Shifti - User contributions [en]

User:Erastus

2011-07-25T02:32:03Z

Erastus: Remove notice of stories needing to be restored.

Welcome to my story page. I'm a gay man and some of these stories contain gay characters.

Stories on this site:

[[User:Erastus/The Cart Before the Centaur|The Cart Before the Centaur]]

This was the first story I wrote, back in 2001, as part of the
[[:Category:Passing Fad|Passing Fad]] universe. A desire to be a
centaur combined with industrial processes.

[[User:Erastus/Midair Turbulence|Midair Turbulence]]

Another story in the [[:Category:Passing Fad|Passing Fad]] universe, written in 2001. What if you were in an ultralight plane when the Event happened?

[[User:Erastus/The Pastor|The Pastor]]

This is a story in the [[:Category:Tales from the Blind Pig|Tales from the Blind Pig]] universe. It was written in 2001 shortly after my church renewed its prohibitions against homosexuality, though the tale doesn't have gay characters.

[[User:Erastus/A Most Unusual Family|A Most Unusual Family]]

A curse not completely undone affects later generations. This one was written in 2001.

[[User:Erastus/The One True Bob|The One True Bob]]

In 2001 there was a silly discussion on TSA Talk about stray side characters who get transformed in the course of a story. These characters became collectively known as Bob. About the same time I heard from a colleague, whose name is Bob, that when he was young there were several in his circle of friends named Bob. To avoid confusion each was given a number. The guy known as Bob-One called himself The One True Bob.

[[User:Erastus/The Writing Lesson|The Writing Lesson]]

Over the summer of 2001 Bill Kieffer held a couple writing contests. Alas, I haven't seen any contributions on the web from Bill lately. As part of the contest Bill said he couldn't write a transformation scene he really wanted to see. My muse suggested that Bill needed a writing lesson. This story came in second place in Bill's second contest.

[[User:Erastus/Summer Job|Summer Job]]

This is the original story in the [[:Category:Professional Animals|Professional Animals]] universe. I wrote one other story (which needs extensive rewriting before posting) and a handful of authors tried their hand as well. This story was written in 2002.

[[User:Erastus/Just the Right Shoes for This Life|Just the Right Shoes for This Life]]

What if you could become someone else? How much of a change are you willing to make? This is set in Posti's [[:Category:Walk-A-Mile|Walk-A-Mile]] universe. Written in 2002.

[[User:Erastus/The Effect of Spotted Clothes|The Effect of Spotted Clothes]]

A gay couple meet in college. One of them is from [[:Category:Barken|Barken, Texas]] and intends to return there when he graduates. Written in 2003.

[[User:Erastus/Like Father, Like Son|Like Father, Like Son]]

A young man discovers his father is a werewolf. I'm not sure this is the last chapter in the story of the father or the first chapter in the story of the son. Alas, this is all that has been written and that was back in 2003.

'''Serving the Sentence'''

This is my novel, completed in 2004. Becoming a man is hard enough but this lad had to do it while serving out a curse.There are
other versions of this story on the net. This is the definitive
version, with many corrections. It is also slightly expanded.

[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 1|Part 1]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 2|Part 2]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 3|Part 3]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 4|Part 4]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 5|Part 5]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 6|Part 6]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 7|Part 7]]

[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 8|Part 8]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 9|Part 9]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 10|Part 10]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 11|Part 11]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 12|Part 12]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 13|Part 13]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 14|Part 14]]

[[User:Erastus/Implementing the Cure|Implementing the Cure]]

If gender dysphoria is cured with a transgender transition what does one do with a bad case of species dysphoria, especially if the species is mythical? Written in 2005.

[[User:Erastus/On the Outside Looking|On the Outside, Looking...]]

One half of a gay couple becomes an anthropomorphic horse and the other half doesn't. This is set in Jon Buck's [[Paradise_(Setting)|Paradise]] universe and written 2008.

[[User:Erastus/Power Play|Power Play]]

A male escort meets a male client who gives him his heart's desire but then becomes stingy in how the gift is used. Written in 2010.

----

I also have stories on TSAT, the transformation ezine. Here are links to those stories.

'''Deepest Dreams''' was a winner in a contest to create a story that defied transformation story conventions. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/deepest.dreams.html here].

'''The Harness of Society''' tells the story of three juvenile delinquents taken to a reform camp when their other options fail. The camp has an unusual way to motivate its inmates. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/harness.of.society.html here].

'''A Conversation''' was recorded by a barfly about a man who gets what he wishes for and a lot more. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/conversation.html here].

'''Paint''' explains why most mages are childless. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/paint.html here].

{{author page}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Erastus}}

User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 14

2011-07-25T02:21:32Z

Erastus: Replacing a lost story

{{title|name= Serving the Sentence - Part 14/14|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

The weather was sunny enough the next day to have a picnic. The
stated reason was that they didn't want to exclude Amos, but
Professor suspected that the other four thought of the house as his
domain, not theirs. They even seemed reluctant to come in to use the
bathroom. He had seen them pulling down their shorts in the corner
of the pasture.

Piet manned the grill, his tail swishing occasionally. "Dave, how do
you want your burger?"

"Well done."

"I thought you'd go for rare. Medium at least," said Zane.

"Oohh, no," said Dave with a grimace. "No moo in my burger."

"Jack?" prompted Piet.

"I think I had better start with a small taste," said Jack. "I'm
tired of just veggies, but I'm not sure yet."

"Amos, any idea how to tell if a veggie burger is done?"

"You're asking me? I've never had one before," said Amos.

"I think it's starting to burn," said Piet. "I'd better serve it up.
Whaddaya want on it?"

"I use to eat burgers with ketchup, lettuce, tomato, and onion."

"We can give that a try," said Zane, handing a plate to Piet with an
open bun on it. Piet plopped a veggie burder onto the bun and Zane
soon assembled it with the other ingredients and neatly cut it into
quarters. Zane was sure Amos would have no trouble eating each
quarter in a bite. Piet slapped another veggie burger on the grill;
Amos was not going to eat just one.

Zane quickly made up burgers for everyone else and they gathered
around the table. Jack soon announced, "No offense Piet, but these
teeth aren't up to eating meat. How are the veggie burgers, Amos?"

"Not bad. Actually, they're better than that. They're quite good.
Why didn't we think of ketchup and onions while all of you were
still horses? This is a nice break from oats and carrots."

Piet put a couple more veggie burgers on the grill.

Professor started the discussion as the guys ate. "Now that your
ordeal is over what do you plan to do?" There was no response; the
guys kept eating. "Perhaps we start with you Zane."

"Well. Um." Zane paused for a moment. Professor waited. "Now that I
have hooves, I don't want to go public any more than I have to, even
if I could pass as a monk. So, I'm looking for seclusion. As to
where, I guess I first wanted to hear what Dave has planned."

"And why defer to Dave? Why not just follow your heart?" asked
Professor.

"I, um..." He got a puzzled look on his face. "I don't know."

Professor turned to Piet, "How about you?"

"I guess I'm waiting to hear from Dave as well -- and no, I don't
know why."

"Jack?"

Another puzzled look. "Uh, the same I guess. With this face,
seclusion sounds very good. I thought I had paid my dues over the
last year. I went through being in heat, being pregnant, and giving
birth to satisfy the Cosmos and get my cock back. But I find the
Cosmos isn't done playing jokes on me. I get my cock back only to
find I'll never be able to love a woman. She couldn't get close
enough to this face. Yeah, seclusion sounds good. Whatever is good
for Dave."

Amos walked around the table and rubbed her head up against Jack's.
Jack reached a hand up to pat Amos on the other side of her head.
"Thanks buddy." said Jack.

After a pause, Professor said, "So, Dave, since everyone is
fascinated with your future -- for some unknown reason -- what do
you want to do?"

"I need to finish my degree and I might as well do that here in
Bozeman. I very much want to see our offspring grow and be a friend
to Amos. So if it is OK with you, Professor, I'd like to live here
on the ranch."

"Actually, it won't be up to me to give permission." Professor could
see the puzzled expressions. "I'm old enough that this commute is
too much for me. I want to move back into town. Now that most of you
have access to your money again, I would like you to honor your
promise from a couple years ago and buy me out."

