All Things Being Equal

By Bimbo Alison
July 2008

Rick is very thankful that Stan the Sprite showed up to save he and his family from a fatal car accident. But when a magical creature with a gambling problem asks you for “one little favor” in return for his help, you can be sure that there’ll be nothing little about it!

Author’s note: Haven’t written a story in a while, so I might be a bit rusty. But I do hope you all enjoy it. Have a wonderful summer!

I’m not a perfect person.

Anyone who tells you they are is trying to sell you something.

And yes, I don’t go to church that much. But I go most years on Christmas and Easter with the family. And my wife and I have talked about going more often than that. So that has to count for something, right?

Do I believe in God? Eh, who knows? I mean, I believe in something. Let’s just leave it there.

So when I hit that damn patch of ice on I-87, and tried with all my might to steer my car away from the oncoming tractor trailer, or at least turn it so that I took the brunt of the impact rather than my wife and kids… was I being a hypocrite in whispering “Dear God, please help us?”

Probably. I admit it. Probably. But would you have done anything differently?

The thing is, I prayed to God, and got Stan.

Not that I should complain, I guess.

It was the oddest thing. You’d honestly have to see it to understand it, and I hope to… well… “Stan” … that you never do.

Everything froze. Or if it didn’t freeze exactly it was like watching a DVD frame by frame to see if you could actually see Sharon Stone’s coochie-coochie during the interrogation scene from Basic Instinct. Not that I ever did that. But I’m sure others have. Perverts.

Anyway, everything slowed down, except for this little nebbish of a guy who was suddenly sitting on my windshield. I looked to my right and my wife seemed frozen just as everything else did. A glance in my rearview mirror saw the frozen look of terror on both my kids’ faces. It broke my heart to see that.

But right in front of me? Moving like normal and with a very nonchalant look on his face, was Stan.

“Hey, how goes it?” he asked. He looked back at the oncoming truck and then back to me. “Oooh, this is going to be messy, huh?”

I looked at him in disbelief. And although I was frozen with terror, I wasn’t frozen like the others. I just kept thinking that this was the most fucked up thing I’ve ever seen.

“Pleased to meet you, I’m Stan,” he said. He reached forward and his arm went effortlessly through my windshield, as if it weren’t there. My hands were locked on the steering wheel still.

“Oh, you can let go,” he said, cheerfully. “Your car’s not going anywhere now. Trust me.”

With hesitation I removed my hand from the wheel, which did not move, and then shook Stan’s hand.

“I’m Rick,” I said. Or at least I think I said that.

“Yes, yes, I know you’re Rick,” he said, shaking his head. “Rick Charles. Forty-six years old. Married to June. Forty-five years old. Children Lisa, 17, and Marcus, 15. Seems like everyone is present and accounted for. Great, great.”

“Not great!,” I shouted. “We’re all about to die! And the only thing I regret is that I didn’t get a chance to slug the guy at that burger joint who gave me the tainted meat that led me to see you!

Stan shook his head and laughed. Meanwhile, I noticed our car and the tractor trailer getting a bit closer.

“Nope Rick, I’m real,” he said with a smile. “And I’m here to help you. I can save you and your family and make this just another one of those near-miss accident things.”

I’m not genius. But I’ve got this guy, who has stopped time, sitting on the hood of my car, and saying he can save me and my family’s lives. Would any of you have said no?

“Ok… great,” I said. “Thanks, Stan.”

It was then I saw the first glimpse of trouble. Stan smiled weakly, and then started scratching his head and conspicuously stopped making eye contact.

“Um… the thing is,” he stuttered. “I kind of need something from you in return. It’s not a big deal, honest.”

A tip? Any time anyone tells you that something isn’t a big deal? It is a big deal.

“What are you talking about, Stan?” I asked. “What do you need? And who are you? And… THAT TRUCK IS GETTING CLOSER!”

Stan snapped out of it, saw the truck and waved his hands over his head. There was a flash of light, and the next thing I knew I head the sound of my own screeching tires as the car tugged hard to the left and ended up in the breakdown lane. I sat there shaking, with my hands on a wheel I hadn’t turned myself, as I heard the sound of the truck horn blaring in anger as it sped on by.

“Oh my god!” June screamed, her face white as a ghost. Both kids were screaming in the back seat. And there on the windshield, apparently unseen to them all, sat Stan.

“I’ll be in touch,” he whispered. And then he waved his hands over his head again, and he was gone.

It had been two weeks since the near accident. As all things do in a busy family, it went from being the world’s biggest event and talked about all the time for the first day, and then forgotten under the morass of sport practices, homework, social lives and everything else by day three.

I thought about Stan a lot, but never said a word to June or the kids. Finally after a week or so, I just wrote it off to some sort of weird vision that helped me avoid that truck. Whatever you want to call it… fate… some sort of mystical thing… I don’t know. But I’d pretty much concluded whatever happened was in my mind, and it helped me to swerve and avoid the truck.

So imagine my surprise when I got to work and saw Stan sitting nervously on a chair in my office.

“Hi there Rick,” he said cheerfully. “Remember me?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. He was some sort of magical creature who appeared to me during what could have been a fatal car accident for my whole family and saved our lives. So… yeah, I remembered him.

“I started to think you were a figment of my imagination,” I said, internally kicking myself for using such a trite cliché. But you try putting together a sentence in a situation like that.

“Nope, I’m not a figment. I’m a sprite,” he said. “And before you ask, NO, I’m not a lemon-lime beverage. That was only funny the first 1000 times I heard it. Actually, it was one of my kind who named the beverage, I think. Or maybe not. I read it on Wikipedia. You really can’t trust the stuff on there, you know?”

I just stared at him. “Sooooo, why are you here,” I asked?

“Well,” he said, sheepishly. “I kinda need something from you, in return for saving your lives.”

Before I could even start to question him, he continued.

“It’s not a deal or anything,” he said. “My job is to help people. Honest. That’s what I do. But, you know, I also like to have fun and get bored. And I get into trouble. I’m a gambler. And a bad one.”

“And what does this have to do with me?,” I said.

“Ok, see… I really did want to help you. Honest I did. But the thing is, I can’t help everyone, you know? I mean, I’d never get a moment’s rest. You understand, right?

“Well I lost some money to this guy who owns a bar around here. Kinda a lot of money. And I sort of promised that, to pay off my debt, I’d help him with his business.”

The number of questions I had were too numerous to mention. I settled on just one.

“And what does this have to do with me?”

He smiled. “You’re a business consultant, right? I thought you could… you know… help him out. See what his problems were and help him out. See, I went looking for people like you who were in trouble that day, and figured, if I saved you you’d do me a favor. That’s all.”

“But can’t you just do that arm waving thing….”

He cut me off quickly. “Nope. I can’t make money. I can’t do stuff to people that they don’t want done. I can’t bring back the dead. Rules. There are lots of rules. Plus, I only have so much magic, you know? If I use too much, then I sort of have to sit out a while.”

