The Backstory

I'm going to start with a confession: I'm a nutcase.

Don't believe me? Just ask any of my friends and they'll be happy to go into excruciating detail.

Want some examples? Sure you do. When I was about seven, the family went on a trip to England. My parents booked one of those bus tours of London to see all the famous sights. Me? I threw a fit when they tried to get me to go to the upper level. I was sure we would crash because there wasn't a driver up top.

Something more recent? Well… back in High School chemistry lab, the teacher strictly warned us that breathing Hydrogen Sulfide would kill you, so be sure that the fume hood was in place before doing the experiment. I was the guy that took a big whiff and went crashing to the floor unconscious. My head hurt for days.

Something current? I make my living by buying old houses as is, often furnished when some older person dies, then fixing them up and selling them. You have to be a nutcase to do that. Really.

I'm in no danger of becoming a robber baron and endowing great public works with my ill-gotten gains, but I do have a very nice bank account and my investment lady smiles whenever I come calling.

She's happily married. She may love my money but she doesn't love me - not that way!

This story starts when I had just returned from a month in the sun and surf in California, spending some of my profits from my last job. Actually, I came back a week earlier than I had planned because the Realtor I often worked with had found a gem. Built just after the Civil War and added to several times, it had nine bedrooms, four full tile baths, two half-baths, living room, parlour, dining room, a huge kitchen, full basement, three stories, and an attic to boot. Let's not forget the four car garage, tool shed and four acres of land. The septic system was recently checked, the well was good, there was a backup generator in case the electric failed.

What's the downside? The place was supposedly haunted.

Yeah, right.

The story sounded like those silly tales you hear around the campfire in scout camp; generation after generation the men were picked off, killed mysteriously, disappeared, jailed for unspeakable crimes with only the women surviving. All the usual stuff found in these tales.

The place had been passed down over the generations and was filled with the stuff those generations had collected. This included some interesting antiques which should bring a good price when I sold them.

So why was the place sold intact and as-is? For much of the recent past the main occupant was a woman who finally passed away at one hundred and three years of age. She had outlived her daughter and one remaining granddaughter. When her great-granddaughter married, everyone expected that she would move into the place when the old woman finally went into a nursing home.

To prove I'm not the only nutcase in the world, within a week of their marriage the couple went on a round-the-world voyage in their yacht. The last anyone heard of them was a letter to a school friend announcing the birth of a son, the first male in many generations, somewhere in India. They were never heard from again.

With no heir in sight the lawyers had a field day. The place sat empty for several years until the complications were uncomplicated. It was sold at auction for back taxes and the state unclaimed property fund received a windfall.

I'm the nutcase that bought it.

Sunday: Taking Possession

Cool chapter title for a story about a haunted house, eh? Not really - I'm talking about taking possession of the place.

To further prove I'm a first-class nutcase, I don't live in an apartment or own a house of my own. I do own a good-size RV that I set up in an RV park between jobs. When I start work on a new house I move the RV to whatever place I'm working on and live there. With a storage unit for my tools and the other stuff that doesn't fit in the RV, I'm perfectly happy to live the life of a rover.

So the first job was to cut in a new 50 Amp plug for the RV, run a hose to the outside faucet and set up a long tube into the septic tank. All the comforts of home and I can sleep in my own bed anyplace I'm working. That's the upside. The downside was I had to start working and stop procrastinating once I was hooked up.

I moved the rig in on Saturday night and goofed off for the rest of the day, but Sunday morning I was up and ready to start working. Like I said, nobody lived there for quite a few years so the place needed some things done right away. Like a total tear-off and replacing the roof. That meant it would be a damned good idea to take the stuff out of the attic so that the crud of ages and powdered asphalt shingles didn't cover whatever was up there. Problem was, the dust of ages already had covered everything. I had a less than elegant solution for that. First, I lugged up a good-sized filtration unit, then I shaved off my vacation beard and donned a mask with HEPA filters. The old place came handily equipped with a monster leaf blower in the shed, so I opened the windows, plugged in the leaf blower and created a massive dust storm.

Now that part was fun, at least until my filters clogged. It took three changes of filters to get most of the dust out. Job done, I was ready to play the part of The Dust Monster From The Crypt in a horror movie. Reaching the back porch I decided to remove my dust-infused clothing before entering my RV - I didn't want to have to take the leaf blower to my home. Since the place was off by itself with the neighbors a considerable distance away I just stripped off.

That's when the fire department showed up.

Apparently the cloud of dust from the attic windows looked sufficiently like smoke that some neighbor had called in the alarm. I had just enough warning as the siren wound down from its full scream to hastily don my underpants before several rubber coated figures came racing around the corner.

"There's no fire!" I hollered. "No fire! It's just dust!"

"Ho…ly…shit!" one of my erstwhile rescuers opined at the sight of the skinny, filthy long-haired man in his underwear.

"Sorry, guys. I was only clearing the dust out of the attic."

"Maybe you ought to hire a maid to do your dusting."

"If I ever get this place back in shape that might not be a bad idea," I replied.

"You must be the guy that bought the old place."

"That's me - Glen Stone at your service."

"Can't really say 'Nice to meet you' under the circumstances, but I'm glad the old barn wasn't really on fire."

"I'd offer you guys a beer, but I suppose you can't drink on the job."

"Too true. Thanks for the offer, anyway. What the heck were you doing, anyway?"

So I told them about the leaf blower and they got a good laugh. They packed up their gear and went back to the fire station.

That's when my neighbor showed up.

Now really - I'll admit I'm not much of a party guy, but when I have people over I have never been known to greet them clad in only my underwear. So how come I'm doing that very thing twice in one day?

Nutcase - I told you that.

"Hello?" came a tentative voice.

A feminine voice, soon followed by a feminine body. A quite pleasant and substantial feminine body, at that. She must have been close to six feet tall, well muscled in a very feminine way, and moved with both a power and grace like I had never seen before. Her chestnut hair was cut short but her blouse was cut deep, revealing a most considerable pair of breasts. Her short-shorts likewise revealed a very alluring pair of legs. If I weren't standing on the back porch of an old house covered in dust and clad only in my underwear I might have been more appreciative, but as it was…

"Ummm. Hi?" I stuttered.

"Was there a fire?"

"No fire, just a dust storm."

"Huh?"

So I told the story yet again. They say that a flexible man can get used to almost anything. I suppose if a woman can wear a bikini and a man can wear a speedo, I shouldn't complain about my present state of undress. Nice philosophy, but I was nervous.

"I was just about to take a shower and get myself clean when the firefighters came. I don't usually greet neighbors in my tighty-whities."

"So the gray hair isn't from old age…"

"Not yet, anyway."

"Maybe I should come back once you've had a chance to get clean."

"I have to say I'm longing for a whole lot of hot water and soap right about now."

"Maybe you ought to invest in a hazmat suit."

"Lady, you ever worn one of those things?"

"As a matter of fact, I have."

"Then you know damned well why I didn't want to wear one in an attic in the summer."

"Oh yeah. You'd be parboiled and dust coated."

"Sounds like a recipe for roast chicken," came her reply.

"Chicken a la dustmop graced with slivered almonds and baby peas?"

"Maybe I had better invite you over for dinner, being a new neighbor and all. I could give you a few more appetizing recipes."

"Really? I wouldn't want to put you out."

"Not a problem. I tend to cook several meals and then freeze them so I don't have to cook for myself every day. Do you like matzoh ball soup?"

"Don't know - never heard of it."

"Then my friend, you are in for a treat. It's a secret recipe handed down from mother to daughter for generations in my family. Sort of chicken soup with Jewish meatballs made from matzoh meal. Come to think of it, the matzoh meal is sort of like dust…"

"And you object to my recipes?"

"Well, goys have often compared matzoh to eating dust. It's known as the 'bread of affliction' at the Passover Seder."

"I hope nobody ever hires you to write those glowing descriptions of the dishes on a restaurant menu. They'd be out of business in a week. What the hell is a matzoh?"

"You ever bake your own bread?"

"Occasionally, when I have time between jobs."

"So mix up your dough, but don't let it rise. The story goes we Jews didn't have time to let the bread rise before we took a powder when Pharoh came after us. We just squashed it flat and shoved the dough in the oven to bake it long enough so it wouldn't rot and started running. Quite frankly, it's downright tasteless but it's traditional. Y'know, like Tevye in Fiddler On The Roof."

"Who would have thought that cleaning my attic would result in improving my culinary and religious education?"

"The Lord moves in mysterious ways. Seriously, you're invited for dinner. Come over when you get cleaned up - I'm the pink house to the left as you come out of the driveway."

"Then I'll be happy to accept. I'm Glen Stone, by the way, the new owner, construction boss, laborer and nutcase who now plans to rehab the place."

"Wonderful! I just hated to see such a wonderful old place sinking into the slime. And I'm Vonda Brayley."

"Uh, Vonda, silly as it sounds - do I dress for dinner?"

"Well, usually I tell folks it's a casual dress code, but in your case that might be misinterpreted if you greet people in your underwear."

"I'll tell you the story over dinner - both about the house and why I'm halfway to starting a nudist colony.

The Materialization

When Vonda took her leave I headed to the RV and was about to step into the shower when I realized that while the 10 gallon tank in the RV was perfectly fine for a normal shower, in my condition I was bound to need quite a bit more. I had checked out the 50 gallon water heater in the old house and it was working just fine. With four bathrooms to choose from I would be a fool to short myself on a long, hot shower.

I gathered up some clothes and a towel, then headed over, taking a quick peek to be sure I didn't have any more surprise guests.

I had been told that the old woman had the master bedroom installed on the first floor, complete with en suite bathroom when it got too hard to go up and down stairs. The room looked like your typical haunted-house room with all the furniture covered in dust cloths and the somewhat moth-eaten drapes drawn.

I opened the drapes and raised the sashes to let in the fresh air, then stripped the dust cover from the bed. I gave the mattress a bounce and it felt pretty firm, still in good shape. I laid out my clothes on the bed and headed for the bathroom with my towel and my shaving kit.

If I were a better author I would sing the praises of plenty of hot water, but Tolkien has already done it. Add copious amounts of shampoo and conditioner and I was fully prepared to turn into a prune if I hadn't been invited to dinner by a very interesting lady.

Emerging from the bathroom I flung my wet towel over the bedpost and came to a sudden halt. There on the bed, where I had left my tighty-whities, was a pair of red panties. Having had such recent experience with a fire engine, I can state positively that thy were fire engine red.

With black lace around the leg holes.

What the hell was going on here?

The Questions

I stood naked beside the bed, still holding my wet towel. What the hell was going on around here?
 

I wouldn't go so far as to call myself a skeptic, but haunted houses were things you found in movies, not in real life. Point one: I was the only one in the place. Counterpoint one: I had left the door open, not to mention the windows.

Point two: I did have several friends who enjoyed practical jokes. Counterpoint two-A: the buggers didn't live anywhere near here. Counterpoint two-B: How would they know I was going to take a shower and just where did they get the panties?

Point three: Maybe Vonda? Counterpoint three: The woman didn't even know I'd bought the place until an hour ago. She sure as blazes didn't have time to go out and buy lingerie while I was taking a shower and hers would be too big.

Point four: It looked like the panties would fit me. The tag said size nine. Counterpoint four: How would anyone know my size in women's panties?

Point five: Anyone who's seen Ghostbusters knows ghosts do weird shit. Counterpoint five: Yeah, but panties?And why red panties with black lace?

Right about then I would have been happy to see Rod Serling step through the bedroom door and say "You're traveling through another dimension - a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind…"

Rod kept his peace, which is more than I can say for me. A joke's a joke, but really!

So I wrapped the towel around my waist, (never know who might show up) gathered up my clothes and headed back to the RV to find some of my own underwear, mumbling imprecations at my unknown jokester. As I passed the big mirror on the dresser I came to a sudden halt. The image in the mirror showed I had wrapped my hair in a towel just like I had seen untold women do on the television.

I had never done that before. And hadn't I only brought one towel with me? Where did that towel on my head come from? If this place was haunted the spirit had one sick sense of humor. Also more mind control than I was comfortable with.

So I returned to the RV and slid out my underwear drawer to find it filled with women's panties. A veritable rainbow of panties but not a single pair of my own underwear. I seem to have drawn a very detail oriented haunt.

Now wait a minute! I'm psyching myself up just like the poor slobs in the horror movies do. Next thing you know I'm going to go down in the basement without turning on the lights. Everybody knows what happens next. I was hoping real hard that there wasn't a chainsaw in the shed.

With a sinking feeling I opened my undershirt drawer.

Camisoles.

My plain old cotton undershirts were gone. In their place were lacy, silky camisoles. Some were white, some were black. Some were lacy, some plain. Now I'm no expert in women's fashions, but simple observation told me that darn few women wore camisoles these days. That drawer held several lifetime's supply of the things, especially considering I was damned if I was going to wear them.

Is there such a thing as a sex-crazed ghost? I remember when Patrick Swayze came back in that old movie he didn't seem to be sex-crazed. Then again, maybe Hollywood wouldn't let him go scattering bras and panties about without loosing their family-friendly rating.

A sex-crazed ghost who can leave its haunt and enter my RV to replace my underwear in broad daylight? Not even Hollywood would fall for that, but there might be some interesting possibilities in the porn industry.

By then I was sure I was losing my mind. I had to look at the bed - undisturbed. No ghostly succubus awaiting my attentions. Besides, I certainly wouldn't make it past the auditions with my modest but effective tool.

Enough daydreaming! I donned my fire-engine red panties. The waist was properly snug but they were rather baggy since I don't have any hips to speak of. I quickly covered them with slacks and made sure my golf shirt was long enough so I wouldn't be flashing red at Vonda.

You can be sure I carefully locked both the house and the RV before I left, securely hooking the keys to the loop on my belt. I may have dressed up a bit for dinner, but I still carried my keys and cell phone attached to my belt. Go ahead - say it. I'm a nerd as well as a nutcase. I don't mind, it's true. What the hell - dinner was awaiting.

The Dinner

Feeling rather foolish, I set out to Vonda's house. She lived about a quarter mile down the road so I wasn't going to get in my pickup for that short distance. By the time I hit the end of my driveway I was very aware that I was wearing nylon panties. Or maybe rayon or some other miracle synthetic fabric. It sure wasn't plain old cotton like I was used to.

The stuff clung to my ass cheeks and pulled with every step I took. Not too long after I realized that black lace was tickling my thighs. As I was contemplating that I realized that even though the panties were designed for the smooth contours of a woman, my tackle fit in there just fine. Who woulda thunk it?

My contemplation veered off in a new direction as I threaded my way up Vonda's driveway into a stand of trees. I wondered if they were as effective at providing privacy as my trees had been this afternoon - you never knew who would come calling. I decided that I wouldn't take up nude sunbathing any time soon.

As I came out of the trees I spied a monumental statue of Darth Vader made from old automobile parts. It was painted dead black but the eyes glowed like rubies. I forced myself to start moving again and rang the front doorbell. Since the door was open and only the screen door separated the house from the outside world I had no trouble hearing her call "Come on in! I'm in the kitchen."

This was not as easy as it might seem. The living room was was filled with fantastic objects of every kind. Paintings from the abstract to the classic, knick-knacks, statuary, tapestries, weird furniture and other less identifiable things. Eye catching. Distracting. Once again I pulled myself away and continued.

The kitchen was almost sane, but certainly bore her unique trademark. I'd try to describe it but I'd rather describe her. Gone were the short shorts and low-cut blouse. In it's place was a fire-engine red dress, very low cut and short enough to make me wonder how she was able to bend over wearing it. The material was thin enough so I could see her lacy black bra quite clearly.

And here I thought I had passed the weirdness of the afternoon…

"You clean up real nice, Glen."

"May I return the compliment? When you said 'dress for dinner' you certainly picked out a nice dress."

"Like it?"

"I'm having trouble coming up with an answer that doesn't make me sound like a sexist pig."

"Let's start our relationship with honesty. Screw the worries about sounding sexist."

"Yeah, that's quite a dress. It suits you well."

"Thank you, kind sir. I don't get many opportunities to dress up."

"You should make some."

"As should you. You ever go square dancing?"

"Nope."

I suspect you'd like my square dance outfit. Not as revealing but very frilly."

"You make it hard to remain non-sexist."

"The square dance outfit is more practical. If I wore this to a dance I'd be popping out before the end of the set."

"Uhh…"

"See, if I can be sexist then you can too."