"Well," said Jack, "I guess I want to live here too. I hadn't
thought of myself as owning a ranch, but moving away just doesn't
seem right. And what could be more appropriate for a guy with a
horse head than to live among horses? I'll be glad to pay my share
to buy out Professor."

"I don't think I could leave either for the same reasons Jack gave,"
said Zane. "I'm sure there is enough space for me too. Put me down
for a share."

Everyone turned to Piet. He was quiet for a minute before he spoke.
"Though I like paleontology, I also like life in the city, such as
one can get in Bozeman. These last two years were the longest I've
spent out of town and for the first year, I merely endured it. But
lately, I've felt that I can't leave, though I can't explain quite
why. Of course, I'll put in a share."

Amos said, "Since I have to stay, I'd be glad to contribute all my
savings for the effort. I guess it is about time we find out how to
access the savings of someone who is incapacitated. I'll gladly
appoint Dave as my Power of Attorney."

"Thanks for the offer," said Zane, "but I don't think it will work.
When I had to do that for my father, an officer from the bank came
out to see him to verify he was indeed incapacitated. Your money may
be frozen until we can declare you legally dead five years from now.
And even then, your estate will go to your son, not us."

Professor said, "It looks like I can put four names on the deed."

"No, that's all right," said Jack. "Putting it in Dave's name is
good enough."

Professor blinked at that. "That sounds mighty strange coming from
you Jack. You trust Dave that much?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I?"

"Because of the way you described Dave a little more than a year
ago, because of the four of you wanting to live here Dave is the one
who is not contributing any money, and because he is still
essentially a kid!" said Professor.

Dave let the insult go. A stallion secure in his position didn't
worry about being called a kid.

Professor pondered the situation for a few seconds. "I think I know
what's going on here." Professor paused again to think. "You guys
are still treating Dave as if you were still mares and he was still
your stallion. It appears the experience messed with your brains."

Piet glanced at Jack. "In some cases, that hasn't been a bad thing."

"This house," Dave waved an arm towards it as he spoke, "has only
two bedrooms, right Professor?" Professor nodded. "So with four of
us living here, who gets which room? Since I won't be contributing
any money, I should probably get the last choice. Who should choose
first?"

"It doesn't matter to me," said Jack. "I'd rather sleep in the barn."

"Same with me," said Piet.

"I agree," said Zane. "I wouldn't want to get hoof marks on the
floor."

"Wait a minute, guys," said Dave. "Now that you're human, the barn
is going to feel a lot colder in winter. You don't have to stay out
there. The house is big enough."

"I'm sure we could pile on enough horse blankets to keep warm," said
Jack.

After a moment, Zane said. "Dave, we appreciate the offer, but there
really isn't enough space in the house. I don't like to defy my
stallion, but there is a reason for our choice. From the way we
look, it is doubtful we'll ever get close to another woman. We've
all had our families or didn't particularly want one in the first
place." Jack nodded. "You, on the other hand, are still quite young.
There is a very good chance you will marry and need space in the
house for a growing family. No, the house is yours. I've lived in a
barn for two years. I can stay there many more."

"Jack, I thought you said you didn't want to be a freak because you
wanted a woman. So why are you giving up on having a family?" asked
Dave.

"Wanting a woman and wanting a family are two very different things,
dear boy."

"We can add on to the house," insisted Dave.

"I doubt we have money for that right now," said Piet. "And once we
do, I think it would be better to build a second house rather than
add on to yours."

Dave could tell when he was defeated.

"Though I do have a request for improving the barn," continued Piet.

"Please, let's hear it," said Dave.

"Could we put a bathroom in the barn? Especially one that has a
toilet where the tank isn't attached to the seat?"

Dave didn't work very hard to suppress a grin. "Yeah, I think we can
do that. Let me call one of my contractor friends."

"Dave, now that you are safely human," said Amos. "Perhaps it is
time to thaw out a sperm sample the next time I go into heat."

"Sure, Amos, that's what they're for," said Dave.

"I think," said Professor, "we should have a sample tested first.
Who knows what the curse did with it?"

A week later, the report came back: "While you claimed this sample
contained horse semen, the only thing that seemed horse-like about
it was the quantity of the sample. The DNA test shows the sperm to
be human."

"I guess I'll have to wait until Spike and Logan are old enough,"
said Amos.

{{Separator|stars}}

Erin watched eagerly as Nell drove them up to the barn. It had been a
month ago when Professor told her the riding club was closing.
She was naturally upset when he implied the club would never reopen. Even so, she had respected Professor's right to use
his own stallion as he wished. But it had now been a whole month and
Erin hadn't heard from either Professor or Stan. She needed to see
her stallion. She had helped them out by gladly boarding Dave, so
she was sure she would be welcomed as an old friend or even family, not seen as a customer.

But her red stallion wasn't along the fence. The only time he hadn't
greeted and paced her was when someone else was riding him and that
couldn't be the case since the riding club was closed.

Nell brought the car to a stop near the barn. As they got out, they
could see the foals clustered together as Amos hovered in the
background. "The foals sure are pretty," whispered Nell.

As they got to the fence, they could see a man in the midst of the
foals. About all they could see was his blazing red hair over the
backs of the foals and his very human legs in amongst all the horse
legs. With the way the foals were clustered, Erin was sure he was
feeding them some kind of treat.

"Hello," he said, peering over the back of Spike, the colt that
looked like her red stallion. She noted that his hair matched
Spike's fur -- meaning it matched her stallion's fur as well.

"Hi," said Erin.

The man gently pushed his way through the foals and drew up to the
fence. It wasn't easy as he still had more treat to hand out. The
foals slowly parted to let him through, then gathered around him
again. Erin could finally see he was handing out apple slices.

Once he got to the fence where no foal could come between them, She
could see that he was perhaps younger and just a bit taller than
herself, strong, and with no fat. She could see how gentle he was
with the foals and admired him for it. She noted one more thrilling
detail as he leaned against the fence -- he had quite a bulge in his
shorts.

"I'm the new owner." He held out his hand, realized there was apple
juice -- and horse slobber -- on it, wiped it on his shorts, and
offered it again. She shook it as he said, "My name is Dave."

Erin laughed. "I'm Erin. Won't you get confused with the red stallion?"

He shrugged and pulled another small bag of apple slices from a
pocket. He was making sure each horse got several slices.

She watched him. He had a cute face, with a lot of chin. "I bet your
hair color is the exact same shade as the red stallion."

"So I've been told."

"You've never stood beside him to see?"

He stroked a few noses before turning to her. "Unfortunately, the
red stallion is gone."

That was the one thing Erin did not anticipate; it sent an icy knife
through her. "Gone! What do you mean gone! You kept Amos and the
foals and got rid of the stallion?"

He sighed. "It's a long story."

"And you had better tell me every word of it. That's my favorite
horse!" He could see the ice in her eyes. "And you had better start
by answering a simple question. Is he alive?"

"Well, --" he paused for a fraction of a second too long, "-- yeah."

"That's a mighty strange answer."

"As I said, it really is a long story. And I promise I will tell you
every word of it. Say perhaps over lunch?"

"You're not trying to get fresh are you?"

He held up his hands to stop her accusation. "Certainly not. I shall
be the perfect gentleman." He held his right hand over his heart.
"Professor told me how important you've been to life around here.
Lunch would be a way of thanking you."

"I suppose."

"May I suggest a picnic? I think Amos could carry both of us --
she's the only adult horse here now -- and we could take the picnic
to a nearby field or ridge --"

"Piet, Zane, and Jack are gone too?" she interrupted.

He sighed again. "They're not very far from your stallion."

She shook her head, scowled, but didn't challenge him.

He continued. "I think I could pack a picnic in short order. Perhaps
one of cheese and crackers --" He watched her expression. "-- and a
bottle of sparkling grape juice." Her face softened. "And I
think I even have some fruit salad -- that doesn't have any honeydew
in it. I may even know of a little meadow with some lupine flowers."

Her expression was now downright astonishment. "Why, um, sure. That
would be lovely." How did he know about how she felt about honeydew
and lupines? "You can be sure I'll hang on every word."

Nell tapped Erin on the shoulder. Erin hardly noticed. Nell said, "I
think this is my cue to disappear. Call me if you want a ride home."

"Yeah, sure," said Erin, not taking her eyes off Dave's pleasant
smile.