Now it was my turn to chuckle. “An allowance. You have a magical allowance? Can’t you just, you know, take out the magical trash or wash the magical dog and earn some more?”

“Hardy har har,” he said. “I’m serious! We’re not supposed to even show ourselves to the people we help if we can help it, and now this guy who I didn’t help has me over a barrel. I could get in a lot of trouble! So can’t you just, talk to him? Help him out? Please?”

I nodded. Stan seemed like a goofball, but he didn’t seem like a bad sort. And lest I forget, he saved my life… whatever his motivation.

“Sure Stan,” I said. “It’ll be like a pro bono case. We do those. Tell me about this guy and his business.”

“This is a decent looking place,” I said, as Stan and I walked into Meredith’s Bar, a pub about half a mile from my office. “I’ve driven or walked past this a bunch of times, but never came in.”

“You and most everyone else,” said a booming voice.

I looked up to see a big meaty hand extended towards me, and I shook it. Or at least it shook me.

“Bob Meredith, I’m the owner,“ he said, apparently unwilling to ever end the handshake. “You must be Nick. Damn glad to meet you Nick, and so great of you to see if you can help us out.”

“Rick, “I said.

“Right, right, Rick. Rick,” he said laughing. It was about 60 degrees outside, and this guy was sweating like it was 90. Which was probably also the number of pounds he was overweight.

I somehow managed to get my hand out of his sweaty grip and went into my normal business mode.

“So tell me, Bob, what element of your business are you the most proud of, and what element concerns you the most?”

Bob looked at Stan, who shrugged his shoulders.

“Well,” Bob said, “I’m the most proud that we have a nice little bar and restaurant here, and I’m most concerned about how we’re fucking dying here!”

For a split second I just stared at him, and then he broke into a big sweaty grin.

“Stan said you could help me,” he said, looking right at Stan. “In fact he GUARANTEED it, didn’t you, Stan?”

Stan nodded.

“I’m losing a ton of money every month, Nick, and I have no idea why. I mean, yeah, we don’t got a tons of customers, but we’re over the breakeven point.

“Rick,” I said, apparently without impact.

“The only thing keeping me going is the poker games I run out of the back, and I ain’t officially coded to do that, if you get my drift,” he said, sticking his elbow in my ribs.

“But it normally brings in some good cash… at least from the guys what end up paying what they owe!” he said, smiling at Stan.

Stan smiled weakly back, and they both started laughing.

“So what do you say, Nick? Can you help me out?”

“Rick,” I said. “I’m happy to try, Bob. How about we get a look at your books and see what’s going on?”

“Right this way,” he said, taking my head in a headlock and pulling me towards his office. One thing I was sure of: this guy wasn’t wasting his money on deodorant.

“Someone is ripping you off, Bob,” I said matter-of-factly.

“I knew it!” he shouted. “I just knew it! Who? Tell me who!”

I looked up slowly from this mess that he called his “books” and smiled.

“Basically? Everyone.”

I explained to Bob that it was obvious from what he was spending on food and liquor that someone in house was stealing from the till. But also that he had receipts for food and products that he paid for, without accompanying delivery slips.

“I think because you’re careless, your suppliers have been overcharging you. They must know your records aren’t well kept, so they have been getting away with it. I figure you’ve lost about $10,000 in just the last three months,” I said.

“And unless you charge $20 per drink,” I laughed, “Either your bartenders, floor managers or waitstaff are stealing from you too. Maybe all of them.”

Bob put in face in his hands, and Stan patted him on the back. I try not to get emotionally involved with clients, but I felt bad for this guy. He seemed a nice guy, just sloppy and lazy.

“Look Bob, the good news is this — most of this is easy to fix. First off, you have someone you trust take your deliveries every day. Or better yet? You do it. Make sure you’re getting everything you pay for. And second, figure out who is stealing from you, and fire them. Even if five people are stealing, once you fire the first one, you’ll see that the other stealing stops right away.”

I stood up and extended my hand. Bob looked up and reluctantly shook it.

“It was nice meeting you, Bob.” I said. “I wish you the best of luck. I think you’ll see improvement in no time.”

“Stan?” he said, a bit angrily.

“Um… Rick,” said Stan. “I don’t think that’s enough to get me out of trouble with Bob. I’m glad you found some problems, but could you please help him see it through?”

I told Stan that as a consultant, we identify problems, and give people a series of steps they can take to fix them. Normally it takes a few weeks to unearth the real problems in a business, but that Bob’s were so obvious, it was just a few hours. Even still, what I’d just done for him would have cost him about $7,500.

“That’s a start,” Bob said.

“Stan,” I said, arms crossed. “Just how much do you owe Bob?”

I’d been working at Meredith’s Bar for two weeks. Coming over for an hour before work, sometimes at lunch, and occasionally after work. Nothing really different than I did when I was working for any client, but I wasn’t getting paid.

I’d helped Bob receive his deliveries, and I felt that we’d solved that issue. The very first day alone, one of his vendors tried to overcharge him by $175.

But we hadn’t been able to crack who’d been stealing from the bar itself, and Bob was getting frustrated.

“I’m losing money every week,” he groused. “I’m going to have to close down! Stan, I’d rather just have the $100,000 you owe me than this fucking guy saving me $175 a pop!”

Stan nodded quickly and spoke very fast, promising Bob he’d work it out. He grabbed me and pulled me aside.

“Rick, I’m in a lot of trouble here!” he whispered. “My supervisors? They got wind of what I did and how much I owe Bob, and I’m in a lot of trouble if I can’t fix it. Plus, I’m getting way behind on my quota for helping people!”

My sympathy for Stan was slowly being replaced by my annoyance of him in the last week. I know he saved my life, but my muscles were sore from hauling boxes, and I too have been falling behind at my real work.

“Stan, I don’t know what else I can do. I’m trying to be a good sport, but enough is enough. Sometimes businesses just close.”

The look of panic in Stan’s eyes was obvious.

“You don’t understand, Rick.” He said. “If… you don’t help me repay my debt to Bob, then… I have to… put you back.”

Before I could say anything, he quickly continued.

“I mean, take you and your family back to that place and time on the highway, and let that truck…. You know.”

My face grew red, and I grabbed Stan by the collar and lifted him up to my eye level.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I demanded. “How could you ever threaten me like that?”

“No…no….”he stammered. “It… it… isn’t a threat. You see, when my supervisors found out what I did… I told them I fixed it by making a deal with you. I’d save your life and you help me fix Bob’s business. And since it’s a deal, if we fail, then … I have to …do what I said. But I don’t want to. Honest!”

“We didn’t have a deal you little shit!” I said, as Bob approached us hearing the screaming. “I never agreed to anything like that!”

“I know… I know,” Stan said, his eyes full of tears. “But I had to tell them something. Please… please… we can fix this. I’ll make everything all right, I promise. But I need your help. Please?”

