By Bimbo Alison

For the Devil, collecting souls is harder than ever. So when he sees an opportunity to mess with a happily married couple, he cannot resist. After tricking the husband down a dark path, will true love prevail? For once, we get to hear this tale from the Devil’s point of view.

By the way, I hope it is ok to say this, but I’d really love your comments on the story… good or bad. I’m trying to get a sense of whether or not I can be a meaningful contributor here, and your feedback will help. Just rate how much you liked it, on a scale of 9-10. 🙂 Seriously, I appreciate any feedback, negative or positive. Thanks and hope you enjoy.

I stood outside the window of Room 5B of the Lucky Aces Motel, patiently regarding my fingernails. Could probably use a manicure at some point, I thought.

Inside, I can hear the muffled voices of Ted Ryan and Meg Landy. Ryan is a 38 year-old married father of three boys, and Landy is a 24 year-old sales woman at the car dealership at which they both work.

This one was a piece of cake, but it’s taking a little longer than I’d expected and I’m getting sick of standing here. Still, I can’t interfere any further. Those are the rules.

The voices are going quiet, so I think we’re getting somewhere. I peer in through the door (a neat trick I take for granted) to see Ted’s face planted squarely between Meg’s large and fresh breasts. Her manicured hand is running up and down his cock, but it doesn’t take the Prince of Darkness to know Teddy boy doesn’t need the help.

One minute later we have penetration, and my work is done. With a flick of my hand, they each barely notice a twinge of pain as they are marked. They continue to fuck each others’ brains out, unaware that their eternal soul now belongs to me… and there’s nothing they can do about it.

I light up a cigarette, and take a deep drag, leaning against the wall hearing the noise of Ted nearly at his climax. I shouldn’t say there’s “nothing” they can do about it. Every once in a while “He” grants one of those deathbed absolutions… but the fact is, even “He” knows I have to get my share, and that most of them really aren’t sorry.

As I walk towards the Jaguar I purchase at their location today, I can’t help but think how easy they were. When I walked in this morning to pick up the car I’d already “purchased” (another lovely trick that I sometimes fail to appreciate), I could clearly see the lust Ted had for Meg. It was just a parlor trick to have a button of her blouse pop off when she was bending over to pick something up in front of Ted’s desk. Another simple trick to make her sexually attracted to me… so much so that even after I’d left, her arousal level was high. And so when their eyes met, Teddy Boy had all the green light he needed to make the move he’d been waiting for since she was hired six months ago.

So there they are, in that room, fucking away their immortal souls. Ted will be constantly trying to keep the relationship going, but from what I could see of Ted’s performance, I’m guessing Meg will call a halt to it. A sexual harassment suit would be lovely. The more lawyers get involved in anything, the more potential there is for me to line up a few more souls. Have to remember to send a large anonymous donation to the American Bar Association when I get a chance.

I’d love to hear that Meg gets fired over this, and has to go sell her body to make ends meet, because that’s really gravy for me. But “He” doesn’t allow me to plant suggestions. Fine. The path is at least going to present itself to her, so maybe I’ll get lucky.

Tracking down souls is a bit more tedious than it used to be. I used to focus more on big events. Sodom was a huge coup for me, except the Big Guy himself rained down the fire and brimstone, so it felt kind of empty. Show off.

I remember the day that Showgirls came out on DVD. I had my minions stationed at every Best Buy, Circuit City and Blockbuster I could find, and marked anyone who came out after having purchased one. I knew that wouldn’t stick, but it sure got “Him” pissed off. I thought that evened us up for Sodom.

The thing is, my minions do most of the collecting. Ted and Meg there, they were just a distraction. As I turned left on Potter Lane, and then a quick right onto Oak (these GPS things are better than any of those ancient “all-seeing” amulets we used to rely upon), I see the reason I came here this trip — the home of Frank and Rosemary Graham.

I’m not getting the Grahams. I know this. I mean, I can cross the lines, and get them for a time… but these are the kind I never get for real. Still, what they are disgusts me, and whatever I can do to remove them as a shining example to others is worth my time here.

One time, about 10 years ago, I appeared in Dan Rather’s apartment in New York City. I like fucking with people in that way. Told him he had 30 minutes to ask me any questions he wanted. It was great. Drove the poor guy nuts. When he went around shouting “What’s the Frequency, Kenneth” the next week, no one had any idea it was because he had a 30 minute sit down with Mephistopheles and couldn’t tell anyone about it.

But the other reason I look back on that interview, is that he asked the big question. What is it that the devil fears most? There’s nothing that is even in second place. The answer is simple: True Love.

True Love sucks monkey balls. I swear that would be a great bumper sticker, but I don’t think anyone else is as fond of it as I am.

But True Love not only inoculates those involved in such a saccharine relationship, but it sets a good example for neighbors, teachers, families, and more. True Love makes my job hard.

So I’m here tonight to fuck with True Love, and I know I better bring my “A” game.

Like I told Rather, the rules are simple. I can’t make anyone do anything. I can’t just make someone commit a sin. It’s like with the police and entrapment. Can I do things to stack the odds a bit? Like I did with Ted and Meg? Yeah, but that’s about it.

But nothing like that is going to work with these two.

Frank and Rosemary Graham. Both 30 years old. Graduated from Notre Dame (hate that place!) in 1999. Frank actually had contemplated joining the seminary program when he arrived on campus, but he fell in love with Rosemary and decided that wasn’t “God’s will.”

I feel myself throw up in my mouth a bit just thinking about this.

Anyway, they are engaged as sophomores, but do not marry until 2001. And get this — they don’t have sex until their honeymoon. No hand jobs, no nothing. I swear to “Him”, where does He come up with these people?

They both work non-descript jobs, but also volunteer their time at their local parish. They actually co-teach a children’s liturgy every Sunday, as well as mid-week religious education.

They are the couple that shows up on your doorstep when you move into the neighborhood with a basket of freshly baked cookies, they mow your lawn for you when you break your leg, and they cat sit for you when you go away on vacation.

And they do all of this without a shred of ego or self-superiority.

Can you see how they must be stopped?

Anyway, about the only thing I could find to mar this saintly house of paradise is this — they’ve been trying to start a family for the last five years, but have been unable to do so.

I swear I’ve had nothing to do with this, although the idea that these two can’t procreate gives me a great deal of pleasure.

I’ve kept tabs on them. Hoped it would drive a wedge. Cause a fight. Cause finger pointing even? Nope, nothing. They just “support” each other. It’s really gross.

Still, I’m thankful for the opening, and I will take full advantage of it at lunchtime tomorrow.

For now, I pull away from their house and with a flick of my finger I knock out cable in the whole neighborhood. Why? Because I can.