"It will only take a few moments to put it all together," said Dave.
"While we eat, I'll tell you the whole story." There was definitely
a twinkle in his eye, Erin noticed. "And I'm sure Amos would be glad
to fill in any missing details."

"Yeah, right. I'm just dying to hear what Amos has to say."

Dave's smile didn't wilt in the face of her sarcasm. He seemed so...
confident, she thought, but he wouldn't be cocky about it. He looked like
a guy who could handle anything (including
sarcasm), who wouldn't get flustered no matter what kind of problem
came up. That was so much better than some of the men she had dated
who had folded at the first hint of trouble.

She studied his face and found an odd mix in his expression. She
saw that his comment about Amos filling in the details was sincere.
She also saw that her doubts were expected and would be
dealt with soon enough. Erin extended her hand across the fence.
Dave clasped it a moment before they turned towards the barn.

Piet had been in the hayloft when he heard Nell and Erin drive up.
He opened the hayloft door, that large opening above the main door
that allowed for a more direct route for storing hay. He leaned
against the frame of the opening where he had a clear view of the
parking lot and of Dave feeding the foals. That position also hid
his tail from view. Jack and Zane soon joined him, staying in the
shadows.

The three of them watched Erin talk to Dave as Nell left, then they
saw Amos trot up to the couple. Soon Erin went in through the main
door of the barn just below them and Dave and Amos went along the
fence to the paddock door.

Dave had worn a saddle perhaps a couple hundred times and had
watched Stan saddle up the mares maybe a thousand times. But Dave
knew watching someone was different from doing it himself, so he had
practiced on Amos until he at least looked like he knew what he was
doing. He had also ridden Amos daily so that his riding skills were
on par with a man who owned horses. Dave knew Erin would be able to
spot a fraud.

Dave had made a fresh fruit salad every morning, storing it in the
refrigerator that had held snacks for riding club customers. The
other guys had eaten it every evening for the last two weeks.
They were quite aware that Dave wasn't making it for them. The fridge was also well stocked with cheese and a bottle of sparkling grape juice. The guys wouldn't dare disobey their stallion by taking any of it.

From the hayloft, Piet, Zane, and Jack could look into the central
area of the barn and watch Dave saddle up Amos, then fill a
saddlebag with the fresh lunch supplies. Dave then ducked into his
former stall, grabbed Sinclair from the windowsill and presented it
to Erin. Finally, they could see Amos, with Dave and Erin on her
back, trotting down the lane and towards the closest hills.

"Do you think she'll believe him?" asked Piet.

"She may not believe Dave, but I'm sure she'll believe Amos," said
Jack. Zane chuckled. "And if that fails," Jack went on, "all she
needs is a good look at us."

"I bet," said Zane, "that this little ranch will have a lady of the
house within a year."

"Where I come from," said Jack, "that's known as a sucker bet. The
man who accepts that bet is sure to lose. Besides, I wouldn't want
to bet against our stallion."

[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 13|Part 13]] * Part 14 *

User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 13

2011-07-25T02:13:17Z

Erastus: Replacing a lost story

{{title|name= Serving the Sentence - Part 13/14|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

Forced weaning of a foal is simple to describe. Starting sometime
after four months of age, put the foal and mother in separate but
adjacent pastures for longer and longer periods of time. Make sure
the foal has plenty of food and water. This will encourage the foal
to figure out how to gain nourishment on its own.

Execution wasn't always so simple. Topaz didn't like the fence
between herself and her mother and was quite vocal about her
objection. And like many new mothers Piet had trouble with leaving a
crying child alone.

Even though Piet had a rough time of it, it did provide time to get
Dave back to the ranch when no mares were in heat. Professor
officially closed the Mongolian Riding Club before Piet changed back
to human.

Knowing that a change was coming, Professor took pictures of all the
horses. It was easy to get the five adults to pose in a variety of
positions and groupings. It was quite another to get the foals to
cooperate.

Dave found a moment when Amos was alone and told her the whole story
of Erin's kiss and his internal debate about whether to tell her.

"Welcome to the fickleness of human love," said Amos, cryptically.

"Huh?" managed Dave.

"When faced with a beautiful woman, a man will do all kinds of
strange and stupid things. I would guess this is the first real love
of your life." Dave nodded. "Then it's no surprise that you don't
know what to do, that your need for secrecy got in the way." Almost
to herself Amos added, "Love between horses is so much simpler."

"So what do I do?" Dave's voice had a note of urgency.

"Love her." Dave still looked puzzled. "Instead of demanding that
she love you, supply her with reasons to love you."

"And how do I do that?"

"You have to decide that for yourself. All lovers figure it out
sooner or later. You'll do just fine."

I do hope it is sooner, thought Dave, and not later.

{{Separator|stars}}

It was in early July and a full day after Topaz figured out she
could feed herself when Piet asked an unexpected question. "Are any
of you being bothered by flies?" After a chorus of "no", she went
on, "I itch all over. Stan, could you give me a good brushing?"

Stan was soon wielding a brush. The reason for the itching became
obvious -- Piet's fur was falling out. Stan summoned Professor, who
was soon in attendance.

The first thing Professor did was to unbuckle Piet's halter. "I
don't think you'll need this anymore."

"Huh," said Piet, as Professor pulled it away. "I had forgotten all
about that thing."

After a few minutes of brushing, a good deal of horsehair was
settling around Piet. Now that she had a chance to think about what
the next few hours would bring, Piet said, "I don't think I want to
be on my hooves when they change. Stan, could you get a blanket so
my tender skin won't be scratched by the straw?"

"Sorry, Piet," said Professor. "You're about to lose a great deal of
mass and it all has to go somewhere. I'd think we'd all rather you
got the straw dirty rather than a blanket."

Piet sighed, "Right as usual." She carefully settled herself in the
straw and rolled onto her back and stuck her hooves in the air.

Over the next few hours in between brushings, Professor documented
the loss of mass, retracting muzzle, lost and reshaping teeth,
shifting ears, reshaping legs, growing fingers and toes, emerging
manhood -- and a tail that would not shrink and middle fingers and
toes that wouldn't shrink enough.

Piet lay there as Professor used scissors to cut off hooves that
were now only attached to the end of those large middle fingers and
toes by slim nails. Piet then flexed all his limbs and muscles,
especially newly grown fingers and toes. It was several minutes
before Piet said, "Well, let's see if I can stand."

Professor helped him up. Once he was standing and while still
clinging to Professor, Piet said, "How did we ever manage to stand
on two legs?"

Professor guided Piet over to his computer and handed Piet a mirror.
Professor then called up the first photos of the party from two
years before. "I've wondered how complete the reversion spell would
be. Let's make a list of everything that is different."

The obvious thing to put at the top of the list was the tail. It had
not shrunk and had not lost any hair. It would now need to be
trimmed to avoid dragging on the ground. Right below the tail in
that list were those fingers and toes that were noticeably longer
and half again wider than the others. The corresponding bones were
large enough to create ridges through the hands and feet. It looked
a bit odd -- and would probably draw comment, not to mention cause a
headache when buying shoes and gloves -- but it was something he
could live with, Piet decided, a small payment for his return to
human form.

Piet's face looked the same as it had two years before -- much to
everyone's relief -- the only difference was Piet's scalp hair and
beard were now thicker than before. This beard was thick enough to
keep, Piet decided. It rather looked like fur.

Piet's height and other dimensions were about the same as before,
though he had less of a paunch and better muscle tone. That was
easily explained by the exercise he had gotten as a horse and hadn't
as a man. It was enough of a difference that none of his clothes
from two years before would fit.

Professor had wisely stocked up on generic t-shirts and drawstring
shorts. It was an easy job to split the back seam of a pair of
shorts to allow for Piet's tail. But Piet had the shorts on for only
five minutes before saying, "This tail-hole isn't gonna work.
Splitting the seam for my tail causes chafing and I think the seam
is splitting some more."

Stan laughed as Professor went looking for safety pins.

In spite of the tail, Piet was most definitely back to human and
back to male, close to what he had been before.

"Why does Piet have a tail?" demanded Jack. "I didn't see humans
with tails in Mongolia. I certainly don't want to look like a freaky
human."

"Gee, thanks, Jack," said Piet. "I actually like my tail and glad I
kept it."

"No offense intended, buddy," said Jack, "but I don't want to be a
human with a tail."