I put him down and shook my head. I briefly thought about how much money we had in the bank, but realizing it wasn’t more than about $5,000 — which a week a go I thought was a lot of money, I knew that wouldn’t work.

“Ok,” I said. “What do you suggest.?”

I have to admit, what Bob and Stan came up with, while weird, was turning out to be ok.

I’d been around the bar way too much for the staff not to think of me as Bob’s eyes, so there was no way they were going to pull anything when I was there.

But when Stan did his little hand waving thing, things were different. Wow, were they different.

When I looked in a mirror I could swear I looked just like my college graduation photo. In every possible way, I was a 22-year old version of myself. At Bob’s suggestion, we took to calling me Nick.

I was the new lunchtime bartender. Stan made it so that from 11:45 am to 1:15 pm every day, I’d turn into Nick. The only weird part was the clothing. I had to have a spare change of Nick clothes at the office, and Rick clothes at the bar.

And I had to make certain I had no working lunches.

But I have to say, I was digging it. You don’t realize how old you’re getting until you get a chance to be young again. It was weird, but pretty great.

I was kind of bummed that it was only Wednesday of my first week as Nick that I found the culprits. Pretty much everyone. The waitresses would pocket money when the customers left cash for payment. I’d see them tear up the tickets and rewrite them for less.

The bartenders did the same. Someone would buy three drinks, but they’d enter “two” in the register, and keep the rest.

Kids these days, huh?

I was a little disappointed that one of the waitresses, Wendy, was one of the biggest thieves. I have to admit that my 22 year old hormones thought she was awesome. And being young again, suddenly 22 year old women don’t look at you like you’re invisible anymore.

Luckily for June, and for me (because who needs that guilt!), that I wasn’t exactly a looker at 22. But hey, at least Wendy smiled at me once in a while.

I gave Bob my recommendations. He’d have to install a computerized ordering system, which would cost him about $6,000, to stop the waitresses. And a video surveillance system at the bar to catch the bartenders. That would be nearly $7,000.

And he’d probably have to fire his staff.

We shook hands, just after I transformed back to Rick for the last time, and I wished him the best of luck.

Stan was nowhere to be found.

My eyes grew wide in panic as I hit a patch of ice on I-87, and tried with all my might to steer my car away from the oncoming tractor trailer, or at least turn it so that I took the brunt of the impact rather than my wife and kids.

Before I could scream, everything froze. And there was Stan again, with a sad look on his face.

“I am so sorry, Rick,” he said, tearing up. “So sorry.”

“Stan,” I pleased. “Please. You can’t do this. Please.”

“I don’t want to… but… Bob said the deal was that we fix his business. And it’s not fixed. All that stuff you did, it helped… but he’s still losing money. And my supervisors are really really angry. We can’t welch on deals. It’s a rule.”

“I don’t care about your goddamn rules, Stan,” I said, seeing the car moving towards the truck again. “This is my family we’re talking about!”

“I know,” Stan said. “I know. It’s just… will you agree to a deal? I will save your life and your family’s lives, and in return you and me will help Bob’s business? If we make it a deal then I don’t have to lie anymore. We’re not supposed to lie, either.”

“Fine,” I said. “I agree to the deal, Stan. “I agree.”

“Oh that’s so great,” Stan said. “We have to agree to get him out of debt and back in profit in six weeks, ok? That’s what Bob wanted.”

“Fine, fine! Just stop this, Stan!”

With that he waved his hands in that familiar way.

“You know your bar is located in Worcester, Massachusetts, don’t you Bob?” I said, exasperatedly rolling my eyes.

“That’s why this is a such a great idea, don’t you think Stan?” Bob boomed.

Stan shrugged.

“Ah, it doesn’t matter, I’ve already paid the franchise fees with that loan we took out, so it’s done,” Bob said. “And it is going to be great!”

I’d been spending my lunch hours at Bob’s place, trying to work on his business plan. We talked about trying to do some lunch specials to attract local businessmen. Some theme nights to attract a younger crowd during the week, and maybe making a huge deal of Sundays during the NFL season.

Partly through my relationship with them, I got the bank agree to at $25,000 equity loan to help him upgrade the place, pay for some promotion, and generally help his business.

But what did this fat slob do? He blew most of it on buying in as a Hooters franchisee. In Worcester. Massachusetts.

In some ways, I was happy. It had become a real pain coming over here at lunch every day, and I was getting tired of making excuses at work. But now that he’d gone to a Hooters, there’s no way I could be seen here on a daily basis.

Bob and Stan understood.

The first week did better than I expected. I guess the novelty of the whole thing. But then he was right back in the shit. Luckily, some guys from my office said they wanted to check it out, so I “reluctantly” went along.

The problems were obvious. This was, after all, Worcester, Massachusetts. And while I’d not been in a Hooters before, I’ve seen the pictures of the girls. These were NOT what they were supposed to look like.

When I got up to go to the restroom, Bob and Stan signaled to me.

“I can’t,” I whispered. “I’m with people!”

With that, Stan did that hand waving thing, and I was “Nick” again. Have to say… I missed it.

Still, when I shuffled over to them, I was a bit pissed.

“Look, I’m with people from work,” I said. “What do you want?”

Bob grabbed me into a bear hug. My god did he stink.

“You gotta help me,” he said. “It’s not working out. I’m going to go out of business. I’ve got maybe two or three months and then it’s over. Please?”

I looked at Stan and he had a scared look on his face. I’m glad he hadn’t told Bob about our deal.

“I can’t help you if you don’t listen to me, Bob.” I said coldly. “I tried to help you, and now you’ve spent all this cash to open a Hooters with girls who aren’t even as cute as the ones you had at the bar before!”

I turned to Stan. “Can’t you…. You know… Do anything about that?”

Stan shook his head. “I can’t. Mostly because I can only help people that are in danger, and these women aren’t in danger. But also… I’m in a lot of trouble for this whole mess and I’m not allowed to do too much right now.”

My young face felt like it was burning hot. For the first time, I was really afraid that my family could be in real danger.

“There’s got to be something we can do,” I said. “Can you get your money back from Hooters? Go back to the bar?”

Bob shook his head. He then looked at Stan, and gave him a “come on, do it” look.

“Look, Rick…um… I mean Nick,” Stan said. “What if… you know… what if, just for few hours a day….”

I cut him off.

“No. Absolutely not. Under no circumstances. No.”

“You gotta do it,” Bob said. “Look, just one cute girl… and a girl who got good business sense… you could really help. Please… just at lunch time. Please?”

I looked at Stan. He shrugged. He also looked scared. That scared me too.

“Bob,” I said. “If I agree to this, and we try it… and it doesn’t work, will you admit that we did all we could for you?”

“Sure, sure,” Bob said. “Sure I will.”

“Then fine,” I said. “Two hours day. No more. And you have to make me as… masculine as you can, Stan.”