"I try to get a little better acquainted with a woman before I comment on her breasts."

"Which is what the evening is for. I want to get to know my new neighbor."

"Fine by me. Not to seem like a typical man who walks in the door and demands 'what's for dinner,' but what's for dinner?"

"Matzoh ball soup, salad and Rubens with homemade corned beef on homemade rye. I did buy the sauerkraut and Swiss cheese, though."

"Sounds heavenly. I may never heard of matzoh balls but I do like Rubens. How do you make your own corned beef?"

"You mix up a brine, soak the beef in it for about a week, then roast it slow and slice it thin. Much better than any store-bought I've ever tasted."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

"This from a guy who's going to rehab that old pile next door?"

"I plan to have lots of help. Not a one-man project, but this is the biggest job I've tackled."

So I explained how I'm a certified nutcase who rehabs houses for a living. She was a good listener and it doesn't take much to get me talking. Turns out it didn't take much to get Vonda talking. I fear that my mother would be scandalized if she had seen me talking with my mouth full, but Vonda was a damn good cook.

When I had told a few stories about the things I had encountered in old houses I finally asked Vonda what her passion was. It was no surprise after seeing Darth on the front lawn that she was an artist. Mostly she was into sculpture these days, splitting her interest between wood and metal. With the promise of dessert afterward she took me out to her studio.

Frankly, I was jealous. Her studio was a very well equipped machine shop; an industrial welding rig, overhead crane system, lathes (both wood and metal), a Bridgeport, drill presses and a wall of tools that put my collection to shame. The image of her in welding leathers and mask was strangely compelling.

Like any good artist, she had several projects in various stages of completion. A pair of ornate wrought iron gates ten feet high and twelve feet wide occupied the welding area. Two roughed-out wooden tables were clamped and waiting for the glue to dry as she created patterns with different colored woods. A two foot high clay form stood to one side, where she was trying out ideas for a sculpture to be cast at a foundry when she was ready to turn her dreams into solid form.

I was impressed. Not many people can combine such artistic talent with the mechanical skills to create what they see in their minds. Obviously she was a successful artist, this studio/shop represented a very sizable investment.

"Like it?" she queried."

"I'm in love! I want!"

"Just like a man. Show him some new tools and he forgets the woman right by his side."

"I wouldn't go that far, at least while you're wearing that dress. I'm not likely to forget you."

"Funny - I'm not likely to forget you in your undies…"

"Speaking of such things…"

"Yes?"

"There wouldn't be any practical jokers among my new neighbors, would there?"

"You mean besides me?"

"Well, something very strange happened today."

"You mean besides dust monsters and the fire department?"

"Yeah. Look, this is embarrassing and I just met you and all, but I have just got to tell someone about this or I'm going to go bonkers."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm serious. And before you get suspicious I am not trying to sneak up on asking you about sex."

"You don't have to sneak up if you're interested, but I believe you. What's going on?"

"Today when I showered…"

So I told her the whole thing. Like I said, she's a good listener, and she didn't laugh.

"Good Lord! Has anyone told you about the Curse of the Feminine Mystique?"

"Betty Fridan was required reading according to my Grandmother."

"There's supposed to be a curse on your new home dating from just after the Civil War. As far as I know, the Curse got renamed around the time Fridan wrote her book, it just fit so well."

"Just what I need! Who cursed what and why?"

"It gets complicated. I'm afraid you're going to have to wait until Wednesday before I can tell you all about it. I don't want to be mysterious, but the Historical Museum is only open Wednesdays and Saturdays. That's where you need to go in order to learn about the history of your house."

"My house is in the Historical Museum?"

"Sure is. Bet nobody told you about the history when they were selling you the place."

"They said it was haunted."

"Bet they never mentioned the Curse."

"You'd win that bet. So all right! What's the curse?"

"No man has ever lived there longer than six months."

"I got a spirit with an agenda to get me to move out before I can rehab the place?"

"Darned if I know. But there's more… Every generation of women who got married in that house got pregnant about five minutes after the ceremony. Before she could deliver her husband was gone and the husband's sister moved in to help raise her niece. By the way, it's never a nephew."

"I had been thinking about the sort of ghost stories that get told around the campfire at Scout camp. I don't think Mr Baldwin would have approved of this one for his impressionable boys."

"Hey! I don't vouch for the truth of the tales, I just tell 'em."

"So what happens Wednesday?"

"You get the illustrated version.

Monday: The Weirdness Continues

The start of a new week. I was up early and wishing I had been able to find the time to get some men's underwear last night. No such luck, but at least there was a pair of plain white panties in the drawer so I wouldn't have to worry about showing them off quite as much.

Were they a bit less baggy than they were last night? My shorts did feel a bit tighter when I got them on. Had I managed to shrink them in the wash?

I was ready for my crew to arrive and had just finished breakfast when the truck pulled up. We trudged up to my newly dusted attic and started moving the piles of stuff to the third floor.

Easy to say but harder to do since the family that owned the place were the last of the big-time hoarders. The third floor rooms - servants quarters when the place was built - already had a comprehensive collection of crap, so we first had to shove it into a more compact mass. Then the lugging began. It didn't take long to get sick of moving heavy things down those narrow stairs.

Even though I had removed most of the dust, we still raised quite a cloud. We were sucking down water by the gallon both from the heat and the dust.

"Hey!" called one of my guys. "I found an Electric Chair!"

Now, I thought I had reached the point where nothing I found in that place could surprise me, but I was wrong.

"Bring the damn thing down and let me have a look."

Grunting and groaning the guys brought it down and put in one of the bedrooms. Damned if he wasn't right - it sure did look like an electric chair.

So Jeff hauls out his cell phone and snaps a picture of the thing, then Googles it. Turns out it's an ancient electric hair curling device. What women will go through for fashion!

It was mid-afternoon before we had the place cleared. I was damn glad to get the job done as I was coughing with the dust and my chest was itching to beat the band. I must be allergic to something in the place.

Bidding my crew goodbye I collected some clean clothes and towels and once again opted to shower in the house. I just shook my head as I selected a pair of powder blue panties from my collection, thinking I really should go into town for dinner and buy some regular underwear.

I admit to some trepidation as I put my clothes on the bed, remembering my experiences of the day before. Surely one practical joke should satisfy whoever was having fun with me. Besides, I locked the door of the RV and the house. I wasn't going to make it easy for a repeat.

The water felt good, but my nipples were pretty sensitive. In fact, they seemed puffy and slightly swollen. Just what I needed - an allergy attack. Dammit, I don't get allergy attacks.

I stayed under the water for a while and my mind drifted. I remembered reading about some guy who claimed he grew breasts from eating chicken McNuggets. I guess finding myself involuntarily wearing panties must have triggered some odd connection in my brain. Maybe I was going to need those camisoles?

Nonsense!

All good things come to an end, so I left the bathroom scratching my chest. I couldn't help it - I looked at the bed before I came out of the bath. No new clothes.

Whew!

As I passed the mirror I noticed I had unconsciously wrapped my hair in a towel once again.

Maybe I actually was becoming a nutcase.

I removed the towel, brushed and blow-dried my hair, got dressed and jumped in the pickup to head for town, where I bought two six-packs of good old men's underwear and had a good dinner. Unfortunately, my aching nipples and itchy chest distracted me.

I was wearing one of my favorite T-shirts, one with the logo of my favorite band on the front. This was one of the rubberized iron-on things that leave the front of the shirt rather stiff. It had never bothered me before, but it was sure causing me some trouble today.

It was a relief to take it off when I got home. I unwrapped my new underwear and threw them in the wash - yes, the RV had a washer and dryer. I had added up how much laundromats would cost and figured I could pay off the machinery in about two years and not have to spend a day a week washing my clothes. When you do construction work you get a lot of clothes dirty.

With a sigh of satisfaction I put the panties and camisoles in the bag the underwear came in and found a book to read - no Internet yet and TV was not so hot out here in the boondocks. Only problem was I had to scratch my chest about every two pages. Even some cortisone cream didn't help.

The dryer finally buzzed and I put away my new underwear then hit the rack, hoping that sleeping would cure my itchy chest.

Morning came and I unconsciously scratched my chest as I arose.

What the hell?

My nipples were seriously swollen. This was not good, I was going to have to find a doctor sometime soon. The roofers would be here any minute, so that would have to wait. A quick shave and I opened my dresser drawer to find… panties. Not a single pair of my new underwear remained. Dammit! I had locked the door before going to sleep. Nobody could have gotten in without waking me up. Putting your weight on the RV makes it bob up and down on the springs. Even in my sleep I couldn't miss that.

I reached in and flung the offending garments across the room, where they fluttered to the floor in a silken rainbow. Could I have put the underwear in the wrong drawer? Sure - that must be it. I hauled it open and …

Bras.

Bras in an array of styles and colors to match the panties and blow my mind. While I've never been married I am not a virgin. I am familiar with how bras are sized from various lovers. I had to look: 36A - the band size would go around my chest just fine. I looked down and realized my swollen pecs just might fill the cups.

Nooooo…..

A screech of brakes announced the arrival of the roofers and snapped me out of it. Reluctantly I put on the yellow panties that lay on the top of the pile, covered them with shorts and found the softest and largest T-shirt I owned. Was it my imagination or were they a bit too loose at the waist and binding just a bit at the hips? As I opened the door I noticed the bag of panties I had left there for the charity shops was still there and still full.

This was getting too damn weird!

Is There A Doctor In The House?

As much as I wanted to watch the roofing crew at work, I was getting concerned about the swelling and itching in my chest. Allergy? Some weird virus? Cancer? It's easy to psych yourself out over something like that, especially when all this other shit was happening.

I got in the pickup, turned around and was halfway down the driveway when I realized I hadn't the feintest idea where I was going. I didn't have a local doctor yet and it was close to a hundred miles to the office where I had gone the few times I needed to see a doctor. I scratched my head for a few minutes, scratched my chest as well, and realized that my best bet was to ask Vonda if she knew a local doctor she could recommend.

I gave old Darth a cheery wave as I passed and rang the doorbell to no avail. Eventually I realized she would probably be in her studio working, so I went around back and heard the sound of a grinder being used. No sense knocking on the door - she wouldn't be able to hear the trump of doom with the grinder running. One of those wrought iron gates she was fabricating hung from the overhead hoist. I watched as my new friend, wearing her welding leathers and a face shield, as she sent showers of sparks flying as she smoothed out a weld.

"Knock-knock" I said loudly, causing her to jump as if I had goosed her.

"Jesus H Christ on a pogo stick! Don't do that!"

"Sorry. Nothing short of a sonic boom could compete with that grinder."

"She stripped off her facemask and hearing protectors, shaking out her damp hair as she did so. I was right - she was very sexy in those leathers.

"I need some advice," I responded.

"Really? More ghostly apparitions, perhaps?"

"Actually, yes, but that's not what I came to ask. I need to find a local doctor and hope you can point me in the right direction."

"I hope it's nothing serious."

"I do to, but that's why I need to talk to a doctor."

"The clinic I use is still accepting new patients. I just hope they take your insurance plan. Sometimes I get sicker of all the bullshit for insurance than with whatever I need to see the doctor about."

"Don't we all."

"I'll give them a call for you."

"Thanks."

So she went over to the desk at the far end of her studio and pushed buttons on the phone. How quaint - she still had a land line. After a little bit of back-and forth she handed the phone to me and let me talk.

Yes they were taking new patients. Yes they could fit me in at 11:00. Come in half an hour early to fill out endless forms in the hope I didn't expire before the doctor could see me.

"Thanks," I said as I hung up. "And thanks to you, too, Vonda."

"Glad to help a neighbor. So - you seen any more of Casper?"

"Casper is a friendly ghost. My ghost is a kleptomaniac."

"This is getting interesting. Tell me more."

"My spirit came through a locked door, stole all the brand new men's underwear out of my drawer and left an entirely new load of panties. Polka-dots this time. The spirit has a peculiar sense of fashion."

"Do I need to start singing Itsy-bitsy Teeny-weenie Yellow Polka-dot Bikini?"

"Oddly enough, this time he - or maybe I should say she - left the matching bras as well."

"Now I know you're pulling my leg!"

"Without commenting on how pleasant that might be, I am speaking the unvarnished truth. And I know it makes me sound like a nutcase."

"Are you sure you don't need a psychiatric doctor instead of an MD?"

"A question I've started asking myself. If you need proof, you are cordially invited to peruse what now seems to be my lingerie drawer."

"Challenge accepted!"

She started stripping off her leathers, something I was happy to appreciate. Hey! A striptease is a striptease…

"Nice place you got here!"

"It's been home for almost ten years. For a guy who has bought almost twenty houses, I live the life of a rover."

"What's this?" she asked, picking up the plastic bag of panties I had left by the door."

"My spirit's first contribution. I was going to take them to a charity shop sometime or other."

"Your spirit has quality taste. These are high-end merchandise."

"Not something I have any expertise in. I'd offer them to you but I doubt they'd fit."

"You got that right. I would have outgrown these by the time I was ten. Queen size does not necessarily mean fat."

"I'm not going to comment. Check out the top left drawer of the dresser."

"Hmmm I think your spirit must necessarily have been female - or maybe gay - before it discorporated. If you ever meet her send her over to my house, will you?"

"Gladly! Just because I'm small and wiry doesn't mean I have any desire to change sex."

"That would certainly disappoint me. You mentioned bras?"

"So I did. Try the right drawer."

"Nice. They fit?"

"I haven't tried but the size is right if I actually needed one."

"I'm really glad you bought this place. I love a mystery and I love ghost stories. I think having you as a neighbor is going to be a very good thing."

"I certainly hope so."

The Doctor

So I knew where I was going - in the short term, anyway. It's about ten miles into town and the road is not of the best. I drive a big pickup, something needed for the work I do, but it has a rather rough ride to handle the loads I carry. It was hard to scratch and keep the thing pointed straight ahead.

Then my ass started to itch.

Wiggling in my seat didn't help, the truck sort of shimmied if I tried so I had to put up with it. Whatever I had gotten into was starting to spread. Oh joy!

The people at the clinic were very nice, the paperwork almost painless. In my early thirties I hadn't seen the doctor all that much and my active lifestyle kept me healthy and strong for my size so I didn't have much history to relate. I did feel rather foolish when asked for my symptoms. Itchy chest sounds downright trivial when you put it on paper, but by this time it was getting distinctly annoying.

Since I was a new patient, I drew Dr Christa Tanner as my GP. I'd never had a female doctor before, but I wasn't worried about it. A doctor is a doctor even if she might turn out to be nice to look at.

So I'm a bit of a sexist. Live with it.

Ten minutes of playing spider solitaire on the phone and I was ushered into your typical medical cubicle. There seems to be a universal ceremony needed to propitiate the Gods of Medicine before you can gain the attention of one of their disciples. I was weighed and measured and had to recite the catechism of my medical history. Today's results were:

130 pounds

5'7"

Chest 36

Waist 33

That last one was surprising, I had always had a 34 inch waist. I guess there was a reason my shorts felt a bit loose.

Two minutes later there was a knock on the door and the doctor came in and yes, she was worth looking at. She also had rings on her fingers that told me she was married. Funny how I always check that out when I meet a woman.

So I sheepishly told her about my itchy, swollen chest and she asked me to take off my shirt. I will not make any sexist remarks about that.

For a wonder her stethoscope hadn't been refrigerated and her hands were warm. She palpated my chest and when her fingers brushed my nipple it was electric. I jumped.

"Sensitive, are they?" she asked, trying to suppress a grin.

"Yeah, just a bit."

"And how long has this been happening?"

"Just a couple of days."

"Really? If I didn't know better I'd say your chest was perfectly normal - for a pre-teen girl just starting to develop."

"Jesus Doc, just what I wanted to hear!"

"Sounds weird, doesn't it? Relax, it's called gynecomastia and usually isn't harmful. We need to do some blood tests and you need to get a mammogram."

"What?"

"Seriously, a mammogram. While gynecomastia is seldom serious I want to rule out nasties like breast cancer or kidney and liver disease. Almost certainly overkill, but it can't hurt to be sure. Are you a pot smoker. Please be honest, I need to know."

"Not for years. Why?"

"Heavy pot use can cause breast growth."

"You learn something new every day."

"I hope so. One other question: any pain in your testicles? Tumors down there can be a cause."

"Nothing I've noticed."

"Good. The tech will take a blood sample and the receptionist will make an appointment for the mammogram. I'll see you again in a couple of days to go over the results. Meanwhile, I'll prescribe some cream to help with the itching."