Amos said, "Jack, there's a sure way to avoid being a freak -- you
could stay a horse."

"Spend the rest of my life popping out foals? No way! I do not want
to go through heat or pregnancy again. I want to be a man again. And
at this point in the program, I don't think I could convince the
curse that I'm happy as a horse."

{{Separator|stars}}

Much to Jack's dismay, she did go through heat one more time before
convincing her foals to seek nourishment elsewhere. Zane did too,
but was a lot quieter about it.

As a goodbye to the club and a way of saying thanks, Dave took Stan on a camping trip into the nearby mountains while the mares were in heat.

Dave and Stan had gotten to be good friends in the time since the
riding club opened. The friendship had taken root when Stan realized
Dave was only three years older. Stan could swap stories of life in
high school with Dave, stories that he would be embarrassed to tell
to other adults.

So this trip was a chance for Stan and Dave to talk about the future
or tease each other or, more frequently, to be together as a couple
of guys and not talk at all.

It was during this little trip that Stan had a suggestion for Dave.
"From the quality of your build, your unusual color, and from the
way Spike looks like you, I bet he could earn good money from stud
fees."

"But they would be my grandchildren!" said Dave. "I couldn't have
descendants raised by someone else!"

"In a sense that may be true, Dave. But they are also horses. You
have to draw the line somewhere. I can see wanting to keep Topaz,
Ruby, Spike, and Logan around, but I think you should save your
sentiments for your eventual human children and let Spike be a the
stallion he is. Besides, Spike could bring in some serious bucks.
Think about it."

{{Separator|stars}}

It was the third week of July when Professor documented Zane's
transformation. Much to Zane's relief, the tail shrunk to nothing
fairly early in the process, shedding its long hairs as it
disappeared. Zane hadn't quite believed it when Piet said he was
glad he kept his tail. Another early change was the emergence of
Zane's manhood. That produced a sigh of relief.

"This is strange," said Piet, who was wielding a brush, "The fur is
falling out of Zane's belly, but not from of his legs."

"Oh, man, don't say that!"

Professor said, "Zane, you know hiding from reality won't help." He
moved to join Piet near Zane's legs. "Zane, hold out a hand." Zane
did so, showing recognizable fingers and a palm already free of fur.
Professor compared that to the legs. "Well, Zane, either your feet
are going to change last, or you are going to need a farrier for the
rest of your life." Zane groaned.

When the change was done, Zane's beard was gray as before -- Zane
now preferred the term "dappled" over "salt-and-pepper" -- but his
receding hairline had moved forward again. As a human, he had been
in sufficiently good shape before that his muscle tone wasn't much
different after being a horse.

But starting just below his crotch, legs that were within human
norms for hairiness became covered in fur. Below that line each leg
had recognizable gaskin, hock, cannon, fetlock, pastern, and hoof.

"Now what do I do?" said Zane. "I'm even freakier than Piet. I can't
go out in public at all!"

Amos replied, "Actually, I think you can. Get some rubber horse
boots to mask the sound and dress like a monk. As for what you do,
you get on with your life. Perhaps one of us learns the trade of a
farrier, or perhaps you stick to those rubber boots."

"I'm still a freak! And if I dress like a monk I'll have to act like
one. I won't be able to go to a pool or to the beach. I'll have a
hard time getting a woman to fall in love with me."

"Zane," said Piet, "You're still a good buddy. We can deal with it."

It was another full week before Jack could convince Spike he didn't
need his mother's milk. The curse, of course, changed both Dave and
Jack at the same time. This time, thankfully, Zane, Piet, and Stan
could take turns wielding brushes as Professor documented progress.

Knowing the curse wasn't quite perfect, Jack was quite relieved when
his cock began to emerge. He was disappointed -- for a few moments
-- that when the skin of his forearm was revealed, his tattoo was
gone. After some reflection, he decided that the tattoo was
appropriate for his former life, but not this new one.

Zane took a break from his brushing go over to Professor and
whisper, "Do the pictures you've taken so far show Jack's neck
getting shorter?"

A few taps on the keyboard brought up a photo from the start of
Jack's change. Yes, his neck was getting shorter. But his head had
not changed.

"You're not telling me something," said Jack. "The last time someone
didn't tell me something it was when I lost my cock. Come on. Out
with it."

Professor said, "Your head hasn't changed at all, Jack. In Zane's
and Piet's case, everything that was going to change had started by
this point."

"Are you certain my head won't change?"

"Not a hundred percent, no. But my guess hardly matters as your
change will prove me right or wrong in a couple hours anyway. I'm
sorry, Jack."

"Sorry, he says. So I get to end up as a freak like everyone else!
Well, I don't want to be a freak. I don't want to hide. I got this
cock back and I want to use it!"

"Calm down, Jack!" said Zane. He moved around to Jack's head to
brush between Jack's ears.

"I'll never be able to wear a tee-shirt again!" wailed Jack. By the
time he said it, Zane's brushing began to take effect.

Zane said as he brushed, "Though you had made it tough on us for a
while, I'm sure I speak for everyone here that we now consider you a
friend. We're here for you Jack. We'll deal with freakiness
together. We'll have our own little club of freaks. One horse spread
among three men with their faithful talking horse companion."

Jack's neck did return to human size and position but he still had
the same head he had had as a horse -- the same muzzle, ears,
flexible lips, and white star set in brown fur that also covered his
neck and spread halfway across his human shoulders. As Jack had
said, there was no way to get a tee-shirt or pullover sweater past
that muzzle. He was limited to clothing with zippers or buttons. And
leather vests did ''not'' work with button-down shirts. Since Jack
only had tee-shirts and that was only what Professor had bought, all
Jack had to wear for now was one of those vests.

Dave was pleased with the "errors" in his return to humanity. He now
had a normal -- more like above normal -- amount of body hair
instead of the few wisps that provoked teasing in the locker room.
He was also now hung like a horse, still the stallion. After the change Dave's
manhood was considerably smaller than when he was a horse --
thankfully since he wanted a human mate -- but it was much larger
than before and right at the top of the normal human range.

As with the others, Dave's transformation left behind a thick beard.
The good part was that it was much thicker, a vast improvement over
the wispy beard he had before. The bad part was that the moustache
and goatee were white. Such markings may be normal for a horse but
looked mighty strange on a human. Reluctantly, Dave concluded he
would have to shave a beard that was finally thick enough to keep.
The morning trim would be more of a task compared getting rid of the
wisps in his former life.

Piet swished his tail as he looked over his fellow former horses.
All of them now had some physical reminder of their horsehood. He
said, "I didn't exactly have a lot of contact with the natives in
Mongolia, but I don't recall seeing the physical oddities that we
display. I'm sure I would have noticed a human with a horse tail,
legs, or head."

Zane thought it over a moment, then said, "If I remember the
trader's story right, he said our nemesis tried to make the curse
permanent and it was his wife, the horse, that made it temporary."

"I remember. So?"

"So it is my guess that she wasn't able to override it completely.
Either that or our hasty departure interrupted her spell."

"Meaning we inadvertently did this to ourselves," grumbled Jack.

Piet pondered all that. "That may be true for me and Zane and Jack,
but the trader said Dave's curse was to be temporary from the
start."

Jack laughed. "Come on Piet, use your brain. Consider a guy who has
designed a spell to turn himself into a stallion. He has experienced
one mating season to show proof of concept and is now ready to
design the spell to return himself to human. What guy is going to
design a spell in which he is not going to be hung like a horse when
he is done? He's going to end up with the largest size cock he can.
The only reason he wouldn't leave it horse sized is he'd never get a
chance to use it. Women would see it and flee. The three of us just
got on the wrong side of that equation. What man, if he has the
power to turn another man into a mare is going to allow that man to
have a big cock when he becomes human again?"

[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 12|Part 12]] * Part 13 *
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 14|Part 14]]

User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 12

2011-07-25T02:02:49Z

Erastus: Replacing a lost story

{{title|name= Serving the Sentence - Part 12/14|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

The leaves had started to turn color in late September when Amos
told Dave, "I don't feel so good." She went to her stall and settled
herself in the straw.

Dave found Stan. Stan called the vet and Professor. Even though the
vet arrived promptly, there wasn't a lot he could do. Amos
miscarried.

