The Graduate, Vamped and Revamped: 1 / 6

An Altered Fates Story
A second look at the 1967 film, The Graduate
and the 1963 novella of the same name by Charles Webb.
By Iolanthe Portmanteaux
 

Mr Haddock knocks on his son’s bedroom door. “Ben, is everything okay in there? All our guests are here — are you coming down? Everyone wants to see you!”

He opens the door to find Ben sitting on the edge of his bed. Ben is dressed and ready for his graduation party, but his face is empty, apathetic. “Dad, can you just give me a little time? I need to be alone for a bit.”

Mr Haddock makes an effort not to sigh. He knows, after twenty-one years, how obstinate and awkward his son can be. Same as he was as a child, Haddock tells himself. Inwardly, he sighed. So often, I’m afraid that Benjamin never grew up. He sits on the edge of the bed, next to his son. “Is there anything wrong?” he asks in a soft voice.

“It’s my future,” Ben replies. “I don’t know what to do. Until now, I was looking forward to graduation, but now that I’m graduated — it’s like I said, I don’t know what to do. My future is a great big empty blank. There’s no light — it’s all darkness.”

Mr Haddock smiled and put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “It’s only natural, Ben. You’ve been running a race — all your life, really — and suddenly it’s done. Yes, okay, it’s anticlimactic. There’s no big payoff. So what do you do? You stop. You reflect. You reset… you reboot yourself. Then, after your little break, you’ll see your future bright and clear, stretched out in front of you, just like before. You’ll see! Everything’s going to be fine.”

“If you say so,” Ben says, unconvinced.

“I do say so,” his father affirmed. “And right now, your mother and I want you to come downstairs and put in an appearance. All our friends are here. They’ve come to wish you well. Some of them might help you out in the future, you know. Can you just come downstairs, shake a few hands, smile a little—”

“Glad-hand everyone, you mean,” Ben interrupts.

“Yes, exactly. That is exactly what I mean. Can you do that?” When Ben hesitates, his father adds, “Can you do it for your mother? She’s gone to a lot of trouble to put this party together. For you. For you.” Without waiting for an answer, Mr Haddock began to leave the room. Then, almost as an afterthought, he stopped in the doorway, looked back, and told Ben, “Your friends Bagger and Jenny are here. They said they can’t stay long.”

Ben nodded, almost imperceptively. His father turned. At the head of the stairs, he stopped and looked down. Turning back, he entered Ben’s room, and in a low voice said, “Viv Errison is here, and she’ll want to speak with you.”

Ben groaned as if in physical pain.

“Listen, Ben, I’ve heard she’s been giving pretty generous graduation presents, so remember: be nice to her. Smile and listen.”

Ben protested, “She is the bossiest woman in the world!”

His father continued in a low voice, so as not be overheard. “She’s also the richest woman in town. And the most successful. AND the most connected. Don’t say anything to offend her. If you can’t agree outright to whatever she tells you, at least tell her that you’ll think about what she’s said.”

“Why?” Ben asked in a suspicious tone. “Is she going to give me advice?”

“Probably,” his father answered, growing irritated at Ben’s recalcitrance. “And it wouldn’t hurt you to listen to her!” Mr Haddock took a breath and calmed himself. If he pushed Ben too hard, he knew the boy would only dig his heels in harder. “Just give her a few minutes of your time. The sooner she talks to you, the sooner she’ll leave. Okay?”

Ben twisted his mouth to the side, but he didn’t refuse.

As his father descended the stairs, Ben stood up and looked out the window. He was surprised to see a young woman walking through his backyard toward his house. She had brown hair and wore a pretty blue dress. He couldn’t see her face, but her body was definitely sexy. Her curves were in all the right places. As he watched her hips sway and her breasts lightly bob, he kept hoping for a view of her face. Then it hit him: this wasn’t a young woman at all! At least not what *he* would call “young” — this woman was his mother’s age. It was Mrs Crusoe, who lived in the house behind them. She was taking a shortcut: through her backyard, over the little footbridge, and through the Haddocks’ backyard. Perhaps she felt his eyes upon her, for she looked up and spotted him in the window. She smiled and waved.

Surprised and startled at being seen, Ben instinctively jumped away from the window. Then, feeling foolish about his reaction, he peeked out. She was still looking up, smiling even more broadly. She waved again. This time, he waved back. Then she put her head down and disappeared from view for a few moments as she climbed the stone steps up from the lower garden. When she reached the top of the steps, she stopped next to the swimming pool and adjusted her scarf. She pulled it from her neck in a smooth motion. The blue silk slid off her body like liquid smoke. While she fiddled with the material, Ben — his face partly hidden behind the curtain — gazed directly down his lovely neighbor’s cleavage. He watched until she covered her neck and breasts with the scarf again. When she entered the house and was out of sight, he sighed.

Ben felt aroused and guilty. Mrs Crusoe was always the best-looking of his mother’s friends — she was one of his first crushes when he was a young boy. But he’d never seen her in this light before: as an attractive woman, as a sexual creature, as an object of desire. At the same time, it was wrong, wasn’t it? They were twenty years apart in age… and she was married, for goodness sake! He couldn’t let himself look at her that way — he’d only end up making a fool of himself and getting into no end of trouble.

 

---

 

Still uncomfortable and embarrassed by his new feelings — and feeling silly about jumping away from the window — Ben made his way downstairs. He had to greet his parents’ friends, and he was looking forward to seeing Bagger and Jenny. They knew each other since elementary school, and he hadn’t seen them since last summer. They had some catching-up to do.

But first he had to contend with Mrs Errison. She waited at the bottom of the stairs, so she could waylay him before anyone else had a chance to say hello. Taking him by the arm, she led him to a quiet corner.

“Benjamin,” she told him, “I don’t know you very well, but I have heard many good things about you.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“However, I have to warn you that your life is changing, as of this moment. Until now, your life, for the most part, has been decided for you. It’s mainly centered around school. I’ve heard that you’ve been diligent and responsible. Now it’s time for something additional, and that’s initiative. You’re going to have to find your way, make your own decisions, motivate yourself. This is the end to going along. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” Ben said.

Mrs Errison looked Ben in the face, and clearly she had her doubts.

“Well, that’s all I have to say. I hope you’ll take it to heart. Say goodbye to your parents for me.”

“Are you leaving?” Ben asked.

“Yes, I have two other stops to make today. Best of luck, young man. You’ve made a good foundation. Try to use it wisely.”

Much to Ben’s relief, Mrs Errison left right away.

The living room was noisy and packed with people. The crowd spilled over into the kitchen. Near the fireplace, his mother had arranged a buffet and a bar — both generously stocked. She really pulled out all the stops. Everyone had a drink in their hand. Ben had never seen so many people in his house. If it wasn’t so cool outside, the guests would have moved out to the deck, near the swimming pool, but that wasn’t happening. The french doors were open, though: the press of people made the living room pretty warm. A few of the men were wiping their brows as they talked and drank and ate.

Now that Ben was free of Mrs Errison, someone called out, “There he is! There’s our boy!” Then came a few shouts of “Hello, Ben!” and “Congratulations!” and a low voice began to sing “For he’s a jolly good fellow...” Everyone joined in, then cheered and applauded.

Ben, embarrassed and happy, flattered by the attention, diligently made his way through the crowd. He did a good job of it: greeting everyone by name, smiling, shaking hands. His mother’s female friends made a big show of kissing him, then rubbing their lipstick off his cheek, laughing.

Inside himself, Ben still winced at the painful uncertainty of his future. A new general sense of powerlessness and apathy lurked in the background of his mind. Ben wondered whether his dark feelings showed upon his face. He glanced in a mirror, but his face appeared a mask. Unless he smiled, he didn’t show any emotion whatsoever. Whether he did or not, his parents’ friends were too enthusiastic to notice. They’d already put in a solid half-hour of drinking before Ben appeared. They were there to smile and laugh, to slap Ben on the back, to wish him well.

All of them asked the same question: “Now that you’ve got your degree, what are you going to do? Will you go on to your masters, or will you look for a job?”

Luckily, Ben never had to answer. So many people wanted his attention, he found he could get by with a smile and a nod. If he got as far as opening his mouth to speak, another of his parents’ friends would grab his hand and start talking. The honest truth was, Ben had no idea at all what he was going to do, but he knew he shouldn’t say so.

His father very helpfully put a drink in his hand, and extricated him from conversations that lasted more than a minute.

When Ben finally arrived at the buffet, he took a moment to survey the sea of heads. He wanted to find Bagger and Jenny. And — with a mixture of fear and guilt — he wanted to locate Mrs Crusoe. He needed to get a grip on his embarrassment and excitement before he saw her again. He still hadn’t cooked up an excuse for jumping away from the window.

He felt a hand on his arm. It was Jenny! She appeared out of nowhere, and slipped her arm into his. Jenny gave him a warm, soft kiss on his cheek. “Hello there, college boy — I mean graduate. How are you? Do you feel different?” She took a moment to scrutinize him, from his choice of shoes to his haircut. “You look different! You’re all grown up now! Do you feel all grown up? Seriously, though! Are you taller, or fitter, or something? Look at you!” She playfully felt his chest and bicep. She touched his shoulder and tickled his side for a second, all the while smiling her sunny smile at him. He drew a breath, overwhelmed by her flood of words, her flurry of touching, and her sudden proximity. For a moment, when an awkward guest pushed his way to the buffet, Jenny’s body was pressed against Ben’s. He felt the warmth of her flesh, felt the scent of her skin. Jenny’s eyes widened in amusement. Their noses nearly touched, and Ben was struck to see that she stood at exactly his height. They literally saw eye-to-eye.

The two stepped back from the buffet, out of the way of the hungry horde, and moved apart, laughing. Bagger appeared at that moment, worming his way through the crowd. He tooked their arms and led the pair even farther from the buffet, to a niche near the stairs where they could stand apart from the room. It was quieter there, and cool air flowed down from above.

“What’s going on here? You trying to steal my girl?” Bagger joked good-naturedly. “Huh? Do you see this, Ben? See this?” He grabbed Jenny’s left hand and lifted it to Ben’s face, turning her hand to display a respectably sized diamond, set in a filigree band of white gold.

“Wow!” Ben exclaimed. “That’s some ring!”

“Yep,” Bagger acknowledged, nodding, “It sure is! Do you know what that ring means, Ben?”

“Yes, of course — that you two are getting married! Congratulations! I had no idea!”

“Ben, what that ring means is, Back off, buddy — she’s taken.”

“Oh, Bagger—” Jenny protested.

“I’m joking! I’m only joking!” Bagger replied, his hands in the air, signalling surrender. “Ben knows me. He knows I’m joking.” Laughing, he gave Ben a one-armed hug.

“Listen, Ben” Jenny said, in an apologetic tone, “We’re going to have to leave in a few minutes. We have to meet our mothers — both our mothers! — for some—” she signed wearily “—for some wedding stuff. It’s endless! You wouldn’t believe what a perpetual headache the seating chart turned out to be! Anyway, we’re getting married in six weeks, and there’s so much left to do!”

“You can’t leave!” Ben protested. “You just got here! And I haven’t seen you in months!”

“Actually, we’ve been here for a while,” Bagger contradicted. “We’ve been waiting for you. But you were up in your room, with your door closed. What were you doing in there? Hey boy?” He nudged Ben playfully in the ribs with his elbow.

“Sorry,” Ben told them.

“We have all summer,” Jenny replied. “And except for our honeymoon, we’re not leaving town. We’ll see each other, don’t worry.” She looked across the crowded room and located Ben’s parents. “I’ve got to go say goodbye to your parents. Then I’ll come back and say bye to you.”

The two men watched her walk away, As she slipped gracefully into the crowd, Ben said, “You’re a lucky guy, Bagger. She’s beautiful. She’s probably the most attractive woman in town. And you’re the one who gets to marry her!” Then he poked Bagger in the chest with his finger and asked, “So how come I’m not your best man?”

“Yeah,” Bagger said, as if he hadn’t heard the question. He leaned in close and in a low voice said, “She’s beautiful, yeah. She’s smoking hot. Her body… it’s to die for. But, BUT, she’s a virgin. Can you believe it? It’s driving me nuts. I’ve been climbing the walls for months. She’s saving herself. She wants to wait until our wedding night. I just can’t take it. In the meantime I’m losing my mind. Do you know, I’ve never even seen her naked?” He gestured mutely in frustration.

Ben had no idea what to respond. Luckily, Bagger wasn’t looking for a response. He was only looking for an ear. After a conspiratorial look around, he leaned in even closer, his head touching Ben’s, and in an even more confidential tone, he spoke into Ben’s ear. “Ben, I want to make sure you come to my bachelor parties — parties, plural — there’s going to be two of them, believe it or not. My DAD wants to throw me one — can you believe that? My own father wants to plan my bachelor party. There’s something fundamentally wrong with that. I mean, who wants to party with their parents?”

“Weird.”

“Yeah. But the real party, the actual final blowout end to my single years — THAT one, I’m planning myself. I’m going to hire a woman, or some women — you know what I’m talking about, right? You know the kind of women I mean?” If the words weren’t clear enough, Bagger’s leering smile and the insistent nudge, nudge with his elbow were unambiguous.

Before Ben could compose any response, Jenny returned, “Okay, Ben, I left your wedding invitation on the table with your graduation presents. I know we’re rushing everything — sorry! But please come! You have to come! Do you promise?”

Ben smiled and promised he’d be there. He kissed her cheek. Bagger gave him an affectionate punch on the arm, and the couple slipped away and out the door.

Their departure left Ben feeling a little deflated, let down. He wanted to go back upstairs to his room, but there were still hands to shake. He headed for the kitchen, moving a step or two at a time, smiling, shaking hands, getting hugs and kisses and congratulations.

When he reached the french doors, he paused to drink in the cool air. He still hadn’t seen Mrs Crusoe. Turning back to look into the room, he spotted Mr Crusoe, laughing it up with a young girl, and another man. Crusoe had his arm around the girl’s waist, and he held her close. Ben was shocked. Their posture, the easy way the girl leaned into Crusoe, the proprietary way he held her, all implied intimacy — sexual intimacy. How could he advertise his infidelity so openly?

The other man turned, and Ben caught a glimpse of his profile. It was Bagger’s father, Crusoe’s boss. Ben shook his head. He’d do his best to avoid the pair of them. Bagger’s dad very deliberately put his hand on the girl’s ass. She reacted immediately, turning her offended face to him. She said something. Her response made him smile, and he waited a few moments before removing his hand. Then, after she turned her face away, he waited a moment, then placed his hand back on her butt, then took it away before she reacted.

Ben was always uncomfortable around Bagger’s dad. He always called him “Mr Bagstone,” but everyone else called him the Bagman, a nickname he picked up back in high school. Bagstone was a crude man who sincerely believed that everyone was as crude and perverse as he was. In his mind, the only difference between himself and the rest of the world was that he was “man enough to admit it.”

That girl, though… Ben was sure he knew her, although he’d only caught a fleeting glance at her face. It came to him in a flash: Her name was Justine. Justine… something. She’d been two years ahead of him in high school, which meant that there were nearly 20 years between her and Mr Crusoe. Yuck.

And speaking of yuck, after the Bagman finished his game with Justine’s derriere, he lifted his gaze, and his face took on an ugly, predatory look. The lift in his shoulders, the set of his mouth, the way his eyes roved, you could see that he was looking for a woman to devour. Some unfortunate woman there in the room had caught his eye, and he wanted her: he wanted to take her, pull her clothes off, and have her, right there. It was the Bagman’s caveman countenance, and it made him ugly.

But who was he looking at? Ben took a step back and tried to follow the man’s gaze. As far as he could tell, it was — none other than Mrs Crusoe! Ben was revolted. What a party this has turned out to be! he told himself, and without another thought he turned away, crossed the deck, passed the swimming pool, and raced down the stone stairs to the lower garden.

Ben’s mother named that area “the lower garden.” It was not a garden, as such: it was really a wide, long lawn: grass stretching between a high retaining wall and the little creek that separated the Haddock’s property from the Crusoe’s. There weren’t any flowers or vegetables or fruits in this “garden” — there was a small patio made of paving stones surrounded by concrete benches, and a little nook where Ben often went to be alone. The nook held nothing but a concrete bench; there wasn’t room for anything else. This nook wasn’t exactly hidden; it was on your right as you came down the stairs, but if you didn’t turn your head to look, you’d miss it.

Ben settled himself on the bench and thought about what he’d seen. He felt badly for Mrs Crusoe: it must be humiliating for your husband to parade his lover in front of you and all your friends. And Justine! He didn’t know her at all, really, aside from her name. He’d seen her at school, but given the two year gap in their ages, their paths didn’t cross. They were never in class together, and had no friends in common. Still, he'd never have guessed she was the kind of girl who’d sleep with a married man!

Another possibility occurred to him: Could Mrs Crusoe be okay with it? Maybe they have threesomes, the Crusoes and Justine? Or foursomes, if the women could bear the loathsome Bagman? Ben began to daydream, picturing Justine kissing Mr Crusoe, while the Bagman played with her behind. In his imagination he tried to pull Mrs Crusoe into the picture, but somehow he couldn’t. His imagination wouldn’t take that step.

And then, he froze.

The click clack of heels on the stone steps made him catch his breath. He didn’t want to be caught here, by anyone. This place had always been his secret hideout — a place where he could always be alone. Now, he’d end up captive to whichever of his parents’ friends was coming down. It would be an endless, unendurable series of polite remarks and forced smiles with no possibility of escape. There was another set of stairs, going up the other side. He could make a run for it. But he’d probably be seen. He couldn’t be that rude. So he sat and held his breath and tried somehow to will himself invisible.

The clicking of heels stopped, and a figure stepped into view. It was Mrs Crusoe. She was looking straight ahead of her, towards her house. She hadn’t seen Ben. If she didn’t turn her head, she’d miss him.

She turned her head the other way, away from Ben, as she fished a cigarette and lighter from her bag. She took a puff and shivered a little as she blew out a cloud of smoke. Ben realized that she wasn’t wearing her blue scarf.

Without turning, without apparently noticing Ben, Mrs Crusoe walked out of his view. She was still down there with him in the lower garden, but he couldn’t tell where. He could smell the smoke from her cigarette as it lingered in the air.

He looked at his watch and waited, not daring to move. He knew it was stupid. Still, if she caught him, he’d fess up and tell her that he’d just wanted to be alone. She was probably the only one of his parents’ friends who’d understand.

After three or four minutes, she came back into view, but a little farther off, near the stone patio. This time, she was facing Ben’s house. Again, he saw her from the side. If she only turned her head a little to her left, she’d see him. But she didn’t turn. Instead, she lifted one foot and carefully stubbed out her cigarette. Once she was sure it was well dead, she tossed the butt into the bushes. Then, she looked at the toe of her shoes and let out a soft “Damn!” She set her left foot a little ahead of her, and bent down, straight-legged, to examine it. Her dress was the sort that draped over her figure, and as she bent forward, it followed the outline of her leg, her hip, her butt. The weight and curve of her breast were plainly visible as they hung against the soft cloth. Ben caught his breath. Here he was again, aroused and guilty. He shouldn’t, he knew: she was older, she was married, she was his mother’s friend. And yet, she was so sexy, so desirable.