Bob shook his head.

“I got that already! I think that one girl has a mustache!”

I laughed. “No, I just mean… you know that girl on Baywatch? The one with the short hair and the only one without fake boobs? She’s a million times better looking than anyone here, but not ridiculous. It has to be something like that. Pretty but athletic. Ok?”

Bob nodded. As Stan started to wave his hands, I stopped him.

“Tomorrow,” I said. “I have to get back to work.”

With that he waved his hands, and I was back to my old self again, and returned to my co-workers.

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep that night. June wanted sex, and that was a great thing. Because more than anything, I needed something to affirm my masculinity right then.

I left the office at 11 a.m., saying I had a doctor’s appointment. We hadn’t worked out the clothing thing, so I wanted to get there early and figure out how this was going to work.

Bob and Stan were waiting for me in Bob’s office.

Stan explained how it would work. I would be changed for two hours a day, whenever I wanted. I could change back and forth as necessary. He said I just had to think about the change and it would happen. The same going back.

Bob handed me a small bag, a sick smile on his face. I pulled out the tiny orange shorts, a pair of very small underwear… and a white shirt that seemed about the size my daughter wore when she was five. In the bag were also a pair of sneakers, socks, a bra, and some pantyhose.

I looked at them in horror.

“Guys,” I said. “I don’t know how to put this stuff on? Pantyhose? Are you kidding me?”

Bob pushed across a booklet. It was the code of conduct for a Hooters waitress.

“That’s the rules, Nikki” he said with a laugh. “Seriously, they take it serious and if they see I’m not enforcing it then I can get fined.”

I sighed.

“Rick,” said Stan. “I can make it so… so… you know how to do that stuff. If you want. It’ll be like you’ve done it before.”

I nodded.

I took the bag and walked into Bob’s bathroom. As I was going, I saw Stan do the hand waving thing out of the corner of my eyes.

I took a deep breath and thought “Nikki” in my mind, and I was stunned at how fast it happened. It wasn’t much different then when I become Nick. It was instantaneous.

I looked in the mirror and there was my face. My pretty female face. My suit hung on me and made me look ridiculous. Luckily I didn’t get much shorter… maybe an inch tops. But I also couldn’t weigh more than 110 pounds.

I hung up my suit coat, and as I undid my tie and opened my shirt, there they were. Breasts. I had breasts. They weren’t even as big as June’s, but they were on my body. And I’d kind of forgotten what 22 year old breasts look like. So perky and alert. Gravity and age had taken their toll on June’s body, like it does every woman.

I felt like a pervert staring. Getting turned on… by myself.

I quickly picked up the bra and put it on. I usually fumble with June’s when I’m trying to take it off of her, but I put this on in quick order, without even thinking. It was weird.

I tried not to even look at the below the belt changes, but it was a bit obvious when my underwear fell to the floor that there was nothing flopping around. As I pulled up the panties, they covered my now smooth front.

I sat on the closed toilet and quickly and carefully pulled on the pantyhose as if I’d done it a million times before. Pointed my toes and carefully pulled them up my thin smooth and pretty legs.

What snapped me out of this was the shorts. They were so tight. I got them on, and I could feel my ass pressing against them. I was athletic, no doubt, but there’s still a difference between a woman’s ass and a man’s. I had “back” no question about it.

The shirt was tight. Very tight. And it made my little breasts look a bit bigger, and my smooth tanned arms look even more golden next to the bright white arms of the shirt.

The last thing in the bag was a little name tag that said “Nikki”. I pinned it on and walked out back into Bob’s office.

Stan looked stunned. Bob started laughing. But I could see they were both looking at me differently.

I said nothing and walked into the restaurant.

Luckily it wasn’t too crowded, but Bob, who had followed right behind me, grabbed my shoulder and stopped me.

He turned me around like I was a rag doll.

“You need this… honey,” he said with a smile, as two other waitresses were walking past. He tied this brown little sack around my waist, and put a pen and a pad of order slips in it.

“There’s your first table… go,” he said.

I walked up to the table, and put a smile on my face. It was four young kids, all wearing shirts and ties. Probably college interns at a local company. Their expressions changed when I walked up. They were smiling, and looking at me…in a way I’d never been looked at before.

I remembered how I’d been greeted when we came yesterday, so I took a little breath and just said “Hi, I’m Nikki. Welcome to Hooters. How can I help you today?”

The rest of the two hours was a blur. Waitressing is hard work, it turns out. First of all, the trays of food were heavy to this little body. And I didn’t like the way I could feel my ass shake when I walked. Thank heaven for a tight shirt and smallish breasts. The only embarrassing moment I had with them was when I was waiting on a table right under the air conditioning vent, and I could feel my nipples poking through my shirt. And I could see the guys noticing it too.

I purposely avoid talking to the other waitresses. It just felt too weird, and I didn’t want to have to answer any questions.

My last table was a pair of couples. At one point I caught the eye of one of the women. She was probably a few years younger than me. The real me.. not.. Nikki. And she shot me this look. It was… not nice. I think it was because she didn’t like the way her husband or boyfriend was looking at me.

But all I did was smile back, gave them their check, and waited for them to leave.

When I walked back into Bob’s office, I was exhausted. Mentally, and physically.

“Well done well done!” Bob said, grabbing me for a big hug. The hug wasn’t the least bit sexual, but I have to say I found it very violating. I pulled away as soon as I could.

“I got lots of compliments from people, saying we finally have a real Hooters waitress in the place! I tell them to come back tomorrow! I think maybe this will work!”

I couldn’t share his enthusiasm. I unclasped the bag around my waist, and handed it to him.

“I think there’s a few hundred dollars in there in tips,” I said. I tried to speak as little as possible, as the sound of a female voice coming out of my mouth was so strange. “Add it to your take for the day.”

Bob pulled out the cash, and smiled. I shrugged and went back into his bathroom. As I closed the door behind me, I looked in the mirror and saw an attractive, but tired, 22-year old Hooters waitress. That’s who I was.

It was a relief to get out of the uniform and back into my own body and clothing. I quickly dressed and went back to the office, without saying a word.

A strange thing happened the rest of that first week. I started to enjoy, or at least not mind, my time as Nikki.

First of all, even more so then when I was Nick, it felt amazing to be so young and have so much energy.

And although I missed having the strength of a man, I watched the other waitresses and learned how to use balance and leverage in toting the food. It made it easier.

Most all of the customers were nice. I always smiled and was polite, and avoided all chit chat. But they didn’t seem to mind. Bob had his best week by far financially.

He says that I was bringing in some word of mouth business, but I think it was mostly due to the fact that he had an extra waitress on duty that he wasn’t paying, and who was giving him about $200 a day in tips. That adds up.

The only problem came on the weekend. I agreed to just work during the week, and Bob understood that. But the thing Stan did to me… I had to spend two hours a day as Nikki… even if I wasn’t working.