As soon as the vet left Dave squeezed into Amos' stall and settled
down next to her. "I'm so sorry," said Dave. "I'm sorry that you've
lost your child. I'm sorry that you'll be stuck as a horse for at
least an extra six months."

"Thank you, Dave, my man. I appreciate that. But that little life
wasn't just mine. It would have been yours too."

Amos paused for a moment. "But don't fret over me being stuck as a
horse for an extra six months or so. Believe it or not -- and I'm
sure Jack won't -- I like my life as a horse."

The other horses were in earshot and with that comment they came to
gather outside her stall.

"Think about it," said Amos. "As a human, I was an African-American
male, tall enough to be intimidating. I was seen as a sinister
character first, human second. The value of my PhD dropped when
people saw my skin color." There were murmurs of protest, but Amos
continued. "All of you knew me well so you disregarded my skin
color. That was never true outside the department.

"But as a horse, I'm a beauty. Everyone exclaims over how my patches
are so small and jumbled. People are attracted to me because of what
they see rather than repelled by it. Add to that the feeling of the
wind in my mane as I gallop across the fields, and my choice is
clear. I'll take the horse, thank you."

"Don't you want to get back to family?" asked Zane.

"My wife died just before I went to Mongolia. It was why I decided
to go. My son decided that a gang was smarter than his father. His
initiation rite landed him in jail. I think our foals will cause a
lot less trouble."

"But what about hands? And your cock?" asked Jack.

"Oh, I miss my hands all right, but enough of what I want to do with
my brain, I find I can do through the computer. And as for my cock,
it is highly overrated." Jack did not look convinced. "I'll admit
that had I been given a choice, I would have preferred being a stallion. With
a choice between mare and human male, I'll take the mare."

Traitor, thought Jack, traitor to being one of the guys. But the
subject was now open. Jack could express her own views. "As much as
I want the life inside me to grow, I hate the thought of being
pregnant. I hate the idea of me giving birth. And I hate the thought
of the sweet little dears suckling on me. I want my cock back, the
sooner the better."

"We are all quite aware of your desperation," said Piet. "Even so,
I'll be glad when this is over with also. I've felt my life has been
on hold. How 'bout you Zane?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Zane.

"Whaddaya mean, ya don't know? You've had more than a year to think
about it, man!" said Jack. "You haven't made up your mind yet?"

Zane's ears twitched. "According to the curse, I don't have to
decide until my foal is weaned. But I have thought of it. It has
been a nice break. I might recommend it to some particular type A
personalities at the university. Send them off to Mongolia and tell
them to ride wild horses."

Several pairs of ears twitched. "I could probably guess which people
you have in mind," said Jack. "But do you want to stay a horse?"

"Nah," said Zane. "As I said, it has been a nice break. but I want
my hands back. Though I don't need to do it much, I hate typing with
a pencil in my mouth."

"Dave, what about you?" said Piet.

"Well," said Dave, "I'd like a chance to make Erin happy and I can't
pursue that as a horse."

Dave found that being the stallion did not shield him from teasing.

"When she's riding you she looks pretty happy," observed Piet.

"You know what I mean," said Dave. "I want to try creating a family
with her."

{{Separator|stars}}

Dave had hoped that Amos wouldn't come into heat before winter, but
he awoke one morning in late October to a familiar and enticing aroma. He felt
himself respond and knew he had to act.

He saw Amos in the paddock on his way through, "Ah, my stallion!"
she said.

Instead of going to her, Dave made a wide circle until he was
upwind. "Sorry, my dear girl. I must refuse. Mating with you will
only delay my chances with Erin. I don't want to risk it, especially
since you plan to stay a horse anyway. I hope you understand."

Amos put as much tenderness in her voice as she could. "I do
understand, Dave. Life would be so much simpler without this crazy
curse. I would like a favor from you, though."

"Name it," said Dave. "I'll do it." Amos could see his tail swishing
restlessly.

"I still want you to father my children. Perhaps you can make some
donations to a sperm bank that I can use once you are safely back to
human."

"I'd be glad to, Amos." He sounded quite delighted by the idea.

"So what will you do while I'm in heat? You look about ready to jump
out of your skin."

"I'm going to the western pasture to get as far upwind as possible.
Could you ask the other girls to come out and keep me company, and
to tell Stan to come out with some hay? And perhaps with, um, a
collection kit?" Amos barely had a moment to nod before Dave took
off down the lane at full gallop.

Stan arrived shortly after Amos returned to the barn. As Stan opened the large barn doors he heard another car drive up. He waved. Amos saw that it was Erin and Nell, so she called to him, "Stan! Before you greet our customers…"

"Morning, Amos," Stan said as he ambled over to her and stroked her nose. "What's up?" They heard the car door close.

"I’m in heat and Dave has taken off for the western pasture. Can't talk anymore."

"Got it." Stan turned. "Good morning ladies. A late autumn ride?"

Nell said, "You got it. I think it's Amos' turn."

Erin said, "Where's Dave? Behind the barn?"

"Uh." Stan glanced around resting his eyes on Amos for a moment. "Amos is in heat and it's not a good time to breed her. So Dave is in the western pasture. Putting the two on the trail together right now is not a good idea."

Erin winced. She said, "So I can't ride Dave?"

"Oh, I'd be glad to take you out to him," said Stan. "Getting him away from the ranch for a while is a good idea. But Nell can't ride Amos this week."

"That's okay. I can ride Zane today," said Nell. "She's next on my rotation." She stepped over to Amos and stroked her nose. "I'll make it up to you later, my dear."

Stan saddled up Zane and gave Nell a head start. He then loaded Dave's saddle and several bales of hay into his pickup. He held the door open for Erin.

The truck reached Dave about the same time Zane did. Stan unloaded the hay and said to Dave, "Don't eat all of this at once." Dave munched on it and enjoyed watching Erin while Stan put on his saddle.

Erin looked around the area while Stan was busy. "You're actually going to leave Dave out here all week? Yeah, I know it should be good weather, but still."

Stan only said, "When should I meet you back here?"

"Oh, about noon," replied Nell.

"Very good," said Stan and he got into his truck and headed back to the barn.

Erin mounted Dave, patted his neck, and twitched the reins. They headed to the pasture gate. She shook her head and said, "I've got plenty of space at my place if they really want to keep Dave from mating. I don't know of any stallion who could be convinced to stay out here when there's a mare in heat. Though with horses of this quality I'm not sure why they think breeding them is a bad idea."

{{Separator|stars}}

It was very early in the morning on an day in early March when Piet
woke Dave and said, "It's time." Dave used the intercom to wake
Professor, who came out to the barn in only a couple minutes.

"How ya doing?" asked Professor, once he was into Piet's stall. Dave
hovered nearby. The others were all awake.

"I don't know why everyone says that animals feel no pain in
childbirth," said Piet. "That is certainly not the case here."

"Is there pain all the time, or only during contractions?"

"Only during contractions."

"I'll call the vet." Professor pulled out his cell phone. Since they weren't all that far from
Bozeman, the vet was there in fifteen minutes.

Once there, the vet squeezed past Dave and into Piet's stall. By
then, Piet was lying in the straw with her head in Professor's lap.
Professor didn't stop stroking Piet's neck while he turned to Dave
and said, "I know you are the father, but please stay out of the
way."

Dave moved to the side a step or two, but stayed where he could
watch.

By the time Professor turned back to the vet, the man had an odd
expression on his face. "I've never heard a man say that to a horse
and I've never seen a horse respond that way." The vet turned to
Piet, and ran a hand across her flank. "So what prompted you to
call?"

"She's in pain."

"And what indication do you have of that?"

"She told me."

The vet turned to Professor with an obvious ''yeah, right''
expression.

"Um... Have you ever heard of horse whisperers?" offered Professor.

The vet just shook his head and turned back to his charge. He
conducted an exam. "She looks normal. Birth should be in a couple hours."

Just then Piet gasped, then let out a long groan.

The vet's head snapped around to look at Piet's head. "I've never
heard a horse make a sound like that! It sounded almost human."

Professor said nothing. He kept stroking Piet's neck.

The vet continued, "But I believe you when you say she is in pain."
He took some pills out of his bag. Piet accepted them eagerly.

Five more seemingly human groans came from the horse before they
tapered off. There were no other complications and two hours later
Piet gave birth to a filly.