"I'd really appreciate that."

The radiologist couldn't fit me in any sooner than Friday at 10:30 but the doctor had an opening at 10:00 on Thursday.

I filled the prescription and found a men's room where I spread the white gunk all over my chest. Within a few seconds the itching started to ease - bliss! I was tempted to look at my chest in the mirror but didn't want to get caught in a public restroom looking at my swollen chest. I swear my pecs had grown since I got up this morning.

Weird.

I got home to find a huge dumpster in front of the place and giant tarps all over the lawn near the house. Up above mountain goats swinging crowbars and other implements of destruction were creating a black waterfall of old roofing that showered the tarps on the ground. Better them than me, I don't like heights. I've done roofing on a ranch house, but anything taller and I call in the professionals.

Parking the pickup well away from the chaos I waved at the crew and fixed myself a sandwich and some soup for lunch. I rinsed off the dishes and took the time to fill the slow cooker for dinner. A couple of pork chops from the freezer, some onion and a whole bunch of celery coarsely diced, white wine and chicken broth, set on high and let it cook all afternoon.

I'd been putting it off but had to look; I swear the swelling had increased since this morning, but at least the cream had stopped the itching. Worked on my ass, too.

While the mountain goats played above I started in on sorting what was in the house. Since I came in by the back door into the kitchen I started there. The kitchen had been modernized fairly recently, so most of what was there was perfectly fine. At least the family had cleaned out all the foodstuffs before they went around the world, so I didn't have rats or mice or ants to cope with.

I gave the refrigerator and stove a wipe-down and turned them on - working. A cup of water in the microwave proved it was heating just fine.

Since the place had been left just as it was before the family left I was able to find cleaning supplies in a broom closet. I wasn't planning on any major construction that would raise dust inside, so I emptied the cupboards, wiped down the dust and washed the dishes. I was going to be able to throw quite a party with the service for sixteen in a typical blue china pattern, but I'd have to do more research to find out what it was called. There was real silver silverware, too, but I left it tarnished. With silver you need to polish it just before you use or it just tarnishes again.

The everyday dishes were Corningware and the counters were loaded with blenders, juicers and other fancy machinery that went far beyond my level of skill. The lower cupboards had roasters and cookie sheets and stainless steel pots and pans in profusion. Almost made me wish I were married with a passel of children to put all the stuff to good use.

Thinking about food, I realized I was hungry again. I returned to the RV and made a sandwich and before I knew it I had popped a can of soup into the microwave. By 3:00 I had finished my second lunch and returned to my duties as a scullery maid. I even found a frilly apron to protect my clothes so I suppose I was living the part.

Somewhere along the line I realized I was hearing the thump-thump-thump of a nail gun, so I went outside and watched for a while as the mountain goats covered the bare joists with a new layer of plywood. I had specified real plywood and not that chipboard crap at extra cost; I wanted the roof to last for a good long time. I was so involved in watching them work I didn't hear Vonda come up behind me."

"Every old house needs a maid. You applying for the job?"

"Not only did I apply, I got the job as chief scullery maid and bottle washer. I've been getting the kitchen in shape."

"Do tell."

"I just told you. Come on in and see."

She had obviously showered and changed from her working clothes and was once again in shorts and low cut top. Trying my best to be a gentleman, we went in and examined the piles of dishes and such.

"They must have entertained an army. Why, I believe that's a Spode Blue Italian pattern. If it's antebellum it's valuable but if they got it on Amazon it's stuff they still make. You need to talk to an antique dealer."

"I surely do, but one thing at a time."

"Need help with the dishes before the mistress returns?"

"You volunteering?"

"Sure. Easier than horsing around those big gates."

"There's half a dozen aprons in the closet over there."

"Goody, any maid outfits?"

"Haven't found any. I wonder if they had servants when they lived in the place?"

"Rumor says they didn't. Small town, it would be in the gossip chain if they did."

"I wonder how long it will take for me to be a link in that chain?"

"Duly forged in the crucible of curiosity already. You saw Christa this afternoon so by tomorrow everybody who's anybody will be speculating on what dread disease you are carrying."

"Rockin' pneumonia and the boogie-woogie flu?"

"Huey Smith, Johnny Rivers or Deep Purple?"

"Nothing like the original."

"Can I ask or is it none of my business?"

"Medical or musical?"

"Medical, you clown."

"It's embarrassing but you can ask."

"So what dread disease are you carrying?"

"The doctor tells me I have a perfectly normal chest for a pre-teen girl about to start developing."

The woman had a hearty laugh with no inhibitions. She had just about wound down when the crew chief came to the back door and shouted "Hey Glen, we're done for the day. All covered up and we should finish by tomorrow. Do I get to know what's so funny?"

"Not a chance in the world, you old dog. You'd steal the joke and then I couldn't use it any longer."

"Be like that, then. See you tomorrow, funny man."

When he was out of earshot Vonda said "I suppose if you're about to start growing boobs it would make you a funny man."

"Damn right. I'll find out on Thursday when the doc get the blood test results."

"Or maybe Wednesday."

"She said Thursday."

"We'll see. Lets finish up and we can call it a day."

"Good idea. Can I invite you for dinner in return for last night?"

"You certainly can, but how are you going to cook."

"The crockpot is doing the job for me. I'll throw on some rice, take a quick shower and we can eat."

"My, but you're efficient."

We went over to the RV where Vonda settled into the recliner while I closed the bedroom door and took a quick shower. The water felt good as it cascaded over my nipples but I had a guest waiting and didn't play around. I'd swear my swelling was still increasing, but no time to worry about that now.

I felt like a damn fool putting on yet another pair of panties (this time green polka-dots) but needs must. I went with shorts and a golf shirt to be a little more formal and to hide those damn panties.

Big mistake! The knitted fabric just about set off fireworks with my nipples. What the hell was I going to do?

Oh shit - I knew what I needed to do. My sex-crazed ghost had left me all those camisoles. Could this sudden expansion in my dimensions be part of the supernatural plans the spirit had in mind for me?

Was I going crazy to even think of shit like that?

I put on the camisole. It helped.

Emerging clean and brushed, I started to make a salad.

"Wait a minute, I said. "You said you were Jewish. I have pork chops for dinner."

"Ethnically Jewish but not religiously. Haven't been in a synagogue for years and certainly not kosher."

"Whew. I was worried I had just made a big goof."

"Would it be crass of me to point out that no matter how goofy you are it would be a stretch to call you a big goof?"

"No more than if I were to point out that there is a certain largeness to you."

"How gallant! Usually men are tongue tied trying to tell me they like big boobs on a woman."

"They are rather obvious."

"If you got 'em, flaunt 'em. Which reminds me - what's with the pre-pubescent girl bit?"

"I imagine you've noticed I've been scratching my chest but were too polite to comment?"

"Well, now that you mention it…"

"I just figured I had gotten into something I'm allergic to in the place, but this morning it was enough worse I wanted to see a doctor. I don't know if she was being a smart-ass about the pre-pubescent girl or what, but when she brushed my nipple I about took off for the moon."

"Christa isn't all that much a smart ass. We've known each other since third grade. I remember back when I was starting to develop, playing with my nipples was, well let's just say it was enlightening."

"Hey - I didn't mean to get all that personal."

"Darn. I'll be upfront about it, I wouldn't be all that adverse to getting a little more personal."

"Let's let it develop naturally, OK?"

"Like your pre-pubescent boobs?"

"I may be a nutcase, but you're one sick puppy!"

"Aoooooo…" she bayed.

We spent a very pleasant evening together. She was appreciative of the meal. from which there were no leftovers. I had an appetite that was almost shocking, putting more on my plate than Vonda and eating it all.

She washed, I dried and put away. We checked my DVD collection (no streaming available yet) and settled on something we both liked. No - I didn't have any chick-flicks and we did not watch Tootsie or Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.

We sat together on the couch, which slowly developed into cuddling together on the couch. Her shoulder was conveniently at the right height for my head and her arm fit nicely around me. As the music at the end of the DVD began it's repetitious serenade her hand settled on my nipple and I could do nothing but cuddle closer as she sent thrills through my body.

"You're wearing one of those camisoles, aren't you?" she didn't ask, she stated."

"Uh… yeah…"

"Thought so."

"I tried… without it and… it was… too much!"

I was having a hard time getting the words out.When I found my head pillowed on her breasts I gave up talking, and at this point I am going to give up writing.

Tuesday: Surrender to the Inevitable

I awoke again to the screech of brakes, followed closely by a mumbled and indistinct "What was that?"

Mumbled because Vonda was no more awake than I was, indistinct because my ears, accompanied by my head, were nestled in her breasts, of which there was considerable to nestle in.

Right. You had to skip the good parts but I certainly didn't. I think I can say she didn't either.

"The roofers are here."

"Tell them to go away."

"Go away, roofers."

"I'm sure that helps."

"They know what to do, they don't need me."

"Good, because when I wake up I'm going to need you."

Her body went slack and the woman went back to sleep. I was jealous. I was also in need of the bathroom, not to mention starting to itch again. I disentangled myself and took care of business. Looking in the mirror I could hardly believe my eyes. Overnight the swelling had grown.

I had to stop kidding myself, I was growing breasts. Not swellings, not irritation from allergies, but real, honest-to god female-type breasts. Gynecomastia on steroids breasts. Probably B cup breasts. Not only that, but what little chest hair I had once had seemed to have gone to wherever my new breasts had come from. For that matter, it didn't look like I needed to shave this morning, not that my blonde beard was all that heavy.

They hung there and wiggled when I moved. The aureoles had grown bigger and darker overnight. The nipples - my nipples - were damn near three eighths of an inch across, not the pinpoints I had possessed all of my life. After last night I had first-hand experience as to why women enjoyed having their breasts fondled.

An oversized shirt was not going to hide these babies. Hide? With my newfound lover sleeping in the bed behind me and an entire roofing crew outside expecting me to turn up sometime in the morning.

Fat chance.

"What?" came a slightly more distinct voice. Damn, I must have said that aloud.

"What? Did Casper stop by with more presents?"

"You might say so. This time he was too damn generous!"

I turned around and turned on the overhead light.

"What the fuck!"

"You should know about fucking after last night.

"Where? How? You've got boobs!"

I'm glad you can see them, too. That means I'm not going completely over the edge."

"Wait a minute! Turn around, lover?"

"Huh?"

"Do a pirouette. Rotate on your axis. Make like an ice skater spinning."

So I did.

"Honey, not only do you have boobs, you have a bigger ass and a smaller waist than you had last night."

"I know we got a lot of exercise last night, but no amount of exercise can change a body like this!"

"Glen, I need to call call Laurie Mowry and get her to open up the historical society building for us. This can't wait for the normal opening day. I'm starting to think that Feminine Mystique Curse may be more than a story to tell around the campfire."

"Curses and ghosts? You can't be…"

Realization struck. I went over to my dresser and opened the right-hand drawer.

"Vonda, what size bras were in here yesterday?"

"36A, as I remember."

"And what did they look like?"

"Polka-dots. Surely you remember that. I distinctly remember removing your polka-dotted panties last night."

"I pulled out the bra on top and looked at the label. "36B and flowers, not polka-dots."

"That's… That's…"

"Impossible, right. We were in here all night, no way anyone could have made the switch. Just like no one could have gifted me with bras and panties in the first place."

"Didn't old Sherlock have something to say about when you eliminate the improbable you end up with..."

"The impossible, although I think you slaughtered that quote."

"Who cares? Uh, Glen…"

"Yeah?"

"I do have one very pertinent question - does it still work even if your ass is bigger?"
 

It still worked. Even with bouncing boobs distracting me I was able to muster sufficient concentration to do the job. When I was again able to move I stood up to find out that when you bounce the bejesus out of your breasts they ache!

Vonda looked at me holding them up and laughed. "Finding out that when you're on top you could use the support of a bra? Just be glad you don't have ones as big as mine."

"I know it makes sense to wear a bra when you have boobs, but there's something about putting one on me that goes against the grain."

"Just like a man. Tough it out - play through the pain!"

"Easy for you to say. Those guys out there know me. If I go out there with breasts in a bra it could be embarrassing."

"So tell 'em you're transgendered and decided to come out. If they keep growing you're not going to have much choice."

"You sound like my grandmother, so damn practical that nothing ever gets her in a flap. Cripes! How am I going to explain this to my parents, let alone Granny?"

"Right now we can't even explain it to ourselves. Right now we need to get ourselves moving. I need a shower after last night."

"You aren't the only one. I'd offer to share but we wouldn't both fit. You go first but remember it's a small hot water tank."

I busied myself getting things out for breakfast while she showered, then took a quick rinse-off myself. She was dressed by the time I got out of the shower.

"At least you have fresh clothes to put on," she grumbled.

"You could always bring over a few things. I don't think we have to worry about getting our underwear mixed up."

"I'll think about it. I haven't been this impulsive in a very long time."

"Neither have I. I don't like one night stands, I prefer to get to know someone before we have sex."

"Any man who could tell me he was wearing polka-dot panties is honest enough in my book. Even if he has to wear a bra."

"I suppose I do, I'm still aching. Red, green or blue?"

"Blue it is."

I awkwardly put my arms through the straps and tried to snap the snaps. It looks a whole lot easier when you're watching your girlfriend do it than it is when you have to do it on yourself. I finally got the hang of it. Do you have any idea how strange it felt to settle my own breast in the cup for the first time in my life?

"It feels a bit tight," I remarked.

"I think you need to lengthen the straps. Let me do it."

She was right, it felt a lot better and my breasts didn't bother me quite as much. I automatically opened my T-shirt drawer and stopped cold.

Blouses.

Same profusion of color, same taste for lace, and a decided bias for low cut necklines.

Necklines that would put my breasts on display to the whole flippin' world. With a sinking feeling I opened the bottom drawer where I kept my swimming trunks.

At least my ghostly dresser wasn't into bikinis and contented herself with one piece suits. Still low cut, but with a ruffle to help disguise my in-between state.

"I hope you're going to model that for me sometime, lover. You'd look absolutely delicious."

"This has got to be a dream. Things like this don’t really happen!"

"If it's only a dream, can you arrange for me to still remember the screaming orgasms when I wake up? I'd hate to forget those."

"Maybe that's when the swap was made - we were both thoroughly distracted."

"You have one more dresser drawer. May as well get it over with."

I opened it with some trepidation. It still had shorts in it, but they were not my shorts. They were distinctly tailored for a woman.

"You're going to need to wear a gaff if you want to wear most of those shorts." Vonda remarked."

"OK, I'll bite. What the hell is a gaff?"

"I take it you don't run with any crossdressers."

"That would be a safe assumption, present company excepted."

"The man I apprenticed with was gay and out with a vengeance. The parties he threw were epic, and I got to meet several crossdressers and a couple of transsexuals. An interesting subculture, to say the least."

"One of the best drywalling crews I ever hired was run by a gay guy who pumped iron and had a body to die for. Made me feel like a runt, but he was fun to be around. You still haven't told me what a gaff is."

"I'm told there's a way to slide your balls into your pelvic cavity and pull your penis back so it doesn't show. The gaff holds everything in place, allowing you to wear tighter fashions without a telltale bulge. It sounds painful to me, but I knew a couple of people who used them regularly."

"I'm learning all kinds of new things this morning. I never thought wearing a bra would be comfortable and I never had any desire to squash my balls into my body. I have no wish to try it, either. There must be a workaround."

"I suppose you could wear a loose skirt."

"I don't have any skir…"

As soon as the words left my mouth I knew what I would see when I opened my closet.

Blouses

Pantsuits

Skirted suits

Short dresses

Long dresses

Cocktail dresses

And of course, skirts.

All neatly hung and arranged by color. Not one stinking item of my former wardrobe remained in my RV. My single-minded spirit was determined that if I was going to reside in this old pile of bricks I had to be female. Just how far was this going to go?

The Historical Society

Not one stinking item of my former wardrobe remained in my RV. My single-minded spirit was determined that if I was going to reside in this old pile of bricks I had to be female. Just how far was this going to go?

Vonda was bemused. Standing there in only my bra and staring into the strange depths of my closet at what had become my wardrobe I was downright dazed.

"I suppose it's a good thing that I'm bi, isn't it?" she asked.

"What?" Sparkling conversation in the morning, that's me. "What am I going to do?"

"Whatever the spirit moves you?"

That deadpan comment broke through my funk and I started to giggle.