As I sit at the counter of Annie’s Diner, I have trouble choking down this turkey club sandwich. It’s actually pretty dreadful. But Frank, of course, comes in here every day for lunch, out of loyalty to Annie herself. He couldn’t bear not to give her his business.

Today is no different.

I’ve kept the seat next to me open, and when he comes in alone he just naturally gravitates towards it. I get a refill on my coffee while he eats. I’ve had my folder and keys on the counter between us the whole meal, but I’m sure he considers it rude to look at other people’s materials, so he hasn’t even peeked.

Still, while he’s somehow forcing down a piece of what looks like apple pie, I simply get up, and begin to walk out, leaving my folder behind. For good measure, I call up a little gust of breeze from the opening door to send my papers scattering.

Right on cue, I hear Johnny Goodyshoes yell “Sir! You dropped your papers” I try not to smirk.

As I turn back and head towards him, he has gathered them up and is holding them out to me. I see his eyes momentarily flash when he reads the letterhead.

“Thank you very much, young man,” I say. “Much appreciated.”

“Oh, um… you’re welcome,” he says, a bit distracted. “I couldn’t help but notice… your papers. You work at a fertility clinic?”

“Yes yes,” I smile. “Well, work there is a bit of an understatement. I run it. My name is Dr. Stephen DeVille, the founder of the DeVille fertility clinic. Pleased to meet you, and you have my great thanks. I’d have been a wreck had I lost these.”

He holds out his hand and we shake, and I can feel him regarding me.

“Frank Graham, nice to meet you Doctor,” he says. “It’s odd, my wife and I.. well… we have been seeing doctors in your specialty for the past few years, and I’ve never heard of your office. Are you from out of town?”

I shake my head. “No dear boy, I’m up a block and a half from here. In fact, I’ve seen you eating lunch here many times, I think. Don’t I look familiar to you too?”

That always gets the “nice” people. They never want to admit that you might recognize them, but they don’t recognize you.

“Yes, now that you say so… yes. You do look familiar. But your office…?”

“I don’t waste money on local advertisements, son. No need. My clients come from around the country, and I’m booked for the next six months. If I may ask… how long have you and your wife been trying to conceive?”

“About five years,” he says. “Maybe a bit longer.”

I screw a look of compassion and concern on my face. I think it’s a pretty good one, I practice in the mirror every night. It does not come natural.

“Oh, that’s dreadful. You have my condolences. And you know what… I am also in your debt. I will tell you what, stop by today at 4 p.m. I have 30 minutes I’d planned for an international webinar I was supposed to participate in, but it has been postponed. I will give that time to you by way of thanks.”

“Oh, well, my wife Rosemary works,” he says. “She couldn’t take off. I mean, I could, but she couldn’t on such short notice. Could we try to schedule something else?”

I’ve got him.

“Oh, certainly. Call the office or stop in. We should be able to get you in sometime in the next eight months.”

I see his shoulders sag.

“That long? Oh… well… maybe…”

“Tell you what,” I say. “Why not just come over yourself today? There’s much I can learn just from you. In fact, it’s quite possible that I can help you greatly. If not, we schedule something later and you return with your wife. Sound good?”

“Yes Dr DeVille, thank you,” he nods.

“See you at 4 pm, Mr. Graham. Please don’t be late.”

I turn and walk out the door, with an evil grin on my face that DOES come quite naturally.

I can sense Frank walking up the stairs towards this makeshift office, which I’ve made look about as opulent as a doctor’s office could. The only thing I’ve not taken care of is the receptionist. Most of the time I’d go blond, big tits… but not with Frank. I summon a minion, and whisper “matronly” as I flick my finger. A little pie faced grandma smiles at him as he walks through the door.

We sit in my office and after I’ve taken a blood sample and handed it to Granny minion, I have him tell me about himself. He speaks clearly and eloquently for about 10 minutes. I, of course, am not listening. I know all this. What I do notice is that he doesn’t lie, nor exaggerate. The fat guy who goes into the weight loss clinic usually paints a picture of how he eats three all-vegetable meals and runs five miles a day, and the guy with crabs tells his doctor that his wife is the only women he’s every slept with.

Frank just states facts. It makes me hate him even more.

I wait for a pregnant pause (pun intended) and have Granny minion return with a sheet of, frankly, gibberish. I study it intently, while Frank waits patiently. I then screw on a smile, and look him straight in the eyes.

“Very good news Mr Graham. May I call you Frank? I can help you. I feel bad that you’ve wasted time with others. These tests show me that I can help you today, if you’d like.”

I see the stunned look in his face. Trusting soul to boot. “You can call me anything you’d like Doctor, but… You can really help us? You don’t even need to see Rosemary?”

“No son, I do not. Let me ask you this — what would you say if I told you that I could double the chances that you and Rosemary could conceive? How would that sounds?”

He leans back in the chair and looks stunned. I start to worry that he’s going to ask too many questions, but instead a huge grin covers his face.

“I’d say that’s about the most amazing news I’ve ever heard,” he says. “I mean, it’s the first good news we’ve had.”

I tell him that I cannot guarantee anything, but that the chances of them conceiving really will be increased by more like 200%, but I’m saying 100% to be conservative.

“I don’t mean to be rude, doctor,” he says. “But all these visits have tapped our savings a bit. Looking at this office and what you mentioned before about how in demand you are… may I ask what this will cost?”

I wave my hand and smile at him. “I wouldn’t dream of charging you, Frank. Do you have any idea how much money you saved me today? Those papers, contained quite a bit of proprietary information about my procedures, as well as confidential information about two of my more important clients. Had those been lost, it could have caused me great damage. I gladly will trade my services for what you have done.”

“Doctor DeVille, that is most generous,” he says. “But I will not take advantage of your good nature in that way. It wouldn’t be right. We just may need to pay you in some installments if that is ok. Whatever papers you need signed, I will sign.”

I know arguing with him on this will be like trying to convince a duck it cannot swim, and I honestly could give a fuck about this. So I just nod, and shake his hand.

“Frank, in my business, I work on trust. I don’t need you to sign any papers. Just hold my hand, and ask me to give you what we’ve discussed. That’s all I need. Yes, I know it sounds archaic, but it has always been my way.”

I tighten my grip on his hand, bringing my other hand over to encase his. He has a momentary flash of “this is odd” in his eyes, but then resumes his smile and speaks quite clearly.

“Doctor Deville, would you please make it so the chances of my wife and I conceiving a child will at least double?”

Thank Hell. I drop the smile from my face and I see the fear in his eyes as mine glow bright red. I could do this quickly, but why not savor? I send the shock of electricity coursing through his hands and watch his body convulse as he falls backward into his chair.

I don’t know what these feels like, but those I have forced to tell me, say it feels as if they are literally on fire. His body shakes and convulses in his chair, and he screams in pain.