She was a pretty animal, a strawberry-blonde color with a star like
her mother's. The vet checked her over and assured Professor she was
in good shape. She was standing within the hour as she should. The
vet departed. Piet named her Topaz, a suitable horse name.

Piet let out a yelp the first time Topaz grabbed a nipple. "Oh man,
that is going to take some getting used to -- as if giving birth
wasn't enough of a psychological strain already."

A month later, the vet was back twice more. Zane gave birth to a
dappled red colt who was given the name Logan. And finally, Jack
gave birth to twins. The colt was the spitting image of Dave and was
named Spike; the filly was reddish brown, similar to her mother.
Jack chose the name Ruby.

Dave said to Jack, "Not content with just one, huh. Had to go
and prove how macho you were and have two."

Jack laughed.

{{Separator|stars}}

Professor was standing in the doorway of the barn when Erin and Nell
drove up. It was a balmy Saturday in early April. The women had
decided it was a great day for a ride -- and to see Piet's filly.
"Hello, Professor," said Erin.

"I'm glad to see you," said Professor. "Don't be too quick to saddle
up Dave. Jack and Zane have given birth."

The women raced through the barn and were soon in the paddock cooing
over Logan, Spike, and Ruby. It took only a moment before Topaz
insisted on being included in their attention.

When Dave was a boy and playing on the floor with his brother, he
had wondered, when his father occasionally sat in the easy chair and
watched them, why there was a smile on his face. As Dave watched his
own offspring frolic with the women, he felt he understood his dad's
smile. These children would never learn to speak, but they were
healthy and beautiful. And they were his.

His heart about popped with joy when Erin came over to him.
"Congratulations, Daddy," she said as she tenderly stroked his nose.

It was all he could do to avoid saying, "Thank you."

Alas, the moment was bittersweet. It was time. He had nearly missed
the birth of Logan, Spike, and Ruby because he had been at the far
end of the pasture while Amos and then Piet came into heat. Soon, he
would have to contend with four mares in heat. More than likely, it
would be one mare at a time.

While Erin still stroked his nose, Professor came up to them. "I'm
wondering if you could do something for me, Erin. Could you keep
Dave for a while?"

Her eyes lit up, as Dave knew they would. "Oh, that would be
wonderful!" She faltered for a moment, "I don't mean to look a gift
horse in the mouth --" she patted Dave's nose again, "-- but why?"

"It is best that I not breed my mares this year, and yet with mares
this healthy, I can't seem to convince them not to come into heat."
Erin laughed at that comment. "And I certainly don't want to geld
Dave." Erin felt Dave fidget. "So having you take him for a few
months will solve my problem with a lot less stress for Dave."

"I hope you are aware that the longer I keep him the harder it will
be to give him back."

"Noted," said Professor with a grin. "I'll want him back by the end
of June."

"Mating season is hardly over by then," said Erin.

"Perhaps, but I may want to use Dave myself. He is my horse after
all."

Erin turned to Dave, "Then we'll just have to make the best of the
time we have, won't we."

We certainly will, thought Dave.

Professor said, "By the time you get back from your ride today, Stan
should have all of Dave's things gathered up -- some feed, brushes,
tack --"

"Oh, I've got brushes. I got them for my last horse," said Erin.

"-- and his radio."

"Radio?"

The radio was the lucky result of an internet search. It had several
station presets that Stan had tuned for him and buttons big enough
that Dave could jab by using a stick in his mouth.

"Yeah. He seems to enjoy it."

{{Separator|stars}}

Without the radio Dave was sure he would have gone nuts. Erin's barn
had space for a half dozen horses, but at the moment, Dave was the
only resident. He missed the foals and watching them grow. He missed
the company of his mares, especially tutoring by Amos. He missed his
coursework and browsing the internet. Coursework was better than
boredom.

At least the evenings weren't bad. More than not bad, they were
actually quite good. It seemed as soon as Erin was home from work,
she arrived at the barn with a saddlebag in hand. It took her only a
few moments to get Dave saddled before they were off. They would go
for about an hour before Erin decided that some clearing was just
right. Then she would open the saddlebag for her own dinner and a
generous supply of food and treats for Dave.

After eating and feeding Dave, Erin would pull out a novel and sit
on the ground while she read. Dave would approach her from the side
and stick his head over hers so he could read out of one eye along
with her, though she took it as a desire for closeness and would
idly stroke his nose as she read.

When the sun got low in the sky, she would pack up and remount. She
would urge Dave -- who didn't need much urging -- into a gallop to
get back to the barn before dark. Once there, she would give him a
marvelously thorough brushing.

The best day came after a month of such evenings. Dave had a belly
full of apples and carrots and Erin had eaten her picnic. The day's
book was a romance, not what Dave would have chosen, but better than
nothing. The heroine had kissed the hero, who had pledged his love,
but they now had to convince their families that their different
backgrounds weren't an issue. The arguments put forth by the
characters were rather lame in Dave's view and more than he could
take, so he pulled his head up. Erin absently let her hand fall away
when he moved and he stepped back. From there he got a good look at
the meadow and its wildflower and the evening sun that made
the flowers and her hair practically glow.

It squeezed his heart. You dear woman, he thought, you've been a
faithful visitor as I served out the sentence of this curse. You've
taken me in so the curse won't trap me completely. You've tended to
my needs with generosity and kindness. I love you so. I love your
hearty laugh and beautiful smile. I love your gentle manner. I will
be glad when this damn curse is over with so I can court you as a
man should, so that you might become my wife.

Dave glanced around the clearing. Yes, those would do nicely. He
ambled over to some purple flowers, bit through the stems of a
couple of them, used his flexible lips to hold on to them, ambled
back to his love, circled around, and, while facing her, dropped the
flowers into her open book.

She raised her eyes and looked into his. He held her gaze. She let
the book drop to the grass, stood, and put her arms around his neck.
"Oh, Dave." She hugged his head. "I've never had a horse give me
flowers before. You're so sweet. These lupines are beautiful."

Lupines, thought Dave, don't those have something to do with
werewolves? If they do, they're quite appropriate to the situation.

After a moment, Erin pulled back to look him in the eye, though she
kept stroking his nose. She studied him for perhaps a full minute.
"You're a strange one, Dave. What would a horse know about giving
flowers to a woman? You wouldn't happen to be my Prince Charming
disguised as a horse instead of a toad, now would you?" She studied
him a moment longer.

Easy boy, though Dave. Don't react. Act like a horse.

Erin pulled on Dave's halter until they were standing nose to nose.
"There is one way to find out if you are Prince Charming," she said
in a husky voice and kissed him mouth to mouth.

Dave almost spoke -- almost cried out -- from the strength of the
shiver that ran through him. Two years of practicing silence to
protect his secret was strong and Dave was able to keep his mouth
shut. Instead, the shiver was expressed in a violent toss of his
head.

Erin giggled at his reaction. Oh, that wonderful laugh! She then
pulled his head to her shoulder and pressed her cheek against his.
"You're such a wonderful horse, Dave," she whispered. "I love you."

On the way back to her barn, Dave struggled with an internal debate.
One voice said, we keep quiet because there are too many crazies in
this world who would love to put a talking horse on display. Another
said, But this is Erin! You're in love! Stop right now and tell her!
It's only another month, said the first voice. Then you can tell her
all you want.

[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 11|Part 11]] * Part 12 *
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 13|Part 13]]

User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 11

2011-07-25T01:57:06Z

Erastus: Replacing a lost story

{{title|name= Serving the Sentence - Part 11/14|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

Dave awoke on the first warm day in March to a wonderful rich aroma.
Dave doubted it was flowers because his body had never responded to
flowers in the way it did now.

Dave tracked the aroma to Amos, who was already in the paddock. "Ah,
here's my stallion," she said. "I've got an itch that needs a good
scratching and it seems you are the only one equipped to do the job."

Amos studied the motionless Dave for a moment. "It appears I have
embarrassed my stallion. I'm sorry." She ambled over to him and
nuzzled for a moment. "While neither one of us can commit to 'Death
do us part,' I want you to know that I love my stallion and I'm
proud of what you've done over the last year. I would be honored to
bear a foal for you."

Dave still seemed hesitant, so she said, "Though I can't offer a
candlelit moment at the feed trough, I think what we need now is a
bit of privacy. The space behind the willow in the south pasture
should serve nicely."