Yes, giggle. Like a girl. Like a human with breasts.

Dammit! I don't giggle. Which thought made me keep giggling.

"You're awfully cute when you do that, you know."

"Cute! I'll give you cute!" and dove for the bed. I had discovered that Vonda was ticklish overnight, so I started to tickle. Unfortunately, so am I and she's bigger than me. This meant I started giggling even more and pretty soon started shrieking. Shrieking like a girl, but no longer a pre-pubescent girl. Maybe half an octave higher than usual. I cried 'Uncle' - or maybe it should have been 'Aunt' - and she relented.

"Vonda, what's happening to me?" I wailed.

"I don't know, darling. I've never heard of a body changing like yours is doing, but it fits right in with the stories of the curse on this place."

In the silence that followed my stomach decided to start growling. I had to start giggling once more at the incongruity of it all. Suddenly I was ravenous.

"I'm hungry," I said unnecessarily.

"Then finish dressing and let's have breakfast," said my practical lover.

"But… but…"

"You've got them, flaunt them, honey. Be proud and perky."

"Just what I needed - perky tits."

"And the beginnings of a very nice ass. Remember I'm bi and can appreciate both kinds of ass. You could wear that white sundress, make you look very virginal."

"Hah! "

Actually, by the time I finished dressing I looked pretty cute. I left my hair loose, not in my usual ponytail. If I had met myself in a bar I would have tried to hit on myself.

Does that make any sense?

Does any of this make one single shred of sense?

Don't answer that. Please don't answer that.

I ate an enormous breakfast while wearing my kitchen apron. If I was going to wear a white sundress I had to be careful not to mess it up. A far cry from my usual grubby T-shirts.

I had to wonder just where those T-shirts went. There were a couple of them that I really liked. Was I going to have to hire a medium to talk to the spirit world and see if I could get them back?

Nonsense!

While I was making a pig out of myself, Vonda had gotten hold of her friend Laurie and arranged to get us into the Historical Society archives. It was time to face the music.

I just plain didn't want to leave the security of my little home on wheels. I didn't want to walk in front of the roofing crew with my tits hanging out. These were guys I had known for years. They were out there, boom box playing country music to the thump-thump-thump of the nail guns as the put the new roof on the place. No way to avoid them.

Force of habit made me pat my pockets to be sure I had my wallet and keys with me before I left the RV. Naturally I didn't as a sundress has no pockets. As I started to panic I noticed there was now a pretty embroidered purse hanging on the hook by the door. Inside were my keys, a new feminine-style wallet and such odds and ends as a compact, lipstick and a hairbrush. I looked in the wallet and there were my charge cards, but instead of reading Glen Stone the name on every piece of ID was simply G. Stone.

This was definitely getting scary - how could a spirituous being change a bank card or a driver's license. Wouldn't the government take a poor view of such things? Why should a ghost care? He - or she - wouldn't be the one in jail.

I wouldn't stand a chance if I got thrown in the jug with these honkers.

Vonda gave me a kiss, hugged me tightly, putting my nose into her ample cleavage and opened the door. Showtime.

It was an anticlimax. The gang were all three stories up above my head. We walked to the pickup, got in and drove off without anyone seeing the new me, which started me giggling once more. This was getting to be a habit. Had my spirit performed a personality transplant as well as some body sculpture?

Did you know that your boobs bounce when you giggle? I sure didn't, but it's true.

While we're on the subject of do you know? - do you know that even though my sundress came farther down my legs than the shorts I habitually wore I felt more exposed? You don't feel a hemline sliding around over your thighs when you're wearing shorts. Trying to overcome the urge to pull down my skirts almost overcame the fear of someone seeing me dressed like this.

Still a nutcase, no matter how I was dressed.

On The Trail of the Curse

I'm not going to go into great detail about the research we started that morning. Yes, we - Vonda was just as interested as I in what was happening. Being both self-employed we could dedicate as much time as we wanted to the project.

We spent the day in the historical society archives, frequently getting distracted by all the interesting things that had happened in the county but which had nothing to do with our Curse. I spent a good deal of time getting distracted by my breasts and my sundress. The only thing my spirit had left me of my former life was my sandals, which went well with the sundress, and my steel-toed boots, which I needed for work. How the hell I was going to be able to work looking like this was anybody's guess.

I finally ended up at the microfiche machine, scanning through years of the county paper going back to 1863. Vonda started in on box after box of stuff that had been donated but not cataloged, an activity not to be contemplated in a pure white dress.

Between the slightly fuzzy screen and the slightly fuzzy newsprint of the time, it was a bit of a challenge. It was interesting, though. I managed to forget I was wearing a bra and a dress for minutes at a time. After some time of scanning at random, I realized that the feature articles were probably my best bet.

I hit pay dirt just about the time when my stomach started growling again. What was going on? I had always thought women ate sparingly to keep their feminine figures. So why did growing boobs make me hungry enough to eat a horse?

As soon as I asked the question I knew the answer. Those boobs had to come from somewhere, not to mention my alleged larger ass, and the obvious way to get more body tissue was to eat more food. No wonder I was hungry.

"Hey Vonda!" I called. "I'm hungry!"

"So am I. Let's go over and I'll introduce you to Rosie at the cafe."

"I guess…"

"Unless you're planning to leave town and dump your house, you're going to have the get to know the people who live here."

"I know, but I feel like I'm a fraud or something."

"Honey, those tits are 100% real and I'm here to testify to that fact. What nobody knows about the rest of your body is none of their business. C'mon girlfriend, time's a wastin'!"

Again it was an anticlimax. Half a dozen people stopped by to greet Vonda and be introduced to the new girl in town. After stumbling on my name the first time I was introduced, I was christened Glenda and welcomed warmly to the town. Rosie even threw in a complimentary hot fudge sundae as her housewarming gift.

I ate the whole thing with pleasure, even after a filling meal. I was starting to accept that I was a growing girl.

A Welcome Discovery

Returning to the historical society, I worked out how to make hard copy of the microfiche. The article was dated March 7, 1866:

 
General Ephron Barnhill, a most distinguished veteran of the recent unpleasantness, has purchased some two hundred and forty acres of prime farmland near the Village of Great Oaks. The general has been credited with victory over the Rebels in several major battles, sending the forces of the enemy flying in defeat.

However, the General is not the only distinguished veteran of the conflict to become a resident of Great Oaks. His recent bride, Mrs Delilah Barnhill (nee Bains) was granted the rank of Major for her service as a spy for the Union forces, infiltrating several Rebel camps. Major Delilah Barnhill is shown here in uniform.

Not only was Mrs. Major Barnhill an accomplished spy, but when the camp where she was placed after returning with the plans she had purloined from the Enemy was overrun, she picked up a sword and rallied the scattered and dismayed soldiers to repulse the attack on the west of the camp.

General Augustus Garner used the respite provided by the courageous woman to form an orderly retreat in the face of the continuing attack on his forces.

Although slightly wounded in the defense of the camp, Delilah Bains continued to brandish her sword at the enemy, prevailing in several fleeting contests of swordsmanship and insuring that the Yankee forces were able to regroup safely.

The following day reinforcements arrived and the Union proved victorious in the ensuing battle. She was awarded the brevet rank of Major for her daring and courage.

Not content to rest on her laurels, the Major once again donned garments more suited to her sex and returned to the Rebel side of the conflict to continue her espionage activities.

Joining the General and his wife will be several members of the General's former regiment. The General's leadership is said to be so inspiring that his men were eager to follow him into civilian life.

The General has employed the architectural firm of Hixon, Jones & Greer to prepare plans for the couple's new home, which this writer is sure will be destined to be a showplace of excellence.

"Well damn! Now now we know how it all started."

"So his wife was a Union soldier," mused Vonda. "Could it be her ghost that we're dealing with? After all, any woman who was willing to spy on the enemy and lead a fighting retreat would have had some major willpower."

"Enough to hang around after she died?"

"You never can tell. If I hadn't seen you naked I never would have believed what's happening to you. You got any better explanation than the supernatural?"

"Ask Rod Serling."

"He's dead."

"Maybe we can get our spirit to call him back."

"I refuse to speculate. You find anything interesting?"

Lots of interesting stuff, but nothing that applies to your situation."

"Oh well. Since you told me that the denizens of my new home all got pregnant as soon as they got married, I shall start searching the society columns right after this one was printed."

"You'll outdo old Sherlock at his own game at this rate."

"Just interested in the history of my new Holmes."

"You can stop right there and live to be annoying another day."

"Your wish is my command."

I went back to scanning the microfiche machine. I was fascinated with the gossip columns. Y'know, things like Mister and Missus Victor Whoosiwhatsis, accompanied by their Great Aunt Matilda Hubbert, toured the scenic wonders of Niagara Falls, or Missus Victoria Whatsiwhoosis of Lobilla Falls Montana arrived by train for an extended visit with her nephew Andrew K. Shipley. They plan to attend the cotillion at the Methodist church.

Over the years such sedate commentary gradually changed to things like Who was the gentleman (at least we think he may have been a gentleman) who was seen in the company of the proprietress of the dry goods store late Saturday night? Hint: there was a distinctive stain on his trousers.

Having had my fill of gossip, I went back to my a hunch. Sure enough, on September 15, 1866 the following notice appeared:

 
The child, although some weeks premature, arrived in this world at seven pounds and four ounces, lustily announcing her presence to the happy couple. Attending the birth was Mrs Zipporah Taylor, the widowed sister of Mrs Barnhill.

Christening will be at the Oak Grove Baptist church on Sunday.
 

Aha! The first daughter in the lineage, but it appears the father is still present. I guess the Curse hadn't been cast yet.

Playing another hunch, I started scanning the papers for the weeks around Halloween each year - after all I was looking for ghosts and spirits. Sure enough, on November 2, 1867 I saw this headline:

 
Sheriff Stephen P Garner was called to investigate a multiple murder on the premises of General Ephron Barnhill in the early morning hours following All Saint's Eve. Arriving at the scene, the sheriff found the General's widowed sister-in-law, Mrs Zipporah Taylor, dead of a bullet wound. The General had been grievously wounded by another gunshot and expired shortly after the arrival of the sheriff and his men.

Services will be held at the Oak Grove Baptist Church and interment will be made in a suitable place at the widow's home at Rachel's Repose.
 

"Vonda! You've got to read this. I think we can be pretty sure who our ghost is."

"That was fast work."

"Luck, or maybe spiritual guidance."

I gave her my seat at the microfiche reader and went off to use the facilities. Please, no comments about becoming so much a woman I have to empty my bladder every five minutes. At least I could still stand up to do it, so just mind your own business.

"That poor women!" Vonda said with a sniffle when I returned. "She certainly had cause to curse that bastard. Still circumstantial, but I'm willing to believe it."

"Me too!" I agreed. I think it's time to call it a day, we've had more luck than we deserve so far."

"Even more than you know. I've found reference to a self-published book called Hangings, Haunts and Hobgoblins in Calivaras County. Published just after the Great War. That's what they called it back then; they had no idea it was only a warm-up for the second act. Tomorrow I'll concentrate on the boxes that have stuff from that era."

"Can you take the time off to do it? I don't want to interfere with your artistry."

"Try and stop me!"

"I didn't want to presume. After all, we've only known each other for a couple of days."

"Seems like longer. I'd say 'my place or yours' but I'm curious to see what appears in your dresser drawers when we wake up tomorrow."

"You had to remind me!" I keep wondering if I'm going to grow so fast this bra strangles me."

"Relax, lover. I'll cut you free if that happens." She squeezed my left boob as she grinned at me. "Feel any bigger yet?"

"Actually, I think it just might be. It's harder to get my finger under the cup than it was this morning."

"So you've been feeling yourself up, eh?"

"Hard to resist playing with a new toy."

"Care to share your toys?"

"We do have to get some sleep tonight, you know."

Before she could respond there was a muffled ringing from inside my purse. I grabbed for it and too out my cell phone. It was the roofers. I put it on speaker so Vonda could hear the conversation."

"Hello, John."

"Hey, boss. Where the hell are you?"

"Would you believe at the historical society?"

"Nope. Now I would believe you're foolin' around with that broad you were with yesterday."

"My name's Vonda, John. The man didn't fool around with me, he was quite serious. And talented!"

"Whoa! Me and my big mouth."

"He has one too, and knows how to use it."

"Well pardon me for living. Glen, the roof is finished and I'm going to shut up before I say anything else stupid. It may be a couple of days before they haul off the dumpster, but the place looks beautiful."

"You have just learned the lesson I had yesterday: no one gets one up on this lady - no way, no how."

"Damn straight," Vonda confirmed. "Nice to talk with you John."

"Just send me the bill," I added.

"Nuff said," and he hung up.

"You're bad, woman."

"You ain't seen nothing yet, girly-man."

"And I intend to keep my eyes closed and enjoy it."

Wednesday - The Curse Revealed

Amazingly enough I did get a full eight hours sleep. We did go to bed early, and even managed to be asleep before too much longer. The frantic urgency of new lovers the night before and mellowed into a nice, cozy closeness.

I awoke when the alarm inside my body told me it was seven AM. Years of having to be up so as to not waste any daylight made that pretty much certain. I was even pleased to discover that my bladder did not wake me up all night long.

As soon as I sat up I knew that that my spectral plastic surgeon had been hard at work while I slept. Ghosts are supposed to be nocturnal, so I guess that isn’t all that surprising. I knew immediately that I was going to need a bigger bra just from the way my breasts swung as I sat up.

I had brought in one of my tape measures before going to sleep - sure enough my waist was one inch smaller and my hips were two inches larger. My bras were now a 36C, my panties magically transformed to size eight to accommodate my smaller waist. My spirit didn't seem to have put much effort into colors this morning - they were all plain solid colors; no patterns. I guess if things keep going the way they were I would be using them for only one day.

I was actually proud of myself that I managed to snap my bra on only the second try.

"You're getting the hang of that, lover," came a sleepy voice.

"I guess I'm going to have to. I've graduated to a C cup this morning."

"Congratulations. You're a big girl now and a big guy when it counts."

"You're counting the times we make love?"

"Four, if I haven't been distracted. You seem to be approaching an hourglass shape."

"Thirty inch waist, thirty-four hips," I said, brandishing my tape measure.

"I wouldn't want a cold metal tape wrapped around my body."

"I guess there's still enough man in me to tough it out."

"As long as our spectre leaves you enough man to get into me!"

"Now that would make a truly despicable plot for a horror movie."

"Looks like it hasn't changed much."

"Look closely while you can. I'm about to see if my new panties will fit."

"Looks like our ghost has lost her fashion sense. You're looking rather plain this morning."

"And you're looking rather naked. I hate to have that changed, but we have a date with some dusty old boxes."

"Spoilsport. Good thing I brought over some clothes. Oh no! I just had a horrible thought. What if our ghost can't tell the difference between our clothes. No way in hell I'd fit in anything of yours."

I picked up her bra from the top of the dresser. "Still 40DD - we have a discriminating ghost."

"Snoop!"

I consider it a healthy curiosity considering my newfound figure."

"As if you hadn't been checking how big any of your other lovers were!"

"I plead the fifth."

"Make mine scotch."

"Blended or single malt?"

"What are you offering?"

"Not a darn thing. I have some beer around the place but I never did like scotch."

"Philistine!"

"Since I seem to be turning into a female, does that mean I have to start drinking white wine?"

"Only if you're out of scotch."

"Shall we see what the closet holds for the day's fashion show?"

"Go right ahead. Since the museum is open today it might be a good idea to go a bit more formal."

"Have you been colluding with the spirit world? There's a very nice skirted suit in here, with pinstripes no less. I suppose the pink blouse beside it is a hint that they go together."

"Since you seem to be half pink and half blue, perhaps a pale lavender would be called for."

"No such luck, but there is a pale purple cocktail dress on the rack. Perhaps our spectre is hinting we need to find a cocktail party after we get done with our research?"

"Whoever she is, she isn't subtle. Let me see."

"I held the garment in front of me as I had seen countless women do."

"Sexy. You'd look nice in that, but no way your pretty pecker wouldn't show."

"Think we could figure out how that gaff thing works?"

"You're starting to enjoy this, aren't you?"

"It has its possibilities."

"She wouldn't have left something for me by any chance?"

"Hmmm - what would you think of a lemon-yellow sheath with a slit up to somewhere unmentionable?"

"You're kidding?"

"Nope. It certainly wouldn't fit me."

"Glenda, this is no longer amusing."