I start slowly, taking his 5-10 frame down to 5-4. I hear the bones compress, the skin pull tight, and the screaming increases. It is music.

Next, all his hair is removed. To him, he must be feeling as each is being pulled with a tweezer, because the screaming has become a shriek.

The shaping is next. Hips widen, fingers lengthen, his adam’s apple disappears. I raise his cheek bones. I imagine that one feels like dental work without Novocain. Marvelous.

As tears flow from his eyes, they reach his mouth and drop over his now pillow shaped lips. Think Angelina Jolie with a bee sting. His bald head must feel as if the skin is being ripped off, as long cascades of curly blond hair emerge from it at a rapid rate.

His hands instinctively reach towards his abdomen, as his internal organs are replaced. I imagine this is like surgery without anesthetics. I have to remember to try that sometime so I can compare the noises.

I see him on the verge of blacking out, so I stop… just enough time for him to take a few jagged breaths, and open his eyes and look up at me in abject horror. As he opens his mouth to speak, I do it — and the pain of someone removing his cock and balls with a single ax blow overwhelms him. Glad I remembered to sound proof this room.

The pain drives him out of the chair, and he falls on his hands and knees. I’m sure he doesn’t notice the increased flesh I add to his now rounded ass, but he can’t help but notice the pain as his chest skin is stretch quickly to contain the huge boobs that now hang from his chest and reach the floor. Their size forces them together as beads of sweat run down between them and vanish.

The last bit cannot be tolerated by humans, so I save it until this moment. I reach into his brain, and it is like parts of it are being hit with small hammers. The sum of 1,000 concussions. Or a few severe car accidents. No one ever again will consider him an intellectual. The final burst of flames inside his skull cause him to pass out, his body now limply lying atop his buoyant breasts — like a young child laying atop two beach balls.

As he blacks out, I sit back and smile. The minion brings me a scotch and water, and I sip the sip of the victorious as I await sleeping beauty’s awakening.

I thought about dressing him in some skimpy lingerie while he slept. Or taking his virginity. But I want to savor this one, and I want him to know what I’m doing. So I simply had him dressed in his old, now poorly fitting clothing, and propped back up in the chair.

I see his eyes start to blink as he approaches consciousness. The first thing he sees is my shit-eating grin, and that makes me smile even more broadly.

“Welcome back, kitten,” I say, with a laugh.

“Wha… Wha?” is all he can muster. I have to be careful to keep him conscious, so I flick my finger and he sits bolt upright in the chair, unable to move anything but his head. I contain a chuckle as his tits wobbly a bit viciously on his chest, with him unable to contain them.

“Ssssshhh, don’t bother trying to speak right now, sweetie,” I cackle. “You’ve been through quite a trauma, and you’re probably still feeling it. Some of the punchiness you’re feeling, however, is going to be a permanent situation, so you best start getting used to it.”

I see him staring at me, but not quite comprehending. Perfect.

“As you can probably tell, your body is now that of a woman. Now, I know that math is probably not very easy for you right now, but you can add one plus one, right? You see, before I changed you… only Rosemary could conceive a child. Now you can too. So since two of you can now conceive, that doubles the chances of you having a child. Did I deliver, or not?”

“No” he says weakly, “This isn’t… this can’t be? I mean… how?”

I let him see me laugh this time. His squeaky, dim sounding voice is music to my ears.

“Actually, you’ll find that your odds are even much higher. You see, that body of yours… well it needs sex. A lot of sex. You don’t feel it right now, but every four or five hours it is going to ache for sex. And when I say ache, I mean it. You’ll find yourself in physical pain if you don’t “get some.” So that right there should really raise the odds, don’t you think? That cute little watch I’ve put on your wrist will beep every four hours when you’re about to feel the pangs of lust. Hope that helps.

“I’d never…” he tries weakly to argue, but I cut him off?

“You’d never have sex without the man wearing a condom? Oh good point. But the thing is, you’re not as smart as you once were, you know? Can you feel that? You’re going to forget about birth control a lot, I’d guess.

Oh, or maybe you were saying you’d never have sex with a man? Oh no, dear, that’s not the case. You’ll have sex with anything that moves when the feeling strikes you.

But maybe you were going to say something differently? Sorry I interrupted. Go ahead.”

I see him trying to focus, to concentrate. Neural pathways which once so quickly and effortlessly connected him to the facts, arguments and reasons he needed in the course of daily events now failed him. Instead of driving a car down the well lit streets of your home town, a trip through his brain was like driving in a foreign city, after dark, with no headlights. If he ever makes a point, it will be by sheer accident.

“I don’t… I mean, how? And why? It’s just… “ he stammers.

“Sssshhh, honey bunch,” I smile. “Don’t strain yourself. Here’s the thing. You’re still Frank Graham. I mean, if you look in your wallet, you’ll still see your driver’s license, credit cards, all that. Your place of business will still be expecting you tomorrow morning, and of course your lovely wife Rosemary is probably wondering right now why you’re late for dinner.”

“Rosemary…. How can I?…”

“Be late? Well, you slept for some time after the transformation. It’s about 8 pm right now. Won’t she worry?”

He’s fully conscious now, so I release his body, allowing him to move in the chair. His hands instinctively start moving all over his new form, touching it as someone would touch a Popsicle stick on the ground covered in ants.

“Who are you?” he demands in a voice which doesn’t sound all that demanding. “And why have you done this to me?” He stands up to, perhaps, try to physically confront me, but the stress on his body, and the weight of his new tits sends him toppling right over, face first.

I lean over the desk and see him lying there. “Oh, good thing your airbags inflated to break your fall,” I laugh.

“Now, just so you don’t think I’m heartless, I know you might have some trouble with a few things. So on the paper I’ve placed in your pants pocket you will find the name and address of a club. It’s called the Boobs Nest. Maybe you’ve heard of it? Out by the airport? No… not you. You’ve never heard of it, I’m sure.

Anyway, the club owner thinks he hired you last week. He thinks your name is Wendy Wobbles, and that you like to be paid in cash. You probably should go there tonight or tomorrow night, or he might give the job away.

“I’m not doing the naked dancing thing” he said, pulling himself to his feet. I’m sure the signals he sent to his brain said “I’d never work as an exotic dancer” but I like the way it came out.

“Of course you aren’t,” I said, taking him by the arm and marching him out of my office and towards his car. “It’s just an option that’s all. Now, you should probably get home to Rosemary, don’t you think? Here let me help you to the door. Now just take things slowly for a little while, you’ll have to get used to your new center of gravity.”

“Gravity? I… wait, I still don’t get, how?…”

I watched him struggle to pull the seatbelt over his massive tits in preparation to drive home, Was he angry? Sure. Confused? Absolutely. But combine those two with his limited intellect, and just sheer weirdness of what occurred to him, that I honestly don’t blame him for just wanting to get home. I couldn’t wait to get there myself, and it was a simple matter to not make him notice that I’d slipped into the backseat to join him.