After picking at her shoe for a few moments, she straightened up and turned her back to him. She walked over the stone patio, and standing on the grass, lifted one foot to the closest stone bench. She bent forward, and her dress took on the curves of her derriere. Pretty awesome, for a woman her age! Ben silently exclaimed. His chest tightened with anxiety and the fear of discovery: he didn’t want to be discovered sitting there, like a spy, like a letcher, letching after his neighbor.

Mrs Crusoe’s foot wobbled as her back heel sank into the grass. She caught herself, and walked around the bench so she could stand on the more stable paving stones. Now she was facing Ben — she’d have to see him! He prepared himself to greet her, to apologize — to apologize for everything: for the window, for hiding, for spying… but she didn’t look up.

She propped her foot on the stone bench, her stance more stable now, and bent forward to examine her shoe. Ben couldn’t see what she was looking at; from his vantage point, her shoe looked fine. As Ben watched, Mrs Crusoe gathered her skirt toward her, baring her knee, and giving Ben a clear and open view of her legs, bare from the tops of her shoes to bottom of her panties. Ben’s heart and breathing seemed to stop. He could see the soft mound between her thighs, covered by cream-colored underwear, hemmed by a discrete black crocheted border.

Her bending forward also exposed her cleavage to Ben. He could see her soft white skin, and the gap between her full, round breasts as they lightly swayed.

She remained that way for a minute. A long minute. Ben, electrified, wanted to move or shout or warn her of his presence, but it was too late. He’d have to chance her seeing him there — and she was sure to see him there.

But no: she stood without lifting her head. She brushed off her skirt. She adjusted her breasts. Then she lifted her skirt, giving Ben the leg show once again as she tugged her underwear from her intimate folds. Then, after what seemed a final shake to her skirt, she abruptly turned her back to Ben and took a step toward the set of stairs at the other side of the garden.

Just when Ben thought the show was over, Mrs Crusoe bunched up her skirt in back, showing Ben her derriere. She tugged on her panties, adjusting them to make herself more comfortable. To close the show, she ran her hands over her buttocks, and finally let her skirt fall.

She walked away without looking back, slowly click-clacking her way up to the deck, where the other guests were.

She left Ben shaking. What a close call! he told himself. There were so many times when she could have seen me! Thinking on the sights he’d seen, he blushed so hard, he nearly felt sunburned.

Ben touched his brow, surprised to find beads of sweat. It was a cool day, nearly cold, but here he was, perspiring. He wiped his face with his hands, and wiped his hands on the grass. He stood up. He sat down. He stood again and paced. He needed to calm himself. He sat again and drummed his fingers. For once, I wish I smoked! he exclaimed internally.

He sat for a full five minutes. Then, judging that enough time had passed, he climbed the far stairs, the same stairs that she had used. Ben assumed that she wouldn’t tarry at the top, and that he’d have less chance of bumping into her.

But he was wrong.

Ben expected the deck to be empty — just as it was when he exited the house. It was too cool to be hospitable, so all the guests pressed together inside. Instead, Ben found two people there, standing off to the side, out of sight of the other guests: Mr and Mrs Crusoe. Their voices were too low for Ben to hear, but the intensity of their exchange was clear from their body language. Mr Crusoe was tense: his shoulders tight, his teeth and fists clenched, his face contorted with anger. Mrs Crusoe was much cooler externally. One hand held a lit cigarette up to her face. Her other hand was under her elbow. Her face was a cold mask. Her jaw and lips were tight with anger.

Ben knew it was too late for him to turn back. As he approached, he heard part of their exchange:

Mr Crusoe said, through clenched teeth: “I’ll be late, I told you. I’ll be out late. I’m going for drinks with the Bagman. We have a few things to discuss.”

“Late?” she repeated. “Late? Chad, are you coming home at all? If you respect me at all, just tell me. Just say that you’re not coming home. Do you think that I’m an idiot?”

“We’ve gone over and over this—” he began, but abruptly cut off when he caught sight of Ben.

Mr Crusoe was a part of Ben’s life from the time Ben was born, but he was not one of Ben’s favorite people. Mr Crusoe was arrogant, pushy, and full of himself. Everything he said was all hearty and phony. He was such a fake, he was able to drop his ugly demeanor in a moment, and held out his hand to Ben.

“How ya doing there, Ben, Benjy, Benny-boy, Ben!” he chortled, and followed up with an exaggerated, bone-crushing handshake.

“I’m great, Mr Crusoe, just great. How about you?”

“Never better, son! Never better.” He fixed his gaze on Ben, grinning, looking him straight in the eye. He set his hand ponderously on Ben’s shoulder and smiled. After a pause, he said, “Ben, the graduate.” Then he chuckled. “Ben,” he repeated.

“Yes, Mr Crusoe?”

“Ben.”

“Here I am, Mr Crusoe.”

“Can I tell you something, Ben? Are you listening?” He paused, and grinned at his wife, who rolled her eyes and turned away.

“Are you listening, Ben?”

“Yes, I’m listening. What is it, Mr Crusoe?”

“I have a word for you. One word.” He paused again, laughing to himself. “Are you ready, Ben? The word is: plastics.” He poked Ben painfully in the chest with his forefinger. “Think about it.” Then he poked him again.

Ben’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I.. uh… I don’t understand.”

Mrs Crusoe came to his rescue. “Oh, Chad!” she exclaimed. “He’s too young to get that joke! I’m sure he’s never even heard of that film.”

“Hmmph!” Mr Crusoe grunted, shrugging it off. He gave Ben’s chest a third painful poke and said, “Think about it, will you?” Then he walked off laughing, enormously pleased with himself.

Ben put his hand on his chest, sure there’d be bruises later. “What was all that about?” he lamented.

“Don’t worry about it,” she told him, stepping closer to brush some imaginary crumbs off his shoulder. “Did he hurt you?”

“Honestly, a little, yes.”

“Aww,” she cooed, cutely, her eyes twinkling. “Poor little thing!”

He flushed in embarrassment. “Anyway,” she explained, “there was a movie, late sixties, called The Graduate. It starts out — well, it starts out just like this, at a graduation party for a young man.” She stopped and looked around the room. “And, oddly, just like this, all the guests were his parents’ friends. Ben, weren’t any of your friends invited?”

He shrugged. “My college friends don’t live around here, and my high school friends… I haven’t gotten back in touch with them yet. Honestly, I don’t know if I will.”

“I see.”

“Um, so, what else happens in that movie? Why did Mr Crusoe say plastics to me like that? Was that a big joke in the film?”

“Oh, no. It was just a little thing, near the beginning, but for some reason everyone remembers that line. It typifies the way that Ben’s parents’ generation know what’s going on in a commercial way, but have no idea what young people want.”

“Ben? Why did you say ‘Ben’s parents’?”

She laughed, a lovely light laugh. “How funny! I didn’t even think — the name of the main character in the film is Ben. Just like you.”

“Maybe I should watch this movie,” Ben mused. “Maybe it would help me understand what’s going on with my life.”

“No, it won’t,” she told him, looking a little embarrassed. Ben noticed this, and puzzled, asked, “Why don’t you tell me what happens in the movie, then, and save me the trouble of seeing it?”

Her drink was nearly empty, and Ben had none. Her husband had apparently noticed this before he walked away, because he arrived at that moment with a martini for her and some sort of mixed drink for Ben. He raised his glass in salute, and walked backwards into the crowd. When he disappeared, she muttered, “He’s already three sheets to the wind.”

Ben had no idea what to reply, so he repeated, “So what about the movie?”

“Fine,” she said, resigned to it, and took a big sip of her martini. “He graduates from college. He worries about his future. He blunders around. He doesn’t know what to do. He has an affair with an older woman, and then he runs off with her daughter.” By the time she got to the end, she was blushing. “On her wedding day.”

“On whose wedding day?” Ben asked stupidly.

“On the daughter’s wedding day, of course!”

Ben tried to take it in. “He sounds like a real asshole,” he concluded.

She nodded. “Well, at the time, the anti-hero was a popular figure.”

Ben frowned. “What’s an anti-hero?”

Mrs Crusoe sighed, then after chewing her lower lip for a moment, said, “An asshole.”

Ben nodded. “I have zero desire to see this film,” he told her.

“Good,” she said, with a sense of relief. Then she scanned the room, her eyes stopping on her husband, who was loudly recounting an off-color joke to Justine and the Bagman. She cleared her throat and said, “Ben, I’m going to go say goodbye to your parents, and then I’m going home.”

“Do you need a ride?” he asked without thinking.

“No,” she said. “I’ll just go through the yard and cross the little bridge.” She pointed to her house, clearly visible where they stood.

“Okay,” he said.

“Let me give you a kiss to congratulate you,” she said. After setting her glass on a little table, she put her palm flat against the center of his chest and gently pushed him toward the edge of the deck, until they were both out of sight of the guests inside the house. She moved her hand to his shoulder. Standing on tip-toe, she planted her warm, soft lips on his. He was startled, but he closed his eyes. He felt himself sink into that kiss. It seemed to put him in another world. He could have stayed in that kiss forever.

But of course, it quickly ended. She pulled her face away from his, and he felt himself bathed in the intoxicating scent she wore. She studied his face and asked in a soft, low voice, “Did you like that?”

“Uh-huh,” he whispered.

“Good,” she said, and planted another, but much shorter, kiss on his mouth. “It’s nice to know I’ve still got it.” She smiled at him for a moment, then turned to walk away.

At the top of the stairs, she turned and with a grin told him, “You’d better wipe that lipstick off you. All the women here know my color.” She took another step, then stopped to say, “Tell your parents goodbye for me. And thanks for the lovely party.” After that, she slowly descended and disappeared from sight.

He took a sip of the drink Mr Crusoe had given him. It was horrible; it seemed like a mixture of maple syrup and rubbing alcohol. He dumped it in a bush, and set the empty glass next to Mrs Crusoe’s. Then, on an impulse, he picked up her drink and took a sip, placing his lips where hers had been: where her lipstick had marked the rim. After he finished the drink, he carefully wiped her lipstick from his lips, folded the napkin, and put it in his pocket.

Ben found himself smiling. It seemed like the first genuine smile he’d had today. He stood up straighter, squared his shoulders, and took a deep breath. Then he dove into the crowd and made his way to the bar. He wanted another martini.

The Graduate, Vamped and Revamped: 2 / 6

An Altered Fates Story
A second look at the 1967 film, The Graduate
and (even moreso) the 1963 novella of the same name by Charles Webb.
By Iolanthe Portmanteaux
 

Ben intended to drink another martini — a whole one, this time. Aside from finishing Mrs Crusoe’s drink, he’d only had a single sip of the drink his father had given him, and that was several hours ago. Ben wasn’t drunk, but he was exhilarated: he was buoyed by Mrs Crusoe’s kisses. He could still feel her lips on his. He smiled and told himself, Another martini couldn’t hurt.

Before he reached the bar, Ben was waved down by his father, who wanted him to say goodbye to an older couple that was leaving. Ben was bouncy and light, and the couple left in good spirits. After they closed the door to the departing guests, Ben’s father turned and gestured with his chin at Crusoe and the Bagman, who were lying unconscious on the sofa. “I wish we could get rid of those two,” he commented. “Ben, why don’t we roll them down the garden stairs and let them sleep it off down there?” Justine was standing near Mr Crusoe, drinking what appeared to be a tumbler of water. She had her eyes on the two men, and had a look of what seemed professional disinterest. She regarded the two unconscious sots the way a dogwalker looks at their charges.

Ben followed his father to the kitchen. “It’s disgusting,” Ben’s father told his wife. “The pair of them should know better. Drunk, like a pair of bums in an alley. It’s only five o’clock, and look at them!” Mrs Haddock’s face showed her distress, but her motivation was quite different. “How could he bring that girl here, to our house? How could he do such a thing to Leslie?” She shook her head. “It makes us look bad. It makes us seem complicit. No wonder Leslie left so quickly. I don’t know when I’ve been so embarrassed and upset! What on earth will I say to Leslie, next time I see her?.” Mrs Haddock looked out the window, toward the Crusoe’s house, as though she could see her friend’s offended footsteps in the grass.

Surprising his parents as well as himself, Ben assured them, “I’ll see what I can do.” He suddenly felt capable of anything.

First, he took Justine’s example and drank a glass of water. It had an unexpected tonic effect. “You’re dehydrated, that’s why,” his father explained. Ben drank another. Then he walked across the room and stood face to face with Justine.

“Look at these two,” she said with a smirk. “They meant to carry me off—” she gestured out the back “—down there.”

Ben supplied the words: “To the lower garden.”

“Okay, the lower garden,” she acknowledged, and her smirk widened. “They thought they could have their way with me, but look at them! I think they’re done until morning, don’t you?”

“I guess so,” Ben said.

Justine lifted Mr Crusoe’s arm by his little finger, then let it drop. It hit the couch with a limp flop! She gave Ben a cute shrug.

He looked at her light blue eyes, her long straight sandy-blonde hair, her generous breasts and narrow waist. She was even more beautiful than she’d been in high school. “Do you need any help with these two?”

“Actually, yeah,” she said, glancing from one inert form to the other. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to bundle them into the car. Could you help me with that?”

Ben considered the size of each man and replied, “Sure. Let me get my dad.”

The three of them hauled the two drunken men, one at a time, off the living room couch, out the front door, and into the back seat of Crusoe’s car. There was no point in trying to “not make a spectacle” as Mrs Haddock put it: that ship had long since sailed. The two inebriates had lain, sprawling, in the center of the living room for a good twenty minutes. There was no way to hide what was happening.

While they labored with the two heavy, sleeping men, Ben observed his father making furtive glances at Justine’s breasts and derriere.

“Do you think you could drive?” Justine asked Ben. “I’m not drunk, but I’m sure I’m over the limit. I can pay for your Uber home.” Ben nodded.

“Are you okay to drive?” his father asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I didn’t even finish a whole drink.”

“How will you get home?”

“Uber,” Ben and Justine answered together.

Ben’s father nodded, and after closing Justine’s door, he told Ben in a low voice, “Don’t hurry back. Take your time,” and he stole a last glance at Justine. She smiled and waved, and mouthed the words Thank you.

“Oh, to be 35 again!” his father softly groaned. Then laughing, he playfully punched Ben in the arm.

Ben got behind the wheel, fastened his belt, started the car, and — involuntarily — glanced at Justine’s bare legs. They were white as cream, without flaw or blemish. Ben blushed and quickly looked away.

Justine gave some brief directions, then said, “It’s fine to look. Don’t worry about it. These two ogle me 24/7, so it’s nice to have somebody my own age look at me for a change.”

Ben cleared his throat and tried to say something, but found nothing to say. Justine turned her head as if to look out the window, so he seized the opportunity to attentively study her breasts. Like her legs, they were smooth, the color of cream, and appeared as soft as pillows. He was so absorbed that he very nearly plowed into a parked car. Justine made no comment, but she turned her gaze ahead, so she could help watch the road.

Justine’s house was a neat little brick cottage. It was the smallest house on the block, situated in a quiet neighborhood that was tucked away behind the municipal park. Ben pulled into her garage. Once the garage door was fully closed, he and Justine got out and surveyed their charges.

“We could just leave them there,” she suggested, “but I’m afraid they’d get sick or at catch a cold.” With some difficulty, they half carried, half dragged the drunken men, one at a time, from the garage, to the house, and dropped them in the living room on a pair of facing sofas.

“Let’s just get their shoes and pants off,” she told Ben. “Then I’ll cover them up and they can sleep it off.”

He followed her as she padded barefoot into the kitchen. “How about a beer?” she asked over her shoulder.

He hesitated a moment, then said, “Okay.”

She twisted the top off a bottle and handed it to him. “It’s not as though you’re driving, right?”

“I guess so,” he replied, then looked around him. “Is this your place?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “As long as Chad wants me, yeah, I get to live here. He lets me live here. He gives me money and presents. And yes, before you ask, I like living this way, and no, I don’t expect it to last forever. Neither does he. I do part-time accounting gigs online. I’ve been putting money away. For someone my age, I have a healthy 401k. I’m actually doing pretty well.”

“Do you think he’ll leave Mrs Crusoe for you?”

“Mrs Crusoe — that’s cute. Her name is Leslie, Ben, and hell no — he’ll never leave her. He needs to believe that all this — the house, the sex, the money, me — is all temporary. The only way he can feel free to enjoy all this is if he stays married to her.”

"I don't understand," Ben replied.

"That's okay," she said, and took a sip of her beer. "It doesn't matter."

The Bagman began to snore. Justine said, “Help me?” Ben nodded, and the two shifted the bulky man onto his side. The snoring stopped.

“Do you do this a lot?” he asked her.

“What? Babysit two drunks? Yes, lately, a fair amount. That Bagman idiot — he’s angling for a three-way with me and Chad.”

“Have you ever?”

“No. I said he’s angling for it. He’s trying. It hasn’t happened yet.”

“Do you think it will?”

She sighed. “Eventually, yeah. It’s inevitable. The only way to keep Chad interested, is to be sexually inventive. Or least open.”

“It sounds like you don’t want to.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t want to at all. Not with them. Not with anybody.”

“But… I would think that you — that any woman — would be excited by it. I mean, all the attention. It’s so… sexy and… hot and… I don’t know.” Ben gestured vaguely as he ran out of words.

Justine gave him a flat look. “Do you know why you think it’s all sexy and hot and all that? Do you want to know why? It’s because you’re a man.”

“Wouldn’t it be even more so for a woman?”

“No. No, it wouldn’t be. Because men are after women all the time. They never let it rest. There is so much pressure and crap that women have to put up with and watch out for. For you, it’s all imagination: you picture something like a lion chasing a gazelle. The thrill of the chase. Except for one thing: that’s not how it really happens. It’s always a pack of lions chasing a gazelle. If you’re a lion, maybe it’s fun, or maybe it’s just lunch. If you’re a gazelle, you’re like oh fuck, will I get home alive? You live under a constant, unrelenting threat.” She took a sip of beer. “And if you’re a stupid nature guy with a camera, you’re all How exciting! The circle of life!”

Once again, Ben had no idea how to respond, so he said nothing. Justine looked at him and smiled. “I remember you from high school. You were always such a cute little guy.”

“I didn’t think you knew who I was,” he told her.

“Oh sure, we used to talk about you. All the girls used to talk about you.”

“I had no idea.”

“Yeah, we used to talk about that, too. You probably could have had any girl you wanted, but you were so naive. So completely unaware.”

Ben shifted in his chair, and unconsciously rubbed his chest — the three points where Mr Crusoe had poked him. Justine asked what he was doing, so he explained about the plastics line.

“Oh, yeah,” Justine laughed. “The Graduate.”

“Does everyone know this movie except me?” Ben exclaimed.

“Maybe,” Justine replied. “And you know what? You are a little like the guy in the movie. No — you’re a LOT like the guy in the movie. His name was Ben, he just graduated, his parents had a party. Have people been mentioning it to you?”

“No, just the Crusoe’s,” he said, and followed up his answer with a deep red blush.

“Both of them?” Justine said, her eyes widening with amusement and interest. “Huh! Leslie — I mean Mrs Crusoe — too? Oh, Ben, you dawg! You filthy dawg, you!”

“No, it’s not like that,” he protested.

“Oh, no, of course not!” she laughed. “Look, she knows her husband is fucking me. Don’t you think she wants some hot revenge sex with a cute guy half her age?”