"I suppose if it is the ghost of Mrs Major she's had more than a hundred and fifty years to perfect the manipulation of us mere mortals."

"If you wear that dress tonight there is no way on this green earth you could get into the pickup without exposing yourself."

"I wonder if Mrs Major could turn a pumpkin into a coach for the occasion?"

"Wrong season. It'll be months before the pumpkins are ready. Besides, the mice would eat the pumpkin once they stopped being horses."

"There you go, looking a gift mouse in the mouth."

"I'd rather get flowers. Mice in old houses are a pain."

"I hate to say it, but she seems to have left you a skirted suit in the same pattern as mine, but a little lighter in color," I said, displaying the it for her. "Should contrast with your hair very nicely and your reading glasses will give you a very professional look."

"That pushy broad! I hate being manipulated, but that really is a nice suit."

"Quit bitching and get dressed."

"Can I pee first?"

"Be my guest."

"You do know that you need to wear pantyhose with that outfit?"

"I was afraid of that. There were several pairs in the sock drawer when I looked."

"Think you can get them on without putting a run in them?"

"I've seen it done a few times, so I'll be very careful."

Hah! I got it the first time.
 

Walking up the sidewalk to the historical society building I could hear my two-inch heels resounding with each step. Even with Vonda wearing flats she was still taller than me.

Laurie the curator greeted her friend warmly, looking her up and down with a devilish smile.

"Well, well well! If you two didn't have such obvious assets under those jackets I'd swear you were a couple of Mormon missionaries come calling. Of course, you'd need to wear a skinny tie instead of those ruffled blouses."

"You're just jealous of our professional demeanor.

"Not to mention your fashion sense. Did you have any luck yesterday?"

"We found some interesting things about the place. Did you know it was once known as Rachel's Repose and they farmed two hundred and forty acres around the house?"

"I did. The family started selling off the land around the first world war. Transportation was heading toward cars and trucks, so there was no need for so much farmland to grow fodder for the horses. The family started putting their money into manufacturing. That worked out well until the Great Crash. Things went to hell for just about everybody around then."

"I think Glenda is going to go back to reading the newspapers, but maybe you can help me. I found some references to a self-published book called Hangings, Haunts and Hobgoblins in Calivaras County. You wouldn't know where there's a copy of it?"

"Hmmm. A few years back the library did a thing on hauntings and ghosts and such for Halloween. I think that was one of the books they displayed. Try there."

"Sounds good. Take good care of my girlfriend, Laurie, and I'll be back."

With that she was out the door, leaving me alone with a woman who I barely knew.

"That woman is a pure force of nature, isn't she?" commented Laurie.

"You should see her when she's working - welding leathers and sparks flying to the ceiling like a fountain."

"That's not the only place she makes the sparks fly. I've been to some council meetings where I was afraid she was going to singe old Asshole Jack for some of the stupid shit he proposes."

"Asshole Jack?"

"Reactionary bastard, but he still keeps getting re-elected. Thinks Thomas Edison is a fiend for inventing the light bulb because candle light was good enough for our ancestors."

"Speaking of ancestors, I suppose I need to get back to researching the people who lived in my house."

"Have fun, girl. Let me know if you need anything."

Girl.

After a lifetime of grief for being less than Herculean stature, suddenly I'm very obviously a girl. I mean, if this blouse didn't tie at the neck you could drop stuff in my cleavage and it would stay there.

It's not like I hadn't wondered what it would be like to be a girl from time to time. Idle thoughts, nothing serious, but when you're a 5'7" man people tend to discount you on sight. Size counts! I just never thought it would be cup size I was counting.

After a good hour spent skipping through the society pages I finally found something relevant. From the June 1, 1883 edition of the Calivaris County Clarion:
 

The crystal chandeliers of Brubaker Hall were alight with the reflection of uncounted candles last night as the beautiful Young Women of Calivaris County made their formal debut, much to the delight of the young men clad in immaculate white tie and tails…

I'll spare you more of the prose that was a far deeper shade of purple than the dress Vonda wanted me to wear that evening. The important part was this:

…of particular note was the appearance of Miss Magdalene Barnhill, daughter of General Ephron Barnhill and her mother, widely known as Mrs Major to the denizens of Great Oaks Township.

Mrs Delilah Barnhill, the General's widow, was awarded the rank of Major in the Union Army for her bravery in the conflict with the Rebels of the South. She again proved her valor when a revenge-crazed assassin killed her sister and husband, wounding the assassin with her husband's sword…
 

Oddly enough, I was just a bit jealous of the description of Magdalene's gown. I had to wonder if I would be able to justice to it when my ghost was done with me.

I continued my scanning and had just found an announcement of Magdalene's engagement to Young Mister Jules Brassell when Vonda returned triumphantly waving a handful of printed pages.

"I found it!" she cried exultant. "They wouldn't let me take the book, but I was able to make copies."

"So tell us," I responded.

Hearing the commotion, Laurie had joined us, as had another woman who was looking over the exhibits.

"I found the Curse!" she continued, drawing a very strange look from the random stranger. She began to read from the 1927 publication with vigor: " 'The Curious Curse of Mrs Major,' or so the headline reads."
 

From the placid precincts of what was once the small town of Great Oaks in our fair county comes a tale of blood, revenge and treachery set against the backdrop of the War Between The States.

It is against this background that notoriety was again thrust on this unfortunate family of General Ephron Barnhill…
 

No doubt about it - my wraith-like wardrobe mistress must have known I was going to be immersed neck deep in purple prose when she chose my evening-wear.

I know Vonda had called it lavender when she saw the dress, but I had not been over the feminine side of the line between the sexes long enough to tell lavender from plain old purple. However, with the rate the changes were coming I just might manage it sometime Saturday afternoon…

The first few paragraphs simply rehashed the history of the General, the Major and the murders at Rachel's Repose. The story continued:

Delilah Barnhill, universally called Mrs Major within a few years of the tragedy, had once again rallied the soldiery her husband had brought with him to his place of retirement and was owner and manager of a very prosperous farm, not to mention several business in the county.

On the occasion of her daughter Magdalene attaining her sixteenth year, the young woman cut quite a swath at the annual Debutante Ball in the county Seat. There Magdalene met the handsome son of a merchant baron, one Peter Michael Higgs and the two fell madly in love.

What could have been the Love Story of the Ages was dashed upon the shoals of Mrs Major's implacable hatred of the Rebel cause. For you see, young Peter Higgs was the scion of a family with deep roots in the Southern States.

Legend has it that the young man arrived at Rachel's Repose on July 4th, 1882, the very day of Mrs Major's 44th birthday, to seek Magdalene's hand in marriage. Mrs Major, now in less than robust health, became so incensed that she forbade the couple their nuptials. When the daughter began to plead with her enraged mother, the implacable woman called upon her Soldierly Resolve and pronounced her Curse:

Her home and its environs would remain the domain of the women of her line for all time and Rachel's Repose would be exclusively a place of haven for the fairer sex. Never would any man, let alone the son of a Rebel, sully her family's home for all of Eternity.

Having pronounced her Curse in the presence of her Daughter and her Suitor, not to mention the servants who had gathered at the commotion, Mrs Major fell dead at her daughter's feet, never to rise again.

Despite the tragedy, the couple were married about a year later, but tragedy once again stalked Rachel's Repose. Young Magdalene, as is the normal course of these things, became pregnant soon after the wedding. Making their home in his wife's family home, young Peter disappeared within weeks of the announcement of his child's impending birth.

Magdalene, who had become quite adept in the running of the family estate, carried on. As was often the custom in those days, Peter's cousin Petra Higgs came to be Magdalene's companion during her confinement. As far as anyone knows, Miss Petra remained with Magdalene and her daughter for many years after.

Magdalene was to overcome further scandal in the coming years, birthing two more daughters despite her Husband being no longer in the household. Neighbors said that the daughter inherited much of Mrs Major's steely will and personality, ignoring the snubs of those who felt her scandalous behavior should exclude her from polite society.

A Sense Of Relief

"So now we know…" breathed Vonda as she ceased her reading.

"Know what?" asked our unknown observer.

"Just what the Curse was that became known as The Curse of the Feminine Mystique."

"I thought that was a book"

"So it was. Doesn't mean someone couldn't steal the phrase, though."

"I guess…"

"So, nobody told you about the Curse before you bought the place, eh Glenda?" asked Laurie.

"Not a word, I replied."

"Well, at least you won't have to worry about it yourself since you're the right sex."

Laurie never could figure out why we laughed so hard.

Thursday: The Doctor will See You Now

They say you can get used to anything, and I suppose it's true. Thursday morning I expected to wake up once again with bigger breasts and wasn't disappointed. The bra tag read 36D and the weight on my chest certainly felt like it. I snapped the bra together on the first try and settled myself into the cups. At least they had stopped itching - maybe I was done growing up?

"36D, I suppose?" asked Vonda. She wasn't going to miss the morning's inspection.

"Twenty-eight inch waist, thirty-six hips, down another panty size. The ghost is into prints today, but I supposed you noticed that."

"Leopard print, no less."

"I kind of like it. Sure is different from what I used to wear."

"And you sure are different than you used to look. You checked the closet yet?"

"Not yet. I wonder what Mrs Major has in mind as suitable attire for a doctor's visit?"

"That is today. I almost forgot."

"I certainly haven't. What is she going to say when she looks at my assets?"

"Open wide?"

"That isn't funny."

"Neither is what's happening to you. Are you OK?"

"I don't know. I was expecting to be bigger this morning - I can learn from experience - but I still can't quite understand why it had to happen to me."

"If I say you bought a house that only a woman can inhabit, it does sound rather crazy."

"And being mostly woman is even crazier."

"Remember the terms of the Curse - or at least what the author says were the terms of the curse: The house will be in family forever and only women can live in it."

"But the family died out. That's why I got the place."

"Ever gotten into genealogy?"

"No, never been all that interested."

"Could you have some ancestor way back when who was part of the Barnhill clan?"

"Not the slightest idea. Wait a minute!"

"OK, I have the time."

"I could ask you the same question. Your family has been around these parts a long time."

What? Oh. My. God."

"Have you ever jumped onto bed with a man you hardly knew and stayed there for several days running? A bed that may be in my RV but is still located on the site of Rachel's Repose property. A bed where the man is growing his own breasts?"

"No," she said quietly.

"I hate to ask this, but remember the part about getting pregnant five minutes after the wedding ceremony?"

"At least I don't have to be concerned about that. I have an implant and still don't have to worry for another two years."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Sure. You can feel the lump right… right… Oh my god! I can't feel the lump!"

"If a ghost can materialize clothes and change bodies, what's to say it couldn't dematerialize a little piece of plastic?"

"Not a damn thing. If you're going to buy one concept you may as well buy the whole magilla."

"Magilla?"

"Yiddish slang, comes out when I'm under stress. Means 'the whole thing.' "

"Do we name her Magilla, then?"

"That is not funny!"

"I agree."

"I think I had better see the doctor with you this morning."

"I think that's a very good idea. I'm going to need a witness to what's happened to me in the last few days."

"We may both end up in the nuthouse, you know."

"I'll have good company."

"Do they have mixed accommodations? I always figured places like that were sex segregated."

"I hope we don't have to find out."

"Glenda, I'm starting to get scared. This is no longer a lark."

"I never thought it was. Vonda, no matter what happens I will never run out on a pregnant woman or a child I fathered. If you are pregnant I will do my damnedest to be a good father and a good husband - or maybe wife. You have my word on that."

"I think I can trust you, Glenda. Let's not borrow trouble."

"And I move we have breakfast out at the cafe. I don't want to cook this morning."

"Me either. Let's go give Rosie something to stare at."

"You want her to stare at my breasts?"

"Get used to it, girlie, it happens to all of us. By the way, one of the things I liked about you is you talked to my face, not my boobs."

"Not easy to do when they're almost at my eye level."

"Back to size counts?"

"I hope not. If I had your breasts I'd be crippled for life."

"You can lease some time with them tonight."

"Fair trade?"

"This is not getting us dressed, lover."

"I assumed since the doctor will want me to undress a blouse and skirt makes more sense than a dress."

"You could wear shorts, they'll fit your new waistline now."

"Yeah, but Mrs Major seems to go for a distinctly feminine look. Quite a selection in the closet."

"Glenda - does it look like the clothes on the left half are my size and the right side are your size?

"I do believe you're right. Can you share a curse?"

"Shall we do coordinated outfits?"

"You're the expert. I didn't get beyond matching shapes with my shape sorter when I was a kid. Usually put the square peg in the round hole."

"I'm you've graduated to putting the oblong shape in the deep hole in some things."

"Sex fiend. What do we wear?"

"You choose."

"OK, how about this?"

"You'd need to change your bra for that one. That neckline needs a plunging type of bra."

"Something a little higher, then? Now this looks like a candidate. It would go with that sort of blue-green skirt, I think."

"The proper name for that color is teal or maybe turquoise."

"There's only one thing I can do - marry you so I will know what color clothes I'm wearing."

"Don't joke about that."

"I'm only half joking. We need to give it considerably more time to see if we are really the type to live together."

"You got that right. By the way, maybe you better spend the night in my bed tonight if you don't want to wake up with double-D breasts. Enough is enough!"

"Get off the property and maybe out of range of the curse?"

"Worth a try. Shall we settle on a white blouse and teal skirt for you and a teal blouse and white skirt for me?"

"Wouldn't want to disappoint Mrs Major with our selections. At least she is generous in her selections for us."

"They said she was a generous woman, at least if you weren't a Rebel."

"Any black outfits in there?"

"Why?"

"We could go all black and chop down a few Rebel Battle Flags around town in her honor."

"I like the way you think. Let's just not get caught."

"Glen Stone, I have a 10:00 appointment with Doctor Tanner."

"Glen? Came the confused reply."

"It's complicated. That's why I need to see the doctor."

"You're all registered. Have a seat and the doctor will be with you shortly."

I sat. Vonda sat next to me and smiled.

"Complicated, eh?"

I didn't think that needed a reply.

Eventually I was called, then I had to explain to the nurse why I had Vonda with me. Good thing nurses are pretty much invulnerable to shock when they see a man who needs a 36D bra. We didn't wait long in the little room before the doctor came bustling in.

"Vonda! This is a surprise."

"Christa, the surprises haven't started yet. I'm along with Glenda because neither of us think you'd believe him without a witness."

"I'm a doctor, not a judge. What's with the witness bit?"

"Uh, doc… that swelling I was asking about hasn't gone away," I spoke up.

"Those can't be real."

"I'm afraid they are. I'll be damned if I can offer a logical explanation for them, but I've been eating like a horse and they just kept growing. My waist is smaller and my hips have grown, too. It came out 36-28-34 this morning."

"They're real, Christa, and I've watched them grow. We've spend a lot of time together without any clothes."

"TMI, Vonda. I suppose there's nothing for it but to have you strip to the waist. At least with Vonda in the room I don't have to call a nurse to keep me honest."

"Then you've changed since High School."

"Shut up, Vonda."

"Well, not that much!"

"Mr… Uh… Ms… Stone - have you ever done a breast self-examination?"

"Let's go with Glenda. I don't look like a Glen any more and there's no need to be formal. No, I haven't had breasts long enough to examine them."

"These actually grew this large since Monday?"

"They did."

"And the skin shows no sign of stretch marks. I don't remember your aureoles or nipples being as large."

"They weren't. Everything seems to have grown just like it would on a normal woman, but at a fantastic rate."

"Well, your blood tests came back rather odd, low in testosterone and very high in female hormones. Not that any quantity of female hormones could account for this, it usually takes many months or years for a transsexual to develop breasts. You still say you haven't been taking any medications?"

"Not even aspirin."

"OK, I need to examine whatever you have on your chest. And I damn sure want to see the results of that mammogram tomorrow. I also want to have a biopsy, which I can guarantee you'll hate me for ordering. You know what that involves, Glenda?"

"She's trying to tell you that they're going to shove a long needle into your boob and it's going to turn all purple and yellow," Vonda amplified.

"I should have called in the nurse. There are more gentle ways to describe the process, Vonda."

"But no less truthful."

"So OK, that's what they're going to do. So I assume you're sexually active together?"

"You bet your ass, doctor Christa!" Vonda crowed.

"Then you can milk it for all it's worth and get her to treat you as an invalid for as long as you can pull it off."

"I like that prescription, doc."

"Enough! Off with the clothes and up on the table. Skirt, too, since you tell me your waist and hips are affected. You can keep you panties on, though."