I had no way of contacting Stan to fix this, so I learned to deal with it. But it was strange.

I showered as Nikki. I used the bathroom as Nikki. And then normally after my wife and kids were in bed, I went down to my office in the basement and sat around as Nikki until the two hours were up.

Once I got past the weirdness, god was it a turn on. Yes, I masturbated. The first time I did it it freaked me out. A male orgasm is so different. As a guy it just builds up and then boom, it’s over. But in a woman’s body the building up is amazing. And then when I thought this was the orgasm part, it would get bigger and better. And then even more than that. Even when it was over, if I just touched myself in the wrong way my body with shiver with pleasure.

Experiencing that, I couldn’t understand why women didn’t want sex all the time.

On Sunday night, when June was packing her work folders into her car, I went into her drawers and got a pair of panties and one of her night shirts. I jammed them in my desk drawer so that I wouldn’t have to always be naked when I was Nikki. I had tried on one of my t-shirts, but was surprised how coarse the shirt felt on my nipples. It was unpleasant. Her night shirts were so nice and soft.

As I sat at my desk later that night, a pair of black panties covering my pussy that was still throbbing from my latest orgasm, a light pink night shirt coolly titillating my perky breasts, and setting my fantasy football lineup on the computer, I had to laugh at what a strange place I’d reached in my life.

“Tell him!,” I heard Bob yelling at Stan. “Tell him or deal’s off!”

I wasn’t sure what I was walking in on this Monday right around noon, but instead of going into Bob’s bathroom to “change” I approached the two of them.

“What’s going on?”I asked. I was pretty sure whatever it was, I wasn’t going to like the answer to my question.

“Ok, Rick,… see…” Stan mumbled. “See? Um…..”

“Tell him!” Bob boomed.

“Ok, here’s the thing. The business is doing better, you know? And Bob’s happy… ish. But we’re nowhere near paying off all that I owe. And he’s getting impatient. The only time he makes money is when you’re here… and … well….”

“You’re not here enough!” Bob said loudly. “And I need my best waitress on the weekends! I mean, that’s my busiest time! Plus, your goddamn tits are too small. A pretty face don’t feed the bulldog around here.”

I know I shouldn’t have, but I lost it.

“You fat piece of shit,” I screamed at him. “You lazy, STUPID, fat piece of shit! You lazy, stupid, have-no-idea-how-to-run-a-business fat piece of shit!…”

Stan grabbed my shoulders and stopped me. I don’t know how long I would have kept going, but I bet I had another 10 or 11 minutes in me, easily.

“Boys, boys,” Stan said, as soothingly as he could. “We can work this out, right? Bob, you understand how it’s hard for Rick, right? Being here more?”

“I guess so, yeah,” Bob shrugged.

“And Rick, this is Bob’s business. He’s got his life savings invested here. You can understand why he’d want us to do anything and everything we can to help him, right?”

I nodded.

Stan had a plan. I would work one shift each weekend, not two like Bob wanted. I’d have to lie to the family and say that I had a new client. I hated doing it, but I understood. Hell, the fact was that if we didn’t put him in profit, I could be sacrificing the lives of me and my family. So it was easy to understand. My time each day would move up to 3 hours. I’d try to arrive a bit earlier and stay a bit later each day, but I wasn’t going to come back after work like Bob wanted. And I had to agree to… bigger tits.

Bob smiled. “A lot bigger!” he growled.

Stan waved his hands before I could say anything and the results were… amazing. Not only did I turn into Nikki, but I was fully dressed in my uniform. I looked down, and all I could see was the gulf between what apparently were two pretty goddamn big tits.

Instinctively, I reached up and felt them. They were heavy.

“How big?” I said to Stan.

“You’re a C cup now,” Stan said.

In this tight shirt, and since they were on my chest, they felt a helluva lot bigger.

Bob, it seemed, was only somewhat satisfied, and grumbled “Get on the floor” and shoved me out of his office.

That first week, my tips more than doubled. I didn’t act one iota differently, but everything I did or said, with these two big flesh bags on my chest, took on some sort of playful sexual innuendo to the customers it seemed.

I stopped asking altogether if guys wanted milk in their coffee, for example.

I do think my new tits, and extra hours, was working. Business was picking up, but Bob was still complaining that when I wasn’t here, the place was kind of dead. But he’d had no luck hiring any new staff that could… well…stack up.

I again reminded him that he was living in Worcester, Massachusetts.

And beyond Bob’s problems, I was having problems of my own. First of all, these tits made my back hurt, and the extra hours of carrying them around made me tired as well.

My boss at work, my real boss, certainly noticed, and I started getting a few snide remarks around the office. Ken Tighes was a fair guy, a good guy. But he was 35 years old, and kind of thought that any of us “old” guys who worked for him must be without ambition. So when he sensed we were slacking off, it wasn’t good.

Not much I could do about it, though. Just had to get through this.

Ken being ticked at me, though, had one side benefit. It made it easier to lie to June. I told her he’d been coming down hard on me, and that because of it I had to work one weekend day each week. She didn’t like it, but she understood.

Our sex life suffered too. I admit that being Nikki made me horny, and made me so much more want to have regular sex as a guy… but I was so damn tired, it didn’t happen much.

Sex, apparently, was not just an issue in my household, but at my second job as well.

After two weeks of being the new Nikki, Bob reminded Stan that we had three weeks to get him into profit, or he’d consider the deal a failure.

Stan just looked at me. We both knew what that meant.

I never knew how much Bob knew about Stan’s situation, nor the deal he made with me. Until this moment.

“In the next two weeks, either I’m making money, or my business is dead, and so is your family,” Bob sneered. He was so angry all the time, it seemed. I didn’t like being threatened, but Stan shot me a look before I could say anything I’d regret.

He was right. I kept my mouth closed.

Bob pulled a dog-eared pamphlet out from his drawer and threw it on his desk.

“I been reading this handbook, and it gave me some ideas. And this time, we’re doing what I want and that’s it. You both understand?”

I didn’t like where this was going.

Bob grabbed Stan, and started talking in his ear. He was animated, and had a smirk on his face. Stan looked scared. I imagine I did as well.

“Do it, “ Bob said.

“I can’t,” Stan said. “You know I can’t. Not like that. Rick… you have to.. .agree. Or I can’t do it. Just say you agree. Please.”

“Agree to what, Stan?” I asked. “I need to know what…”

“No, you don’t. It’s better… just… agree. Trust me. Please?”

I thought about the car. The truck. The ice. My family.

“It’s just for three weeks, right?” I said.

Stan nodded.

“Ok, then…. I agree.”

This time, when Stan waived his arms, I actually felt something that was closer to pain. It was over in an instant, but I felt like my body and had been electrocuted. And I felt it inside my head as well.

When I looked down…

“Holy Shit!” I said. But in a voice so much higher and sexier than it had been before. It almost sounded cute.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Bob said, smiling.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward him, putting one meaty arm around my shoulder, and the other, was actually grabbing my tits. My now… huge tits.