“Oh, come on,” he said, resisting. “She wouldn’t — I wouldn’t —”

“You wouldn’t? Are you sure? She’s pretty hot, Ben, even considering her age. I hope I look that good when I’m that old.”

Ben stood up stiffly, saying, “I think I’d better go now.” He turned and looked for the door.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay, Ben?” she asked in a low, teasing voice. “Look what you’re walking away from.”

He turned and saw that she’d slipped her dress off her shoulders, leaving her bare, from her neck to her waist. Her breasts looked larger and fuller, now that they weren't covered by clothes. As big as they were, they seemed to defy gravity, floating in front of her chest, dazzling him. She swayed her shoulders, just a little bit, to make her breasts sway gently, left and right.

“Stay, Ben,” she cooed, as she pushed her dress down from her waist. “You don’t want to be a virgin when you hook up with Mrs Leslie, do you?”

“I’m not a v—” he protested, but she gave a soft shhhh and closed his mouth with a kiss.

 

---

 

She woke him early by literally pushing him roughly out of bed with her feet. He fell heavily to the floor, and looked up at her in confusion. “You need to get dressed and go,” she whispered urgently. “Those old guys will wake up any minute. I’m surprised they haven’t gotten up to pee yet.” She hustled him out the back door with his clothes in his arms.

“Justine! Justine!” he hissed, “I desperately need to pee!”

“Then desperately pee behind the shed,” she told him, pointing. “And keep the noise down!” At that, she closed the sliding door and drew the curtain.

After a quick look around, he clutched his clothes to cover his hips, and trotted behind the garden shed. After resting his clothes on a bush, he let out a long, fragrant stream along the bare ground behind the bushes. He shook off the last few drops, then quickly dressed. As he was tying his shoes, he looked across the garden, where an older woman stood watching. She was dressed in old clothes and wearing heavy shoes. Her hair was tied up in a kerchief. and she held a gardening trowel in her gloved hands. As if reading the question from his mind, she told him with a smile, “I saw the whole show, starting with the naked girl kicking you out. You’re lucky you look so good with your clothes off, young man. Otherwise, I would have called the cops.”

The woman was Justine’s neighbor, and she was highly amused by Ben’s embarrassment. She invited him to cross her property in order to more effectively sneak away. She also invited him in for breakfast (“You don’t need to dress for meals at my house,” she quipped), and when Ben politely refused, she stood next to him while he waited for his Uber. She was bold enough to give his butt a long, slow, gentle squeeze, and left her hand to linger on his backside until he stepped into his ride. "Sometimes early-morning gardening pays off!" she cackled.

The Uber dropped Ben in front of his house. He quietly entered and made his way to his bedroom. He was tired and funky and needed a shower. Ben was surprised that he didn’t feel more different. He’d finally lost his virginity. It was nice. It was a new experience, despite all the porn he’d seen and read. New sensations. Still, it was a bit anticlimactic. Like his graduation. Like his life right now. He expected more. He'd expected fireworks, explosions in his brain. Instead it was a furtive huffing and puffing — so as not to wake the two older men. The entire time he anxiously stared into her eyes, wondering whether he was doing it right. She seemed pleased afterward, though she hadn’t said so.

Ben showered, brushed his teeth, and shaved. Then he padded barefoot downstairs to the kitchen. His mother was there, washing the large serving platters from yesterday’s party.

“Look at you,” Mrs Haddock said. “I didn’t think I’d see you up so early.” She didn’t look him in the eye. Did she know he’d been out all night? “Would you like some coffee? Or have you already had breakfast?” Yes, she knew.

“No, I haven’t had anything,” he said. “Coffee would be great.”

She set a mug on the table and filled it. “Would you like some eggs and sausage?”

“Yes, please.”

“Toast?” He nodded.

She prepared the food in silence, still not looking at him. At last, she could contain herself no longer. “That girl is a slut, you know.”

Ben was too surprised to respond.

“You realize that Mr Crusoe is cheating on poor Leslie with that — that whore.” She drew the word out and weighed it down with a heavy dose of judgement.

Ben had never heard his mother use such language. Never. But he could see that she was only warming up.

“And you slept with her. You slept with that hussy, didn’t you.” She didn’t phrase it like a question, so Ben kept quiet. “You slept with her, and you don’t know where she’s been. I hope you’ve had all your shots, Ben.” she quipped. “That’s all I have to say. You don’t know what you could catch from a tramp like that.” She looked Ben full in the face and told him, “That stupid, inconsiderate girl made our house dirty, do you understand? Dirty! And that awful Chad Crusoe — as if it wasn’t bad enough that he's betrayed my friend, our neighbor with that — with that floozy — as if THAT wasn’t bad enough, he has to bring the hussy here, and paw her in the middle of our living room!”

She scraped the eggs and sausage from the pan to a plate with evident fury and a great deal of noise, “I suppose we should all be thankful that they didn’t have sex in front of our guests!”

She dropped the plate with a clatter in front of Ben, followed by the rattle of a knife and fork. The toast popped up. She grabbed it, holding it in a napkin, and pointed at Ben with the corner of the bread. “Benjamin Haddock, I hope you have the sense to stay away from that girl — or any girl like that — ever — never again — ever again —-” she faltered, losing the thread, not finding the words. “Ben, never NEVER bring that girl to this house. Never. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mom,” he quietly agreed.

“If she comes to the door, I want you to slam it in her face. No — wait. If she ever dares to show her smirking, brazen face here, I want you to call me, so that *I* can slam the door in her face!” Jaw set, she scrubbed the pan angrily with the spatula.

At that point, Mr Haddock arrived and asked, “What’s all the hubbub?”

“That WHORE!” Mrs Haddock began.

“Ohh-kay,” Mr Haddock replied. “Here we go again.”

“No, no, I’m done,” Mrs Haddock replied, and she hurled the heavy pan into the sink, in an effort to calm herself. “I can see that you two think this is just HILARIOUS to see me so upset—”

It was an emotionally charged breakfast. Neither man dared to speak or to leave the room while Mrs Haddock was holding forth.

When at last the flames of her anger lowered to a simmer, she asked Ben in a normal tone, “Do you have any plans for today?”

“Um, no,” he replied. “Do you want me to help you with something?”

“Leslie Crusoe left her scarf here yesterday. Could you bring it over to her?”

“Sure, where is it?”

“In the bookcase, near the phone. She took it off because of the heat, and stuck it there.”

Weird, thought Ben. He crossed the living room and stood in front of the bookcase. “I don’t see it,” he called.

“Then look harder,” his mother replied, in a testy voice. “You can go there in your car if you want, but it will be easier and quicker if you just cross the little bridge over the stream.”

Ben reached behind the books at eye level, and immediately felt the soft silk of the scarf. He pulled it out slowly, remembering how Mrs Crusoe had drawn it off her neck in that smooth single motion, like liquid smoke sliding off her body. He held the airy cloth to his face and smelled her perfume. It was exotic, he thought. Not floral. Not musky. It was complex and memorable, and for the rest of his life it remained her scent to him.

“I found it!” he called, still holding the fragrant silk to his face.

“Can you bring it over now?” she asked. “I’ll call and tell her you’re coming.” She came to see what he was wearing. She straightened his collar and tugged on his shirt. “Tuck it in a little better,” she told him.

“And Ben,” she said, as he was about to step out the door, “Don’t just hand her the scarf and leave. Try to stay a little bit and keep her company. She must be lonely and alone, the poor woman, in that big empty house, while her no-good husband is out—” she stopped herself and made a show of biting the kitchen towel. “I won’t say any more,” she said. “Now go, go, go,” and she pushed him out the door.

 

---

 

As Ben descended the stone steps to the lower garden, a thought struck him: he’d never visited the Crusoe’s house before. This would be his first time. They lived so close, but until today he hadn’t any reason to go. The Crusoe’s were always adults, and he was only a child.

Today was different: now he was grown. He was twenty-one years old. He had a college degree. And he was no longer a virgin. Although, truth to tell, that last fact didn’t seem that remarkable. It seemed on par with getting a vaccination. Still, he’d crossed that marker. He was on the other side of the line.

As he trudged through the damp grass, he felt a wave of nervousness wash over him. The past twenty-four hours had been particularly charged, sexually. He’d seen a live naked woman for the first time in his life, and not just any naked woman, but Justine, the subject of many of his high-school fantasies. She was even more beautiful naked than he could have imagined, and he never expected her skin to feel so soft. And she’d kissed him; Justine had kissed him. So had Mrs Crusoe. Leslie. Did he dare to call her Leslie? Would he be able to?

He crossed the little wooden bridge, then the Crusoe’s lawn, which wasn’t as deep as his own. The back door of the house was ajar.

“Mrs Crusoe!” he called. “It’s Ben Haddock. I have your scarf.” At first there was no answer, so he pushed his head inside the house and called again. Still, no answer. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, locking it. He knocked on the kitchen counter. “Mrs Crusoe? Leslie? It’s Ben.” He wandered from the kitchen to the dining room, to the living room, knocking and calling the whole time. He walked down a short hallway and found a bathroom, a sort of study, and a sunroom, all empty. Then he returned down the hallway and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He stared upward in silence, asking himself whether he dared go up. What if he found her in bed? But of course he wouldn’t! She knew that he was coming. And yet…

Suddenly she was there, at his elbow, Mrs Crusoe. “Do you want to go up?” she asked. He jumped a foot in the air and shrieked like a little girl. “Oh my God!” he exclaimed, embarrassed as hell. “You startled me.”

She was dressed in soft blue jeans and a loose, fuzzy, beige sweater. Her eyes twinkled. “I was downstairs getting the laundry going,” she told him. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

“The back door was open,” Ben stammered, gesturing in that direction. “That’s not safe, you know. I could have been anybody, coming through that door!”

“You could have been anybody?” she repeated. “Then I’m going to have to give some thought to who I want you to be, next time you come over.”

“Uh, here’s your scarf,” he said, feeling immensely stupid at saying something so obvious. “It’s, uh, beautiful.”

“Oh, thank you!” she said, and draped it over a chair. “I really missed it on the way home. It was so cold.”

“It’s so light, though. It wouldn’t have kept you warm at all.”

“That’s the thing about silk,” she said. “It’s super light, but oh-so warm. I missed it right away, but I couldn’t go back in the house. I couldn’t bear seeing it.” Ben didn’t need to ask what it was: it was the spectacle of her husband, in the midst of all their friends, as he groped Justine.

“That girl, Justine —” Ben offered, awkwardly, “We didn’t invite her. No one wanted her there. My mother was so embarrassed. She was mortified.”

“It was low, even for Chad.” She shook her head. “He is not a nice man, Ben. He is not a good man.” She chewed on her thumbnail, and regarded him for a moment. “Can you keep a secret, Ben?”

“A secret? Yeah, sure.”

“I’m going to divorce his ass.”

“Mr Crusoe?”

“Mr Crusoe” she repeated. “Yes, of course Mr Crusoe. Who else could I divorce? And then I might disappear.” She waited for him to say something, but he could find nothing to say. So she repeated, “He is not a good man. In fact, he is an awful, terrible husband, and he’s always been.”

“If you say so, Mrs Crusoe.”

She gave a cute frown. “Ben, please don’t call me ‘Mrs Crusoe’ any more. It makes me feel like I’m eighty years old. Please call me Leslie.” He nodded. To change the subject, she offered him some coffee. “It’ll just take a moment for me to make.” She put her hand lightly on his chest and pushed. Her touch was so ephemeral. It was the merest suggestion of a push, to guide him backward into the kitchen. While she filled the carafe with water, her phone rang. After a glance at the caller ID, she said, “Ben, I have to take this. I’ll be short. Please don’t go anywhere, promise?” She a finger to her lips, then touched his lips, and then she picked up the phone.

“Hello, Viv? How are you?”

The voice on the other end was so loud, Ben could easily make out both sides of the conversation. Ben recognized the voice — it was Vivian Errison.

”Leslie, how are you? I saw what that horrible husband of yours did yesterday! He made such a spectacle of himself! How are you holding up?”

“Hi, Viv. I’m fine. I was angry last night, but now I’m fine.”

”You’ve got yet another reason to leave, Leslie.”

“I know.” Leslie shot a quick glance at Ben, then reached forward to gently take a handful of his shirt. She looked in his eyes and mouthed the words Don’t go yet.

”You know that, aside from the divorce, I can help you escape, if you’re willing to take that step.”

“The Zulu thing?” Leslie’s eyes twinkled.

”Zulo. It’s Zulo, not Zulu. Leslie, please, I know it sounds far out and crazy, but I’m telling you, it works, and it can help.”

Leslie sighed.

”Can you come over today? Say four? We can talk about it. I’ll give you a demonstration.”

Leslie glanced at Ben, and said, “Fine, Viv. I’ll see you at four. And you can tell me all about the voodoo.”

”Zulo,” Viv corrected.

Leslie said her goodbyes, and the two women hung up.

She looked up at Ben and said, “I’m definitely divorcing him, and I’m thinking hard about disappearing — leaving this goddamn town. But please: don’t tell anyone. Especially your parents. Especially your mother.”

Ben nodded. Leslie made him swear. Then she prepared the coffee.

“If he’s so awful,” Ben asked, “Why did you marry him?”

“He seemed different back then,” she replied. “I can’t say he was ever kind, but at least he was polite. But the thing was, I got pregnant.”

“But did you have to marry him?”

“I didn’t have to, but at the time it seemed like the best choice. It was the least embarrassing choice, for one thing, and stupid me, I wanted to get married. To someone. All of my friends were married. It seemed I was the only singleton left.”

“What happened to the baby?”

“I lost her. Stillborn.” She grimaced. “It still hurts.” She sipped her coffee. “After that, he changed. Or showed who he really was all along. He started doing things… making demands…”

“What kind of demands?”

“I’m sorry, Ben. I shouldn’t be unloading all of this on you.”

“No, it’s fine,” he said. “I’m curious. I don’t know anything about married life.”

“I’m not sure I do, either,” she replied. She hesitated, then asked, “Ben, if I tell you something embarrassing, will you keep it to yourself? I mean, really, only to yourself. Promise you won’t tell a soul.”

“Of course,” he said.

“Chad wants me to have sex with other men.”

“Like an open marriage?”

“No, like sex with other men while he watches. He wants to choose the men. Threesomes, foursomes, more-somes...”

“And did you?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “Of course not!”

Ben was puzzled. “Don’t you think that you might like it?”

“No!” she exclaimed again. “I’m sure that I wouldn’t like it!”

“How could you know, if you haven’t tried?”

Her eyes opened wide with disbelief. “Oh my God, Ben, you’re lucky you’re so cute. And so young. Otherwise…” she sighed and shook her head. “If you were in my place, would you like it? Being traded around like some kind of object, like a doll?”

Ben’s shoulders hunched a little, as if he’d been caught watching porn. “Well… yes, I think I would like it,” he said.

“You don’t sound very sure,” she admonished.

“I don’t want to offend you,” he replied.

She scoffed. “Let me put it this way, Ben: sex is good when you have choice; when you have some degree of control.”

Ben wanted to argue the point, but he could see that she was getting irritated.

“There’s something else about Chad,” she told him. “It’s not all about sex. There’s another big issue. If he wasn’t supporting that goddamn girl — Justine — or her predecessors — then I’d have enough money to go back to school.”

“To school?” he asked. “Why would you want to go back to school?”

“I’d like to be a lawyer,” she told him. “I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer.”

“Huh,” he said.

“You don’t sound very impressed,” she said. “What do you want to do with your life, Ben?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I really don’t know.”

She stood up, considering, then, standing over him said, “Ben? One word: plastics,” and she poked him gently in the chest. They both laughed.

“Okay,” she said. “No more talking about all that... shit. I forgot to bring your gift last night, and now I remember that it’s upstairs. Come with me now and you can open it. After that, I’m going to have to kick you out, so I can get back to my chores.” Smiling, she ruffled his hair and said, “Let’s go.”

He followed her upstairs, into the master bedroom. It was a large room, with heavy oak furniture. “Chad designed this room,” she commented. “That’s why it’s so heavy and dark.”

She sat on the bed, and patted the space next to her. He sat. She opened the drawer of the bedside table, then immediately said, “Oh, wrong side.” She turned and crawled on hands and knees to the other side, and fetched an envelope from the other bedside table. She sat in the middle of the bed, kitten-like, and handed him the envelope over his shoulder, saying, “Here. But — don’t open it now. I changed my mind. Open it later. Wait until you get home.”

“Okay,” he said. “Thanks,” and turned to smile at her. He wasn’t sure what to do or say next, so he shifted a little as if he was about to stand. She reacted quickly, kneeling up in the middle of the bed, so she could set her hands on his shoulders. “Wait,” she said. “Don’t go yet. Stay a little longer.”

“Okay,” he agreed, and she shifted a little closer to him. Then, her hands still resting on his shoulders, she pushed him gently down. He didn’t resist, and soon he was lying on the bed, Leslie sitting next to him, looking down into his face. For a few moments neither of them spoke. His mind returned to the things Justine had said last night about “hot revenge sex” and wondered whether it might happen… whether it could happen… whether it would happen.

At last, Leslie spoke, almost in a whisper. “Ben, do you remember how you said you liked my kiss?” Her face hung over his, forbidden fruit. Her hair was pulled back, leaving her beautiful, sculpted face on display. The air between them was alive with her scent.

Unable to speak, he nodded.

“Good,” she whispered, moving slightly closer. “Do you want to kiss some more?”

He wanted to say a strong, affirmative yes, but he only got as far as clearing his throat. She lowered her face to his, and they kissed for an entire half hour.

The Graduate, Vamped and Revamped: 3 / 6

An Altered Fates Story
A second look at the 1967 film, The Graduate
and the 1963 novella of the same name by Charles Webb.
By Iolanthe Portmanteaux
 

Although Leslie didn’t succeed in getting Ben’s pants off, and though she didn’t resort to stripping naked and declaring her availability, their half-hour makeout session was enough to kick off their affair.

Leslie had already devised a simple set of rendezvous signals: She brought Ben upstairs to a little box room, and directed his attention to a window with a direct line of sight to Ben’s bedroom window. “If I hang something red in this window, it means I’m ready and waiting. If I hang something black, on the other hand, it means you can’t come over and you absolutely shouldn’t call me. In fact, it would be best if you don’t call me at all unless it’s some kind of emergency. In that case you should use your house phone, so it looks like your mother’s calling me.”

“What if there’s nothing in the window?” Ben asked. “What does that mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” she answered.

 

---

 

When Ben was a child, he’d pretend to be a commando, and drag himself, belly in the dirt, by elbows and knees the length of the lower garden. He discovered that he could make his way from the house to the river without being visible to his parents from any window in the house. He didn’t even need to crawl; he could stand erect the entire time. All he had to do was keep outside the line of bushes at the yard’s border. He resurrected this stealth technique so he could sneak to and from Leslie’s house.

The method was not entirely perfect, though: there were two spots where he stood exposed, out in the open: One was while he left his house and crossed the deck, near the pool. The other was while he crossed the bridge over the little creek. He was a bit paranoid at those two points, glancing over his shoulder, hoping to not see his father or mother. He hurried, yet tried to seem nonchalant at the same time.