So the doctor palpated and pinched my breasts, trying to be impersonal. For my part I tried to be calm and collected, but having her touch my breasts (she was a darn pretty woman) had unfortunate consequences that a thin pair of panties couldn't hide. We decided mutual ignorance was the best plan.

She shook her head after the exam and pronounced that, with one exception, my body was as normal as any she had ever seen, at least on a woman.

"I just don't understand. I know of no normal process that could account for it. Yet I can see it right in front of my eyes."

"How long have we known each other, Christa?" asked my lover.

"You know darn well we met in third grade. You were a bridesmaid at my wedding. What's this leading up to?"

"It's leading up to an explanation you aren't going to like. It’s too long to tell right now, maybe it would be better to talk sometime this evening. I'm sure we've gone way overtime on this appointment."

"True. Is this a Doctor Talk or a Friend Talk?"

"I think it would be a friend talk, at least at first. Maybe you ought to come over to my place so we don't have to cope with the kids."

"Which will just thrill Greg, but he can cope."

"Seven sound OK."

"Sure. This better be good, Vonda."

"It will be interesting, that I guarantee. One more thing - I think my implant has gone missing."

"What? That can't happen."

Just like my boyfriend can't grow boobs in four days."

"Why? Why does this happen to me. I'll phone the radiologist so he can do a quick x-ray on you when your boyfriend gets his mammogram. God, that sounds weird!"

"Just you wait, Christa. It gets weirder."

No sense going over what we told Christa that evening since you already know what we said. She was just as skeptical as I would have been if the changes weren't happening on my body. We gave her copies of what we had found in the archives, took her over to the RV and showed her our new clothes and tried not to be too disappointed when she thought we were crazy.

Maybe we are, it's an open question, I think.

Friday: My First Mammogram

The first thing I noticed on Friday was two new jewelry boxes on the top of the dresser. Inside was a modest but beautiful collection of sparkly stuff. Someday soon I was going to have to learn the proper names for what I was now wearing.

My morning measure-in revealed that I was still a 36D, which was a relief, but I now had reached 38" around my hips. Overnight our friendly spectral haberdasher had been hard at work. The left hand drawer now contained my 36D bras and size six full cut panties, obviously for me, in an assortment of styles and colors colors. Did that mean she was through with my bustline? I certainly hoped so, there can be too much of a good thing.

The right drawer now had 40DD bras and size seven bikinis, the style that Vonda preferred, in those same styles and colors. Ditto the arrangement of camisoles, stockings, garter belts, pantyhose and other feminine frippery. Obviously our ghost had kept up with the times; women of Mrs Major's era wore stays and corsets, bras had not been invented in time for her to wear them.

I wasn't sure if I was relieved or miffed that there were no corsets. As a normal man I had enjoyed pictures of women in sexy corsets, even knowing that they were uncomfortable. If things went on as they were going we could buy our own corsets if the spirit moved us.

I know, it's a cheap joke. Sorry.

Amazing how quickly dressing as a women had become almost normal. I didn't even dither over what to wear - I wanted something easy to remove for the mammogram so that guided my choice.

For those of you who like to know such things I wore a plain white bra, a lightweight green knit sweater with the usual low neckline and a spring print skirt that ended just above my knees. No stockings, sandals in bare feet with toes & nails painted to match the outfit and a pair of fashion sandals with a one inch heel that had appeared overnight. Each day seemed to bring some new nuance to my life as a woman.

I almost forgot - an emerald pendant on a gold chain that dangled in my cleavage. Mrs Major seemed to like displaying my breasts, and I kind of got a kick out of it as well.

The radiology office was in the County Seat, a good hour's drive away. We left in plenty of time in Vonda's little car, leaving my trusty pickup at the new homestead.

I'm here to tell you that no matter how much I appreciated big-busted women in my former incarnation, having my very own D cup breasts squashed flat and x-rayed was no picnic. Those things are tender dammit!

Then some stern-faced technician shoved a needle the size of Don Quixote's lance into my right boob. I didn't quite scream but I think an enthusiastic yelp might describe the sound I made. He warned me about the bruising and I gingerly put my bra back on. Hooray for modern medical science!

Bouncing my wounded boob on the road back home just rubbed salt in the wound.

History At Home

We decided that the afternoon should be spent in quiet activities in deference to my puncture. I unearthed one of the multi-sided die left from my D&D days to decide which room would start our explorations. It came up at the parlour, so we removed the dust covers, did a quick vacuum and looked at the bookshelves that were on one wall.

I should have known that if Mrs Major could fill my dressers and closets with clothes she could control something as small as a multi-sided die. There were a good thirty photo albums there, just waiting to be opened to reveal the family history.

If that wasn't enough, there was an oversize, lavishly illustrated family bible with the blank pages in the back filled with tiny, precise script. On the inside front cover was the following inscription:
 

We had found a treasure trove, or should I say that Mrs Major had guided us to a treasure trove? That book was so darned big that I let Vonda move it to a card table in deference to my wounded breast.

The doc did say to milk it, so Doctor's Orders, eh?

Setting it down with a thump, she remarked "Guess it doesn't matter if you're Christian or Jewish, those old timers loved to set down the family lineage in the back of the Holy Book. I suppose the Islamic types do as well. My mother had a Torah from her mother that goes back to the twenties - the nineteen twenties - with the same stuff, only most of it is in Hebrew."

The back pages proved to be page after page of the lineage of the descendants of the General and his wife. The whole thing was made more complicated by the fact that for generation after generation only daughters were born to every single union recorded in the book. That meant that, while the home remained continuously in the same family, the name of the family changed with each generation. In our patriarchal society we just expect the last name to remain the same as each firstborn son inherits. The whole firstborn son thing is pretty darn irrelevant in a matriarchal family.

One real find was a folder with a computer printout of the family tree, all the way back to 1824 when the General was born. Take a look at this sample of the beginning of the family tree:

Notice anything odd? There are two names for every person who married into the family. The first one is obviously male, but it is immediately followed by a feminized version of the name. Magdalena married Peter Michael but lived with Petra Michelle. Their daughter Naomi Leah married William Charles but lived with Wilamina Charlene. There were even pictures of many of the family. Here's Magdalena and Petra, not looking very happy. Life was still hard on a farm in the late 1800s

Things looked much more prosperous in the early 1900s when this picture of their daughter Naomi and her spouse Wilamina was taken.

We spent the entire afternoon looking from the family tree to the photo albums, correlating the images with the names. Cora and Millie were flappers in the 1920s:

Carrie and Millie were billed as cousins in 1940:

By 1960 or so, Sally and Ruth showed the atrocious fashion sense of the era:

Thirty years later Barbara and Bernice seem to have inherited those color-sense genes:

Patterns began to emerge: Not a single wedding photo, no smiling grooms and blushing brides. Were the generations of men who married into Mrs Major's family aware of what would happen to them? Was their love strong enough to defy the unthinking assumption of male superiority to be with the woman they loved? I'd like to think that, unlike me, they were given a choice and love triumphed.

Since most of the generations had multiple daughters, it looked like I wasn't going to have to worry about losing my ability to father a child despite outward appearances. Mrs Major must have had a practical streak - she knew that even if Rachel's Repose were to be a haven for women, there had to be someone to get those women pregnant or the family would cease to exist. It looked like I had just joined a long line of very unusual men.

I was disappointed to find no pictures of Elezibeth Anne and her husband, she was the one who disappeared on the round-the-world trip. It looked like she took the pictures with her.

"I wonder…" mused Vonda.

"What are you wondering?"

Could Elizibeth Ann and her husband deliberately gone missing so he wouldn't be affected by the curse if they lived here?"

"Now that's a very good question."

"Which will probably never be answered. Mrs Major sure seemed determined to enforce her wishes if she dragged you into the whole business."

"Unless somehow I'm related to her by some backwater path. I wonder if any of the feminized husbands ever had an affair and produced a male child?"

"Not if the family archivists were aware of it."

"Hard to picture a man with D cups seducing some woman and getting her pregnant."

"Uh, Glenda… It may be happening at this very minute."

"Oh. Did they find the implant?"

"We won't know until we see Christa on Monday. Just so you're prepared, if it has gone missing. We've been fucking like rabbits during my most fertile period."

Vonda punctuated her pronouncement with a snap as she closed the photo album and announced "I've got to pee!"

"Pick your favorite bathroom and have at it. Six seats, no waiting. If you are pregnant that might come in handy."

"I sure as hell can't wait," and she bustled off.

That sounded like a good idea, so I headed to the half bath nearest the parlour.

"Glenda!" came the shout from somewhere distant. "You have got to see this!"

"Coming!" I replied and changed course. She was standing in the doorway of the master bedroom where I had showered off the Dust Monster.

"Ho… ly… shit!" was all I could utter. Mere days before this room had obviously been used as a semi-sickroom for the old woman before she went to the nursing home. Utilitarian furniture, hospital bed, industrial type carpets, heavy, bland draperies to darken the room.

Now it was a wonderland of feminine delights. Rose patterned wallpaper, four poster king-size bed, two lighted makeup tables, comfortable chairs, what looked to be a hand-knotted carpet from somewhere exotic in the middle east. There were two massive wardrobes with matching dressers and a magnificent full length mirror.

"That tears it!" I spoke in wonder. "No way on god's green earth this could have been done since we saw this room. The only answer has to be supernatural."

"I don't think Mrs Major approved of my suggestion we spend the night at my place."

"She does have a way of expressing herself, doesn't she?"

"Do we dare open the wardrobes?"

"Do we dare not to open the wardrobes? She must be watching from up in the ether somewhere. I wouldn't want to disappoint her."

"You first."

The wardrobes were full, as were the dressers. I was certain that many of the items had been in my RV that morning. Vonda would be just as well dressed as I was, there was no skimping on her wardrobe."

"Why that foxy bitch!" I exclaimed.

"Who's a foxy bitch?"

"Mrs Major. I was noticing this morning that there weren't any corsets in the collection. I used to be partial to women in corsets. With her typical overkill there are four of them in here."

"I hope to heaven there aren't any girdles! She wouldn't be that nasty."

"So far she's been a very benevolent ghost."

"There is no way to call a corset benevolent, believe me I learned that in my youth!"

"Want to relive your youth?" I asked and she started to laugh.

"Aarrgh!" she cried. "I waited too long," and made a beeline for the bathroom, calling "Get me some new panties, will you?"

Good thing Mrs Major had stocked our new bedroom.

Interlude: The Weekend

I dedicated the weekend to sorting through all the things I had inherited with the house while Vonda returned to her studio to actually do some work for her living. There is no way to make that interesting, so this is going to be a short chapter.

Oh, yes - the new bed was quite comfortable and we had plenty of room to roll around in. 'Nuff said.

Monday: Lab Results

We waited nervously in the little exam room for Christa, who eventually knocked and came in. She looked hard at me and began to shake her head.

"I really want to throw these lab results in the trash and forget anything you two nutjobs told me."

"Is that an option?" I asked.

"No! Your mammogram came back perfectly normal. Your biopsy came back perfectly normal. Your bloodwork is perfectly normal for a woman your age except the testosterone is a bit elevated. If I hadn't seen your penis with my own eyes I couldn't tell you from a natural born woman."

"If this has you confused, Christa, just think what it's doing to me."

"Please, I'm barely coping as is. Not to be nosy, but when you two have sex everything is working normally?"

"If you're into understatement," smirked Vonda.

"Other than learning how to move with these large breasts, nothing much has changed," I told her.

"Glenda, would you object to a full body scan? I don't know if it would tell us anything but it might help."

"Why not? I'm rather curious about what's going on inside me as well."

"Thanks. Now Vonda…"

"Did they find my implant?"

"Not a sign of it. You're sure nobody removed it?"

"Not unless I was unconscious while they did it."

"I think I'm getting a headache," the doctor moaned.

"Take two aspirins and call me in the morning."

"Smartass! Vonda, are you one of the lucky ones who can dispense with your periods while you have the implant?"

"Almost. Just a little spotting once in a while."

"And when would you expect the next one?"

"In a couple of weeks. If the implant is gone I'm almost certainly pregnant."

"Don't borrow trouble. Get two home tests and do the first in two weeks, then repeat a few days later."

"I know the drill. Been there, done that."

"As have we all. Welcome to the world of womanhood, Glenda. You look like one of us so get used to it. At least you won't have to track your period like the rest of us."

"I'm coping as fast as I can. I suppose living a rootless life is a plus in learning how to be an entirely different person. You have to be flexible."

"Want to take aerobics together, Glenda?" my smartass woman said.

"Do they offer aerobics for pregnant ladies?"

"If I am, we'll find out."

"Have the nurse schedule you a full body scan and call me if anything changes. Frankly, I don't know if there's anything I can do that I haven't already done."

"Thanks for everything, Christa."

Is That Cupid Over There?

After the breakneck changes of the last week, we settled into a routine. Vonda went back to work, I called in the experts to go through the place and sort out what was valuable and what was junk, we got used to living together (we never really discussed this, we just did it) and I became more comfortable with my revised body.

After thirty-two years of being a male I found it surprisingly easy to start thinking like a female. Being pretty good looking didn't hurt and I even started to like watching the men trying to peer down my cleavage without me realizing what they were doing. I bet most of the buggers even thought they were getting away with it.

We both enjoyed cooking and we had to resolve to stop trying to impress the other with our culinary prowess. I gained about two and a half pounds during my transformation, but neither of us wanted to start gaining weight.

I went in for the full body scan. I had visions of having to strip completely and freaking out the person running the machine, but I only had to remove my bra and sandals - nothing metal on the body allowed. I got rolled into a tunnel, things went clank! and whir! and then I got rolled out. No fuss, no pain.

I was relieved.

The next day I got a call from Doctor Christa. Everything looked normal - if you can call anything about a guy with big boobs normal.

Two weeks later, we found Vonda was not going to be offered any choice about gaining weight - she was indeed pregnant.

There's an ancient phrase that gets terribly abused: It goes without saying… Neither one of us bought that idea, so we talked out just what we would do with our lives. We said it out loud: abortion was not an option.

That's when I found out that this wouldn't be Vonda's first baby. She got pregnant at seventeen, a fling at a drunken high school graduation party. The first time for both of them and it caught. The boy involved tried to deny it, but DNA tests don't lie. Her parents were disappointed that she was careless but supportive. She carried the child to term, the father was reluctantly present at the birth (at least his parents were responsible people) and they gave the child up for adoption. She doesn't even know if it was a boy or a girl and hasn't seen the father in a decade.

Having her implant disappear was more traumatic than I realized. She had promised herself that she would never bring another child into this world without careful thought.

Mrs Major's determination had changed more than my life radically. Having known each other for less than a month we were going to be the parents of a child. Almost certainly a girl child if we were right about Mrs Major's curse.

I won't call it Love At First Sight, but I had never before been with a woman who fitted so tightly as Vonda. It took us less than five minutes to decide she would live with me in the great pile of bricks I had purchased, although Mrs Major's special form of encouragement certainly helped.

We were both used to being independent and living alone, yet we found sharing the tasks of everyday living surprisingly easy. We could even talk about who pays for what without strife.

We came from decidedly different cultural backgrounds and we both had pretty much rejected that background. Well, maybe not so much rejected as just ignored. I grew up going to church on Sunday; she grew up going to temple on Saturday. I grew up in the suburbs; she grew up in a small town. I grew up as a noticeably small boy who was fascinated by how things worked and compulsively disassembled toasters and televisions while my peers were playing baseball and tossing footballs. She grew up as a noticeably tall girl who wanted to create massive sculptures and do monumental artworks.

Could we survive for more than these few weeks and raise a daughter? Put it another way: could we actually fall in love and keep that love alive long enough to raise a child?

Which leads to the next question: do we get married?

I have always felt that if you intend to commit yourself to another person you should not do a half-assed job of it. Sure, I've lived with two women for a while in the past, but neither of us had thoughts of making it permanent. We enjoyed each other's company, supported each other's work and dreams, found the sex to be downright great and mostly were going the same direction with our lives. When the end came we parted as friends and do the Christmas Card thing if we happen to remember in any particular year.

Convenience, not commitment. The more I thought about it, the more I felt I had matured enough to make a long-term commitment.

Another elephant paraded into our rooms: unless we were having sex we were two women as far as any outside observer was concerned. Vonda would be technically an unwed mother, she was only too aware of the scorn heaped on that condition. We would be a lesbian couple. There are a lot of folks that wouldn't approve us or our daughter. How do we handle that?

