable whisper.

“Why then do you despair?”

“Because I don’t want to be a girl.”

The dominating man snorted in disdain. “Girl, you say? As I insisted a moment ago, you are a woman. And you are stunning.”

Her mouth twitched in a smile. Even now, compliments from him thrilled her…caused her to tremble…and could, even now, generate a tingling in her sex.

“Will I always be a girl…uhhm…woman? Can I change back?”

Compassion manifested on his face. “Part your legs.”

The former boy held her knees tightly together, unwilling to again confront her womanhood.

The man’s eyes widened in astonishment. He had spoken a command that a lover had refused! This woman had done it before and now did it again. During his life, there had been a few women who had hesitated for a moment. He’d been impressed by their strength. But none had ever refused him.

“Please…” A word he’d never spoken to a lover.

Slowly and hesitantly she opened herself.

He helped her to sit up, her back leaning against his powerful arm; his other hand still stroking her hair.

“Look between your legs. Tell me what you see.”

“A pussy.” Once again a tear appeared in her eye.

“What else?”

“Your…cum…leaking from me.”

“My cum. Yes. Why is it there? Why did I put it there?”

“Because I wanted it.”

“Because we wanted it,” he corrected her. “You climaxed while we were joined. Your passion tore screams from your throat as my cock moved within you. Do you remember?”

“Yes.”

“Can you so easily give up the joy you felt at our coupling? Is it so bad a thing to be loved as I have made love to you? You have created a truly special creature. The woman you made is…remarkable. The spirit that animates this womanly flesh is astounding and worthy of adoration. Now you would consign that creation to oblivion. Did you enjoy this flesh when I touched it? Did it serve you well when we made love?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “It was heaven in your arms. I wanted you.”

“I wanted you too.”

His eyes went distant as he pondered the truth he had just spoken. He had beheld her; and, in a moment of understanding, realized he wanted far more than just sex, had felt far more than simple passion. He had wanted her. His head tilted to one side as it occurred to him that his desire, like so much else that had happened this night, was different than anything he’d felt with any of the others.

“I wanted to make love to you…I wanted." For the first time he seemed confused; unsure. "I wanted to...make love...with an intensity I've not felt..in...maybe...with an intensity I've never felt before,” he said.

He shook his head; quickly recovering his calm self-assurance. “Because of my unique qualities, having sex is like breathing to me. But what I wanted, when I saw your transformation, was not merely to have sex…it was to have sex with the result of this spectacular event. It was to have sex with you. I was astonished that I might live to see this thing. I did not realize it then, that you are not just the object of this miracle, but also it's author. Your will is so compelling, it shifted reality. You caused that shift, that nearly impossible transmutation of what was, so that you could be with me. It is a gift beyond price.”

He sighed, “I am what I am. I have always been what I am. And yet, the power of your life force is staggering; even to me. It is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever known. Had I recognized it from the beginning...it might have…I might have…His face shone in amazement. I might have …” His voice trailed away to silence; a quiet that she filled.

“I did it because I had no choice. I had to find a way to be pleasing to you.”

“You please me. Your body pleases me. Your heart and spirit please me.”

She smiled happily but quickly grew somber again. “But, I can’t stay a woman.”

He was perplexed. He wondered how she could not see herself as a magical phoenix rising from the ashes.

At length he suggested the only way he could think of that she might recover the man she was. “The intensity of your desire,” he said, “the heat of your passion, and the power of your will reshaped you. If those things made you female, they can make you male again. All you have to do is want it badly enough.

The light of hope came into her eyes.

His eyes flashed. “Does that make you happy?” he thundered, anger and disappointment flaring rampant in his breast. “You long for the moment you again will be man? Whatever for? Does being a woman shame you? Do you believe that what has happened has somehow diminished you? How can you? It is nonsense and it is beneath you. No woman need lower her eyes in the presence of a man; nor ever consider him greater because of his gender. It is true that some of your abilities are different than once they were. In some ways weaker. In others stronger. But the sum of…you…is not less! Never imagine it! Unless you wish to make me angry.”

His hand cut across the air; his visage storm clouds and raging seas. “If you burn as you did to create this marvel of a woman; but with a fire to again be a man, you will be. If not, you will remain as you are. But…,” he trailed off for a moment, resuming in a tone softer, imploring “…search yourself, seek to understand yourself. Seek to know what truly you are. Listen to my words.” He paused. “You are a glorious woman.”

“Glorious?”

Wonder came to her face as the sun rose in her heart; for he had called her glorious. She shook free of the lethargy she’d felt and stood, staring down at her body; seeing it, truly, for the very first time. Could he be right? Was she glorious? The light shone again in her eyes, and exuded from her so that the whole room seemed to glow. This time it was the brightness of illumination.

She became aware of herself: not as lover, not as a disconsolate soul, not as a victim…but as a woman.

He followed her to his feet. She now stood 5’3”, reaching only to his shoulders.

“I am a glorious woman.”

“Yes.”

Her mind reeled yet again, but her thoughts were not dominated by what she had lost. Other things struggled for a place in the firmament of her consciousness. Depth and breadth of emotion she had never imagined before flooded through her. Colors seemed more vivid and new shades enhanced the pleasure that came just from seeing. She felt connected to life in ways she could scarcely believe.

“I am beautiful?”

“You are perfect. Never fear, for you are lovely.”

“I am glorious?”

“Yes.”

“But I was once a man.”

“The spirit, my darling, is not of any sex and is of both. That which gives life to flesh does not know gender. I now think you were born to balance me…and, because the universe loves a jest, you were born male. You could just as easily have been born female and been what you are. Courage, heart, strength of will…these are not things of penis and vagina. They are things of the spirit. This miracle, like every other, could not have been wrought drawing upon only half of life. It took the energy of both male and female, yin and yang, to accomplish what you have done. You have chosen to be woman. You have chosen to be what you are. You have chosen to be what you have always been. By all the gods, old, new, many and one, you are magnificent.