He smelled… almost … good?

“Stan?” I said, meekly… confused and aroused.

“Bitsy,” he said. “You have to go by Bitsy now when you’re a girl. With all these changes, no one is going to buy that you’re still Nikki, ok? “

I nodded, my name was the least of it. And why wasn’t I stopping this grope-a-thon Bob was doing on my new body?

“You’re in there for five hours a day now, Rick,” Stan said. “Just for three weeks. Those… breasts. Those are double D sized.”

I looked up to Bob, who now seemed taller, and he smiled down at me.

“I’m shorter?” I asked.

“Almost 5-3,” Stan said. “Bob wanted you even shorter, but then you would have trouble with the trays.”

Bob turned me towards him, he put both hands on my huge tits and started massaging them. It felt good. He then started to kiss me, and I kissed him back. He smelled so sweet, so sexy.

I felt his tongue in my mouth, and I returned the favor. My hands were on his chest. He was so big and strong. He took my hands and put them down on his crotch. I could feel his growing dick in his pants…

“Bob, stop that!” Stan yelled. “Stop that right now!”

Bob pushed me away, holding up his hands as if to say “Oh sorry” but with a wide eyed grin on his face.

I could still taste him in my mouth, and feel my own wetness in my crotch.

“Rick… you’re… bisexual now,” Stan said. “Bob said he’d had enough of the ice queen. He needed someone who’d flirt more, and just overall be more…. amenable to things. To men. Do you understand?”

Before I could say anything, Bob grabbed me again, and pulled me in for another kiss. While we were kissing, I could feel him grinding his hard dick against my smooth, wet front.

Before Stan could protest, Bob spun me back around, patted me on the ass, and said “Out on the floor!” as he pushed me out into the restaurant.

Those first hours as Bitsy were a disaster. For one thing, the other girls had gotten used to Nikki. And while she was pretty, she didn’t look like I look now. Now, they could have set their hair on fire and every eye in the place would still be on me.

The customers seemed to take every opportunity to brush up against me. Or maybe being so big, I just hadn’t figured out how to bend over a table without my huge tits rubbing the shoulder, or arm of a customer.

And I’d never noticed before how many cute guys came here. Seems like all our customers were just so attractive. I imagined what it would be like kissing them like I kissed Bob, or having them feel me up like Bob did.

And because I was thinking that, I was messing up orders. Forgetting drink refills.

The tips were huge, but they other waitresses were pissed at having to cover the stupid mistakes I was making. It only took about 30 minutes for them to start complaining to Bob about the new girl.

“We didn’t hire her for her brains,” Bob said loudly in front of not only the staff, but the customers. I couldn’t help but blush. “But I’ll shape her up, you’ll see,” he said.

Fifteen minutes later, after I delivered two platters of wings to a table that had no one sitting at it, I heard Bob scream “Bitsy, my office right now!” and I followed him in, noting the delighted and satisfied smiles of the other waitresses as I did so.

I wanted to tell him to just give me a few days to get adjusted to this, and that I’d go back to being a good waitress, but I knew right away that’s not what he wanted to hear.

He didn’t want to hear anything, actually. As soon as the door was shut, he pulled down his pants and let loose his big, thick cock.

I looked nervously for Stan, but he was gone. Bob had waited for him to leave.

He didn’t have to say anything, nor did I have any interest in resisting. I was all over him like bar-b-que sauce on a spare rib. I’d never sucked a cock before, and certainly June wasn’t into doing it, so I don’t know where the skill or passion came from, but I was loving every minute of sliding it inside my mouth and down my throat.

At one point Bob stopped me, flung my arms over my head and pulled off my tight top and unhooked my bra.

The first time I got a good look at my new, double d’s, I was wrapping them around his big sweaty member and letting him tit fuck me.

It was just a few minutes later that he picked me up and put me on his couch. I didn’t even notice him take my pants off, but he must have done so… because when I opened my eyes I could see him rolling a condom onto his dick before plunging it into my pussy.

The only thing I’d put into it before was my fingers, and this was… not that. It was so big, and hard and good. He pumped me like a dozen times, his hands squeezing my huge tits, and pinching and pulling at my nipples before I heard him grunt and push further inside me.

He pulled out and there was a wet “pop” as he did so. He leaned down and kissed me hard, and then got up and went into the bathroom to clean up.

I laid there for a minute, my head spinning. I should have felt violated, but I didn’t. I liked it. But I didn’t have an orgasm either, so it was a bit frustrating.

When he emerged, her threw me a damp face cloth.

“Get you ass cleaned up and back out onto the floor,” he said. “Time is money.”

I did what he said, wiping his sweat off of me and getting my clothes back on. When I did so, he was at his desk with his face in the franchisee manual, so I just went back to work.

Stan was no where to be found the rest of that first week, and Bob seemed happy about that.

I usually started and ended every shift with some kind of sex with Bob. God was he sexy. I never had an orgasm with him, but he was always pleased and it turned me on something fierce.

On Wednesday, I showed up at 11:30 and was hoping I was going to get to give him a blow job, but instead there were these big lights in his office and another man standing there.

Bob explained that he was going to make a poster of me, and sell it in the restaurant. Seemed like good thinking. I wore my uniform, and the photographer, Michael, kept telling me what to do. I found it so erotic. Posing like this.

When it was over, Bob pushed me towards Michael, and I was happy to comply. He was sexy too. I got on my knees and gave him the blowjob I was going to give to Bob. He came quickly and then I went to work.

When I was Rick, things were just as weird. Stan didn’t explain that this “bisexual” thing was not just when I was Bitsy. At the office, I’d look at Ken and get aroused. The interns too. I don’t know if anyone noticed, but I had to work so hard not to get caught staring at other men.

On Thursday, Ken and about six of my colleges from the office showed up for lunch. I have to admit, I found it a turn on. I spent way too much time at that table, making sure that Ken had plenty of good looks down my shirt, as well as brushing my big tits against him whenever I could.

They left a $100 tip. Which of course I gave right to Bob.

In some ways, it felt better that week being Bitsy than being Rick. Things made sense as Bitsy, but as Rick, they were fraught with peril.

My time at home was difficult. I felt so guilty about having sex with Bob, and the photographer, that I couldn’t bring myself to make love to my wife. I kept saying to myself that it was only another few weeks, but that didn’t make it much better.

The real problem came on Friday night. June and the kids were going to her mother’s house for the weekend. Since I had to work, I was happily excused.

But that left me alone in the house on Friday night.

When I got home, I was so longing to be Bitsy, but I’d used up my hours for the day. So when midnight came, I immediately transformed.

I spent the next three hours masturbating with anything and everything I could find. I tried on some of June’s clothes (none of the tops would fit) and basically drove myself to orgasm after orgasm, finally falling asleep in bed in a puddle of my own wetness.