I’m not sure who was more disappointed that Rosemary was not home, me or him. But not finding her there, he went rooting through her clothing trying to find something to better fit him. The thing is, Rosemary was nearly as tall as he was, and quite thin. So neither her tops nor bottoms would fit him. But as he kept stumbling around as his pants hit the ground, he simply stepped out of them, and threw his ruined shirt on the ground too.

Seeing him walk around like this, with tight men’s underwear barely containing his large round ass, his huge tits bouncing every which way on his chest, and his long blond bedhead hair falling all around his face, he might have as well worn a sign that said “fuck me.” I wish I’d not turned invisible so he could see the smile on my face.

He clearly couldn’t figure out what to do, so he plopped on the couch and turned on the television. I could see the conflict in his face. “Do I touch this new body? Or is that wrong?” he must have been thinking. But then the watch beeped for the first time, and I could see his eyes go wide. Even in his addled brain he knew what that meant.

For the first time, his hands roamed down to his new vagina. I know he was trying to see if he could feel any growing wetness, and sure enough, his poking around was erotic enough to make it happen. He brought one hand up to try to contain his massive tits, and he found touching was making waves of pleasure wash over his body.

“It’s happening…” he squeaked.

Confession time. That watch is a $14.99 digital Timex watch. I just set an alarm to go off every four hours. I might have the ability to transform matter, and I do have the ability to alter perceptions and memories, but there is no such thing as a body that “needs” sex. And certainly not on a schedule. However, making the suggestion to him, reinforcing it with the watch alarm, his newly addled brain, not to mention the fact that he has seen his body transformed from male to female, was enough to throw this man… this god-fearing, church-going, salt of the earth man, into what I’m looking at right now — a panting wet, horny slut of a woman. And I’m loving every minute of it.

It was a simple matter to make the Fed Ex delivery man think that the Johnson family next door was not home, and come to the Graham’s to get them to take the package.

And what a sight it was when the driver saw the door open to this naked living wet dream. I could see his cock spring to life in his pants, as Frank pulled him in and started kissing him passionately.

Frank ripped his pants off right inside the front door and barely started clumsily licking at the guy’s cock before he shot his load all over Frank’s face and tits.

Poor sap. I briefly thought of giving him a little help, but I quite liked the idea of his dressing quickly and leaving in shame. He’ll spend the rest of his life being embarrassed about this. Regretting the unbelievable and once in a lifetime fuck he blew because he couldn’t get a grip on himself.

And Frank lay on the ground, cum dripping from his hair, face and chin, and slowly started to realize what just happened. Then came the crying. He sobbed and sobbed trying to make any sense of what just happened. His body was still aroused, and unsatisfied, but he apparently believed the “lust curse” had passed.

And then, of course, came Rosemary through the front door.

“Who the heck are you and what are you doing in my house?” screamed Rosemary.

Heck. This woman sees a naked huge titted slut in her house, and still she can’t swear. Unbelievable.

“I, um… Rosemary? It’s Frank…” he stammered.

“My husband? What have you done with him? Where is he? Frank! FRANK? Are you here?”

“Yes, I mean, look what happened to me. I… I mean, I don’t even understand how?…”

Rosemary looked at this woman, and saw the cum dripping from her face. Rosemary’s cheeks grew red.

“Are you on drugs? You have to be responsible for your own actions! I don’t want this in my house! Get out! Get out!”

She grabbed her “husband” by the shoulder and pulled him towards the door, with Frank whimpering and pleading.

“Please please Rosemary, please it’s me Frank? I mean, please? I live here?” Statements came out like questions, further hiding what he was trying to tell her.

“Get out of my house you… you… whore!”

With that Rosemary closed the door, hard. She looked through the peep hole in horror as her neighbors had come out of their homes to see this. They saw a huge boobed naked woman standing on the Graham’s front porch, weeping and pleading to be let back in.

I’m sure this will come up at the next neighborhood board meeting.

Confused, Frank stumbles back to the car and gets in. He winces as the rough seat belt is uncomfortable over his now naked tits. He grabs the car keys I’d put on the seat next to him and starts it up. As he is pulling away, Rosemary comes running out of the house, screaming like a mad woman.

“Wait! That’s my husband’s car! Where is he? What have you done with him? I’m calling the police!”

As we drive away, I smile at how beautifully this is all going.

“So where are we going, Frank?” I asked from the back seat.

I so startled him that he nearly swerved off the road.

“How come you’re there?” he said. “When did you like come in my car?”

“Rosemary wasn’t very nice back there was, she” I said, changing the subject. “She seemed quite angry with you.”

“Yeah, but I mean, she just didn’t understand what you did. I mean, I don’t get how come she couldn’t listen to me.”

“Well, I don’t know the answer to that, honey bunch, but I do know she said she’s going to call the police. You’re driving a stolen car, you know?”

I could see him trying to understand my point. He seemed to almost have gotten it, before the blank look returned.

“This car is owned by Frank Graham. Take the next left. Even though you are Frank Graham, do you think you look like him anymore?”


“Who do you look like, do you think?”

“Um… what was that name you said before?”

“You mean Wendy Wobbles?”


“So who do you think you look like, Frank? Take this right after the gas station.”

“I look like Wendy Wobbles, I guess.”

“That’s right, you do. And if you get pulled over by the police, do you think they’ll think you are Frank Graham?”

“Well… prolly not, no.”

“Very good. You’re not even wearing a shirt, Frank. I’m guessing that is illegal, too, don’t you? So what do you think they’ll think? Bear to your left here.”

“Umm… I don’t know.”

“They’ll think you’re some crazy hooker or stripper or something, who stole a car. And they’ll take you to jail.”

“I don’t want to go to jail! I just want to go home and…”

“I know you don’t want to go to jail, sweetie. But remember, you have Frank’s wallet and ID. There’s no ID for Wendy Wobbles. If you get arrested… they will be very upset with you for having no ID.”

“Oh that’s really bad, right?”

“Yes, really bad.”

“So like what should I do?”

“I think you should hide somewhere. That’s what I would do. Get rid of the car and hide.”

“But like, where?”

“Well, remember that place I told you about? The Boobs Nest? Where they know Wendy Wobbles? It’s right up there, see it? Why don’t you park the car in that supermarket parking lot, and I’ll take you over there, ok?”

By this point, just the rhythm of my voice was enough to have him following my suggestions. I can’t even imagine how much fun others will have with him when they find out how easy he is to manipulate.

“Ok, whatever you think is best.”

After he parks the car, I take the keys from him and check out his trunk. He had a gym bag in there, and I pull out a t-shirt with “Pay it Forward” on the front. Did I expect anything else?