Vonda's answer was typical: Fuck 'em!

As the 'little woman' in the relationship I was more polite but just as emphatic: Mind your own business!

We took a couple of weeks to consider carefully, indulged in those deep sessions of pillow talk so we would be sure of our answer - then we set the date.

Parents - Part One

Believe it or not, setting the date to get married was was the easy part.

I haven't mentioned that while all this was going on, I was still making regular phone calls to my parents - highly censored calls I might point out. Since neither I or my parents had any idea I would end up as a female, none of us had considered what announcing I was a transsexual would be like. After all, even I had a hard time believing it.

The first hint was when my mother asked if I had a sore throat, my voice didn't sound quite right. Little did she know that my voice box had morphed with the rest of my body and I now had a distinctly alto range. I put her off, but I'm sure you realize how ineffective lying to your mother is.

The next week there was no hiding my almost-soprano range, but since I had just learned the word 'transgender' I didn't have a clue what to say. I told her that there was something major happening that I didn't quite understand yet.

Ain't that the truth!

Week three I asked if she had ever wanted another daughter, but since I already had two sisters she thought she had a full quota. When I told her that might be changing she was confused. I left it that I had discovered some things about myself that would mean big changes in my life.

She was skeptical, I was evasive.

By week four I knew we had created a new life together and I was going to be a mother. There was no help for it - I had read several transition stories by then and came out as female to my parents.

They was skeptical, I was no longer evasive. Vonda was affectionate. I needed that.

The next week, after we had set the date, we tried a video call. My parents knew it was me because they knew my phone number. They certainly didn't know my image. I tried to dress down and not too show much cleavage, but there was no doubt that I had breasts. The look on my mother's face was priceless, the look on my father's face was partway between shock and the typical male reaction to my tits. He was having almost as hard a time as I was.

Vonda was a hit and had an easier time of it than their wayward daughter.

I was ready to drive the 200 miles to their home, but they wanted to see my new place. Being retired they had a lot more free time so we were happy to agree.

Neither of us were ready to talk about our family ghost.

Parents - Part Two

Before we could come to our senses after hanging up on my parents, Vonda grabbed her purse and told me to take mine. It was time to go meet her parents.

Not even the insulation of a video call since they lived in town. She hadn't told them we were an item yet, but if they lived in town, they would hardly have missed the gossip.

Harold, her slightly breathless father answered.

"Sorry katzele, I was out back. How are you doing?"

"Floating on cloud nine, dad. There's someone I want you to meet."

"You mean your friend that bought the haunted house that everyone's been talking about?"

"More than a friend, dad. Go get Mom, we should tell you both at the same time."

"You're smiling so it can't be bad news."

"Save the fishing for the next trip to the lake. Get Mom."

I should know that stereotypes are nonsense, especially after my sudden gender change, but I had a vision of a Jewish mother as a gray-haired lady with a nasal New York accent and ample bosom, stirring a pot of soup while screaming at her kids from across the house. I blame television.

I blame myself, because I realized suddenly that I was about to marry a Jewish mother in a few weeks and she certainly didn't look like that stereotype.

"OK, you got us both now. What’s the news.

"Glenda, this is my Mom Hannah, you already met Dad. Mom, Dad, I want you both to meet the woman I'm going to marry."

Talk about dropping a bomb.

"Vonda, you shouldn't make jokes like that, I have a bad heart."

"No joke, Dad. We came over to invite you to the wedding. Seriously."

"We are serious, Mr Brayley," I added.

"Oi vey! I should have known you would have a wedding like no other."

"On all other nights we marry men so why do we marry a woman on this night?"

"Vonda! Please!"

(If you aren't Jewish you may not get the joke. An important part of the Passover Seder is asking questions like 'on all other nights we eat xxx but on this night we eat only yyy.' Vonda was skating on the edge of the sacrilegious. I wasn't getting only a fast education in how to be a woman from Vonda.)

"Sorry, Mom. It's true, we are getting married a month from now."

"So fast! What's the rush?"

"You can't be pregnant again, can you?" asked her father.

"I certainly can be pregnant."

Dead silence. On both ends. We hadn't planned on this.

"Vonda, we need to drop the other shoe."

"I suppose so. Glenda is the father, she's transgendered." Not strictly true, but who would believe the real story?

More silence. Then a nasal New York accent. "I work I slave. I scrape my fingers to the bone to raise a good daughter. All I ask is she marries a Nice Jewish Boy who is going to be a doctor and what do I get? A goy who don't know a yingl from a meydl."

They all broke up but I didn't get the joke.

"Yingl is Yiddish for boy and Meydl is a girl," my love told me. "And my mother is a lousy comedian."

"All right, children. Sit down and tell us all about it."

So we tried to explain. How successful we were is an open question, but at least Vonda wasn't disowned.

We were still keeping mum about Mrs Major.

The Crew Boss

Even though our personal lives were in complete disarray there was still work to be done. For Vonda it meant finishing those iron gates, for me it meant clearing the house of over a century of stuff.

Some of the stuff was worth keeping, some of the stuff was worth selling, some of the stuff was worth nothing. It took two days for the antique guys to make recommendations and another two days to pack and remove what was going to be auctioned.

Once the clutter was reduced we could begin things like refinishing the woodwork and floors and putting up some wallpaper that didn't look so godawful ugly. The house was structurally sound and I wasn't going to be moving walls or putting up additions, who needs more than nine bedrooms and six baths?

I had a tentative schedule in my head for what was to be done and when to do it, but Mrs Major's ministrations, not to mention a wedding, had blown it all to hell. We wanted to be married in our home, hoping that Mrs Major would approve and leave us alone since we were going along with her plans.

The living room and parlor were first on the agenda so we had space for the wedding, but suddenly my parents were going to need a bedroom. Flexible, they tell me a successful contractor is flexible. Successful contracting crews are not flexible; they are often booked well in advance since they do superior work.

I called in some favors and had some luck, managing to get five guys I had worked with before to make the trip to the boondocks and remodel a bedroom for my parents, then start in on the downstairs. No - make that five guys who had worked with Glen before. I gave Bud a cryptic heads up that I was no longer the man I used to be, but didn't want to give him the whole story until they were safely arrived in town.

Once Bud was on board I took Vonda's recommendation for a cleaning service to do enough with five of the bedrooms so that the crew had somewhere to sleep. That led to the discovery that moths had gotten into the linens and they would all need to be replaced. Sometimes it never ends. That construction loan was getting tapped far faster than I had planned. For that matter, I was beginning to suspect I was not going to be flipping this place but making it our home. Maybe start a Bed & Breakfast and offer ghost tours?

My first meeting with the crew confirmed my suspicion that having D cup boobs on my body would be a challenge. Construction guys aren't known for their extreme respect for woman, shall we say. Construction guys aren't all that familiar with the word transgender either.

Construction guys do like money and I was paying premium rates for a fast turnover. They swarmed in the room and went to work, before the day was out the wallpaper was stripped, the wood prepared for finishing and the plaster cracks filled. The bathroom fixtures were replaced with the new ones I had bought and the iffy plumbing replaced. I only had to slap Stan once when he got fresh and grabbed my ass. At least he was smart enough not to cop a feel or he might have met Doctor Christa under less than ideal conditions.

The following day Vonda and her mother took the pickup to the county seat to find a new mattresses and linens. We would be using the best of the furniture that came with the place in that room. Meanwhile they guys started priming and refinishing, somehow dancing around each other to get the job done in record time.

Me? I started to put all the books and curios in boxes, preparing to do the work on the living room and the parlour. Harold, Vonda's Dad was there to help. Conversation was a little stilted at first, but eventually we found enough in common to get to know each other.

I may now have a woman's body, but Mrs Major seems to have been satisfied not to monkey with my arm and leg strength. I could still move boxes of books almost as well as before my transformation. Those darn boobs do get in the way, though.

By Friday the bedroom was ready and the action shifted to the site of the wedding. Much more detail work had to be done in the formal rooms, but they were in far better shape than the bedrooms that had sat untenanted for decades.

Naturally, my parents arrived in the middle of the chaos with Bill on stilts plastering cracks in the ceiling, Sam and Charlie filling in cracks in the shelving with wood putty and Steve stripping wallpaper. They had to pound on the door since someone had removed the doorbell to gain access to the wiring. I was in the office/library playing with the ancient computer that had come with the place. Good thing the previous people hadn't bothered with passwords and apparently didn't do online banking and such. At least the wireless and cable had been installed so I could use my laptop again.

"Hey Glenda!" came a shout. "Someone to see you."

"Hi Mom, Hi Dad," I said into the sudden silence. The stupid buggers had stopped work, knowing just what was going to happen.

Sure wish I knew what was going to happen.

"Like the new place? Like the new me?"

"I was sure you were setting up some elaborate joke when you were so obscure on the phone. Just what the hell have you been doing?"

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you."

"But… but… Are those real?" asked my mother.

"100% pure home grown. They just got a little more enthusiastic that I was hoping for."

"Little?"

Wait until you meet my wife-to-be. She's hiding in her studio to escape the crew here. Let me show you your room and we can go over and meet her."

"She wouldn't have anything in the line of adult beverages, would she?"

"I can offer you some white wine, I've developed a taste for it lately." Damn it hurt to say that deadpan.

"This, uh, change is more than skin deep, then?" said Mom with a grin.

"Deep as it gets. Vonda can supply you with scotch if white wine doesn't do the job."

"Then she's the girl I want to meet. I guess you're the girl I had to meet."

"Believe me, I've been putting it off as long as I could. Come on upstairs."

My poor parents. First a son becomes a daughter with no warning, then walking in on a Valkyrie of a daughter-in-law high on a ladder wielding a welding torch. I could hardly wait to introduce them to Darth Vader this evening, but we had taken the secret passage between the properties.

That was our first joint project - a bit of work with a chain saw, weld a gate in the fence-line and no more having to go the long way around. We made it wide enough to accommodate a golf cart in case we needed to move larger art objects in the future.

We gave them the three-dollar-tour of the studio, with bonus viewing of her old house. Mom and I shared a white wine while Dad joined Vonda in some single-malt scotch. To each his own.

My father raised his glass and proposed a toast: To a long and happy marriage for our children and to the first of many grandchildren for the grandparents!"

That let the cat out of the bag. We hadn't found time to tell my parents that there was a bundle of joy on the way.

"You don't mean…" asked my father.

"I'm about two months along," Vonda replied.

"Oh, my!" That was Mom.

That caused a necessary delay before we once more we went through the official story of how I ended up like this, trying to give them time to take it all in.

Actually, it didn't go all that badly, after all I grew up in their house and they knew in their very marrow that I was a nutcase.

Vonda and I took our parents out for dinner at the Cowboy Steakhouse, really the only place in town that offered an attempt at a fancy meal. Mom laughed that Vonda and I chose the T-bone steak. I may have been a woman but I hadn't lost my taste for steak and baked potatoes. Mom and Dad had the broiled trout, Vonda's Mom the chicken Marsala and her Dad the pork chops. Something to everyone's taste.

As we relaxed over cheesecake my mother innocently asked what dresses we had selected for the wedding.

So OK, I had been on the dark side barely a month. Thanks to our spectral shopper I had yet to invade a changing booth in any store. While Vonda was one hell of a woman, she was not the type to dither and fuss over clothes. We both had loads of work on our plates and had been taken by surprise with the need for a wedding. So no, we hadn't given a thought to what we would wear.

We barely escaped with our dignity intact. No wedding dress with only weeks to the wedding? Unthinkable! Further distress was evident in that we had opted to simply call those few people we we wanted to be there and had not so much as designed a card or contacted a caterer.

We had, however, arranged someone to do the ceremony. Actually it was one of Vonda's ex-boyfriends who was ordained in one of those oddball churches that spring up like toadstools. Much to the dismay of the conservative Calivaris County officials he was duly accredited to perform marriages - at least after his lawyer brother put the fear of his oddball god into them if they refused because they didn't consider his theology good enough.

When we had been well and truly scolded about our lack of respect for traditional wedding apparel, the question of groomsmen and bridesmaids came up. Noting the lack of a groom, we had opted to dispense with the groomsmen. Vonda's best friend in High School had pledged to be her maid of honor, but that was twelve years ago and the girlfriend was now living in Alaska. Scratch the maid of honor. We were down to the essentials: bride, bride, officiant.

Like hell we were! Our mothers were incensed. Our fathers were amused. Our sisters were soon on the other end of parental cell phones and commanded to fill the bill. Since my younger sister was stationed in Japan with her sailor husband, she would not be able to attend. That left Carol to get the call.

As you might imagine, my sister was thoroughly confused, having not the slightest idea that she had another sister or that sister was getting married. I've always wondered just what the nearby diners thought of the competing conversations as our mothers fixed us up with matrons of honor.

This whole scene did much to cement my reputation as the dizzy broad who bought the old pile of bricks just outside of town. Since the family name changed with every generation, the place never got a picturesque name like 'The Old Picadilly Place' or 'The Old Mason mansion.'

By the end of the meal we were ready to elope.

All Brides Are Virgins, Aren't They?

Arising on a fine Saturday morning to find my love had already claimed the bathroom, I contemplated the day ahead. Vonda had warned me to dress comfortably in something simple and to wear comfortable shoes. She had been shopping with her mother before and knew how to prepare.

Fool that I was, I found it hard to believe that finding a dress to get married in would be all that hard. Little did I know!

Vonda's Mom, I'll call her Hanna from now on because typing 'Vonda's Mom' is a pain, tooted her horn outside the door, so the rest of the bridal party joined her for a trip to the Big City. Great Oaks is too small to support a bridal shop.

On entering the Big City, Hannah made directly to a bridal shop. Now how could a woman who was married nigh on fifty years ago and who's other daughter was married some fifteen years ago know the location of every bridal shop in the city and (I think) the stock list and size of every gown in the place.

Will I ever be able to spot the minute details that make a wedding gown totally unsuitable for it's intended use on my body? I thought they all looked pretty good - well all but a couple of them that actually had to be glued onto the breasts so they wouldn't fall down. Fashion is a curious thing.

It was kind of fun at first, getting undressed with Vonda has its charms, but it soon palls. I'm too short to make it on the runway and too impatient to keep changing outfits.

Consensus was achieved for Vonda at the third shop. I was starting to despair after forty-five minutes in the forth place when I spotted a dress that I instantly liked. They had it in the right size and I headed for the dressing rooms while the Moms were dissecting yet another confection and had Vonda zip me in.

I liked. I really liked. Vonda liked. It was our wedding, this was it. No. More. Shopping.

I'd have put my foot down then and there, but I was afraid I might fall over wearing three inch heels.

The Missing Mrs Major and her Granddaughter

One more week of frantic construction and things were in shape to invite guests to the place. The guests were invited - we limited it to forty people - the caterer was hired, the bridesmaids got to wear whatever the heck they wanted to wear, the fathers of the brides had rented their tuxes, The rooms were decorated. The week before the wedding was actually rather calm.

So calm, in fact, that we realized Mrs Major had not been doing anything remarkable for quite some time. Had we been abandoned once we had produced an heir to the old family home?

Would that be just too easy?

Vonda and I started to look through the family history. We were making steady progress in matching the names on the family tree with the pictures in the albums and the notations in the Bible. Whoever kept those records was pretty thorough; birth, death and marriage dates inscribed faithfully.

We found an entry for Atara Eden Frye, born June 12, 1909, which would make her Mrs Major's granddaughter. A granddaughter who ostensibly never married or died was a curiosity.

Or did she get married? Close examination of her entry in the Bible showed something had been erased where the husband's dual names were usually found.

Curious.

We had joined a couple of those trace your ancestors sites and put her name in. The little dots danced on the browser and then her birth certificate and a reference to a passport appeared on the screen.

Now that was different. The descendants of Mrs Major seemed to be homebodies. The only other references to passports we found were for men who immigrated and married into the family. Not a one of those passports was ever renewed, and their feminized names were duly listed in the records.

Not so Atara Eden Frye. Two pictures of the woman still survived. One as a darling two-year-old and another with her at the wailing wall in what was to become Israel. Why she was there or how she got there was a complete mystery. Everything I had learned about Mrs Major's clan led me to believe they never traveled far from home.

Yet there she was, holding the hand of little boy just about two years of age. A rather handsome gentleman, who obviously came from that region, was holding the child's other hand.

When you become intimate with a Jewish family, it doesn't take very long to realize how pervasive and pernicious antisemitism can be. To this day there are fanatics who just know that the Jews killed Jesus and all Jews are hawk-nosed merciless moneybags who will tempt a Good Christian Man into usury.