When I walked into Bob’s office, he didn’t even notice the sheepish look on my face. He just stood up and walked around the desk. The ass wasn’t even wearing pants, as he was obviously waiting for me.

I had to fight the urge to tell him that I thought he was sexy.

“Bob, um…. We have a problem.” I said.

“I don’t want to hear about problems, go ahead and change, I’m horny here,” he said.

“That’s the thing,” I said. “I can’t change. Not today I wish I could, sorry.”

I started to explain what happened, but I got midway through it before he just screamed “STAAAN!” at the top of his lungs. Two seconds later, Stan appeared. That’s all I had to do to call him?

Bob started screaming at Stan, retelling him my story. He made it sound worse than it was, but most of it was true, so I just let him go.

Stan shrugged, turned towards me and waved his arms, and I was Bitsy once more.

“There,” Stan said, not really making eye contact with me. “Fixed.”

With that, he vanished, and Bob pulled me towards him. I felt so guilty for what I’d done, I gave him the best blow job I knew how.

I’d been on the floor for almost three hours without a break, trying to do the best I could to help the bottom line. The other waitresses went from scowling at me, to just pretending I didn’t exist.

I noticed I only had 20 minutes left, so I went into Bob’s office. I wasn’t sure he wanted me to work, or to let him fuck me with the rest of my time. But he’s the boss so it’s his choice.

By the way he threw me on the couch and pawing at me, I knew the answer. He was more animalistic than before, and I found that so attractive. As he was pumping into me I felt something I’d not felt before… an orgasm coming.

“Oh god Bob,” I cooed. I never spoke during sex, but I couldn’t help it. “Please, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

He didn’t, I felt the waves of pleasure crashing down on me as he continued to pound me. I loved every minute of it. He was squeezing my big tits so hard, but it felt so good. Everything did. I leaned up to kiss him, and he met me passionately.

He kept pounding, even after I could feel that he’d finished, and I kept having wave after wave of pleasure.

I leaned back on the couch and closed my eyes.

I awoke 30 minutes later with a start. I was lying on the couch, still sweaty and naked, and Bob was at his desk deep into the day’s ledger.

“Why…am I still like this?” I asked groggily.

“Because you’re like that until I decide to change you back,” he said. “I told Stan we couldn’t trust you to do it any more, so now you change when I say. So get your ass back into the restaurant, you’re working a second shift.”

Stan said that he couldn’t do anything to me that I didn’t want, but I wasn’t going to argue. Plus, I did tell him that I wish I could have changed for him. I guess that was good enough.

Working a second shift in this body was going to be near impossible. These tits feel like they weigh 10 pounds apiece. I’m sure they don’t but they sure feel like it.

Bob knew this, and after a few minutes he set up a table near the bar, and had me sit there and sign my poster for the customers (after they paid their $10 for it) and let them take pictures with me. Me kissing them. Them pretending to grope me. That sort of thing. A week ago, it humiliated me. Now, it was just what I did.

Bob called it a second shift, but I worked until closing time. The only breaks I had were for sex, and each time, I orgasmed. I got wet just looking at him. He was so hot, so sexy. God, I think I loved him.

At the end of the night, while I was sucking his cock, Bob said that today was the best day in the history of the restaurant, and that with today’s take, he was officially out of debt. I smiled as he said it, and moments later I smiled again when he pulled out and came all over my big tits. I was growing to love that.

I cleaned myself, but didn’t bother to get dressed, since I’d be heading home.

“Can you please change me back now, Bob,” I said?

“I don’t think so, sweet-cheeks,” he smiled. “You said your family is gone all weekend, right? Wouldn’t you rather spend the weekend with me?”

I had to admit, he was right.

It was kind of exciting. I’d only been a woman at the restaurant and in my house. But we went out to a club and went dancing. I didn’t have any clothes to wear, so he let me wear my Hooters uniform. I remember reading in the manual that it was a huge no-no to wear it outside of work, but when I told him that, he told me that we’d take a chance and maybe drum up some business.

From the way all the guys were staring at me as I grinded against Bob on the dance floor, I think he was right.

Dancing as a woman was fabulous. Just moving around was sensual and arousing. I could feel the wetness between my thighs, and my dancing would cause my tits to wobble even inside my skin tight shirt.

By the time we got to his apartment, we barely made it to the bed before I was naked and he was inside me.

We made love all night long. Or maybe we fucked. God, it felt more like making love. He was so strong, but gentle. There’s something about a big man, that’s so manly. It’s arousing. I feel asleep on his chest.

It was the first time I’d woken up in a woman’s body. It wasn’t much different than waking up as a man, except instead of scratching my balls, I found myself tugging at my nipples as if to say “wake up, sleepyheads”.

I grabbed one of Bob’s t-shirts and threw it on. He wore a 4X, wow that’s so big and manly, I thought. And it fit nicely over my tits. When I walked out into his living room, I saw him and Stan sitting there. They seemed to be having a bit of an argument.

“Hi Stan,” I said sleepily. “Long time no see. Did Bob tell you, he’s in the black? We’re done, we did it. Come to think of it, why am I still Bitsy?”

I leaned over and kissed Bob good morning.

Stan just looked at me, and frowned. “Because yesterday, I gave Bob the ability to change you back, and now he won’t.”

I looked at Bob. “C’mon Bob, you’re in profit now… we kept our bargain.”

I should have been angry, but I spoke calmly and sweetly.

“Yeah, and I’m gonna stay that way,” he said. “Moment you leave? The business goes to shit again. Plus, you love being with me, don’t you?”

I nodded. The sex was great. He was great.

“Enough,” Stan said. “That’s enough. I can’t fix everything, but I can fix that!”

Stan stood up and waved his arms. I instinctively looked down at myself expecting a change, but nothing happened. I looked up at them quizzically, and then I saw Bob. That fat, ugly, sweaty, smelly guy… who I’d had sex with constantly for the past three weeks.

I immediately ran into the bathroom. I was going to be sick.

Stan came in and held my hair back while I leaned over the toilet, expecting to throw up. False alarm.

“I’m so sorry, Rick, really I am,” Stan said. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you, that’s why I couldn’t be around to see it. Bob didn’t want you to be bisexual or flirty or whatever. Didn’t you notice you weren’t attracted to women? To your wife? He wanted you to be a horny, heterosexual female, and madly in love with his body to boot.

Since it was just for three weeks, I thought you could deal with it. For your family, you know?”

I sat back on the floor and looked up at Stan. I should have been furious at him for what he did, but the fact was, he was right. And if he’d told me what was going to happen? And I had to specifically agree to it? With my family’s lives in the balance, I would still have done it. Who wouldn’t have? At least let me keep my dignity by not having to specifically wish to be Bob’s huge boobed slut for three week.

I leaned up and patted him on the shoulder.

“Not your fault, Stan,” I said. “Whatever you did, I certainly didn’t find it anything but great when I was doing it. It’s just thinking about what I did that makes me… you know.”