Anyway, when he stretches it over his massive chest, the phrase almost seems somewhat dirty, brining yet another smile to my face as I lead him through the front door of the Boobs Nest to begin the next phase of this very satisfying day.

“Fuckin A, it’s about time you got here!” club owner Bud McMahon shouted at Frank as we walked through the door. Dancers arrive at 8! Do you need me to write it down on your boobs or something? Let’s go! Let’s go!”

I could see Frank trying to process this environment and not succeeding, even as Bud grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him along. I’m sure he’d never set foot in a strip club before, and here he was, in the body of a stripper, being yelled at and pulled to the backstage area.

“Lisa, get Wendy here dressed and ready,” yelled Bud at an older chunky looking woman. She must be some sort of den mother or something. “I want her tits on the stage in ten minutes.”

“Come on, honey, let’s clean you up a bit,” Lisa said to Frank, as she escorted him to the door which said “Dancers Only.” As the door closed behind them, I saw him give me a look that was at once pathetic and terrified… a wonderful combination.

Bud, who remembered me as an “old friend” joined me at a table and ordered me a scotch and water. As long as I am implanting false memories in people’s heads, I might as well make sure they know what I drink.

After about ten minutes of not listening to Bud talk about how hard it is to run his club, I hear them crank out Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer” as the announcer barks “For the first time on Boob Nest stage, please welcome… Weeeeendy Wobbles!”

Frank stumbled out from behind the curtain. He is a sight. They put him a metallic silver bikini, and clear heels. At first he just stops there, frozen, when a hand from behind gives him a push. A combination of trying to balance on the heels, and his hesitancy, cause him to move awkwardly towards center stage, but send his tits into total spasm on his chest, as the hoots and cat calls from the gathered crowd shout their approval.

Clearly he doesn’t know what to do, but he was told to dance so he starts to just sway on the stage. I can see that Lisa combed out his hair, and put sparkly silver eye shadow on his eyes, and bright red lipstick on him as well.

He continues to bounce around awkwardly, as the customers begin throwing money up on stage. But I can tell he is staring into the lights, so he can’t see much of anything at this point. After a minute or so, he turns his head back to the curtain as someone is yelling at him.

He reaches behind his back and pulls the string to untie his bikini top, sending his massive tits bouncing free in front of the crowd. He just keeps walking and stumbling around, but the guys aren’t really looking for dancing. They’re looking for tits. And there’re getting the biggest set this place has seen in some time.

I watch Bud staring at her. I can tell he’s a bit shocked at how bad she is, but I can also tell he’s please with how much money is being thrown on the stage. And even though that money goes to the dancer, it means repeat customers for him.

The song ends and Frank just stops on the stage, as the men cheer. He clearly has no idea where he is or what he is doing, and just walks back off the stage, without picking up the money.

Before Lisa can step out to collect it for him, at least half of it is scooped back by the guys, and a few bucks taken by the waitresses who pass the stage and think no one is looking.

Lisa leads Frank back towards us, stuffing the wad of cash into his hands as she sits him down.

“Bud she… has some work to do, I’d say.” She says. “But great tits.”

Bud smiles and stares at Frank for a second, then waves his hand in front of his face.

“Helloooo? Anyone in there Wendy? You with us?”

“Yeah,” Frank says. “I’m like having the weirdest dream of all time.”

I suppress my chuckle.

“Dream? Oh ok… sure, whatever honey,” Bud says. “Well listen, you owe the floor manager $15 a night, that’s Lisa. You owe the DJ $10 a dance, you owe each waitress $5 and the bartender another $10 per night. You also owe the house, that’s me, $50 a night.”

He grabs the money from Frank’s hand and counts it out. There must have been close to $200 on stage when Frank left, but by the time Lisa got out there, what was left was $60.

“You’re $30 short,” he says. “You’ll make it up on your next dance in about an hour. You wanna work the room and do lap dances, fine by me. But that’s another $50. Otherwise, go back stage and be ready for your next turn. Got it?”

Frank just nods absently, and Bud gets up and leaves.

“So Frank, are you enjoying your new job” I ask?

“This… like is just a dream, a weird dream.”

“Frank, you remember being in my office today, yes? You remember me transforming you? You remember the Fed Ex guy? You remember Rosemary? This is not a dream… this is your new body. Isn’t it wonderful?”

He looks at me dully. I can see his reality starting to dawn on him, but I think it might take a bit longer.

“Can you… turn me back?” he asks meekly.

“Of course I can,” I say, completely truthfully. “Now you should go back and get ready for you next dance. Bud said you can sleep on the sofa in the dressing room for a few nights until you find a place to live. I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you. Have a great night, honey.”

I stand up, and kiss him on the cheek, and his mind barely registers the fact that both my hands grab his tits roughly and roll his nipples between my fingers.

“You too,” he says, confused. As I leave for the night, I check my watch. In about two hours his watch is going to beep again, and I’m sure he’ll have no problem satisfying his itch. I’m almost tempted to stay and watch, but I’ve got other places to be right now.

When I enter the club the next afternoon, Lisa opens the “Dancers Only” door for me so I can check on Frank.

He’s quite a sight. Passed out on the couch, naked, his face, tits and hair covered with dried cum. I can tell from his open thighs he’s been fucked as well. Makes sense, his little watch would have gone off three times since I’d last seen him.

“Wake up sleepy head,” I say, shaking his shoulders. It really is quite a thing to watch those huge boobs jiggle on his chest.

“Uhhhhhhh,” he says, opening his eyes slowly. “What is… YOU!”

Ah, looks like someone has rejoined the party.

He sits bolt up right, and pulls an afghan he’d been using as a blanket over his chest.

“You’re the one who… who… did this to me! You made my body all looking like this! Do you know what I did last night? I mean, it was so totally gross! You gotta please turn me back! Right now!”

Seems the swelling in his brain has gone down, so this is where we are. I can tell by his speech patterns and the look on his face he’s just as addled as I had hoped he’d be, no where near the zombie we were dealing with yesterday. Good, this is much more enjoyable.

“Do you really think you’re in a position to demand ANYTHING, Wendy?” I sneer.

“Don’t call me that! My name isn’t Wendy Wobbles or whatever they keep calling me. It’s Frank Graham! You totally know that!”

“Oh sure, I know it. And you know it. But do you think anyone else will believe you? Do you?”

“Well… no… but…”

“And you best be very careful, missy. Even your little pea brain must remember me telling you… you don’t have any identification. I’ve set it up so these people here pay you cash… but beyond that, I’m not sure how you’ll make a living. So you better show me some fucking appreciation!”

“I’m not going to show you any apprestiagon… uh… apperat… I’m not going to say thanks to you! You made me a woman and I’ve made love to men!