From the other direction, there was no cover whatsoever: From the time he left his house, to the moment he arrived at the Leslie’s back door, he was completely visible from any back-facing window in the Crusoe’s house. Not that it mattered, of course. Leslie’s red or black flags guaranteed that Ben never worried about detection from that direction.

Ben didn’t know it, but Leslie followed his antics closely, and found them highly amusing. It was pretty comical, the way he gently closed the french door and tiptoed across the pool deck, his head jerking to look over his shoulder. It was such a staccato, unbalanced gait, Leslie was surprised Ben had never tripped over his feet and fallen, a mass of elbows and knees. Then, he’d walk on cat’s feet down the alley outside the hedge, as if the slightest sound would give him way. At the end came the mad dash across the bridge to her door.

Once she locked the door so she could watch him squirm, but when she finally let him inside, he was so nervous and shaken, it took away from their lovemaking, and she felt guilty over the distress she’d caused him.

Once she came with him, along the secret path, back to his house. They were tempted by the idea of making love in his bedroom. Leslie also had the secret aim of making love in the Haddock’s living room, on the couch where Chad had so opened cavorted with Justine. They got as far as the foot of the stairs, when Mrs Haddock’s car pulled into the driveway. Leslie and Ben shot out of there, and took the hidden path back to her house, electrified and giggling all the way.

Ben, of course, believed that his parents were completely in the dark about his amorous liaison with their attractive neighbor. To tell the truth, Ben’s own father had long nourished fantasies of sneaking over the the little bridge for a tryst with Leslie, but he was responsible enough to keep his fantasies to himself. Mr Haddock's fantasies were nothing more than that: fantasies. Ben was correct in thinking that his actual movements from his house to hers were unobserved, however, his parents had plenty of other material to work with.

For one thing, Ben had come home from college apathetic, nearly anhedonic. His discipline and drive seemed to have evaporated once he received his degree. Left to himself, he would have lay in the pool all day, his mind empty. Ben had confessed to his parents that he had no vision of his own future; he had no plans beyond today. They were quite upset when he called his entire schooling, from kindergarten to his bachelor’s degree, an enormous waste of time and money.

When asked what he would rather have done, Ben replied, “Nothing.”

Then, two days after his graduation party, his parents couldn’t help but notice a change. Ben still had no drive for further study, or even for any kind of job, but he was suddenly cheery, helpful, and positive. They were pleased to see Ben’s grumpy, contrary demeanor gone, and waited hopefully for his optimism to evolve into a desire to get on with his life.

After a week of the new Ben, his parents were sitting at breakfast, remarking on the boy’s absence. He’s getting some, his father told himself. Aloud, Ben’s mother said, “Ben must have a girlfriend.” After a pensive pause, she added, “I hope it’s not that awful Justine person.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” Mr Haddock replied, and was surprised to find himself aroused simply by the mention of the girl’s name.

After another week passed, Ben continued to be cheerful, but seemed no nearer to taking hold of his life and considering his own future. It was during that week that his parents noticed that while Ben was absent, his car was not.

When they asked Ben to explain this remarkable fact, he told them that he was using Uber to get around. “That way I don’t have to worry if I have a drink or two,” he said, thinking that his ready lie made him sound responsible.

The next morning at breakfast, Ben was once again absent, and his mother commented that she had never seen an Uber anywhere near their house.

Mr Haddock, mouth full of food, offered the opinion that “We should let the boy sow some wild oats.”

Mrs Haddock flattened that thought without delay. “How thick are you? I can’t believe you don’t see it! It's literally right in front of your nose!”

“See what?”

“Ben is sleeping with Leslie Crusoe.”

Mr Haddock nearly choked on his food. When he recovered, he asked, “Are you serious? Come on, now! Is this just your intuition talking, or what?”

Mrs Haddock gave him a look of disdain, and explained, “I came home from shopping one afternoon, and the door to the deck was open. Ben wasn’t here, and I smelled her perfume. I closed the door, and it hung in the air for a while.”

“Her perfume? Are you sure you couldn’t have imagined it? Could it have been something else?”

“No. Leslie wears Bright Crystal — she’s the only woman I know who does. It’s quite distinctive.”

Mr Haddock fell quiet. He stood up and looked out the kitchen window. “Hell!” he softly exclaimed.

“I can’t blame her,” she admitted, “with that awful husband of hers. But with Ben? Our Ben? She can’t. They can’t.”

Mr Haddock ran his hand through his hair. “This is a mess. A real mess. What the hell are we going to do?”

Mrs Haddock had a plan ready: “I think it’s time Ben took a little trip. He can visit his grandparents. Get away from here for a bit.”

“Which grandparents? Your folks or mine?”

“Both,” she replied decisively. “Let’s buy the tickets right now, and tell him it’s a gift.”

 

---

 

When Ben told Leslie the news, he was surprised and a little disappointed that she took it so well. In fact, Leslie said, “That’s a good thing.”

“How is that a good thing?”

“I have a lot of things to do… legal things. Arrangements.”

“Remember, you’re not a lawyer,” he quipped, but she ignored his joke.

“Viv Errison is helping me work things out, and there have been times when I was with you when I should have been with her, working.” She paused, then confided, “Keep this to yourself, Ben: there’s a lot of paperwork and accounting involved in a divorce. Also, the whole question of where and how to live afterward… none of this is easy. Viv is helping me work out a plan for my life, going forward.”

“You’re really getting divorced?”

“You say that like you’re surprised, Ben. I told you the first time we were together, and I’ve mentioned it several times since then. I tell you all the time how badly he treats me; how he neglects me; how he doesn’t respect me…”

“Yes, but—” Ben dove right into a awkward, tactless admission “—I thought you were just complaining. I didn’t think you were really going to do it”

“Just complaining?” she repeated. “Are you saying that you didn’t take anything I said seriously? What did you think? That I just like to whine?”

“I don’t know!” He struggled with himself for a moment, then asked, “Does Chad want it too?”

“Want what? The divorce? Of course not! He doesn’t know!”

“What do you mean, he doesn’t know? How can you divorce him, if he doesn’t agree?”

“That’s the thing, Ben: divorce isn’t an agreement. It’s the opposite of an agreement. It’s unilateral. It’s something that one person does to the other. And I’m the one doing it. I have to get out. That’s the only cure for the way things are.

“Believe me, Ben. Chad is an asshole. I know you think all that crap about his ‘sharing’ me, about gangbangs and all that pornographic crap he wants me to do — you think it’s all exciting and fun, but if you were a woman, it would frighten you to death.”

Ben shrugged helplessly. She scoffed, irritated, and said (as she so often did), “Ben, you are SO lucky that you’re young and cute.”

 

---

 

Ben found that the week he spent away passed more quickly than he expected. Leslie told him not to call, so he didn’t. She also told him never to send emails, texts, or letters. “I don’t want to get caught,” she explained. “If you create any proof that I’ve been unfaithful, Chad will use against me in the divorce.” For the same reason, she refused to let him take her picture, whether clothed or naked. So, without any of the physical trappings of sentiment, he left to visit his grandparents. All four of them. It was more fun than he expected.

Each day of the trip, he got a call from Bagger. “I’m going nuts, man! All this wedding stuff! It’s insane!” He’d unload his frustrations with all the “girly details” involved in getting married. “Fittings, man, fittings! ONE fitting ought to be enough, am I right?” and “Cake tastings! Can you believe there even IS such a thing? I mean, you pick your cake, right? How hard can it be? I mean, at some point you have to stop overthinking every fucking detail, you know what I mean?”

To his surprise, Jenny called him on the second day — and every day thereafter. “Ben, I heard Bagger talking to you, and I want you to understand that everything is not as OUT OF CONTROL as he wants you to think!”

At first, his mother’s parents were irritated and offended by the incessant, endless calls — until Ben hit upon the expedient of putting his friends on speakerphone and himself on mute. Then, Ben asked Bagger and Jenny if they minded his grandparents being on the call. To his surprise, both Bagger and Jenny enthusiastically agreed. This arrangement (which was repeated at his father’s parents’ house) allowed Ben to tune out, drink coffee and eat sandwiches, while it gave Bagger and Jenny a sounding board for their conflicts and a vent for their frustrations.

To Ben’s immense surprise, Bagger and Jenny continued to call his grands every day, right up to the wedding.

So, that was a nice thing. Ben’s parents were tickled to hear about it, but Ben’s mother was a little offended at being left out. “Maybe we could do a conference call,” she suggested, but no one embraced the idea.

In Leslie’s absence, Ben did a lot of thinking. Not about his own life and future, as his parents had hoped, but about Leslie’s. Was she getting divorced so she could marry him? If so, a little heads-up would be nice!

On the other hand, the fact that she was getting divorced put another of Ben’s questions to rest: Leslie spent so much describing Chad’s bad behavior and misdeeds, that Ben had come to wonder whether she was trying to get Ben to kill Chad.

Was that such a crazy question? Ben had seen the movie To Die For, where Nicole Kidman’s character did exactly that. And the film was based on a true story — which means that things like that happen!

Of course, Ben never asked Leslie if she had murder in mind. He was relieved to see he was mistaken. He would never have done such a thing, in any case.

 

---

 

While Ben was away, Leslie had done a thing. It could have been a small thing — in fact, it should have been a small thing, a thing that no one would have ever known, if Chad hadn’t ruined it. Even so, the thing remained Leslie’s secret, even if everyone knew.

Ben’s first clue that something had changed came on the morning of his first day back. He’d showered and dressed. He’d eaten breakfast. Then he went up to his room to unpack. Every thirty seconds, he checked Leslie’s window for the red signal. Each time he looked, there was nothing. He was itching to see her, but he knew better than to visit or call without knowing the coast was clear.

After several hours of fruitless waiting, he went downstairs for a snack. His father wasn’t home, and his mother was sunning on the deck by the poolside. While she tanned, she talked on the phone. Ben could hear her without any difficulty, and when he heard Leslie’s name, he took it as an implicit license to eavesdrop.

“What I want to know is: WHAT DID LESLIE DO? What did she do?”

Ben’s chest tightened. Could his parents know? Maybe his father would understand, but his mother… she would disapprove for sure. Ben wished for a way to listen to the other side of his mother’s conversation, but there was none. He could only patiently endure the silences.

“Whatever she did, she did it Sunday. Margaret saw Leslie on Saturday, up close and personal, and she’s sure she saw the same old Leslie. *I* saw her Monday morning, and she looks twenty years younger! She looks the way she did when we were back in high school. Yes. Yes, I know!”

Silence.

“That’s what I’m saying! If she’s found the fountain of youth, I want in. Do you know, her hair is even longer. Yes, I’m sure! What? Extensions? Oh, I hadn’t thought. Could be. But her face, her arms, her hands…. her neck! I swear, she’s gone back in time.”

Silence. Then his mother laughed.

“If that’s what you get when you sell your soul, then I’m in! I’m in! I’d love to drop twenty years, and have everything just jump back up to where it used to be. Yes! I’m sure. Oh, I know.”

A prolonged silence followed, punctuated by his mother’s “I know!” and the like. Ben returned upstairs without his snack. Once he knew that his mother wasn’t talking about his affair with Leslie, he lost all interest. Sure, his mother was talking about Leslie, but it was nothing of consequence. As far as Ben was concerned it was just girl talk. No, it was worse than that: it was old-lady talk: the kind of nonsense old women spent their days obsessing over.

Ben fell asleep for a half hour, tired from his trip. When he awoke and shook the sleep from his head, he looked out the window, just as the red flag appeared. From the shape, it looked like a pair of red panties. Ben leaped to his feet, and heard his mother call from below: “Ben, I’m making sandwiches. Do you want one?”

“Yes!” he called back. He was hungry, and he knew he wouldn’t be eating at Leslie’s house. Also, there was no way he could leave if his mother was in the kitchen or the pool area.

He found his mother in the kitchen, standing by the counter in a beach robe. She pushed a plate toward him: a triple-decker club sandwich, potato chips, and pickle spears. A thick napkin lay conveniently nearby, and she had poured him a large glass of soda.

She smiled sweetly, but with the air of the spider inviting the fly.

As Ben munched hungrily, not bothering to sit down, his mother asked questions about his trip: none of them requiring more than a yes or no. This in itself was unusual: when it came to other people and what they said and did, his mother tended to grill him mercilessly for details, going back over things, turning over the same earth multiple times. Instead, this time she seemed quite happy with a nod or a shake of his head.

When he’d gotten halfway through the massive sandwich, she asked him, apparently out of the blue, as if it just occurred to her in that moment: “Ben… if you happen to run into Leslie Crusoe, could you ask her if she’s doing something new?”

“What do you mean?” Ben asked, purposefully obtuse.

“Has she been to a spa? Found some new beauty treatment or product? See if you can find out her secret.”

“But why would I run into Mrs Crusoe?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” his mother said. “Maybe I’m being silly. But if you do run into her, then ask her. Can you do that?”

“Okay,” he shrugged.

“And, Ben — don’t say that I asked you. Just pretend you noticed something different about her, like she’s somehow younger… prettier… You know.”

Ben shoved some more sandwich into his mouth so he wouldn’t have to respond. His mother trailed a hand across the back of his shoulders as she left the room, saying, “Well, enjoy your sandwich! I’m going to take a shower now.”

He listened to her feet ascend the stairs. After some movement, he heard her shower start. As soon as she began to sing, he dropped his unfinished sandwich on the plate and ran out the door. Today, he didn’t bother with his “security precautions”: instead, he ran down the middle of the lower garden, and clomped across the little bridge. As soon as he stepped into her kitchen, Leslie leapt into his arms, and they kissed. He spun slowly as their tongues caressed each other, and at last he (somewhat awkwardly) perched her on the end of her kitchen island and stepped back so he could look at her.

“Oh, my God!” he cried. “You look incredible!”

And she did! Leslie blushed prettily, and he took in the changes: not that her face was wrinkled before, but now it was smoother, fresher, and had the plumpness of youth. “Is your hair longer?” he asked. He reached out to touch the wave of hair. “It’s a thousand times softer!” Her lips were fuller. Her eyes had more shine.

“Wait until you see the rest of me,” she purred.

Ben carried her upstairs and dropped her on the bed. “Undress me,” she commanded, and so he did. She made him do it slowly. Maddeningly slowly. It forced him to look at her, to study her well. Everything about her was new and improved: her legs were sleeker. Spots and tiny scars he remembered were gone. Her ass was tighter and higher, like a young girl’s. And her breasts were full, round globes floating on her chest. Her nipples actually pointed up, in a perky arc! “How?” he breathed, enchanted. She didn’t answer, she only lay there, naked, glorious, smiling.

“You know what’s crazy?” he told her. “You look younger than me!”

Leslie laughed, a sexy, throaty laugh, and said, “I am younger than you now.” He ignored her remark as pure badinage.

Leslie was pleased, blushing, glowing. Her body was warm, soft, supple as Ben oohed and aahed and ran his hands over every part of her. He was too overcome with surprise and admiration to put his mother’s questions to Leslie.

And then, Ben ruined everything.

After a much longer session of foreplay and exploration than they’d ever enjoyed in the past, Ben climbed atop her in the quite traditional, but thoroughly enjoyable, missionary position, and as he began to push his way inside her, he exclaimed, “Dear God! Your pussy! What did you do? It’s so tight! It’s amazing!” At that, her face flashed with anger, and she pushed him away. She squirmed her hips away from his, putting some distance between his cock and her vagina. “Get off! Get off of me! Stop! Pull away, Ben, it’s not happening!”

“What?” he asked bewildered. “What did I do?”

“You never know, do you?” she exclaimed.

“No, I don’t,” he rather stupidly replied.

“All this oohing and aahing and everything!” she fumed. “Was I really that awful before?”

“No, it’s just that you’re—”

“I’m what? My pussy is tight? What was it before? Loose and floppy? Did you get lost in there before?”

“No, that’s not it! It was great before, but now… It’s just like, suddenly you’re all different! It’s like you’re twenty years younger!”

“I am twenty years younger,” she repeated.

“There! You said it yourself! What are you talking about? Why did you say that? Why are you so pissed off?”

Her indignation still showed in the redness of her high cheekbones, but her anger had already begun to cool. She sat there, naked, her legs bent under her, a vision of soft, sexy beauty — but incredibly enough, the vision was that of a twenty-year-old girl, not a forty-year-old woman.

“Look,” she said, “I’m sorry. I *am* a little angry with you, but I’m really angry with Chad. Do you know that he came here earlier — he took the time before he left on his trip — but the only reason he came here was because that stupid whore Justine wanted to ask me some questions, and didn’t dare. So he came and asked on her behalf. Can you believe that?”

Ben shook his head. “What did she want to know?”

Leslie gave Ben a look — that irritated you’re lucky you’re cute look. “Justine wanted to know if I had any work done — plastic surgery — or if I had some kind of makeover, or found a new workout or spa, or something.”

“And did you?”

Leslie gave Ben a look of fire.

“What is the big deal? You look amazing!” Ben protested. “I don’t understand the problem.”

“There are any number of problems,” Leslie replied. “In the first place, it’s none of her fucking business. In the second place, Chad is a complete and utter asshole with no heart and zero empathy if he thinks he can waltz in here and say TO MY FACE things his lover said.

“AND what makes it worse is that Chad — even when he was standing right in front of me, didn’t see. He didn’t notice any of it. The only thing he said on his own was to ask me if I had done something to my hair. I told him, ‘Yes, it’s longer’ and he called me a smartass.”

Ben very nearly asked what she’d done with her hair, but had enough sense to bite his tongue.

“And THEN,” Leslie continued, angrily rounding on the conclusion, “That dickhead said to me, ‘Well, if you’re suddenly so hot and all, I should start pimping you out’ and he slapped my ass.”

“What did you do?” Ben asked. He had a quick vision of Mr and Mrs Crusoe dressed in the stereotypical pimp-and-prostitute outfits. His cock abruptly stiffened. She noticed, and her lips tightened.

“Sorry,” Ben said. He held her for a while, expecting her to cry, but she didn’t. She let him hold her, but she didn’t soften and melt in his arms. She was hard and unyielding, radiating fury. He could almost feel her thinking, and knew it was best to keep his mouth shut. But he couldn’t help himself.

“So… what did you do?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“I told you,” she replied. “Magic.”

Ben's face flashed confusion. She hadn't used that word — not that it mattered. “There’s no such thing.”

“Then what did I do?” she challenged. When he didn’t answer, she said, “Look. My friend Viv Errison gave me a medallion. It can transform whoever wears it, so I used it to make myself younger.”

“How?”

“It takes too long to explain,” she said. “It’s easier if you see it happen.”

“And when you transform, are you stuck that way?”

“You can’t change for twelve hours, and you need the medallion to change again.”

He mulled this over in his mind. “Could you change me into someone else?”

“Sure.”

“Even an animal?”

“I suppose. Maybe. Honestly, I’d be afraid to.”

He thought for a while, then confessed, “If this is real, I want to try it.”

“Okay,” she said. “Now is good. Chad’s gone on a trip. You can hide out here until it’s time to change again.”

Then they discussed the options: after Leslie explained that they needed an article of someone’s clothing to trigger the transformation, Ben said, disappointed, “So, my choices are one of my parents, or Chad — and that’s it. I don’t want to be any of them.”

“Or me,” Leslie said. “You could be me.”

“Umm,” Ben hesitated. “Could we do this another time? I’d really like to consider some other options.”