Some things don't change - just ask Shylock.

Had Atara Eden Frye been so bold as to marry a Jew in Palestine? Maybe even be converted. I knew that most Jews take a skeptical view of people converting to their religion, but there are always a few who feel the need. Could that account for the name being erased?

We probably would never know. There is only so much information you can find on such things, even in the on-line databases.

A Letter From The Lost

The next morning, still in my comfy but revealing nightgown, I strolled into the office with a second cup of coffee. I was just going to check Facebook since I hadn't any other plans, when I noticed one of the file drawers was open and one of the files was tipped at an angle so it stood out. I was sure the drawers were all closed when I went to bed last night.

Had Vonda been restless last night? She was over in the studio so there was no way to ask. When she concentrates neither the land line nor her cell phone have a prayer of attracting her attention.

Mrs Major! Of course!

Go to sleep with a question about the family history and wake up with something to point you to the answer if it was anywhere in the house. In that folder were several letters from Atara Eden Frye to her sister Amelia.

Thank you Mrs Major!
 

February 2, 1927
Dearest Emily,

Eden Atara Goldman
 

Have you ever sat quietly trying to think, to solve some mystery of the universe but succeed only in getting nowhere? You can't put your finger on just why you're getting nowhere, what seems to make your goals recede as fast as you pursue them. In fact, you sometimes forget you have goals until some infinitesimal irritation on the Astral Plain disturbs your repose.

Then the Astral Plane becomes the Astral Hill Country and that small irritation settles down between your shoulder blades just below or slightly above where your fingers can reach without dislocating a shoulder. Then, just as you are about to become a contortionist, someone special comes along and digs their thumbs in the exactly the right spot and starts to rub so that irritation vanishes, leaving you relaxed and refreshed.

That's what finding that letter felt like. That erasure in the family genealogy had bothered me more than I knew.

Thanks for the help, Mrs Major.

Family Matters

As if to emphasize that my period of contemplation of Eden Atara Goldman's letter was finished, the doorbell started to ring. The new doorbell was one of those electronic types that can be programmed to practically play a symphony when the button was pushed. Stan the ass-grabber had set it to play Roy Orbison's Pretty Women. I still was trying to grasp that I was a pretty woman these days, it was almost as strange as living with a ghost.

It being a warm day, all the windows and doors were open. After the last note sounded I heard "Glen! Get your ass out here and let your sister in this old pile of bricks. You hear me?"

Sister Carol had arrived to be my bridesmaid.

I knew who my visitor was before I made it to the front hall, so I just answered the front door in my nightgown. Vonda likes me in sexy nightgowns, so that's what I was wearing. Fortunately for my sister, I was wearing panties as well.

I came to the door, gave her a hip shot through the screen and said "You're going to have to work on 'demure' if you want to be my bridesmaid, sis."

"Well I will be damned." Her suitcase hit the porch with a thud. "Mom hasn't lost her marbles! Glen?"

"Glenda."

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Could be, but I have gained breasts and hips. Seems like a fair trade. You going to come in or just stand there and gawk?"

She came in. We had barely settled in a couple of comfortable chairs before she demanded the whole story, specifying no bullshit, bro!

There have been times when I wondered if the Fairies had come along and replaced my natural sister with a changeling in the cradle. Before my transformation I had often been described as steadfast or grounded or even practical. Carol was what you might call a seeker. Eastern mysticism in her early teens, a mercifully short period of being Born Again, Ouija boards and reading the Tarot, wearing a burka for a week to see what it was like to be an Islamic woman. I was not the only nutcase in the family, but we expressed our individualism in vastly different ways.

I made an executive decision and gave her the real story of my occult transformation, knowing that she would never be satisfied with the tale we had concocted for public consumption. She inspected my wardrobe, we looked through the albums and the family tree and I showed her the letter I had discovered on waking up.

"So, do I have this right? Every guy that married into the family ended up a girl, just like you did?"

"At least if he married the firstborn daughter and moved into the family home."

"Think it through, Glen…da. If you moved into the family home and turned into a woman then Vonda must be a direct descendant of Mrs Major or you wouldn't have tits!"

It all fell into place. How could something so utterly nonsensical make so much sense?

"You must be right. But how…"

"Think. You just found the link. The Goldmans were going to emigrate to America. Obviously they did and founded a Jewish cadet branch of Mrs Major's family, but since they didn't live in the old family home the men stayed men and nobody noticed anything odd about them."

Damned if my flaky sister hadn't hit on the logical answer. I suppose it took someone who was into this occult shit to make the connection.

"I've got to get dressed and…"

"You mean you aren't going to run out of the place and flash your titties to the world?"

"You're just jealous because I'm bigger than you."

"I'm still an inch taller, shrimp!"

"And it says 36D on my bras. So there!"

"But I can wear a bikini and I bet you can't. The guys must have kept their willies or there wouldn't be multiple children in the family tree."

"There's always the Milkman or the Postman or…"

"Shut up or I'm going to grab your crotch and find out for myself."

"Spoilsport!"

Who says we were adults? We still bicker like children and love every minute of it. I went and got dressed, making sure that my breasts were on full display for my sister.
 

For a wonder, we didn't arrive in the studio to see a shower of sparks, nor was Vonda in her sexy welding leathers. (At least I thought they were sexy.) Instead she was covered in mud up to her elbows, frowning at the half-finished form before her. She picked up some small implement and started scraping away the clay with a delicate touch.

"What's it going to be, love?" I asked and she jumped.

"Don't do that!" she cried.

"She jumps like that whenever she gets ejected from her creative fog." I told my sister. "Honey, I want you to meet my sister Carol. She's shy, so I think you should give her a big hug."

"Do you seriously expect marry this big oaf?" Carol smirked.

"Yes, and she's a little oaf. She fits nicely in the bed, too."

"To each her own. What's that going to be?"

"Don't ask me, I still haven't found out."

"I'd say it was about the size of a bust, but that might give my new sister ideas. She already has enough bust."

"Is she always this jealous, Glenda?"

"Always has been, but at least she never commented on my boobs before."

"I think you invented this whole crazy Mrs Major story just so you could get away with having bigger boobs than I do. Don't think I never caught you peeking."

"Will you two stop with the bickering?" exclaimed Vonda. "I have work to do - go be childish somewhere else."
 

I will never use the phrase girl talk in a derogatory manner ever again. That's how Carol and I spent the afternoon, immersed in girl talk. We rehashed our childhood, rehashed her failed marriage, rehashed my romantic disasters, then went on to hash up the rest of the world.

All that hash was making me hungry. I looked at my watch and it was 5:45 and I hadn't spared a single thought about making dinner. Just about then Vonda came home - she had washed off the worst of the mud, but there were streaks and stains in various places, so she headed to our bedroom to shower.

We held a vote where I exercised Vonda's proxy, leading to a unanimous sentiment to eat out. I opened the bathroom door and informed my constituent of the decision, specifying she wear something nice. I agonized for maybe ninety seconds and picked out a very summery white sundress with red polka-dots - very 1950s - the skirt poofed out with crinolines. Gad, I was becoming such a girly-girl!

I admired myself in the mirror and decided that going braless was just a bit too much in that dress, so found a bra that would work. Mrs Major sure knew a lot about bras for a woman who had never worn one in her life. At least I think she never wore one - do ghosts wear bras?

Vonda came out of the shower looking naked and gorgeous. She gave me a hug, leaving wet spots that made it look look like I was late for a breastfeeding session. Which reminded me - I needed to research how I could induce my breasts to produce milk for our daughter. Doc Christa said my breasts were completely normal, so I hoped that included breastfeeding.

She saw my sun dress and asked "flaunt 'em tonight?"

"I agreed eagerly and enjoyed the show as she dressed. I may no longer be fully male, but I haven't lost my appreciation for a sexy woman. Thanks to Mrs Major there was an identical sundress in blue polka-dots in Vonda's wardrobe. We could take a hint.

Carol came down the stairs in green polka-dots asking how we knew her size and where did we get these adorable dresses? As a woman in this house, it seems Mrs Major had included her in.
 

We attracted quite a bit of attention at the steakhouse but it really wasn't a place where you get bothered by barflies. We were enjoying an after-dinner coffee when I remembered to tell Vonda about the letter. Once she heard it there was nothing to do but visit her parents.

Her father approved of the invasion of the body flaunters and we indulged in the usual small talk such occasions demanded. Finally Vonda asked if there were any Goldmans in the family tree.

"I wouldn't know, darling. Your Aunt Violet is the one who indulges in such things."

So we got Aunt Violet on speakerphone and asked about Goldmans.

"Goldmans, is it? Could be. Let me look on the computer."

So we waited while Violet started her computer and accessed the right file. "Goldman, you said. Right before the big crash… Hmmm… Goldman… Ah! I see an Usher Goldman married in 1925, looks like in Israel."

"That's it!" Vonda exclaimed.

"It is? He married someone named Frye. Eden Atara Frye. They emigrated to America just before the stock market crashed. Three kids, two boys and a girl. Looks like you descend from the girl, like maybe six generations back."

"I would if Mrs Major had any say in it."

"What?"

"Nothing, Aunt Violet. Thank you so much for your help. You've just solved a mystery that is many generations old."

"You'll have to tell me about it sometime. I'm glad I could help."

"Bye!"
 

"OK daughter. You may be telling my sister all about it sometime but you're going to tell me about it right now!"

"We will, but you're not going to believe it."

"So now you're going to start lying to me?"

"Have I ever lied to you?"

"Don't answer, Hannah!" scolded her father. "Keep it up and we'll never hear the story."

So we told them the story and they didn't believe it. Even when Vonda took out her phone and showed them pictures of me each day during my change. I haven't mentioned that part so far, it's kind of embarrassing. Nowhere near as embarrassing as having the pictures of my growing breasts and hips displayed to my sister and my in-laws. I insisted on wearing panties but there is no doubt that my naked breasts were growing at a fantastic rate.

"One word: Photoshop." said her father, deadpan.

"One word: bullshit." Vonda shot back. "Can you explain how my implant disappeared so I could get pregnant? They have to cut those things out with a knife, they don't go away by themselves."

"It wore out?"

"It disappeared. Want to see the x-ray? I got it on my phone. Might not be as interesting as Glenda growing tits, but it's very clear."

"You're serious."

"Dead serious. Virtually everything we've been wearing for the last month appeared in our closets. The dresses we are wearing at this very moment came from Mrs Major and weren't in our closets this morning. Did you seriously think I would buy anything this girly for myself?"

"Harold, this whole thing is crazy but that I can believe. Vonda would never have picked out these outfits."

"We aren't going to resolve this tonight, Mom. I have to get home. I have a deadline to meet before I get married and only four more days to get it done."

"Three! You will not be working up until you walk down the aisle. There's the rehearsal and the fittings and lord knows what else."

"I'll never make it!"

"Can I help, lover?" I offered.

"How are you at sanding?"

"Vonda! Just how do I make my living?"

"Oh, you are a carpenter, aren't you? Sometimes I get too focused."

"And Carol is not a stranger to such things, either."

"That may help."
 

Would you believe the next morning that Carol found work boots, overalls and a work shirt in her closet, all tailored and sized to fit her perfectly. Mrs Major was determined to have this wedding go off on time.

The Wedding

They say weddings are often confusing for the happy couple. Our wedding was more confusing for the bemused guests, especially those few that knew me before I became Glenda. Same sex weddings have been legal for years, but the town of Great Oaks isn't exactly in the forefront of the LGBT movement. In our case it might be called confused sex marriage but we were not going to go into any detail.

One thing we never expected was press coverage, but that's what we got. The Big City paper actually sent a stringer and a photographer to cover the event. Vonda's reputation as an artist was widespread and naturally the woman who was restoring Rachel's Repose after years of abandonment rated a couple of paragraphs.

The brides were lovely, the bridesmaids beautiful, the mothers-of-the-brides distinguished and the fathers-of-the-brides handsome. It said so right in the paper the next day.

As you can see from the picture in the article, Vonda decided her pixie cut just didn't work with the dress, so she found a wig that really looked good on her. I opted for four inch heels so we were almost the same height as we walked down the aisle. I kicked the damn things off the second we were done taking pictures.

As weddings go it was a great success, one that neither of us have any desire to repeat. As honeymoons go, it was also a great success, one we were willing to repeat anytime we could.

For the next several months the house was filled with people doing all kinds of noisy and dusty things, but when the work was finished we had a showplace worthy of royalty, not to mention a much larger mortgage. Far from being a house I could flip and earn a small fortune, it had become our home and we were fortunate to have found it and each other. Granted there were times either one of us had to be away on business, but there was always our home to return to.

What more could anybody ask?

Eight Months Later

There is a particular quiet in the country during the winter when it snows, especially when it's two in the morning. I was sitting comfortably in the nursery, contentedly nursing Baby Celeste while her other mother slept peacefully.

What could be more peaceful than a warm room on a cold winter night, a baby at my breast and an heirloom crocheted blanket covering us? I was nodding off again when a change in the light attracted my attention.

Before us stood a very small woman in the dress uniform of the Union army. Her long hair was dressed under her cap, her sword hung at her side and an antique hand cannon hung from the belt. Her stance was quite marshal but her gaze was unmistakably maternal.

"The stars are finally aligned so we can meet, Glenda. I want to thank you for what you have done for me and my family. I didn't give you much choice in the matter because you were the best person out of all those I found to fulfill this role. My line will continue and will prosper because you were willing to accept the challenge I presented to you."

"Mrs Major?" I asked softly so I wouldn't wake the baby."

"That's what they called me. I hated it at first, but it has grown on me over the years."

"I wasn't too pleased with what had grown on me at first, either."

"I know. It was a lot to ask."

"I don't remember being asked."

"A turn of phrase. I didn't ask, but can you honestly say you are not content with the life you now have? The life you hold in your arms?"

"No, you know I can't. I would never go back, not for anything."

"And you will not have to. You and Vonda and Celeste will want for nothing that is in my power to grant,"

"You have been very generous. Is it too gauche to ask just how much you messed with my mind to make it all come out this way?"

"I took no liberties with your mind, dear girl. What you have become is entirely due to your genetics and personality. I suppose you modern women would say I diddled with a couple of genes to convince your body to be as it is, but I really don't understand all the science. I'm still the woman who spied for the Union and did my part to defeat the Rebs. I just have a lot more experience than that bold and naive young girl back then."

"You seem to have mellowed from the woman who laid that curse."

"A natural result of existing as long as I have. While it is popular to call the injunction I laid upon my daughter a curse, it is not a true curse. I can assure you that of all the men who married into my family, you are the first since Petra to do so without understanding all of the consequences.

"As I said, I was a passionate woman while I still breathed, and I allowed my love for the Union and my hatred of the Rebels to overcome my good judgement. Petra was a fine match for my Magdalene but I was blinded by that hatred.

"Your medical people speak of side effects from the many remedies you now have for the ills of the body. There are unintended consequences to all things; I never intended the changes that were thrust upon Petra. Those changes revealed the strength of character inherent in her and over the generations I feel that the men who accepted the love of my daughters and embraced those changes have strengthened and improved the family immeasurably."

"But why me?"

"Ah, yes. I had but one fertile women left in the direct female line of descent, albeit they had branched quite some distance from the stem. That was Vonda as her sister has had a hysterectomy. That leaves only Vonda to continue my female line.

"As for you, you were chosen because of your tolerant nature, your flexibility and ingenious approach to life and your determination to do right by anything you set out to accomplish. I know you believed yourself to be a man who was accustomed to rough work and heavy labor. You were not wrong, but you neglected the artistic side to your personality.

When you restore a building you restore it properly. You do not just patch the cracks and use the cheapest materials and the lowest cost labor to do it. You understand the home, find ways to enhance and improve what you find and use the best materials and treat your workers respectfully. Such a combination of talents is rare in a man and was what led me to you. You and Vonda are much alike in outlook and share a way of looking at the world. You were also a man who was capable of nurturing a child or a person in need of help. What more could I ask of a father - or a mother?"

"Yeah, but why the big breasts?"

"Simple. You just plain like big breasted women, so I thought you'd appreciate being one yourself. I know you darn well appreciate your wife's breasts."

"Guilty as charged."

"I know, dear. I must leave you now, but I have a favor to ask."

"You can certainly ask."

"When Vonda realizes she's pregnant again, could you name her Delilah Rachel?