“But my family…my friends…my life?”

“The exercise of your will was an awesome release of power. I’ll say it again: I have never seen it’s like. You warped all of what was…and made it into what is. No one will remember him. All will know, and admire, her.”

“But is it still me in here? I was happy. I was strong. I was an athlete.”

“Aren’t you still? Look inside yourself…remember.”

For several seconds she went silent. Her look was serious and introspective as she accessed the memories of her life. She still could recall all that she had done as a man. But there were new memories; additional experiences that crowded in and now seemed even more real to her.

“I'm a gymnast.”

“I am not surprised.”

“I'm a good one.”

“I am even less surprised.”

“I remember the things I did as a boy…as though they are fascinating stories I once read and can never forget.”

“You have not changed who you are. You have changed the flesh that contains it. You have altered what is, and what has been, so that it nurtures your spirit.”

“But something has changed. Something other than the shape of my body and my history.”

“What?”

She looked at him, all of him, and her breath caught.”

“I have a craving…for a man. Is it all men? Or is it just your power.”

He knew she might carry this doubt with her; that, unless he could answer her unspoken question, this might trouble her forever. Yet it should not! He was careful to explain. “Some of our yearnings are controlled by our mind. Some of them by our body. Still others are governed by our heart. Consider: The majority of humans with the male physiology prefer women as mates. Likewise, the majority of women find men most desirable. Why? It is true across history and in very nearly every culture. Why? If physical form were meaningless in determining sexual preference, would the correlation between form and preference be so strong? No! Of course, there are exceptions. Sometimes, variances of chemistry, brain architecture, and genetics overcome anatomy. For those in whom that happens; their truth is neither more, nor less, valid than any other. Still, most commonly, we seek out the other gender. You have remade yourself on every level. Your desires have changed because your body has changed. The architecture of your mind has changed. Your chemistry has changed. The building blocks of your anatomy have changed. Your spirit stays out of the way for it is neither male nor female; and yet, it is both man and woman. And,” he sought out her eyes and held them in his gaze, “there is me.”

“I am a woman.”

“Dazzlingly so.”

“Will I come to like it?”

“Don't you already? No, don't answer. I understand your question. I can’t know for certain, of course. But, I believe, if you will allow yourself, you will come very close to forgetting you were ever anything else. The man you once were would be to you no different than the infant you once were: both babe and boy necessary to the creation of the woman you grew to be. One day both will be sweet memories. I will be there to help you.”

She asked him, “Do you love me?”

A puzzled look spread momentarily across his face as he turned his focus inward, as she had, his expression gradually evolving to astonishment that such a thing as love could happen so swiftly; or, to him, at all. As she had become aware of her changes; so he became aware of the changes that her existence had wrought in him. And it came to him that, just a moment ago and entirely without thinking, he’d called her “darling.” It had been nothing but simple truth. He smiled as he considered the wondrous spirit that stood before him and the gift she had made of herself.

“Yes, my love. I love you.”

Words, again, that he’d never spoken before.

Words that turned her knees to warm butter.

Words that flooded her heart.

“That’s good,” she said. “I need to be loved. I love you too.”

Her radiant smile elevated her beauty to the level that poets reserve for a goddess. Without hesitation she flowed to him and embraced him, sighing contentedly as he took her into his arms. His embrace was all that kept her from falling.

Still, one concern nibbled on the edges of this perfect moment.

“What of my sister?”

“She was…overcome…by what I am. She didn’t see me. Not really. That was my curse. Your sister will not be able to describe me. She was aware only of the force of my personality. Tomorrow, she will remember that a man she wanted made love to her. It will not seem odd to her that his features escape her recollection. She will remember him very fondly. It has always been thus for me and the women I take.”

With a start he realized that was no longer true. Now he would know a woman who saw into his soul and who would hold his heart in her hands.

“When will you leave me?”

“Not soon,” he said, and then amended, “Not ever.”

“Will I have to shoo away every woman who comes near?

“I could control my attraction in some ways; attenuate it. I can spread awareness of me widely, or focus it very narrowly. Otherwise,” he grinned ruefully, “I couldn’t so much as go to the grocery store. Yet something is different now.”

Experimenting, the man extended his talent. His features dissolved to shock as he discovered it would spread no farther than the girl in his arms. “You are my opposite,” he said, “and together our talents balance. I suppose, when you are near, other women will see me as a man.” He laughed, long and hearty, “An extraordinarily big, strong, powerful, good looking man; but, a man nevertheless.” And, in that moment, a new truth revealed itself in his heart; and one more time, wonder bloomed across his features. “That part of my life appears to be over.” A look of joy painted his face. “Thank God.”

“Good,” she said, caressing his strong jaw. “Because you belong to me now. I imagine I intend to be the jealous type.”

I suppose,” he said, playfulness enlivening his words, “if you meet a woman transcendently beautiful; with a loving, generous spirit and iron will, you might again burn hot enough to transform. That would certainly make me jealous.”

For the first time since walking through the swinging kitchen door, she had the urge to laugh. It emerged a feminine giggle.

“But,” he went on, “I fear such a thing would be difficult. For you would have to meet yourself.”

She smiled yet again, poking him firmly in the ribs. She was as modest now as she ever was.

For several long minutes they stood, in her parent’s kitchen, wrapped in each others arms.

Eventually she kissed him. It was a tender kiss; one that was answered with equal gentleness.

“I’m suddenly very tired,” she said, laying her head against his broad, heavily muscled chest. He easily lifted her off her feet, and carried her to bed.

She slept soundly, awoke by his side, and arose resplendent.