“I don’t know,” Leslie confessed. “The reason she lent it to me, and the reason I worked through my divorce papers, is that I am going to get away from here. I’m going to use the medallion to turn into someone else, and leave this shithole of a town. It's not as though I have a lot of time.”

Ben received the news in silence.

“Listen, Ben: why don’t we switch places, just for tonight? You can see what it’s like to have a woman’s body. You won’t get the full experience of being out in the world, seeing how men and other women treat you, but you can play for a night.”

“Play with myself?” he asked, smiling.

“Well, you’d really be playing with me,” she replied, grinning impishly.

Ben stripped and sat in a chair. Leslie opened a little briefcase. She removed from it a white minidress, which she set on the bed. Then she drew a medallion from the case. It hung from a gold chain. She draped the chain over Ben’s head and lowered it until the medallion rested on his naked chest. Then she picked up the minidress. “This is a dress that I haven’t worn since I graduated from high school,” she explained. “It’s what I used to make myself young.” After firmly pressing the dress against the medallion, she wove the dress through the necklace itself so that it hung over the front of the medallion, while the back of it kept contact with Ben’s skin.

“I don’t feel anything,” Ben told her. “Am I supposed to feel something?”

“Be patient,” she told him, and glanced at the clock. He reached up to touch the medallion, and she scolded him. “Just sit still, Ben!” She turned the chair to face a full-length mirror, and over the course of the next half hour, Ben watched himself slowly morph, bit by bit, into the younger version of Leslie Crusoe. “Although you’d be Leslie Genesen, back then,” she informed him.

Once the half hour was over, and the transformation was complete, Leslie took the dress off the medallion and returned it to the case.

“My God, we’re twins now!” Ben exclaimed.

“And you know what?” Leslie crowed, “You'll be happy to know: your pussy is tight!”

“Oh… yeah,” Ben said, suddenly realizing what body he was wearing, and blushing.

“Now it’s my turn,” Leslie said, draping the medallion around her own neck, and pressing Ben’s shirt against it. Then she did the same trick of wrapping it through the necklace, so the shirt touched the front of the medallion while the back rested on her naked breasts.

In a half hour’s time, the transformation was complete. She returned the medallion and the dress to her briefcase and closed it. Then she dressed in Ben’s clothes and gave the new Leslie a resounding slap on the ass.

“Ow!” Ben cried. “That hurt!”

“Oh, did it?” she asked, feigning innocence. “I thought women found that sexy. Didn’t it turn you on? Would you like me to give you a nice spanking before I go home?”

“Home?” he repeated stupidly. “But no — I don’t want a spanking.”

“But everyone knows that women like that, don’t they?” she challenged, using same words he’d used. “Wouldn’t that turn you on?”

He stopped and considered. “I don’t know. Maybe. We could try.”

She stopped. She never considered that — if the shoe was ever on the other foot — he might actually want it. “Look,” she said, “see what you can do with this tonight,” and she fetched a white dildo from her underwear drawer. She tossed it to Ben, who caught it and held on to it.

“Oh!” Ben said in surprise. “But what do I do if someone calls or visits? What do I say?”

“Don’t worry,” she assured him. “No one will call or visit. Chad is on an airplane now, and won’t be back for almost a week. You don’t need to answer the phone or the door. But if you do, please put some clothes on, and don’t let anyone see the dildo.”

She (Ben-as-Leslie) was still naked, and in no hurry to dress.

“Okay,” he (Leslie-as-Ben) said. “I’m going to get going.” He looked at Ben’s phone, sitting on the side table, and picked it up. “I guess if I’m going to be you, I’m going to need your phone. What’s your code? To unlock the phone?”

“Hey!” she protested. “What are you — How can — How are you going to be me? What will you say? How will you know what to do? You should leave that phone. What if somebody calls me?”

“No, Leslie,” Ben corrected. “What if somebody calls ME? I’m Ben. If they call this phone, they’ll call me.”

“You don’t know how to be me,” she insisted.

“Oh, girl!” he laughed. “Let’s pretend someone just asked me a question — any question.” The new Ben looked off in the distance and scratched his cheek. Then, drawing himself up to his full height, he looked off in the opposite direction. Then he shrugged and said, “I dunno.” He laughed and said, “That’s Ben to a T.”

“No,” the new Leslie protested. “That’s not me!”

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I won’t embarrass you. Don’t embarrass me, either, okay? Otherwise, I’ll leave you that way.”

His eyes widened in horror. “Leslie! You wouldn’t! You couldn’t! Don’t! Please!”

“No, not ‘Leslie’ — Ben.”

“What?”

“You’re Leslie now. I’m Ben. Don’t call me Leslie, Leslie. Call me Ben. Anyway, would it really be so bad, if you were stuck being me?” he laughed. “But don’t worry. I wouldn’t do that. No matter what you believe women really want, you would hate being married to Chad. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy — not even that whore Justine. There’s no way I’d do that to you. Scouts’ honor: tomorrow morning I’ll be here after breakfast, and we’ll switch back. Okay?” He grabbed her hand, the one holding the dildo, and waggled it, laughing. “Have fun. Take a bubble bath, drink champagne. Touch yourself all over. Whatever you do, enjoy it, and don’t feel guilty. Okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” she replied, in an uncertain tone. “You, too.”

“Just one thing,” he said, holding the briefcase in one hand, and his phone in the other. “You forgot to tell me: What’s the code for your phone?”

The Graduate, Vamped and Revamped: 4 / 6

An Altered Fates Story
A second look at the 1967 film, The Graduate
and (even moreso) the 1963 novella of the same name by Charles Webb.
By Iolanthe Portmanteaux
 

While Leslie was in the act of transforming herself into Ben, Chad was standing outside. He wasn’t in front of the house, or even looking at the house (yet). He was up the street a little bit, standing next to a car, staring at the man who was sleeping inside.

Chad was debating in himself whether to wrap on the car window and wake the man. He had every right to do so — after all, he’d hired the guy! The sleeping man was a private investigator, hired by Chad to spy on his wife. So far, the investigator hadn’t found anything of interest, and now it was clear why he hadn’t: he was sleeping on the job!

He had chosen a good position to watch from: near a thick hedge, so he wasn’t visibly parked in front of a neighbor’s house. It was near enough that — were he awake — he’d have an unobstructed view of the Crusoe’s front door. And yet, he was far enough away that Leslie would never suspect him.

Chad didn’t wake the man. Instead, he decided to spy on his spy. He walked slowly around the car, looking in every window, from every angle, to see what he could see. He used the light in his phone to examine the dark corners of the car. The floor in the back was littered with fast-food bags, sandwich wrappers, and cups from MacDonald’s, Wendy’s, Burger King, and Tasty Burger. This man didn’t play favorites. On the front passenger seat was an old, sun-bleached paperback copy of Atlas Shrugged. The first quarter of the pages were well-thumbed, but clearly the detective had gone no farther. Also on the seat lay a small set of binoculars and a camera fitted with a foot-long telephoto lens. Chad caught a glimpse of a quart-sized plastic bottle stuck under the seat. It appeared to be half-full of urine. Chad exclaimed silently to himself. Gad! This car must smell like a zoo! Unconsciously, he pinched his nose, although whatever noxious vapors filled the car, they were safely sealed inside.

Chad looked up at his house and stepped away from the surveillance car. He took a deep breath, and started walking toward his front door.

How did Chad come to know (or at least, suspect) that Leslie was cheating? He was rarely home. His interactions with Leslie were always brief, and never intimate.

It was the Bagman who unknowingly put the bug in Chad’s ear.

After Leslie’s first experiment with the Medallion of Zulo, when she set her physiological age back twenty years, she ignored Viv Errison’s explicit instructions and went out and about, up and down the town.

Viv had given Leslie the Medallion of Zulo, but only as a short-time loan. She wanted Leslie to have confidence that the medallion worked as advertised, and to free Leslie’s imagination as to who she could possibly be when she left her old life behind.

It was Leslie who’d put two and two together, and decided to rejuvenate herself.

Viv had no qualms about what form Leslie’s experiments might take. She and Leslie were old friends, and Viv knew quite well that Leslie tended to stay at home, leaving her house only to visit the gym or to shop for food. Even so, she warned Leslie to stay at home, to not leave the house and interact with others. There was no telling what the consequences of a chance encounter might be.

However, once Leslie was done marveling over her re-acquired youth, she wanted to go out. She wanted to see and be seen.

And seen she was! Not only was she seen by Mrs Haddock (Ben’s mother) and her husband’s lover (Justine), she was seen by any number of female friends, all of whom immediately noticed and cataloged everything that was different in her appearance.

She was also seen by a good number of men, but their assessments were nowhere near as detailed and granular as the women’s. Men saw that Leslie was attractive, sexy — and even youthful — but they didn’t ask how it happened. They weren’t curious at all as to the cause or mechanism of the abrupt change. They simply looked and said a silent wow.

One teenage boy’s attention was caught by Leslie, and in his excitement he briskly walked into a door frame and give himself a black eye.

One of the men who saw her was the Bagman. His reaction was more suble and contained. He stealthily followed her, scrutinizing her long, lustrous hair, her svelte shape, her graceful movements. The Bagman had lusted after Leslie for two decades, and while he watched her discretely jiggle and bounce through her shopping, his carnal hunger and sexual greed were rekindled.

Of course, he was quick to share his observations with his employee, Chad. He spent a full forty minutes describing first, the changes he’d seen in Leslie, and second, the many acts that fell under the category of things I’d like to do to her.

The Bagman’s goal in talking with Chad was to light a fire under Chad’s efforts to “share” Leslie. He fully felt and understood Leslie’s distaste for him. While that rankled — and even sometimes hurt his feelings — he believed that her capitulation was inevitable, and that when she finally dropped her resistance, that her revulsion would add a particular flavor to their interactions — a spice that he would find perversely satisfying.

While Chad understood the Bagman’s point — and as much as he wanted to present Leslie as a sexual toy to his friend — he was suspicious as to the source of his wife’s sudden glow.

So he spent a day at home, to see exactly how the land lay. He could see that Leslie was different. She seemed, in fact, to have gone back in time to when they were still in love with each other. At first he was enchanted, but soon he realized that when she unconsciously danced in the kitchen, or hummed to herself as she bustled around the house, that her spontaneous joy had nothing to do with him whatsoever. Chad had never felt so excluded. It wasn’t that Leslie had rejected him; she seemed to have utterly forgetten him.

It was a feeling worse than rejection.

They stood in the kitchen, in the moment before he left to join Justine. Chad struggled to put his finger on what was different about her. “Did you do something different to your hair?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “I made it longer.”

“Smartass,” he shot back. Burning with a sense of failure, he left. Now he felt sure: Leslie was having an affair. Why else would she be so happy? Where else would she get that glow? She was getting some, and Chad knew she wasn’t getting it from him. But who was she getting it from? He wracked his brain for an answer, but the man spent so little time with his wife, that he had nowhere to begin.

So he hired a private investigator, who followed Leslie everywhere, who camped out in front of her house, and took hundreds of useless photos. The investigator was privately curating a selection of photos of Leslie, that — in spite of her being fully clothed — were incredibly sexy. He congratulated himself: Best surveillance gig ever!

However, three days of spying brought no result whatsoever, and Chad’s patience was at an end. There were two very good reasons for the investigation to come up dry. The first was that Ben was away, visiting his grandparents. The second was that — even if Ben were home, the boy came and went by way of the kitchen door, which wasn’t visible from the street.

Given the investigator’s lack of success, Chad decided to resort to his own expedient. He told Leslie (and Justine, for the sake of being thorough) that he’d be away on business for a week. Now, standing in his own backyard, he could see that the light in his bedroom was on, though the curtains were drawn. His heart sped up in anticipation. He felt certain he’d catch Leslie and her lover in flagrante delicto. Chad licked his lips in anticipation. On one hand, he was looking forward to bullying and beating Leslie’s naked partner. He envisioned himself frog-marching the fool down the stairs. From there, he’d toss him, naked, out the front door. He’d slap the bastard around the front lawn, and, as a finale, literally kick him into the street without a stitch on him: no clothes, no shoes, no wallet, no car keys, no nothing. On the other hand, he perversely looked forward to seeing Leslie having sex with another man. It was Chad’s kink; a kink that Leslie did not share and had no intention of satisfying.

Chad silently opened his kitchen door, and just as silently slipped inside. Overhead, he heard voices, conversational voices: one of them was Leslie’s; the other was a man’s. That was odd. What was the point of drawing the curtain if you were only going to talk? What Chad hoped to hear, what he expected to witness, was the rhythmic creak of lovemaking; pathetic groans and orgasmic cries. Why were they talking at all? What on earth was there to talk about?

Then came footsteps. Shuffling noises, and footsteps again. The man had put his shoes on. Was he leaving already? Chad felt a little confused and very put out. He came, itching for confrontation, but he thought he’d have more time to prepare. Well, he’d play the cards he’d been dealt. He moved through the dining room into the living room, and placed himself out of sight near the front door, where he’d surprise the man when he came down the stairs.

Chad heard the bedroom door open. The man’s voice said, “The code?” Leslie’s voice replied, “Why do you need it?” The male voice replied, “Why do you think? What if your mother wants me to call her?” After a pause, Leslie sotto voce recited a string of numbers.

What on earth? Chad asked himself. What sort of life was Leslie leading without him? Then, from upstairs, the male voice said, “Have fun!” The bedroom door closed, and Chad heard the man bouncing down the stairs. He clenched his fists and straightened his shoulders, bracing himself for the confrontation.

Then, to his surprise, the man — rather than turn right and enter the living room, where Chad waited — instead, he walked straight into the kitchen and out the back door. What the hell? Chad exclaimed silently, and he ran to the dining room window. He saw a young man carrying a briefcase, walking away from the house, toward the creek. Chad was about to run after him, throw him to the ground, and kick the living crap out of him, when the young man stopped and turned to look up at Leslie’s bedroom window. A ray of light illuminated his face as Leslie above drew back the curtains. Ben! Ben Haddock? She was sleeping with Ben, the kid next door? He watched, stunned, as Ben smiled and blew a kiss. Then chuckling to himself, Ben turned and walked across the little bridge, heading for home.

Chad stood stock still, thunderstruck. Ben? He shook his head. Of all the men — or even all the women — in town, he would never in thousand years have guessed. Why didn’t Ben stick to girls his own age? What was wrong with him? And what was wrong with Leslie? Running around with — well, a kid, really! — a boy, half her age? Literally, half her age!

Chad drew a deep breath. What in the world was he supposed to do, go beat the crap out of a kid? A kid he’d seen grow up? I guess I have to, he reasoned. He sighed. I don’t want to, but I don’t see that I have any choice.

With that question more or less settled in his mind, he asked himself, And what do I do about Leslie? He looked up, as if he could see through the floor to where she was standing. It was crazy. Fifteen years ago or more, he’d come to the conclusion that Leslie just didn’t like sex. She always refused his games, his challenges, the things he wanted to do to “spice things up.” He couldn’t understand why she found the idea of sharing herself with Chad’s friends so repugnant. It stood to reason (in Chad’s mind) that a woman would enjoy having multiple partners. More men, more attention. Isn’t attention exactly what women want?

As Chad worked his way through the foundations and ramifications of his misogynist beliefs, Ben (now in the form of Leslie) was standing, almost directly over his head. She was looking at herself in a full-length mirror, trying to get every angle: over the shoulder, in various profiles, bending, posing, bouncing on her heels so she could watch herself jiggle. It was crazy! How could it even be possible! All the while she kept the white dildo in her hand. In fact, the posing, the jiggling, the excited looking-at-herself, were all in the service of working up the nerve to try the dildo.

It was a pretty scary thing, the idea of sticking anything, let alone a piece of hard plastic, up inside her. Her mind couldn’t process it. In spite of her current physical form, it seemed physically impossible. It felt impossible. Although she’d touched her labia, rubbed her pundenda, felt the absence between her legs, she hadn’t yet ventured top slip even her smallest finger inside.

There was a dial on the bottom of the dildo. She flipped it, and the white tube let out a low hum as it began to vibrate. She turned it all the way up to a scary whine and a frightening level of shaking. Intimidated by the power of the little wand, she turned it halfway down, then down to a quarter, and from there moved the scale up and down until she reached the Goldilocks Point — the place where it felt just right.

At least, it sounded just right. And it wasn’t vibrating so hard that it threatened to leap out of her hand and scurry through the house. Gingerly, she touched it against her thigh. Not bad. Slowly she slid it closer and closer to the place where her legs joined, and — heart beating hard and fast — Leslie touched the white vibrating probe against her clitoris, but only for a moment. The sensation was so unexpectedly intense that she gasped and yanked it away. At that same moment, Chad pushed open the bedroom door and looked at Leslie’s gaping mouth and shocked face in the mirror. He’d heard the device as he crept up he stairs, when she first clicked it on. Again, he expected to see Leslie lying on her back, lost in her private ecstasies. Instead, he found her standing naked — and looking incredible, by the way — holding the buzzing white dildo as if it were a knife or a poisonous snake, and gasping as though she’d been unexpectedly stung by an electric bumblebee in the midst of her cute pink mysteries.

Chad was hit by a mad jumble of thoughts, emotions, and feelings:

Though he would have denied it, he was angry, hurt, and upset by Leslie’s betrayal of him. He was her husband! How could she sleep with someone behind his back? In his own house? In his own bed? How could she be so dishonest? So disloyal?

Of course, his own disloyalty, his own betrayals didn’t count — at least, not in his mind. He felt justified in looking elsewhere for the things Leslie refused to give him.

He was also struck, deep down in his core, to see Leslie, looking just as she had when they first got together. Seeing her now was as heart-stopping as seeing her naked for the very first time, all those years ago. It was a shock, an unexpected jolt from the past. He was hit, like a ton of bricks. His emotions leapt from zero to full-on nostalgia, an abrupt plunge into a flood of buried and near-forgotten memories and passions, all of it framed, tinged, and colored with regret and a sense of loss as sharp as the cut of a knife.

Mixed in with that sense of betrayal, and that heady draught of nostalgia, there was a heavy load of confusion. Why was Leslie naked? What exactly were she and Ben doing? She must have been naked while Ben was there. But clearly they hadn’t had sex — the bed was still made; none of the furniture was disturbed. Had Ben left her so dissatisifed that she had immediate recourse to a sex toy? The buzzing dildo was, in a way, a smoking gun — but what did it tell him? And what was that business with the code? Why would Ben talk about Leslie’s mother calling? Leslie’s mother died eight, nine years ago. If that was supposed to be a joke, it was in poor taste.

Worming its way through that mix of feelings and confusions, was Chad’s kink: his desire to see Leslie having sex with other men. It wasn’t just a passing desire on his part: it was an animating fetish with deep roots in his soul. Ordinary, vanilla sex was simply foreplay in Chad’s mind: it was the anticamera to the real thing, which was lending Leslie out to friends and strangers, and watching her being taken by them. Why wouldn’t she do it? He took her rejection and refusal to indulge his fetish as a deeply personal rejection of both him and of sex itself.

Now, here she was, having sex with a man not her husband, and not just any man, but the boy next door, a kid half her age. Why? Why not someone her own age? Why Ben of all people?

In the end, when Chad opened his mouth to speak, it all boiled down to one spoken word: ”Ben?” His tone supplied all the missing words, but the Leslie who stood before him only heard the one, and it stunned her.