“No, Wendy. You’ve fucked men. You’ve been fucked by them. And you’ve sucked their cocks. That’s totally different.”

His eyes go wide, and then he bends over the couch and throws up into a trash can. I can see him trying to paw his hair and tits out of the way as he does so.

“Please,” he says, now more weakly. “Please just let me go home. Please?”

“You’re free to go home at any time, dear.”

“No, you know what I mean… I want to be me again… I want…”

Beep… Beep.

I see the feeling of dread overcome him as he shuffles uncomfortably on the couch. It’s not unlike a Pavlovian response at this point. As much as he might deny it, his body has been aroused sexually… something he probably seldom felt as a man. And so when the timer beeps, his mind floods with the memories of what he has done, and the pleasure he has felt… and I see his lips form into a small “oh” shape as he lets out a little sign, betraying the arousal he was trying to hide. I am so delighted that he is doing this to himself, and does not know it.

“But before you go, perhaps I have something else you’d like?”

I unzip my pants and pull out my cock.

“You want to suck it, don’t you Wendy?”

“Please… don’t call me that.” He says.

“Say to me, ‘My name is Wendy Wobbles, and I want to suck your cock,’ or I will turn and leave this room,”

He shakes his head, and I see tears form in his eyes… but I also see both his hands kneading his tits, and reaching down and pulling roughly at his pussy.

“My name is Wendy Wobbles and I want to suck your… cock,” he says, his voice fading on the last word.

I could make him repeat it, but the fact is, I’ve been looking forward to a good blowjob, so why wait? I step towards him, and he quickly drops to his knees and begins to lick at my cock awkwardly, but with great passion.

Unlike the Fed Ex driver, I can make this last as long as I wish. I think about that as I push his head towards me, pushing my cock deep into his mouth. As he begins to bob up and down, I see his fingers starting to push in and out of his dripping wet pussy.

His moans grow louder as he nears orgasm, but I push him off me and onto the ground suddenly. He looks up confused and lusting, but before he can speak am I on top of him, my large cock fucking his pussy hard and deep.

“Tell me… how much you need to be fucked,” I hiss.

“I neeed to be fucked,” he cooes in reply.

“Tell me what a slut you are,” I hiss.

“I am a slut, such a slut who needs to be fucked,” he cooes.

“Beg me to cum inside you,”

“Please… please cum inside me.”

As he says the last word, I explode, sending him into screaming orgasm. I hold myself there, hard and deep, as the waves of orgasm crash over him again and again.

After about five minutes, I pull out, leaving him a puddle of sweat and lust on the ground, as I get dressed.

“As I said, you are free to go home at any time, Wendy. Nothing is stopping you. But you should be careful not to lose this job, should things not work out at home. Have a wonderful day.”

“Go to hell,” I hear him whimper as I leave the room. He has yet to figure out that that was exactly the day I had planned.

I was sitting comfortably inside the Graham home a few hours later when I heard a car pull up. Looking out the window, I saw Frank squeeze himself out of the backseat of a cab, and hand the driver a crumbled handful of bills he didn’t really have the time or capacity to count. He was wearing a tight black Boobs Nets t-shirt and some pink mini shorts he’d found at the club.

The few neighbors out mowing their lawns are being treated to quite the sight, and I spy the disapproving scowl from a mid 50’s woman across the street who was tending to her petunias. The cab driver lingers for a moment as Frank makes his way to the door, not pulling away until he can no longer oogle his former passenger.

Frank would have been here sooner, but I imagine he spent about an hour trying to find his car. Once his little mind remembered it was in the nearby grocery store parking lot, I’m not sure whether he just gave up walking around looking for it, was tossed off the property by a store manager who thought he was trying to drum up business for the club, or actually remembered that Rosemary was going to call the police, and that what actually happened was that the car was discovered last night and towed away.

I’m nearly certain it was not the latter.

Nevertheless, here he was, just a few hours after I’d fucked what was left of his brains out, calling “Rosemary” as he walked through the house.

After a minute or so, he noticed me sitting on the couch sipping a drink, and jumped.

“What are you doing here?” he stammered. “Turn me back!”

“Now now, I’m here to help you, dear. I’m sure you’ll have some trouble convincing Rosemary, so I thought maybe I could be of assistance.”

Twenty four hours ago, he’d have been looking for the sarcasm in my voice, or the irony. But now, he can do little but take it at face value.

“Um… ok. Thanks. But hey… you could like just fix it by, you know, making me into me again? Could you just do that please?”

“So, do you like dancing at the club. You must love having nice big tits, yes?”

“Oh its like awful being like this! I mean, it’s a sin! And like, I don’t want these things. Everyone stares at them.”

The ease of taking him off point should make it less than fun. But it continues to amuse me.

“Still, you could probably make a lot of money doing it full time, don’t you think?”

“I… don’t know. I danced two times and both times I didn’t pick up the money. It’s hard bending down without falling over.”

“Well, I imagine you’ll get used to it, don’t you think?”

“Um… I guess so. But maybe if I… Hey! I don’t want to get used to it! I just want you to turn me back, ok? Please? Before Rosemary gets home?”

“Do you remember what it felt like to make love to Rosemary,” I asked, once again changing topic.

“A gentleman doesn’t, you know, talk about that stuff,” he said. “But I mean, it was way wonderful.”

“And do you remember me fucking your pussy, and sucking on your tits before? Do you remember me cuming inside you?”

He said nothing.

“I wonder which was more sexually exciting to you. Hmmmm. Interesting question, isn’t it? Would you like me to fuck you right now? Because I’d be happy to do so.”

“No! That is wrong. Please… just… just leave me alone. I have to like get ready for Rosemary to come home.”

I watched him pace around the house for about an hour. He was attempting, I guess, to clean up. Perhaps his addled mind thought that if all the dishes in the dishwasher were unloaded, his wife might be more accepting of the huge boobed slut in the tight t-shirt claiming to be her husband.

It honestly doesn’t get much better than this.

I looked at my watch and saw it was just after 5 pm. I’m sure he could expect his wife at any moment. Which is why it was marvelous when I heard his little watch go off again.

He started towards me, a mixture of revulsion and lust in his eyes, when I stood up and held out my hand in a stop sign. It still amazes me that these feelings are all self-induced. The human brain is truly and amazing organ.

“No, dear. I offered you my services a while ago, but you rejected me. You may not have them now.”

“But… I need…”

“What you need is not my concern. I suggest you look elsewhere. Or perhaps you can wait for Rosemary to help you?”

The mention of her name drove him into a panic. He knew she would be home soon, but he could not contain his lust. We were quiet for a moment, hearing only the sounds of suburbia. The birds tweeting, the lawnmowers mowing.