“But how come I still look like this now? Can’t you fix it?”

Stan explained that because of yesterday, giving Bob the power to change me back, he could not. Bob was given a one-time power to change me back. And obviously he was enough of a business man to know you milk a good thing when you’ve got it.

I reached up and hefted my huge boobs. I probably shouldn’t have used the word “milk”, I thought.

Our discussion with Bob didn’t get anywhere. He could keep me looking like this, yes, but I obviously was not going to work for him. Stan was clear that my end of the bargain was settled, as was his with Bob.

But Bob wanted to cut another deal. I keep working for him, and he lets Stan change me back.

“No dice,” I said. “I’ve done enough. More than enough. I’ve got a family that needs a father and husband. If you leave me like this, you’ll never see me again. And sadly, neither will my family. I’ll have to go away somewhere. And all you’re going to get is the satisfaction that you’ve ruined the lives of me and my family, Bob. Nothing else. And you know, even before you made me your sex toy, I really did work hard to help you out.”

Bob rubbed the back of the neck, and nodded. The guy got drunk with sexual power the last couple of weeks (and who could blame him? In this body, I’m a Hall of Fame piece of ass), but overall he was just a guy trying to make his business work.

“I wish you were changed back again,” he muttered.

Even after changing back, the conversation continued. Stan and I were under no obligation to help, but we did like the guy. And as I put on a happy face while giving him suggestions about inventory, pricing, hours, promotions and so forth, I knew in my heart that it wasn’t going to be enough.

It was nearly 10 a.m., and he had to get to the restaurant to open. He shook my hand and said thank you.

“I really appreciate everything you did, Rick,” he said. “And sorry about… you know, all that other stuff.”

By the other stuff he meant making me suck his cock and let him fuck me anytime he wanted for three weeks. I’m not sure “sorry about all that other stuff” really is a worthwhile apology, but it was the best I could get.

“No problem,” I said.

It had been a month since I’d been in the Hooters. I drove by every day that I could, trying to see how full the parking lot was. It seemed like he was doing ok.

Back at my real job, I was kicking major ass with a few clients. Ken was impressed. Even so, I bet he was still more impressed by the view of my big tits he got that one time.

Life at home was good too. June was thrilled I wasn’t working weekends. Our sex life was back to normal too.

Everything was great.

Except it wasn’t.

I was… bored. I woke up every morning to the aches and creaks of a 46-year old man’s body. June was still pretty for her age, but my arousal was because of how much I loved her, not from her body. I hoped she couldn’t see tell that.

I’d fallen back into my old routines. And before all this stuff with Stan and Bob happened, I think I’d convinced myself that my life was pretty exciting. Well that ship had certainly sailed.

I kind of missed the excitement of the transformations. It was exciting to see life from that perspective. Yes — I’ll admit it: Hello, my name is Rick, and I liked being a big boobed Hooters waitress.

Doubt they’ll ever have a support group for something like that.

It was tricky to pull off.

It took two weeks of joking about it, and testing the waters. But finally I convinced June that we should check out the city’s newest restaurant.

She rolled her eyes at me, and finally gave up. She did say that if they opened a restaurant with all hot guys working in tight little shorts called “Cocks” (with a big rooster as the logo, naturally) I better be just as accommodating.

I agreed.

It was a Wednesday evening. We never saw the kids much during the week until their curfews — they were teenagers, and there’s nothing less interesting to a teenager than time spent with their parents — so it was a perfect time for June and I to go out to dinner.

The place looked the same. It seemed like Bob had hired a few new girls. Not bad. One had a nice set of tits, but her face was not much to look at. And a few others could easily be called “cute.” Maybe he could find girls in Worcester after all.

As we were seated, I noticed a stack of my posters at the bar, with a sign that said “$1. Clearance.” Oh how easily we are forgotten.

June and I were munching on some chicken wings — they really are pretty good — when I saw Bob come out of his office. It took him a few minutes to see me, but when he did he smiled and waved me over.

June didn’t see him do that, thankfully, and I just excused myself to use the bathroom.

“Hey there, Rick,” Bob said, almost in a whisper. “Thought I’d never see you again! That’s the missus? How’d you get her here?”

“I wanted to check in on you,” I said, trying to get my hand out of the handshake that had, as usual, lasted too long. “How’s it going?”

Bob pulled me down the corridor towards the bathroom, out of earshot of the staff.

“I think it’s going as good as it can go,” he said. “We might make it. It’s going to be month to month.”

Up close, he looked exhausted.

“How about you?”

I told him that business was good, life was good, family was good, etc. I think he could see the tired look in my eyes too.

I glanced over to the table to make sure June wasn’t on the prowl. I saw her give the waitress a disapproving glance as she delivered her another Diet Coke.

“To be honest, Bob,” I said. “I kind of miss working here. Being here. Being… her.”

Bob laughed a bit too loudly for two men standing outside a restroom. I hit him on the shoulder.

“I knew it!,” he whispered. “I knew you liked sucking cock!”

Before I could hit him again, he started laughing. “Just kidding, just kidding,” he said. “But Stan said he bet you’d miss it at some point.”

“You still see Stan,” I asked?

“Oh sure, every Friday night, I still do the poker games in my office. He’s still a terrible player.”

We both had a laugh.

“Hey Stan,” he whispered to no one. And then Stan appeared.

“What are you, at his beck and call,” I said, smiling while shaking Stan’s hand.

“Well, just for a while. I could have sworn my three jacks would win that damn hand.”

I shook my head.

“Hey Stan,” I said, looking at the ground. “Look, what if I….”

Stan and Bob exchanged smiles.

“What if you wanted to spend some time as Bitsy?,” he said. “I’m not sure I could do anything for you, Rick.”

I remembered Stan’s rules.

“Thing is, Stan, I’m in trouble. I mean, I’m bored. And that’s troubling… right?”

Stan smiled.

“Ok, ok, I’m a softy. Here’s the deal. Ten hours per week. You decide when. But you have to promise to work at least two shifts for Bob. Is that acceptable?”

Now I smiled.

“Make it 12 hours, and I’ll try to work three?” I said.

Stan waved his hands and I became Bitsy. “Done!” he said, too loudly for three guys standing outside a restroom.

And WAY too loud for three guys standing outside a restroom when one of their wives is standing two feet away, arms crossed and really pissed.

We sat in Bob’s office for an hour. The first 55 minutes were spent with June yelling at me. The next five she yelled at Stan and Bob. I would have thought she’d have been amazed by the magic of the transformation. The site of her husband as a big-boobed woman. But she was too busy being incredibly pissed off at me to really appreciate it, I thought.

Still, when she got tired from yelling, Stan and Bob stepped in. Stan explained about the car accident. Bob explained about Stan’s gambling. I prayed to God that neither of them explained about me and Bob, and they didn’t.

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Fiction: Something Invented by the Imagination