“How can you tell?” she asked, by which she meant, How did you know it was me?

Chad gestured to the back window. “I saw him walking through the yard, going home.” He watched Leslie’s face as his meanings fit into his words, and the puzzlement on her face dissolved, as if a lock had opened.

“Oh, Ben!” She exclaimed, understanding. Yes, that Ben! The other Ben! The Ben who was really Leslie! “Right!” he agreed.

Chad was stung to the heart. She took it all so lightly.

Leslie, seeing Chad’s face cloud over, realized her unfortunate position, and felt afraid. Leslie may have been kidding when she spoke of spanking his new, more ample derriere, but Chad might actually carry out that threat. Instinctively, Leslie covered her butt with her hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and became even more frightened as a dark cloud covered Chad’s face.

“Sorry?” the man repeated. “Sorry? Let’s see how sorry you are!” He strode over to her, and scarcely knowing where to begin, snatched the still-buzzing dildo from her hand and tossed it into her underwear drawer. He grabbed her roughly, pinning her arms behind her, and kissed her, hard, pressing his lips into hers as if he wanted to bruise them. Then his tongue slid forward and into her mouth. Trembling, Leslie realized that her best course of action was to let him do what he wanted. From what the real Leslie had said, Chad didn’t have much interest in her, and this probably wouldn’t last very long. Chad loomed over her, bending her backward in an arc, suspended and held up by the toes of one foot and the strength of his arms. She was utterly helpless.

He broke off from the kiss and asked her, “What do you think of that?”

“Oh, my God,” she replied, overwhelmed. She was without words. Her nipples were hard; her crotch was damp. She couldn’t move. She could do nothing but await his next move. She was passive, surprisingly relaxed, but awake, aware, and intensely turned on.

“Tonight,” he told her. “Tonight, we are going to have a night I have waited twenty years to have with you. Tonight, if you want me to know that you’re sorry, really sorry, that you love me and you mean it, tonight you will do whatever I say. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she breathed, caught in his spell. “What else can I do?”

Chad laughed at that last line, and lifted her up to a standing position. He went and rummaged in her underwear collection, and selected two items from the very bottom of the drawer: a bra and panty set in dark red lace. He lay them on the bed, then went to her closet, and after some search, retrieved a red silk dress that had worked its way to the back of her wardrobe. Finally, he managed to find the one pair of shoes that matched both dress and underwear. Somehow, Leslie guessed that Chad had bought all three items.

“Put them on,” he commanded. “I need to make a phone call.”

Without waiting for a reply, he walked down the hall and closed himself in the guest bedroom. He stood at the window, from which he had a commanding view of the Haddock’s house. He hit a name, and the phone dialed a number.

“Go for the Bagman,” a voice responded. “What’s up, Chad?”

“Tonight’s the night,” Chad replied. “I’m bringing Leslie. We’re finally going to have that date.”

“Ah, that’s great!” the Bagman said. “Great! It’s incredible timing, too! I’ve got something special in mind tonight! I was trying to come with just the right girl, and Leslie would be perfect.” The two men spoke a little further, then Chad returned to the master bedroom to pick up his wife. She was radiant, sexy — everything he wanted her to be. The dress looked better than he imagined it could, nearly fluttering over her trim, firm body. There was something missing, but at that moment he couldn’t put his finger on it. No matter. He reached out, took her wrist and said, “Let’s go.”

She stumbled after him, hurrying down the stairs, afraid of falling in her heels. “Where are we going?”

“Out,” he said. “You’ll see.”

He pulled her out the front door and into the street, leading her past a parked car. “There’s a man sleeping in there!” she exclaimed.

“Not for long,” Chad muttered, and rapped on the window with his ring. It took three sets of raps before the man finally woke. “Hey!” Chad called. “Hey! Are you awake? Are you awake now?” When the man nodded, embarrassed, surprised, and full of sleep, Chad told him, “Good! You know what else you are? Fired! You’re fired!”

He opened his own car door for Leslie and ushered her inside. Then he climbed in behind the wheel, and that’s when it hit him: he knew what was missing. “Why aren’t you wearing any makeup?” he demanded.

“Uh — uh — I don’t know!” Leslie awkwardly confessed (swallowing the silent “how” at the end of the phrase), and Chad groaned in frustration. “Forget it!” he growled. “It doesn’t matter.” He gunned the motor, pulled a tire-screeching U-turn, and took off down the street.

 

---

 

Leslie, in the guise of Ben, had no idea of the drama unfolding in the house behind her. She imagined that Ben would find his night alone as a woman exciting, confusing, and fun. In the morning he’d be anxious to change back.

On her part, Ben was finding the simple act of walking as weird an experience as he'd ever had. Every step and movement made him awkwardly aware of the gear hanging between his legs. A penis and balls seemed awfully inconvenient.

After crossing the little bridge, he looked up at the Haddock’s house, and saw Ben’s mother in the kitchen. Leslie had watched Ben make his way through the shrubbery to avoid being seen from the house, but it seemed silly to her. Now, as Ben, he simply walked up the middle of the lower garden. In any case, the sun had set, and there wasn’t enough light outside for him to be seen from inside the house. He thought about hiding the case in the garden, but decided against it. The medallion was irreplaceable. If it were lost or stolen, Viv would be beyond angry, and there’d be no way to fix it. She and Ben would be stuck in their swapped state. It would be better to hang on to it, or — even better — to stash it in Ben’s car, so it would be ready for tomorrow morning, when the two of them would swap bodies again.

He climbed the stone steps, walked past the pool, and then stopped before opening the french doors. What exactly was he going to do tonight? When she switched places with Ben, her thoughts hadn’t gone farther than teaching Ben a lesson. What exactly the lesson was — well, she hadn’t thought about that, either. It was a smartass move, a foolish whim. She’d been laughing at the idea of Ben, who’d suddenly become a young, attractive girl, masturbating alone through the night. Fine: but here she was in the same boat: she’d suddenly become a young, attractive boy. Was she going to spend the night masturbating as well? She sighed. I’ll think of something, she told herself. After all, nothing I do tonight will really count. I’m not Ben. I’m only visiting in this body. It’s like I’m playing the casino, using Monopoly money.

Encouraged by that thought, she opened the door and went inside.

“Is that you, Ben?” Mrs Haddock called. “You’re just in time — we’re about to sit down to dinner.”

“Great, I’m starving,” Ben replied, and entered the kitchen. Mr Haddock was already seated at table. He greeted Ben, but his eyes were on the case.

“What’s with the bag?” Mr Haddock asked.

“Oh, this? Mrs Crusoe asked me to bring it to Mrs Errison tomorrow.”

“Why couldn’t Leslie bring it herself?”

Ben shrugged. “I dunno.”

“I hope you don’t mind a casserole,” Mrs Haddock said, as she spooned out the food. "I had some leftovers I wanted to use up.”

Mr and Mrs Haddock chatted and gossiped. They gave the occasional question to Ben, who replied as monosyllabically as possible. Then, Mrs Haddock asked her big question: “Ben… did you ask Leslie about… that thing… that we talked about?”

“Um, what thing?” Leslie said.

Mrs Haddock huffed with impatience. “If she’s doing anything… new. Why she’s suddenly so… so young and lovely.”

“Oh, that,” Ben acknowledged. “Yeah, I asked her, but she just made jokes about it.”

“What kind of jokes?”

Ben shook his head. “She didn’t say anything, Mom. She wouldn’t tell me.”

“Hmmph,” Mrs Haddock said, clearly disappointed. “Well, next time you see her, make sure you get a better answer!”

“Okay,” Ben replied.

Mr Haddock grew a little uncomfortable with Leslie’s name being thrown around. He, like his wife, knew that Ben was having an affair, and thought they never mentioned it to Ben, they did not approve at all. In order to change the subject, and hopefully to give Ben a nudge in the right direction, Mr Haddock asked, “Ben, have you given any thought as to what you’re going to do?”

“Do about what?”

“About your life! Are you going to get a job? Will you go back to school? I hope you don’t think you can loaf around all day doing nothing.”

“Well,” Ben said. “I have been thinking about something… something in particular. What would you think if I went to law school?” Now, law school was something that Leslie Crusoe had very much on her mind. Ben had no interest in law school, but still it seemed like a good card to play. Otherwise, Mr and Mrs Haddock would probably transition to giving Ben a long and thorough “talking to,” and Ben had no interest in having his evening as a boy consumed in something so trite and unnecessary.

Unexpectedly, Ben’s parents lit up. “Law school! Ben, do you mean it? Do you really mean it? That would be wonderful! I’m sure you’d be a great lawyer! Where were you thinking of going?”

“Well,” Ben replied, playing wth his food, “I’d like to see first of all who’ll take me, and what kind of scholarships I might be able to get. Of course, I’ll have to study for the LSAT and sign up for that.” Ben once again reminded herself that she was “using play money.” None of this meant anything, really. Tomorrow, the real Ben could easily say that he’d changed his mind, and it would all be wiped away.

“Ben, if you really mean that,” Mr Haddock said, “If you’re willing to apply yourself, I’ll help you with tuition and expenses and whatnot. You know I can’t cover it all, but I can certainly give you a hand.”

“I appreciate that,” Ben replied, surprised at finding himself moved by Mr Haddock’s earnestness.

Mr and Mrs Haddock talked — mainly to each other — asking Ben questions, then answering those questions themselves — about details of when he’d start, where he’d apply, what sort of law he’d practice, and so on. The couple were so obviously pleased, and Mr Haddock in particular seemed so satisfied with the idea of Ben in law school, that Ben began to regret having deceived them.

He was about to excuse herself, when Ben’s phone rang. It was Jenny calling. He left the kitchen and walked to a far corner of the living room to take the call.

“Ben, hi, it’s Jenny. Hey, do you think you could come over to see me? I really need your help with something. It’s important.”

“When?”

“Now?”

“Uh, okay. Is, um, Bagger going to be there?”

Jenny was silent for a moment. “No, he’s not here. He won’t… be here. He’s off… celebrating. I can tell you about it when you come.”

“Okay,” Ben replied.

“Will you come now?”

“Yes.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, I’m leaving now. See you in five, okay?”

“Okay.”

Ben terminated the call, and stood still for a moment. When a text came in, he realized that he’d been holding his breath.

The text was from Bagger, all caps: “UP 4 BATCH PARTY? NOW NOW NOW! WHAT I SAID IT IS REMEMBER.”

“What I said it is remember,” Ben read aloud, mentally inserting tentative commas. He touched his pocket and felt his car keys.

“Hey, Mom, Dad? I’m going out.”

“Okay, son, have fun, be careful.” His father came from the kitchen to shake his hand. His eyes glistened. “I’m glad you’ve got some direction. I couldn’t be more proud.”

The Graduate, Vamped and Revamped: 5 / 6

An Altered Fates Story
A second look at the 1967 film, The Graduate
and (even moreso) the 1963 novella of the same name by Charles Webb.
By Iolanthe Portmanteaux
 

Ben left the house and sat in his car. He considered his choice: a bachelor party or a cry for help from a bride-to-be. Jenny’s call had to be a cry for help, mustn’t it? Otherwise, why call so late in the day? And coming, as it did, at the same moment as an invitation to the groom-to-be’s bachelor party. Ben had a pretty good idea of how each option would go. With the bride-to-be, it would be tears and uncertainty. There could be wine or ice cream, or maybe both. With the groom-to-be, there’d be an excess of alcohol, an oversupply of testosterone, and probably a naked woman or two. Ben had only been a man for a couple of hours, so the idea of a woman stripping off her clothes and shaking her moneymaker had no special appeal. Even as a woman, it would hardly be titillating — to be the target of lust for a group of drunk, salivating twenty-somethings.

So, here was Ben: no longer a woman; newly minted as a man. At the same time, he had enough Leslie in him to want to maintain his role: he couldn’t forget that he was Ben now. He smiled, thinking that — if he went to the bachelor party, he might drink too much, revert to Leslie’s unrequited desires, and accidentally add a homosexual episode to Ben’s history. Or worse, an unsuccessful attempt at a hook-up with another man.

On the other hand, the bride-to-be might really need help. After all, she was marrying the son of the town’s most notorious pervert: the Bagman. The acorn probably didn’t fall far from the tree.

It wasn’t a hard choice. Besides, he’d already promised Jenny that he’d come. In fact, he assured her he'd be there in five minutes. So Ben started the car and searched his memory — first, to remember who Jenny’s parents were, and second, to remember their address.

When he arrived at the house, he found the garage door wide open. Jenny stood inside, in the light, gesturing him to pull the car inside. He slowly rolled in, noticing how wide, clean, empty, and uncluttered the garage was. He parked close to the left side of the space, where Jenny stood. Before he had a chance to kill the engine, Jenny had already hit the button to close the door.

“I don’t my neighbors to talk — gossip — you know — that you and I had a rendezvous,” Jenny explained, rolling her eyes and tensing her hands nervously. She pronounced rendezvous “ren-dez-vuss,” but Ben didn’t laugh or correct her. He knew what she meant, but he couldn’t tell whether she was trying to be funny or really thought that's how the word sounded.

At the door that led from the garage into the house, she stopped, turned, and looked into his eyes. “Thanks for coming over so quickly. My family’s away tonight, and I couldn’t bear to be alone.” She hugged Ben, letting her breasts rest lightly on his chest. She buried her face in his shoulder and as she hugged him, and pressed her thighs into his.

“Is everything alright?” Ben asked, his voice muffled by her hair.

“No,” she replied. He felt the vibration of her voice in his neck.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. She sighed, turned, took him by the hand, and led him into the house. He followed. She was dressed in a light, cream-color silk blouse and a pair of soft, tight jeans that showed off her slim legs and firm, full backside. She was barefoot. Her fingernails and toenails were painted a rich, dark, lacquered red.

On a counter in the kitchen were two empty martini glasses, and a blender full of an inviting slush, the color of translucent jade. “Would you like a margarita?” she asked. “I make a really good one. You have to say yes, because if you don’t have at least one, I’m going to drink the whole pitcher myself.”

“Can’t have that!” Ben replied. “I’d like one — they look good.”

She poured two glasses, the ground ice sloshing as it slid from the blender to the glass. They toasted each other, and each took a sip. The margarita was good, Ben had to admit. A little sweet, but not too.

“Did Bagger invite you to his bachelor party tonight?”

“Yes,” Ben admitted.

“But you didn’t go.”

Ben drew a deep breath and took another sip. “A friend of mine asked me to come over,” he told her, his eyes twinkling.

“Thanks,” she said, lowering her eyes. “I’m glad that I rate missing a party.” She shot him a quick glance, then dropped her eyes again. “Do you know what they’re doing at that party?”

“I can imagine,” Ben replied. “Getting drunk, telling stupid jokes. Lots of yelling, adolescent toasts, gag gifts for Bagger.” He shrugged. “Stuff like that.”

“Is that all?”

Ben shrugged again. “Bagger didn’t give me the program,” he said, playing dumb, trying to avoid the question.

“They’re going to hire some women,” she told him, in a bitter tone. “You know, the kind of women: women you can buy.”

“You don’t know that,” Ben cautioned.

"Women," Jennie repeated. "Women, plural."

Ben shook his head. "Jennie, you're assuming. You can't pretend that you know."

“But I do know,” she contradicted. “I know it for a fact. Bagger's father said so.”

“The Bagman? He told you that?”

“Yes. No... Yes, he *said* it; but no, he didn’t tell me. He wasn’t talking to me. I overheard him telling Bagger. He said he was ‘lining up some tarts’ so Bagger could have ‘a last hurrah’ before tying the knot.” Jenny took a deep sip of her drink, draining half the glass.

“I’m sorry,” Ben told her.

She let out a sound, something between a sigh and a groan. “Listen. I need to change out of these clothes. Do you promise not to run away while I’m gone? If you stay, I promise I won’t cry on your shoulder.”

“Yes, of course I’ll stay. And it’s fine — you can cry if you want.”

“No,” she said, topping up his drink. “I’m not going to cry.” She turned, as if to leave, then stopped and said, “You know, I thought I knew what I was getting into. I knew he’d been with other girls. Slept with other girls. Fucked other girls, yeah. Meanwhile, *I* was saving myself for marriage, like an idiot, even though I knew he wasn’t.” She bit her lip. “I knew he was a jerk, and I could live with that. But right now it feels like Bagger and his creepy dad are shoving my face in it… rubbing my face in it.”

Ben hesitated a moment, then asked in a gentle voice, “Are you sure you want to marry him? I mean, it’s not too late to back out.”

She shot him a tight-lipped look. Her eyes blazed fire. “Yes, I’m sure,” she said.

“But why?” Ben asked. He didn’t mean to say it. The words just came out.

“Why? Why am I marrying him? I’ll TELL you why! Because you didn’t ask me, that’s why! If you HAD asked, I would have said yes. But you didn’t. And because you didn’t, you have no right to criticize the choices I make in my life.”

Ben shocked by her admission, took it in, but couldn’t find the words to respond. His hand shook a little, more from surprise than nerves. She stilled his hand with her firm, strong grasp. “Okay, sorry,” she said. “Forget I said that. In fact, forget everything I said. Drink your drink. Let me go get changed. You’ll stay, won’t you? I don’t have to handcuff you to the rail to make you stay, do I?”

“No,” he replied. “I’ll stay. Go get changed.”

“Have a seat on the couch,” she told him. Then she walked out of the kitchen and out of sight.

Ben sat down and took a slip of the margarita. It tasted pretty good, pretty refreshing. For some reason, it drew a memory from deep in Leslie’s past, of a party, more than ten years back, where the Bagman loaded a batch of margaritas with too much alcohol. They didn’t taste strong, but everyone at the party, even the guests who only had one drink, ended up plastered. No one was capable of driving themselves home. No one even dared to try. Friends who were usually moderate and controlled, found themselves waking up on the floor. The next day was a very awkward aftermath, the least of which was paying off the babysitters, who never meant to stay the night, and apologizing to their parents, who were out of their minds with worry.

“I didn’t mean to make them *that* strong — in fact, I didn’t even mean to make them strong,” the Bagman protested afterward. “I couldn’t taste the alcohol, so I kept on adding more.”

Why am I remembering that now? Ben asked himself. Then he called out to Jenny. “Hey, Jenny — how much alcohol is in this margarita?”

“I don’t know,” she called back. “I started from a recipe I found online, and then I went by taste. It definitely started out with not enough alcohol… but I only added a little at a time. We’ll find out. We can always add more.”

Ben opened his mouth to reply just as Jenny re-entered the room. Whatever he was about to say, never got said. Jenny was dressed — or maybe undressed — in a floor-length sheer gown. It had long sleeves, and was closed at the wrists and neck by scalloped lace trim. As the phrase goes, it left nothing to the imagination. Ben could see every curve, every inch of skin. Her twin areolas were small dark dots. Jenny had a slim, athletic build and a lovely face, but the gown wasn’t doing her any favors. It looked like something out of the fifties; something she might have found in her grandmother’s attic. She would have been better off naked, or wearing something short, shiny, and clingy. At least, that was Leslie's opinion. Ben felt his penis stiffen slightly, and the movement in his pants startled him.

Jenny climbed onto the couch, and knelt in a kitten-like pose next to Ben. She blew softly in his ear. Ben had heard of people doing that, but in the moment it was decidedly unsexy. She slipped her fingers inside Ben’s shirt.