Dave had a sharp need of his own so he trotted eagerly to the tree.
His embarrassment didn't last long. A half hour later, Dave thought,
so this is what it is like to be a stallion.

Piet came into heat two days later and Zane the day after that. With
three mares, Dave was in heaven.

Jack came into heat the same day as Zane. She watched from the far
end of the pasture as Dave made trips to the willow tree with each
mare over the course of the morning.

Jack cautiously approached the group in the south pasture, hoping to
be included. Dave chased her away. Jack sulked at the far end of the
pasture for a while, but her need was too great. The physical need
was bad enough. The thought of even an extra three weeks as a horse
-- three weeks without her human form, three weeks without a cock,
three extra weeks enduring the twelve-year-old girls that wanted to
braid her mane -- was making her desperate. From the way Dave had
been mounting the other mares, they would have no trouble satisfying
the curse. They would get to return to human. She would be stuck as
a mare. Damn that cocky little dictator!

Jack cautiously returned, stopping a safe distance away -- as close
as she figured she could come without prompting Dave to charge at
her, but carefully placing herself upwind of the stallion. "Please, Dave."

"Go away," said Dave.

"I don't want to wait any longer than I have to. I want my cock
back."

"That is not my concern," said Dave. He had taken a couple steps
towards Jack. "My life might actually be better if you didn't get
your cock back. All you did with it was torture me -- try to prove
that your manhood was better than mine. We're all better off while
you are female."

Jack backed up a step. "Please, Dave. I need you."

"Well, I don't need you. I have enough mares to satisfy me and to
serve out my sentence. Just go away." He charged at her again. She
fled.

It wasn't long before Jack was back. Again, she stopped a safe
distance away and directly upwind of him. "Please, Dave. I'll make
it up to you."

They all could see that Jack's aroma had an effect on Dave. He took
a few steps to the side, then said, "It's too late for that."

"No, it's not," she protested.

"You're never going to change," Dave said. "But a year from now, I
see two very nice possibilities. The first is that I'll be human and
you will still be a horse. I can walk away and not have to deal with
you again." He glared at Jack a moment.

Zane took that moment to say, "Dave, you will have foals by then,
you may not want to leave."

Dave glanced at her and nodded. "I know. There is the other
possibility. A year from now, the four of us take the ranch over
from Professor, who moves back into town. Then I can sell your sorry
ass to the highest bidder. I will relish the joke when the poor
guy's mare becomes a human male a year later if he doesn't get you
pregnant again before the little tyke is weaned. Now beat it!"

Jack fled again at Dave's charge, but slowly returned only a few
minutes later. "Please, Dave."

"There are those who say persistence is an admirable trait. I'm
sure they were never on the receiving end of persistent badgering."
Dave stood there quietly for a few moments. Jack didn't dare move.

Dave said, "Jack, who's the stallion?"

"If there was any justice in this world it would have been me."

"Wrong answer, Jack. Try again."

The mares seemed to be intent on watching Jack.

"I hate people on power trips," said Jack after a moment.

"I'm outta here," said Dave. He turned and began to walk away.

"Please, Dave!" The pleading was unmistakable.

"Who's the stallion, Jack." Dave stopped walking, but didn't bother
turning around.

Silence.

"Anybody. Who's the stallion."

Amos spoke up. "My stallion is Dave."

"Aw, you wimpy little bastards!" said Jack. "He's got you to play
his power games too?"

Amos said, "In case you didn't notice Jack, you're a horse. You're
even a female horse. And you're a female horse in heat. The rules of
humans don't apply. The rules of a horse as part of a herd do. Dave
is my stallion."

Jack muttered a few swear words. Dave waited.

"Your turn, Jack," said Dave.

"Dave is my stallion."

"You know girls," said Dave, "I don't think she means it. Do you?"

All three chuckled. Jack's ears went back.

"Try again. Bow when you say it."

"You pompous little runt!" Jack stalked off.

Dave waited. It didn't take long.

Jack broke into a gallop after only a few steps and circled the
pasture. She arrived back in front of Dave, sides heaving. Dave
waited.

After a moment, she spread one foreleg forward and the other back
and ducked her head in an imitation of curtsey. "Dave." She was
still breathing hard. "Dave. Is my. Stallion."

"Kneel," said Dave.

"You said bow."

"I changed my mind."

Jack knelt.

"Better yet," said Dave, "complete prostration."

Jack glared a moment, saw Dave turn away, and decided to comply. She
quickly folded her rear legs and stuck both forelegs forward. She
then placed her muzzle between her legs.

"You were saying?" prompted Dave.

"Dave is my stallion."

Dave came over and placed a hoof on Jack's withers. The other mares
could see Jack grit her teeth. "And who are you?" said Dave.

Silence.

Dave wiggled the hoof on Jack's back. "Well?"

More silence.

Amos said, "Jack, the correct response is 'I am Dave's mare.'"

After a moment, Dave wiggled his hoof.

"I am Dave's mare," said Jack.

"Repeat all of it," said Dave.

"Dave is my stallion. I am Dave's mare."

After a moment, Jack moved a leg, trying to rise. Dave wiggled his
hoof again. Jack returned her leg to where it was.

"Repeat after me," said Dave. "I will submit to my stallion."

"I will submit to my stallion."

"I will honor my fellow mares," said Dave.

"I will honor my fellow mares."

"I will respect my herd mates."

"I will respect my herd mates," Jack seemed to deflate.

"I will always use polite language."

"I don't know polite language," protested Jack.

"Then it is about time you learn. Say it."

"I will always use polite language."

"Very good!" Dave's tone was that of a parent to a child. He removed
his hoof. "You may get up now."

Jack slowly got to her feet. Her tail twitched over to the side.

Dave said, "Get out of here. I'm too angry to enjoy it now. And I
intend to enjoy it."

Jack's tail settled back into place as she walked to the far side of
the pasture.

{{Separator|stars}}

"Don't you think you were a bit hard on her?" asked Amos.

"Are you objecting to what your stallion has done?" countered Dave.

"I will agree she had it coming and that it is your place to give it
to her. I merely observe that going overboard may cause difficulties
in the future."

"So what if she stays a mare for another year. Maybe something good
will come of it."

"Dave, at the moment you may be a stallion at the height of mating
season, but you also have a human brain capable of understanding
such ideas as compassion and forgiveness. It is one thing to go from
wimp to self-assured. It is quite another to go from self-assured to
cocky. The best leaders don't get a swelled head over it."

"Are you calling me cocky?"

Piet laughed. Amos continued after glaring at Piet. "What I'm saying
is that a cocky leader tends to make life difficult for his herd. A
true leader shows compassion and apologizes for his mistakes. You
decide which one you are."

Amos could see Dave didn't get it, at least not yet. "I don't care
about Jack," she continued. "She's been obnoxious for as long as
I've known her. She can sit there as a mare for the rest of her days
for all I care."

"So what's your complaint?"

"I do care about my stallion. I want my stallion to be the best
possible stallion -- and human -- that he can be. I don't want the
way you treat Jack to make you become like him."

"I don't get it."

"If you go on treating Jack the way he treats you, you begin to
treat others the same way. Do you really want someone to think of
you the way you think of Jack?

"Uh, no."

"Think about some of those Shakespeare plays we've discussed over
the last several months. Why did Hamlet do what he did?"

"Avenge his father's death, which is another way of saying he went
for revenge against his uncle."

"Very good." Amos was pleased that Dave forgot about being the
stallion for the moment and slipped easily back into his student
role. "And what did that get him?"

"Dead."

"What happens to all the other Shakespeare characters that went
after revenge?"

"They usually die a miserable death. But that's exaggerated."

"True. Even so, Shakespeare is not wrong. Revenge -- paying Jack
back for all the nasty things he said and did -- will drag you down.
It may not kill you, but it will not improve you. Seeking revenge is
not a healthy way to live. It will hurt you more than it will hurt
Jack and it is ''your'' health I'm interested in."

Amos could see that Dave wasn't convinced, but enough had gotten
through to that hormone-crazed brain to have a small effect. Dave
began to pace.

"Dave," said Amos, "what was the other class you took this past
semester?"

Dave had gotten used to Amos asking obvious questions. He now knew
that coming up with the answer usually clarified his thinking.
"Comparative Religions."

"And why did I recommend you take that one?"