He was outside the house in less than a minute, and zeroed in on his neighbor, Harold Binderstein. Harold was a just retired widower, who had been thinking of selling his house to move to a less stressful environment. No need to worry about lawns and maintenance at his age.

Yet here he was in the hot sun, mowing his lawn again. What was different was that, for the first time, he turned in shock to see a huge boobed slut pulling off her tight t-shirt and begging, “Could I, you know, please please suck on your… cock?”

Before Harold could answer (it would have been “yes” of course), Frank had his shorts down and was sucking on Harold’s sweaty balls and cock. This time, I did help. I doubt Harold would have lasted more than 30 seconds… but I gave him about five minutes of staying power.

Realizing that he was feeling like a young man again, Harold began bucking against Frank’s mouth, forcing him to take his cock deeper each time. Harold had long been bothered by a bad back, but he was ignoring that now as he bent over and pawed at the largest tits he’d ever seen in his life.

This man, who had been only with his wife sexually his whole life, but who had heard and seen things of course, whispered half in embarrassment and half in lust… “I would like it if you let me tit fuck you, I think that’s what it is called.”

Frank had, of course, never heard of such thing… but even his brain could figure out what that meant. He rose up, pulled his huge tits on either side of Harold’s cock, and started rubbing them hard against it. Harold moaned loudly, as Frank found he could still suck the tip of the cock when it emerged through his great mams.

After a few moments of this, Harold exploded between Frank’s huge tits. The pleasure was overwhelming, so much so that he had forgotten that he was standing in the middle of his front yard, in the middle of the afternoon.

Frank, his lust quenched, stood up and ran back towards the house, Harold’s cum dripping from his tits down his stomach as he bobbled towards the front door. I could see the tears of regret in his eyes.

Harold laid on the cut grass and watched in amazement. He would NEVER sell this house.

As Frank reached the front door, he saw Rosemary’s car turn in the driveway. Trying, in his mind, to make himself presentable, he wiped the cum off onto his shorts, and pulled the t-shirt back over his head, pushing his curly hair out of his eyes as best he could.

I too came outside, and closed the door behind me. Best that this take place outside, I felt.

Rosemary slammed the door in a huff, and after looking around self consciously as the growing group of neighbors apparently watching the show from their yards, turned bright red in the face while she approached us.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, lady” she hissed. “But I just called the police. You stay right there, because I know you did something to my husband, and you if you hurt him in any way…”

Her voice trailed off when she looked more closely at Frank, seeing him in all his post-coital glory.

“Who are you and why are you doing this to me and my husband? Is it money you want?”

“Rosemary…,” Frank cooed, not noticing the drop of cum sliding down the right side of her full lips. “It’s me… I’m Frank. This guy? He like… he like made me like this.”

Before she could respond, I flicked my hand and the three of us were standing inside their home. The neighbors had seen what I wanted them to see, and now it was time for Rosemary to understand the truth. Or at least the version I wished her to understand.

“What? How are we here?” she screamed. “Who are you people?”

“That is your husband, Frank, my dear,” I said. “And my name is Mr. DeVille. I have transformed him in this way, at his request. “

“You did what?” she said incredulously. “You transformed someone? I don’t know what game you are playing…”

Another flick of my wrist and Rosemary was quite suddenly turned into a small cocker spaniel dog. I endured about five seconds of barking before I flicked my wrist again and returned her to her form.

“Oh my goodness,” she said. “What are you? How is what you just did possible?”

“It is possible. That is all that matters. And what I did to you, I have done to your husband, at his request.”

She looked at Frank intently, as if hoping to see some familiar glimpse of the man she once knew.


“Um… Yup. It’s me. But only now I’ve got like these giant tits and I don’t really like them but sometimes I get all horny and I have to have sex and I don’t like that either but it’s like — oh my god — I have to do it, you know? And I totally miss you.”

Frank moved towards Rosemary for a hug, but she pushed him away, on hand on his shoulder and one hand inadvertently brushing against one of his giant tits.

“You are NOT my husband!” she cried. “Where is he?”

In the distance we heard the sounds of police sirens. I could redirect them, but I think better to let this neighborhood spectacle get even a bit more spectacular.

“Yesterday,” I said, “Your husband here came to my office, and begged me to transform him in this way, isn’t that right, Frank?”

“Well… no… I mean…” he said.

“Did you come to my office, with a problem of a sexual nature?”

“Um… yeah.”

“And did I tell you that I had a solution for you?”


“And then you shook my hand and asked me to do this, isn’t that right, Frank?”

“Well, it’s sort of right, I guess” he said, even this simple logic being far behind his ability to refute.

“Rosemary, you can hear the police are coming. This IS your husband, which I can tell you are wanting to believe. Honestly, isn’t it preferable to believing him dead?”

She looks at us both in disgust, but I see too that part of her wants her husband back, in any form.

“Ask him anything you wish to ask him, to verify his identity. But we have but a few moments before the police arrive. And if this is your husband, do you really want him thrown in jail looking like this?”

She stared for a moment, biting on her fingernail absentmindedly while she thought. Finally, she looked at Frank, and asked him the question.

“Tell me,” she said. “What are the boy and girls names we had picked out should we ever have a child? The names we promised never to tell another soul.”

I was briefly concerned that her question would be some detail of a memory… something that, while still contained in Frank’s brain, would now take much longer for him to retrieve or if at all. But he answered straight off.

“Joseph for a boy and Theresa for a girl.”

She looked at him, stunned. We could hear the police cars pulling into her driveway, and the sound of car doors being opened and closed.

“Frank… how could you, be so… depraved? How could you wish for this? How could you do this to yourself. To me. To us?”

“I was just, you know, trying to make things better” was all he could muster. Perfect, actually.

“Rosemary, the time is short. Frank here needs to get back to the Boobs Nest. That’s where he dances under the name of Wendy Wobbles, and where he has had quite a lot of sex. If you wish the police to arrest him, that is where you will find him.”

Before she could answer, we heard the police pound on the door. With a thought, Frank I and were gone, leaving her there — stunned.

The next week is wonderful. Frank continues to be a reluctant and terrible stripper, but word spreads pretty quickly through the customers that “Wendy Wobbles” is a pretty slutty skank, and you are around her when she’s looking for it, you can fuck her for free.

Because of that, Frank is pretty much hated by the other dancers, and spends all of his time either on stage, sleeping in the back room, fucking in a customer’s car out in the parking lot, or up on Bud’s office being taken anally by his new boss.

A few afternoons, Frank tried to make himself presentable and went out looking for a different job, with humorous results. Of course he has no form of identification, so the only thing he thinks to bring is a flyer from the club showing a topless photo of him and identifying him as “Wendy Wobbles.” This got him thrown out of a grocery store, and a CVS. He was about to be tossed out of a Target store, when his little watch went off and he ended up getting fucked on the desk of the 62-year old hiring manager.