“What are you doing, Jenny?” he asked.

In answer, Jenny took his glass and brought it to his lips, forcing him to take a generous sip. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m getting you drunk, so you can take advantage of me.”

Ben looked at her, hardly knowing what to say. He certainly wasn’t unsympathetic; but he in spite of the quick salute from his groin, he definitely wasn’t turned on. It’s not that he didn’t find her attractive. It wasn’t that he’d only been a man for a couple of hours. It’s just that the whole situation, the entire set-up from the get-go, was all so… perfunctory. She didn’t really want him; and he didn’t really want her. Probably in a different situation, with a different lead-in, the thing might have happened, all by itself, without the drinks and the lingerie — but this, all this, was simply too calculated, like an item on a checklist.

She saw all those thoughts, written in his face, and she sighed, exasperated. “Okay, look: I’ve been waiting — saving myself for my wedding night. I’m a virgin. I don’t care that people laughed at me for it. I didn’t care that Bagger wasn’t chaste. I always knew he wasn’t. I know who he is and what he is. I always have. I’m not fooling myself. But… at first, I thought I was keeping myself for God. And then, for my husband. And then… for him, specifically, for Bagger. Finally, in the end, I decided I was doing it for myself. After all, I’ve gone so far, I couldn’t just throw it away all those years of abstinence, all those opportunities I didn't take.” She paused, and let the coals of anger catch fire inside her. “But now, while he’s off fucking some two-dollar whore, I’ve decided that I’m not going to wait any more. I’ll be damned if I’m going to be a virgin on my wedding night.”

“Jenny, I—”

“Wait. Don’t say anything yet. I’m not asking you to fall in love with me, or to want me, or to do or say anything romantic or sentimental. I don’t want any promises. I don’t want it to mean anything. I just want that injection. I want you to stick your thing inside me and wiggle it around. It doesn’t even need to be good. I mean, I hope it will be good, but I need to be able to look in Bagger’s face on our wedding night and know in my heart that he isn’t my first. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Ben said. “I understand. You just want me to check that box for you.”

“Will you?” she asked.

“Yes, absolutely,” he replied, with a smile. “But can I suggest something? Let’s get naked — completely naked — and have a drink. Let's take our time. And then we can screw a couple of times and cure you of your condition.”

“My condition?”

“Virginity.”

“Oh, right.” Then she smiled and gave him a look through lowered eyes. “Can you really go a couple of times?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Which is lucky, because the first time is often awkward.”

“Okay,” she said. She went to fetch the blender of margaritas and a glass for herself. When she returned to the couch, she’d lost the fifties veil, and Ben had tossed aside his clothes. Surprisingly, the act of undressing aroused him, and he was pretty stiff.

“Change of plans,” Ben told her, “Come here and lie down on the couch.” She scurried over and arranged herself, looking up, expectantly. He lifted one of her legs high and began positioning his hips closer to hers. Then, as he looked at the opening between her legs, he realized something. “Oh, no!” Ben exclaimed. “I don’t have a condom.”

“Fuck the condom!” Jenny shouted. “I don’t care! Just get inside me! Now!”

 

---

 

Chad stopped at a stoplight. His arms were twitching with anticipation. He glanced over at Leslie, then scanned her, up and down. “Listen,” he said. “Undo your seatbelt for a minute.” She undid the hasp and let the belt slide away from her into the car’s frame. Chad put the car into park, there in the middle of the street. He reached over to Leslie’s legs and said, “Lift your butt off the seat.” She complied, and he gathered her dress and lifted it so it was all above her waist.

“Okay, sit down,” he said. She felt the leather seat under her naked legs and through her delicate underwear. Then Chad lifted the front hem of her dress until her legs and panties were exposed to view. He tucked the loose fabric behind her, so it wouldn’t fall and cover her crotch.

“There!” Chad softly exclaimed, his face red with nervous arousal. The car behind them honked, and brought Chad back to earth. He put the car into gear and drove ahead.

“Where are we going?” Leslie asked.

“To your appointment with destiny,” Chad replied, and laughed. “Oh, God, I’ve wanted to do this ever since I met you.”

However, despite their appointment with “destiny,” Chad drove around, seemingly at random, looking for a man or group of men standing at a bus stop or waiting for a light to change. He’d pull up close and pretend to consult his phone, as if he was lost. As soon as the men noticed Leslie’s legs and started making comments, Chad would drive off.

He did this several times. At the third stop, one of the men called for Leslie to “whip out her tits,” to which Chad gave a gasp that sounded nearly orgasmic. He had some trouble driving off.

Leslie was about to ask whether they were going to spend the evening doing these drive-bys, when Chad took a deep breath and began to drive with a clear goal and direction. It didn’t take long for Leslie to see that they were heading for the Bagman’s house. She quivered a little, nervous, eager, and very turned on. She couldn’t understand why the real Leslie didn’t want this. Didn’t *all* women want this? The real Leslie said no, but this temporary Leslie was pretty excited about it. At the very least, she told herself, the real Leslie would have to be grateful that she had a stand-in for whatever was going down tonight. At least it won’t be her. Not really her.

They pulled into the Bagman’s driveway. Chad got out, walked around the car, and opened Leslie’s door for her. Before he took her hand to help her out of the car, Chad bent down and looked into her face. She knew, without asking, that he was still disappointed that she wore no makeup. He made a sound of resignation, and helped her stand. Then, still holding her hand, he led her to the Bagman’s front door. As they walked, her bunched-up silk dress fell into place, and she smoothed it with her free hand.

Chad knocked. The Bagman called from inside, “It’s open!”

They found the Bagman sitting in an armchair, barefoot, wearing casual slacks and a white, well-pressed dress shirt. When he saw Leslie, he smiled and rubbed his hands in obvious satisfaction. “Dear God!” he exclaimed. “I have dreamed of this moment from the first time I laid eyes on you! Leslie, you are an angel on earth! Do you know that? An angel! My God! Look at you! You’re perfection incarnate! Perfection!”

He leapt from his chair and moved to her as if magnetized, devouring her with his eyes, walking around her as if she were some sort of exhibit, silently admiring her flawless skin, her shining hair, her perfect posture and poise…

“There is something different about you,” he mused.

Chad cut in, “She’s not wearing makeup.”

“She’s not?” the Bagman asked, in a tone of astonishment. He examined her face and smiled. “Well, she doesn’t need any, does she.” Then, standing behind her and just to her right, the Bagman clapped his hands softly and said, “Now, Leslie, let me help you out of that dress.”

He gently and slowly took hold of the zipper and pulled it down, protracting the experience for as long as he could. He admired every square inch of skin as it came into view. With great tenderness, he slipped the dress off her shoulders and guided it down, off her body, flowing over her curves, to the floor. He took her hand to help her step free of the dress, which he carefully draped over the back of a chair.

The Bagman didn’t ask her to turn or twirl or pose. Instead, he walked around her a second time, his hands clasped, taking her in. When he returned to stand in front of her, he looked at her face and smiled. Spontaneously, she smiled back, which made him smile even more.

Then, he touched her: lightly, very lightly. Almost reverently; almost as if he hardly dared. He gently put his palm against her abs. Holding his breath, he ran his fingers down her inner thigh, barely grazing the skin. He took a handful of her derriere and cradled it, neither squeezing nor lifting; just holding it.

At last, he stepped close behind her. He smelled her hair and rested his chin on her shoulder. He pressed his body into hers, so his erection (still inside his pants) pressed into her soft behind. He snaked his arms under hers, and cupped her breasts with his hands, holding them as if they were a source of power, power that flowed up his arms and down the front of his body, direct to his cock, where her buttocks completed the circuit. Of course, in reality, it did none of that. But the feeling was there: something electric, something alive. She knew without seeing that his eyes were closed, that he was drinking in her Leslie-ness, absorbing her female energy.

Then he let go and took a step back, and — surprisingly — helped her put her dress back on. He zipped her up and patted her shoulders with both hands.

The Bagman stood in front of her, and, eyes twinkling, asked, “Will you do everything that’s asked of you tonight?”

“Yes,” she replied in a soft voice that cracked. She cleared her throat, and in a normal voice repeated “Yes.” She heard Chad draw his breath and realized she’d forgotten he was there.

“Good,” the Bagman said. “Come this way, then,” and he led her, holding her hand high, at the height of her chin, and tenderly walked her toward the door to the patio. “We’re going to the pool house,” he explained. “My son is there. You know he’s getting married. I know he’s not a virgin, but I want him to have sex with the most exquiste, the classiest, the most beautiful woman I know. Of course, that woman is you. I hope you can stay with him until morning, when I’ll come for you. Will you do that?”

Leslie glanced at Chad, but only because he had just stepped into her field of vision. He thought she was looking for permission, so he nodded with enthusiasm.

“Yes,” she said.

“Excellent,” the Bagman said, grinning. He signalled Chad to stay, then led Leslie across the patio and into the pool house. The Bagman’s pool house was as large as a small cottage, and was fitted with a full kitchen, two bathrooms, and two changing rooms, all clustered around a huge, open living area filled with couches and chairs, dominated by an enormous TV. Bagger’s eyes were glued to the screen as his hands moved spasmodically on the controller. On the screen, his character was shooting everyone and everything in sight. His father walked in front of Bagger and gestured with his chin. Bagger set down the controller and turned off the TV. His eyes grew large as lanterns at the sight of Leslie. His mouth opened slightly, but he didn’t dare ask the question that was foremost in his mind.

“Cletus,” the Bagman said — and Leslie had to think for a moment before she remembered that Bagger’s real first name was Cletus — “I brought a woman here and gave her one mission: to make sure that when you leave your bachelor days behind, that you don’t leave them with regret.”

“Regret?” Bagger echoed, puzzled.

“Regret over things you never did, never tried, never dared to do with a woman. Leslie here is willing to do whatever it takes to squeeze the last drop of desire out of you. Aren’t you, babe?”

Leslie’s mouth was suddenly dry. Bagger? This was so weird and so wrong, but she’d come this far… Still, no one would ever know that she was really Ben. No one would believe it, even if she told them.

“Babe?” the Bagger repeated.

“Yes,” Leslie replied, with a smile. “Yes, absolutely, yes.”

“Okay, then! I’ll take your clothes away with me, so they stay fresh and clean. You’ll get them back after breakfast. Cletus, will you do the honors?”

Bagger jumped to his feet. Tentatively, scarcely believing his good fortune, and watching her face the entire time, he licked his lips and slowly unzipped her dress. Then he unfastened her bra and worked the straps forward, off her shoulders, down her arms. “Oh my God,” he said in a soft whisper. He massaged her breasts for a moment, then kissed each of her nipples before slipping his hands inside her panties, cupping her ass with both hands before pushing her underwear down her legs. He pushed his face into her crotch while he was down here, nuzzling his nose against her clitoris. He gave her labia a long, slow lick before he straightened up. His father collected Leslie's clothing, including her shoes. The Bagman struggled for a moment with her garments, draping her dress over his left arm, clutching her shoes between finger and thumb, and crumpling her undergarments in his left fist — all to leave his right hand free to pat Leslie on the ass and give it a gentle squeeze.

He let himself out and returned to the main house.

Bagger, excited and somewhat uncertain as to how much he dared to do, looked behind him at the assortment of furniture, trying to decide where to land. Then, he took her hands and backed himself toward a rattan chair, and guided her, standing, facing him. After he seated himself, he grabbed a loose cushion and tossed it to the floor at his feet. Tugging gently on her hands, like the reins of a horse, he drew her to kneel at his feet. “Unzip me,” he whispered. “And open my pants.” She did, and moved aside his white underwear, revealing a thick white snake, that did nothing but grow and harden as her slender fingers brought it forth.

Leslie had to admit: she was curious. Of course, as Ben, she’d stood in showers after gym with Bagger, but at those times his cock was always soft, withdrawn, and small. Now, it was erect and ready for use. It wasn’t enormous, it wasn’t porn-star grade, but it was a respectable size. It’s probably good not to have a pile-driver for my first, she told herself, but this will certainly do the job.

Bagger shifted his butt forward in the chair and pushed his pants down until they fell from his feet to the floor. His erection bobbled stiffly in front of her nose. She looked up at him. He licked his lips and slowly maneuvered her head so her mouth enclosed his penis. She closed her mouth around it. He smelled surprisingly clean and didn’t taste of sweat. Thank goodness for that! After her first movements made him gasp, Bagger held her head still, using both hands. Her mouth was filled by his penis. She looked up into his face. He smiled. He moved her head a little, forward and back, and groaned. Then cleared his throat and asked her, in a whisper, “Would you mind if I called a couple friends, and asked them to come over? Just nod your head yes or no.”

She thought, In for a penny, in for a thousand pounds, and nodded.

“That’s good,” he said, and a huge smile spread across his face. “Because they’re already here.” He continued to hold her head — not tightly — if she made a small effort, she could easy break free, but he kept his cock moving in and out of her mouth so she couldn’t speak. At the edges of her vision she saw young men moving, taking off their clothes. They came and touched her. They squeezed her breasts; they stroked her ass.. They spoke, they exclaimed to one another. One said, “Oh my God! It’s Mrs Crusoe! She’s the one Ben’s gone nuts for!” And another asked, “Where is Ben, anyway?”

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing!”

“I dunno, maybe he does know. I heard they’ve been fucking every day.”

A pair of hands lifted her backside off her heels. She was still on her knees, her face buried in Bagger’s lap. After some experimental fingering, someone penetrated her from behind. If her throat were free, she would have gasped and groaned as a strong, hard, cock slid inside her for the first time in her life. It was an incredible feeling. She could feel it, vividly. In her mind’s eye, she could see the penis moving like a piston, deep inside her. Hands fumbled at her breasts, feeling, palpating, touching her everywhere, rubbing her clitoris, fingering her butt.

She meant to keep count of each sexual act, but too much happened at once. It was a unbroken flow: When one man finished, another began. She was moved, positioned, bent, lifted. At one point, her face seemed to be covered in wriggling penises, leaving her cheeks and chin wet and sticky. Despite the small number of men present (she was pretty sure there were only five), there seemed to be an endless supply of cocks. The muscles of her jaw began to hurt before long, and soon after that, her vagina felt tender and bruised. Her little backdoor seemed to be her most resilient part.

Luckily, in spite of all their excitement and youth, none of the men had the sort of sexual stamina or imagination they imagined. After two hours, Leslie found herself lying alone on a chaise, sticky, thirsty, and sore in several places. She surveyed the room: all the men were slouched in chairs or on the floor, leaning into bolsters. Two of them were sound asleep. She gingerly, experimentally, got to her feet. Wobbling a bit, she walked over to Bagger and asked, “Do you mind if I take a shower?”

Bagger looked up at her face. His eyes traveled down to her pudenda, then her derriere. “Get everyone a beer first. And bend over when you open the fridge, so we get a good look at your ass.” She laughed, and did as she was asked, although Bagger was the only one paying attention.

When she emerged from the shower, Bagger was still the only man awake, and he was watching television. She wrapped herself in a large beach towel, and settled down to sleep on the chaise.

 

---

 

She slept deeply and well, although she woke four times, to find someone fucking her in the darkness. No words were spoken. There were barely even grunts. The first time, she fell asleep before he finished. The final time she lay awake, wondering whether she should get up.

Leslie didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until the Bagman came on tiptoe to wake her. He led her by the hand, past the sleeping men, outside and past the pool. On the patio, near the kitchen door, a breakfast table was set with all the elements of an American breakfast: eggs, bacon, sausage, ham, two kinds of toast, blueberry muffins, English muffins, scones, croissants, condiments and spreads, sliced red onions and smoked salmon.

Chad was at the table, sipping coffee. He smiled when he saw her.

“What, no donuts?” Leslie joked.

“They’re over there,” the Bagman replied, “in the box near the coffee urn.”

“This is a lot of food!” she exclaimed.

“The boys will eat it. It’s mainly for the boys. But help yourself.”

Leslie filled her plate with eggs, bacon, and a croissant. As she filled her cup with coffee, she felt the men’s eyes on her ass. Apparently she wasn’t going to get her clothes back yet.

After she sat at the table, and had a bite of croissant and a sip of coffee, she asked, “Did you know all those boys would be there?”

“No,” the Bagman replied. “Sincerely, I had no idea. I hope it wasn’t a problem.”

She shook her head no. The Bagman raised his eyebrows at Chad, who shrugged and smiled.

The Bagman leaned forward and touched her knee. “Leslie,” he said, “I’m so glad you finally came around.”

“Yes,” she replied, and then, with a barking laugh, “I’m not sure that I’m going to stay around though.”

The two men frowned.

“What does that mean?” Chad demanded.

Leslie paused, mid-chew. Should I not have said that? she asked herself. Still, I can’t let them think that the real Leslie is going to be up for this sort of thing.

“Um,” she said, drawing out her pause as long as she could, “I’m just saying… well, what I mean is... that tomorrow, the old Leslie could be back. Or *will* be back. Or… uh… should be back.”

The two men were dumbfounded. Thunderstruck. Bewildered. No one moved or spoke for several beats until the Bagman shook his head and said, “Women!”

Leslie bit her tongue to keep from laughing, as she thought, If only you knew!

The Graduate, Vamped and Revamped: 6 / 6

An Altered Fates Story
A second look at the 1967 film, The Graduate
and (even moreso) the 1963 novella of the same name by Charles Webb.
By Iolanthe Portmanteaux
 

Ben felt someone nudging him, poking him, insistently shaking him awake. It was Jenny, and she was frantic. The sun was already up, and the light hurt his eyes. Last night’s overstrong margaritas had devolved into this morning’s headache. “Wake up, Ben! Wake up! I didn’t mean for us to fall asleep!”

“Huh?” Ben grunted. He moaned and put his hand to his forehead.

“Ben! You’ve got to get out of here! My parents will be home any minute, and they can’t see you here! Do you understand?”

Ben gasped and groaned in reply. Struggling his way into wakefulness, he stumbled out of bed and pulled on his pants. “Your underwear!” Jenny hissed. He shoved his underwear into his pocket and pulled on his shirt. Backwards, as it turned it, but there wasn't time to fix it. Holding his shoes and socks in his hand, he told Jenny, “Thanks for last night—”

“Yes, yes!” she interrupted. “Now go! Go! Just go!” She gave him a wet, soft kiss by way of apology, and ran with him to the garage. Ben nearly stumbled, he was so distracted by the bounce and sway of her breasts as she struggled into a robe while she shooed him along.

She stopped him as he closed his car door, and kissed him again. “Thank you,” she said, looking into his eyes with a very serious expression. “Now I have something to compare him to.”

 

---

 

It was 6:15 AM when Ben arrived back home, back at the Haddock’s house. He entered silently, went to his room, and took a good, hot shower. As he lathered his body and ran his hands over himself, he realized that he liked this body: the flat chest, the tight abs, and below all that, his penis. Ben was surprised how much he liked having that meaty appendage hanging down there. He stroked it, there in the shower, and it came to life again, stiffening, arousing him. He continued stroking, slowly, thoughtfully. Inevitably, the feelings of pleasure turned into a nagging sense of guilt. It wasn’t guilt about touching himself — Ben was no prude. The guilt centered around someone else: Leslie. Or, to be more precise, the temporary Leslie; the real Ben. While the real Leslie had already experienced the medallion’s power, the real Ben was taken by surprise. It nearly counted as an ambush. And then, while the temporary Ben was off having fun with Jenny, temporary Leslie was stuck alone with a piece of vibrating plastic — if she had the nerve to use it. Ben — the real Ben — had gotten the short end of the stick this time, he told himself. He’s probably scared to death, wondering whether he’s lost his mind.

When he finally emerged from the shower, Ben balled up his dirty clothes and dropped them into a hamper in the bathroom. He dressed, and as he caught a look of himself in the mirror, realized that he’d need to shave — or, at least he would if he were going to remain male. Still, as a tradeoff, it was an excellent one: rather than half hour (at least) on hair and makeup, he could spend a couple of minutes shaving. Or simply grow a beard! Not a bad deal.

After a last look in the mirror, brushing his hair with his fingers (another great perk!), he straightened up and took a look out the window at the Crusoe house — Leslie’s house — and was astonished to see a pair of red panties hanging in the box room’s little window. It was their signal: the beacon Leslie established to call Ben over — although the real Leslie was never so crass as to hang her panties there. She had a red t-shirt and a black t-shirt; those were her flags. Leslie must have hung the red flag this morning — or could it have been last night? Ben had another twang of guilt: maybe suddenly finding himself a woman was too shocking, too mind-bending. The poor thing was probably frightened out of her wits. She must have had enough of being female and was anxious to return to being Ben once again.

Ben was hungry, but he decided to breakfast over there. And he might as well bring his car. After all, Leslie — the real Leslie — was about to disappear, and Chad was on a trip, any way. There was zero fear of discovery.

The car would be handy later, as well, after Leslie and Ben were back to being themselves. Leslie needed to get to Viv Errison’s house and kick off her exit strategy. She really should have lit the match a few days earlier, but she wanted to see Ben one last time. Their last night turned out to be nothing like she’d imagined: Leslie pictured a night of good, solid sex, and then goodbye. For that — for her hunger for one last taste of Ben, Leslie dithered and delayed.

Now, the waiting was over. Leslie was ready to start her new life.

Leslie-as-Ben was smiling as he pulled into the Crusoe’s driveway, but her sun-like happiness abruptly hardened and turned inward, becoming a seething volcano of anger. The trigger for the change was a message from Bagger on Ben’s phone. It said, “what u missed last night”. Attached was a short video that began with a closeup of Bagger’s face. He said, “Guess who’s sucking me off? Go ahead and guess!” and then panned down to show Leslie’s face bobbing up and down, her mouth wrapped tight around his cock. Then Bagger’s voice: “Jealous, Ben? Are you jealous?” and Leslie’s murmur of assent.

Dumbfounded, white-faced, thunderstruck, offended to the core, Ben was in a state of shock. His feet were glued to the driveway. His jaw hung open in astonished disbelief. His hands trembled as Ben watched the video a second time, just to be sure there was no mistake. No, it was really her: Leslie Crusoe, on her knees like a cheap floozy. Far from being “alone with a vibrator,” indeed! And she clearly wasn’t alone with Bagger either — there were other male voices in the background, and glimpses of other male legs and hands.

Ben growled with anger and distress, and was about to barge in the front door, when he remembered that he didn’t have the keys. Feeling foolish (on top of everything else) he ran around back and into the kitchen, where he found Leslie. She could not have been more utterly naked, yet there she was, her breasts and ass dangling provocatively as she fumbled with the coffeemaker. “Oh, hi!” she said. “You’re just in time! I can’t figure this thing out — can you help me?”

Ben didn’t even bother to close the door. He ran across the room, grabbed Leslie by the arm and started slapping her across the face, over and over, crying, “What did you do? What did you do?” Then his shouts collapsed into sobs. He let go of Leslie’s arm, and sank to his knees, and from there sank to the floor, face in hands, sobbing like his heart was broken.

Leslie was too shocked to cry. She was so utterly taken by surprise that the slaps barely registered, although they hurt quite a bit now that he’d stopped. Hand to her face, she went and closed the kitchen door before returning to the prostrate Ben, who by now was crying more softly. She didn’t know what to do — to touch him? To hold him? To talk? To stay silent. Ben resolved her impasse by holding out Ben’s phone.

Leslie took it, punched in his code, and immediately saw the video. “Is this why you’re upset?” she asked him. “I thought that you’d be glad!”

”GLAD?” Ben shrieked. “Why on earth would I be glad?”

“Because *you* didn’t do it,” he replied.

“Oh you supid ass! I DID do it,” she told him. “Nobody knows that that’s you and not me.”

“Ah,” he said. “But you didn’t *do* it. You didn’t feel those things. They didn’t happen to you.”

Ben covered his face with his hands. “Oh, God. You are such an idiot. You’ve been a woman all of twelve hours, and you’ve ruined my reputation. You’ve ruined it — completely! Beyond repair!”

“No,” Leslie contradicted. “I told them that I was going back to the old Leslie today. I told them they couldn’t expect me to do those things again.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Ben groaned. “You can’t unring that bell. You’re tainted.” After a shuddering breath, he added, "I'm tainted." Still on his knees, face in his hands, Ben fell silent.

Leslie stood by. It didn’t seem as dire as Ben painted it. She looked down at her body, and ran her palm over her belly. “Well…” she began, tentatively. “There might be a way to make it work. I’ve had an idea.”

“Oh, lovely,” Ben said, shaking his head. “An idea. Too bad you didn’t have any ideas last night. I mean good ideas.”

“No, listen. I think this *is* a good idea. What if we stay switched? Why don't we stay this way?”

“No,” Ben said, in a decisive, cutting tone. “No. That is not going to happen. I am not going to watch you debase me. I will not let you tear my life down. You will not drag my life into the gutter and turn me into a slut and a pariah among my friends. You cannot turn me into a worthless piece of trash.”

“But it won’t be you,” Leslie protested.

Ben wasn’t about to say so, but he, too, was strongly tempted to remain as he was — as Ben. Aside from the game-changing aspect of having a penis, it was clear that Ben’s life was perfectly poised to develop into an interesting and successful life — exactly the sort of life that the real Leslie dreamt of, all her life, and it was a life she was far better prepared to live than the actual Ben ever was.

Ben sighed and looked up at the naked woman she once was. “Get dressed,” he said. “We need help from a better mind. A mastermind.”

“Who?” Leslie asked.

“Just get dressed,” Ben told her.

 

---

 

Forty minutes later, the pair were eating breakfast in Viv Errison’s sitting room. The real Leslie, who knew Viv well, spoke first. She gave a short, angry summary of last night’s adventures, dwelling bitterly on Ben's sexual debasement.

Ben-as-Leslie was over-awed by Viv, and had trouble at first admitting to what he'd done. Viv, who had a quiet intimidating presence and manner, simply waited, gazing at her expectantly. At last Ben blurted out everything he'd experienced, while Leslie gasped and cried out in horror and alarm

Feeling the ground slipping away from under his feet, Ben-as-Leslie concluded by exclaiming, “I think we ought to stay the way we are! It’s a win for everyone!”

Leslie-as-Ben growled, “It would kill me to see her run my name into the ground.”

Mrs. Errison regarded the two in silence for a moment, peering at the pair, like a judge looking down from her bench. After it seemed that both Leslie and Ben had emptied themselves of all the things they had to say, Viv spoke.

“I have to say — you two have really screwed things up. Really, really, screwed things up — to an incredible extent. Luckily, they aren’t beyond repair.

“You, Leslie — the real Leslie — you were supposed to leave town two or three days ago. Your divorce is ready to file. Your lawyer has power of attorney. You have a new identity waiting, ready to go. What happened?”

“I wanted to see Ben one more time,” Leslie-as-Ben mumbled.

“Mmm,” Viv acknowledged. “And after that, it was just the war of the whims, wasn’t it.”

Viv asked a few key questions, and then told the pair. “We’re going to settle this today. We’re going to fix everything, for good, with no going back. I’m going to meditate for forty minutes. Then I’ll come back with my decision, and — I want this to be crystal clear — my decision will be final.”

“What gives you the right to decide?” Ben-as-Leslie challenged.

“I have the medallion,” Viv replied, as she picked up Leslie’s case and left the room.

 

---

 

Leslie and Ben sipped coffee and continued to nibble at the breakfast spread. There was nothing else for them to do. They didn’t speak. They barely looked at each other. Leslie would have gladly talked — she was overflowing with feelings — but Ben had sunk into a dark, angry silence.

After forty minutes passed, Viv returned to the room. She was carrying a necklace case and a large shopping bag.

“Alright,” she said. “First of all: Leslie — the real Leslie — would you be satisfied to remain as Ben? And if so, why?”

“Yes, I would love to remain being Ben. I found I like being a man: the whole thing. The way a man relates to the world; the things he doesn’t need to do; the things he doesn’t need to put up with… it suits me to the ground.

“Also, Ben has a perfect situation in life: he just got his bachelors degree, and his family will help him go on from there into whatever life he chooses.”

“And what life would you choose?” Viv inquired.

“I’d go to law school,” Ben replied immediately. “It’s what I’ve always wanted to do. With Ben’s grades and preparation, I could get in anywhere.”

“That’s true,” Leslie agreed.

“And you, Ben — real Ben — would you mind if Leslie took over your life in that way? Remember, once we three agree, there will be no turning back.”

“Yes, I’d be fine with that. I don’t know what to do with my life. I’m amazed that anyone does.”

“Does what?”

“I’m amazed that anyone knows what to do with their life.”

Viv’s eyebrows went up at that, but she refrained from comment. She pressed on with the matter at hand, asking, “And you’d like to remain a girl?”

“Oh yes! It’s incredible! I love it!”

Viv took a deep breath. She shot Ben a glance that said, Don’t say a word. I’ve got this in hand. To Leslie, she said, “When you say that you love it, you’re specifically talking about sex, aren’t you.”

“Yes,” Leslie admitted.

“That's not all there is to being a woman,” Viv told her. “There is much, much more — some of it good, some of it bad.”

Leslie nodded, though she didn’t really understand.

Viv went on, “There are some serious problems with your remaining as Leslie: One problem is that the real Leslie would suffer greatly if she had to witness what your choices would do to her life and reputation. Another, even more serious problem, is that, given your tendencies, I’m afraid that you’d end up as a sex slave or worse.”

Leslie rubbed her chin thoughtfully. She wondered what the worse could be. Sex slave didn’t sound bad to her. She looked up from her thoughts to see Viv watching her attentively, as though she could read her thoughts as if they were written directly on her face.

“The problem is,” Viv explained, “That you never grew up as a girl. You look at women — even yourself as a woman — through the eyes of a man. In other words, you have no idea what it means to be a woman.”

She opened the necklace box and took the medallion in her hands. “We can’t let you remain as Leslie. We could change you into another woman your age, but I shudder to think where you’d end up. So—” she moved behind Leslie, draping the medallion around her neck. “This is my decision: I’m going to grant your wish and allow you remain a girl, but—” she pulled a bunched-up article of clothing from the shopping bag and pressed it against the medallion. “I can’t let you make such an uninformed, misguided choice. If you want to be a woman, you need to grow into it. There is so much organic, physical, societal experience that you’re utterly lacking. You’ve got to start where every woman began: as a little girl.”

”What!?” Leslie exclaimed. She tore the dress from the medallion — it was a little girl’s dress — and threw it to the floor. No change was immediately apparent, so Leslie believed she’d caught the metamorphosis in time. Viv understood this, so she returned to her chair facing Leslie and Ben, and continued her explanation.

“Let’s talk about this: I know a couple, a lovely married couple. They’re just under thirty years old. They aren’t rich, but they have a nice life.” Viv handed Leslie a photograph. In it, the couple looked closer to twenty than thirty, and they appeared to be nice, normal people. Wholesome people. “They live in Cleveland. They’ve tried fertility treatments, without success, and they’ve asked me to help them fund another round. It’s physically demanding and emotionally draining. It’s put their relationship under a severe strain, and I know that — in spite of the fact that they're planning to do so, neither of them want to go through it again..”

“So you think they’re open to adoption?” Ben asked. Viv nodded.

“They don’t belong to some crazy cult or anything, do they?” Leslie queried.

“No,” Viv said. “To the best of my ability to tell, they’re lovely people, good people.” Then, with a small smile, she added, “And I know for certain that they’d love to have a little girl.”

“Hmmph,” Leslie mused. “How would they feel about a big — a bigger girl?”

“Well, they’ll get that eventually in any case, won’t they?” Viv quipped, smiling more broadly.

Leslie was distracted by the discussion, and didn’t feel or notice the changes she was undergoing. “It might be a good idea,” she said, “but how little would I have to be?”

“I was thinking that nine years old would be a good place to start — that would put you in third or fourth grade.”

Leslie barked a contradictory laugh, and looked up from the photograph. She was about to say that she was thinking more along the lines of nineteen years old, but as she raised her eyes, she instantly took in several facts at once: She’d lost several inches in height: now she had to look up to both Ben and Viv. Her feet no longer touched the floor; instead, they dangled a good foot above it. Her feet and hands were half-sized: her shoes hung like absurdly large weights. Her breasts were gone — completely gone. Her chest was as flat as a boy’s. And the chair seemed to have grown so large that another girl her size could have sat beside her without crowding.

“What the hell!” Leslie exclaimed, in her high, little girl voice. Ben couldn’t help but laugh.

“No!” Leslie shouted. “Fuck to the hell, NO!”

Viv cautioned her, “You’re going to have to lose that sort of language, young lady.”

“The fuck I will,” the little girl replied.

“Don’t think that I’m beyond spanking you,” Viv warned her, and the little girl blushed.

“In this bag you’ll find a set of clothes that fit you perfectly,” Viv told her. “I suggest that you change into them now.”

As the little girl lowered herself from the chair, gingerly trying to keep her oversized clothes from falling off her, Ben asked, “What’s going to happen now?”

“First of all, Ben, you’re going to need to send an email from Leslie’s account to instruct your attorney to serve papers on Chad and set your divorce in motion. Then, send your goodbye video — you did prepare that, didn’t you? Good. Send that video to your list of friends. If Leslie needs to put in an appearance for one thing or another, you can come here, change back, do the necessary, then turn back to Ben.”

Ben nodded, and moved across the room to sit at Viv’s computer.

The person who once was Ben, then briefly was Leslie, but now was a little girl, dressed herself in pair of pale blue jeans and a pale pink top. On her feet were a pair of pink sneakers. “Pink,” she observed, not sure whether that was good or bad. And yet, her cheeks were flushed with embarrassed excitement. She could see herself in the mirror, and was quite aware of how cute she had become. “And what will happen to me?” she asked.

Viv looked the girl over, smiled approvingly, and pulled her into a warm, accepting hug. “Come here, you adorable little thing!” Viv cooed.

“You’re going to be fine,” Viv assured her. “First of all, and in case you hadn’t noticed, you’ve become a little-girl version of Ben Haddock. You’ll see it in your face and coloring whenever you study yourself in the mirror.” She held the girl’s chin in her hand, and turned it this way and that, considering. Then she announced, “We need to give you a name, baby girl, and that name will be Sienna Harmon. How do you feel about that?”

“It’s okay, I guess,” the girl replied. “I think I’d rather choose my own name, though.”

“No one picks their own name,” Viv told her. “You didn't when you were born, and you're not going to do so now. In any case, you’re going to stay here with me until we settle things with Mr and Mrs Comenci — my friends in Ohio. While you’re here, I’ll provide you with a simple wardrobe, and suitable toys and books for a girl your age.”

“What if they don’t want me?” Sienna asked.

“Oh, honey, they will want you, believe me”

Sienna bit her lower lip. This was not a future she’d ever anticipated, or even knew she could dream of. Still, it was better than being Ben Haddock. Ben Haddock sucked. If Leslie wanted to be Ben, God bless her. She could have it, and welcome. Sienna knew there was no guarantee, but she did feel she could trust Viv to look out for her. In spite of Viv’s bossy, take-charge manner, she was obviously a caring and reliable person.

“While you’re here,” Viv was saying, “I’ll help you fit into your new role in life, so you know how to talk and behave like the nine-year-old girl you are. I have a few friends with girls your age. Spending time with them will help.”

Sienna took a deep breath to steel herself for all this. It was daunting, but it held the promise of a new life, a live she might enjoy living. “Okay,” she said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, hun,” Viv replied with a warm smile. She tousled the little girl’s hair and pulled her into another warm, maternal hug.

 

---

 

Things worked out generally as Viv had foreseen. Ben’s parents were over the moon! They were extraordinarily pleased with Ben’s new direction in life.

Chad was caught completely unprepared by the divorce. He alternated between anger and depression, and began spending even more time with his lover Justine than ever before. Justine, for her part, was frightened by the development. She was just on the verge of cutting her ties with Chad and moving on with her life. Now she felt caught by his desperate need. I’ve got to get out before he asks me to marry him, became her daily mantra.

Ben, the Ben who used to be Leslie, didn’t think at first that she needed to avoid Chad. However, a chance encounter on a downtown street quickly clarified things. Chad grabbed Ben by the arm and pushed him into an alley.

“Ben — what I have ever done to you? Why do you hate me? What have I ever done or said that made you look at me this way?”

“I don’t hate you,” Ben stammered in reply.

“Then why did you fuck my wife, you little prick? You little asshole? I’d like to beat the living shit out of you for what you’ve done.”

“I think you’re making a big deal out of nothing,” Ben told him.

“Nothing? NOTHING?” Chad’s face contorted with the anger boiling inside him. “You’ve wrecked my marriage! You ruined my life, you bastard! And now you have the bare-faced gall to stand there and say to my face that it’s nothing?” Then, somewhat nonsensically, he shook Ben violently by the arm and shouted, “I’ll show you NOTHING, you goddamn piece of shit!” And he struck Ben in the stomach so hard that Ben fell to ground, out of breath, clutching his stomach in pain.

Chad stood over the lad, shaking, frightened by his own violence, until he managed to croak out these words: “Stay the hell away from me, boy. Do you hear me? Stay the hell away.”

When Ben returned home, he turned the focus of his law-school search to colleges and universities well out of state. In fact, he began to favor the East Coast schools, since there was nothing farther.

 

---

 

Sienna’s adaptation was easier. At least, no one swore at her, or punched her in the stomach.

She ended up spending three weeks with Mrs Errison. She learned a great deal about being female, and specifically about being a little girl. Her old life, and especially her brief stint as Leslie Crusoe, began to seem like a movie she’d seen.

The fact of being given a second chance at life was a blessing that wasn’t lost on her. She understood for the first time how she’d wasted her first chance, and finally saw that as Ben, she’d simply drifted through school, without a goal, with no consideration for his parents or the people around him. As Ben, she had worked hard academically, it’s true, and for the most part Ben was a conscientious, polite, kind person. Still, there was little else to him — nearly nothing, aside from the things he was obliged to do.

Also, he found life as a girl much richer, complex, and challenging than life as a boy. She found that she not only needed, but wanted, to pay attention to her life and to those around her. After Mr and Mrs Comenci asked her to come live with them, Sienna began to find that her life was more filled with people than it had ever been before.

She realized — and it was true — that nine-year-old Sienna Comenci was a more mature, fully developed person than she had ever been as Ben Haddock.

And yet, for all her experience of life, Sienna was still only a little girl, standing on the verge of life — about to begin her her journey of self-discovery and growth.