He still didn’t get the job, of course. But he was told that he should come back for further interviews. I’m sure Frank took that at face value and might actually do it. Too funny.

He called Rosemary’s phone at least once a day and left a message about how sorry he was and how much he missed her, but they went unreturned.

I was not at all surprised that the police never came, because… what could Rosemary have possibly told them? I’m sure the thought of this stripper claiming to be her husband would further scandalize her.

The few evenings I checked in on her she was home alone, either sobbing on her bed, or kneeling beside it in prayer. As if that would do any good.

But I shouldn’t say that I am surprised when she walks into the Boobs Nest this night. I watch her closely from the shadows. Dressed very neatly, she reluctantly pays the cover charge and walks into the room, as if being forced to walk into a pile of steaming horse shit.

She sits herself at a table in the back, and waves off waitresses before they can even get within ten feet of her. I briefly consider going to speak with her, but I prefer it this way.

After about ten minutes, the announcer calls out for Wendy Wobbles, and the customers crowd the stage, hoping that maybe they will be the “lucky” one. Frank has been doing this now for close to two weeks, and he is absolutely no better. He walks out in a red, white and blue bikini, his huge tits shaking with every unstable step he takes on his heels.

His “routine” as it is, seems to be just to try to walk in a circle around the stage. As he does so, the cash starts coming up at his feet. And when he drops his top, I look to Rosemary and see the look of disgust and anger on her face. But the look is fleeting, as she immediately stands up and walks towards the door.

Frank, of course, cannot see her at all, what with the bright lights. In fact, he now just goes into a sort of trance when he is on stage, which isn’t far from his normal mental capacity anyway.

When he is finished, he walks off the stage, grabbing a handful of money as he does so.
A few of the other girls had discussed tried to get “Wendy” fired for being such a terrible dancer, but they were simple jealous at the money she makes. And since now what they do is just scoop up all her money after her set, save for the little she occasionally grabs to pay the staff, they don’t mind her at all.

Frank comes off the stage and immediately takes off the heels, which he still cannot negotiate. He also scratches at his inner thigh, which is still coated with the now-dry leakage of cum after his watch went off about two hours before his set, and he ended up letting one of the bartenders fuck him in the supply room.

Rosemary stares at him, as she slows near the club exit. I can see how disgusted she is. A customer comes up to Frank, and jiggles his boobs a bit, apparently on a dare from his friends. Frank barely notices and sits down at a table, rubbing his sore feet.

When I look back to see Rosemary’s expression, I see she is gone. But what surprises me is that she is not gone from the club, but instead from the doorway. She walks over to Frank’s table and sits down. Her face bright red with embarrassment and disgust.

“Frank,” she whispers.

“Rosemary!” he bellows with delight, sending his naked tits flopping wildly in front of him, knocking the club soda the bartender had brought him off the table and crashing loudly on the floor.

“Oh… um… sorry Manny,” Frank says as the irritated bartender approaches with broom and dustpan. “It was like totally my fault, but I’m so excited. This is my wife, Rosemary!”

Manny shakes his head and laughs. No one listens to Wendy, and this is just another impossibly dumb thing out of her mouth. Manny smiles at Rosemary, even as he looks her up and down.

“Maybe your wife wants to join us next time I fuck your brains out, huh?”


Rosemary stands to leave, but Frank grabs her arm.

“Oh please Rosemary, don’t go!,” he begs. “Manny, that was like so rude. I’d never let you do that with Rosemary here! Plus, you know, its only when I really need it. I mean, otherwise its gross! I love Rosemary, you know.”

Manny shakes his head and walks away, and Rosemary just stares.

“You… you have made love to him?” she asks?

“No, its not like that. It’s just… see this watch? When it beeps I get all horny and so I let people do stuff to me so I don’t feel that way no more.”

Rosemary shakes her head in disgust. “How often?”

“Um… seems like a lot. I don’t count so good anymore, though. Isn’t that weird? But like, lots of times guys ask me to do stuff and I say no way I love Rosemary so I don’t. But only when the watch goes off.”

“You shouldn’t be in a place like this, Frank,” she says. “This place is vile.”

“Yeah, I know. But I don’t got no other place to go. And I can sleep here too and there’s food. I tried to get a different job, but its not working.”

Rosemary looks up at the ceiling, as tears stream down her face.

“Look, why don’t you… why don’t you come home with me? Ok?” she says. “I don’t know what I believe, or how… or how we could deal with this. But you shouldn’t be here.”

Frank smiles. “Oh I’d so love to come home and be a family again!”

“Let’s just start by getting you home, ok? Then we’ll talk further.”

I sat in silence watching this. It’s rare that I am surprised or stunned, but this was one of those times. I just sit there as Rosemary takes Frank by the arm, after gathering his bikini top and helping him retie it, and leads him out of the club and to the parking lot.

I suddenly do not like where this is going.

I turn myself invisible and silently get in the back of Rosemary’s car for the ride home. They say nothing. I see her glance at Frank’s enormous chest during the ride, watching the way it moves with each bump of the road, but then pulling her eyes back to the road before saying something in anger.

When we arrive at their home, Rosemary quickly gets out of the car and hurries over to the passenger side, basically pulling Frank out of the car and inside the house. It is clear she is hoping no one notices, and sadly I don’t think anyone did.

Rosemary puts Frank on the small couch in their bedroom and then goes and gets one of his old bathrooms. She returns and silently directs Frank to put it on, and sit down. She then sits down across from him, and stares at him for a minute, saying nothing.

“Let’s say for the moment that I believe you are Frank, ok? You have to tell me… why did you wish for this? Was I making you unhappy?”

“Oh no Rosemary, I love you. I done all this for you!”

“For me? How is… how is what you are for me? How has it done anything but ruin my life? The police are out looking for you, you know that right? You’re a missing person? Our friends are over here all the time… lending support. And our neighbors? Well the looks I’ve been getting, from when they’ve seen you. I just can’t take this…”

Rosemary begins to sob uncontrollably. Frank gets up and goes to comfort her, and as he does so his robe slides open and one of his breasts slaps down against Rosemary’s head, causing her to recoil in disgust.

“PLEASE, do not touch me. Please.” she cries. “This is hard enough… just talking to you.”

“I’m sorry, “ Frank says. “Sitting back down and closing up the robe. I’m totally sorry.”

“And why,” Rosemary says, wiping away her tears. “Are you talking like that? Like some… idiot? And I’ve heard you swear too. Frank doesn’t swear.”

“Um… well, I hear all these words all day now, so I kinda get used to them, you know? But I can totally stop saying them if you want, ok? Like I won’t say fuck no more, or titties, or cunt, or any other ones you think is bad.”

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Fiction: Something Invented by the Imagination

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