"Because religion is such a large part of a culture and so
frequently at the root of conflict that it is important to
understand at least the major religions."

"Might there be a secondary motive?"

Dave paused in his pacing. Amos could practically see the lightbulb
turn on. "So that I might actually absorb some of the religious
principles."

"And what is the principle behind the phrase, 'turn the other
cheek'?"

"Um, let's see," Dave sounded like he was quoting a memory. "Some
say an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, but I say when a man
strikes you on one cheek, turn and let him strike the other cheek as
well." Amos waited. "It, um, means" -- the pacing resumed -- "that
revenge doesn't work."

"Very good. Your quote was also reasonably accurate. Now what is the
major theme of Christianity?"

"Forgiveness and love can overcome evil."

"Very good, Dave. You may yet become a stallion even Jack will be
proud to know."

Meaning, thought Dave, I'm certainly not there now. "Why are we
having this discussion now and not when I threw Jack out of the
barn?"

"It's the difference between asserting your authority and abusing
it." Dave stopped his pacing and faced Amos with a nod. Amos
continued, "This is a lot to absorb all at once. Perhaps you should
spend the next few hours away from your mares and contemplate what
kind of stallion you want to be. Then we can discuss how you can be
a stallion to Jack."

{{Separator|stars}}

The next morning, having had a long talk with Amos and a long time
to think by himself in the north pasture, Dave approached Jack in
the south pasture. Dave was careful to not be downwind. The rest of
the mares stayed near the barn to give them privacy.

"Jack?"

"Do you want me to bow, kneel, or prostrate myself?" Jack asked with
a bit of apprehension.

"None of that. I shouldn't have asked for it the first time."

"You bastard!" Jack growled, aware she could speak freely.

"I'm sorry Jack."

"You humiliated me!"

"I had a long chat with Amos. I overdid it. I'm sorry."

"I'm sick and tired of being a horse!" Jack wailed. "I want to get
on with my life."

"I understand your frustration. I do too. In a moment, we'll take a
step to make that happen."

"Why not now? Let's just get it over with."

"I don't want to do it out of a sense of duty and I don't want it to
be rape. I want us to both enjoy it. I want to create offspring with
a friend. Doing so with a lover would be better."

"You're not likely to get me to love you," growled Jack.

"Maybe not, but I'd like to make an effort. Jack, humiliating you
was wrong. I apologize for doing it. Now, though my actions cannot
be excused, they were provoked. In the time that I've know you, you
seem to go out of your way to make others miserable."

Dave paused for a moment. Jack didn't take up the slack. "I will
make a guess at the underlying problem. Rose thought it was obvious.
The problem appears to be that you are hung up on macho. You hated
Zane because he appeared to live it. You hated me because I didn't
strive towards it. You hate yourself now because you are female."

Jack was still silent.

"Jack, being macho is irrelevant. It is a poor foundation for a
personality. It is better to build a life on compassion, reverence,
and a whole long list of other virtues our modern culture ignores."

Dave studied Jack a moment. Jack said nothing.

"There is something buried in your past that comes out as the need
to be macho. Who better to tell than your stallion?"

Jack finally spoke. "You have a lot of strange things to say for a kid."

Dave wiggled his ears. "As I said, Amos and I had a long talk." Jack
noticed that Dave said nothing about being called a kid.

More silence.

"Amos has a guess too," said Dave. "She thinks your problems are
wrapped up in your relation to your father. Jack, please tell me
about your father." It almost sounded like a question.

Jack just stood for several minutes, then let out a long shuddering
sigh. She said, "I think the first time I was afraid of him was at
Christmas when I was about seven or eight. I had been asking my
mother for a G.I Joe. I was delighted when I opened the box and
found one. The figure was dressed in fatigues and had a black beard.
As soon as Dad saw it, he yanked it out of my hands, threw it into
the fireplace, and yelled, 'My son isn't going to play with dolls!'.
I think my mother was as shocked as I was.

"My dog Star died when I was thirteen. That dog had been my buddy as
long as I could remember and he was gone. Dad smacked me until I
could choke back the tears. He said, 'Real men don't cry.'

"I was probably the smallest guy in ninth grade. Dad insisted I go
out for football. He called it a 'real man's sport'. Mom objected,
saying all the other boys were bigger than me and that I would be
hurt. Dad insisted, saying a man shouldn't be afraid of a little
pain. At the first scrimmage, I was tackled by the biggest kid on
the other team. The impact cracked two ribs. Mom was furious with
him.

"After my ribs healed, I was able to avoid sports, though Dad let me
know how disappointed he was in my decision. To replace sports, I
tried out for and got the role of the slob in ''The Odd Couple''. Dad
raised such a stink with the drama teacher that he dropped me from
the play just so he wouldn't have to deal with Dad. I never figured
out what Dad's problem was.

"Once, I slapped my girlfriend the same way Dad had slapped Mom. Her
father hauled me down to the police station. When I saw Dad, he
congratulated me on showing her who was boss. When I saw Mom and the
pain in her eyes, I realized I could never strike another woman.

"I could never please him. He kept saying I was never enough of a
man to satisfy him. Though I did a few things right, there were
always so many other things that he didn't like."

Jack had finally run out of words. She stood there for a moment with
her head drooping. Telling those stories to someone else had cost
her a great deal. "So what do I do now?"

"According to Amos," said Dave, "the answer is both simple and hard.
The simple part is to understand that you must live for yourself,
not for your father. The hard part is actually doing it. Amos said
it will take time. She also said that you may need to talk to me or
her about it some more."

This would have been the time for a hug, if Dave had arms with which
to give one. Dave rubbed his nose against Jack's. She flinched back
a step but he persisted. He could hear she was breathing heavily
from -- he assumed -- the anxiety of her tale. He circled around her
so that he could come alongside and press his whole flank against
hers and rub neck to neck. She didn't flinch, but he could feel her
skin quiver and feel her tail nervously flick against his legs and
back. It wasn't a hug, but perhaps it would do.

It would take a long time for Jack to heal. Amos said as much. One
doesn't easily banish tormentors from the past. But Jack had brought
the problem into the open and certainly could begin the healing
process. That was all that could be expected for the moment. It was
a start, enough for now.

Dave found Jack's story a bit overwhelming. How could a man be so
cruel to his own son? What should he do with Jack's story? Was it
enough, as Amos said, to just listen?

Dave waited for another long sigh, then waited some more. Finally,
he could feel that Jack's flanks were no longer quivering and her
tail swished with purpose rather than with nerves. He saw her
looking him in the eye. Her ears twitched.

Dave said, "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Amos and Zane have
shared some tips on how I could improve the experience. Amos said it
was memorable."

It was. It most certainly was. Jack would have never thought that
the female experience could be so intense and satisfying.

When Dave and Jack returned to the barn Amos said, "Welcome to the
herd, Jack."

{{Separator|stars}}

Two weeks later, the vet told Professor, "It looks like Piet and Amos
are pregnant. It also looks like Zane and Jack get to have more fun
with their stallion next month."

Predictably, Jack grumbled loud and long at the news -- once the vet
was gone.

Dave had a wonderful time with Zane during her second heat. Jack had
gotten over her disappointment at least enough to enjoy it. The vet
confirmed the second time took.

[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 10|Part 10]] * Part 11 *
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 12|Part 12]]

User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 10

2011-07-25T01:54:10Z

Erastus: Replacing a lost story

{{title|name= Serving the Sentence - Part 10/14|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

A police car pulled up to the house mid afternoon in early February.
The two officers knocked on the door. Professor welcomed them in.

Dave had, of course, paced the squad car and headed for the barn.
The mares either saw the car or saw Dave flag his tail several
times. They entered soon after Dave and gathered with him around the
intercom.

Since no one wanted to ride in February any more than December, Stan
had already completed his chores and had gone home.

The intercom soon crackled to life. Professor could be heard saying,
"I hope you don't mind allowing my stableboy to hear about this."

"Not at all," said a deep voice.

"You were saying?" prompted Professor.

"I was saying that there were two robberies yesterday that you need
to be aware of. The first was at the auction appraiser's office in
Livingston. The thieves ransacked his files and apparently stole
several of his appraisals. He thinks that one of them was for your
horses. Do you happen to have a copy?"

Professor could be heard rummaging through his desk for a moment,
"Ah, here it is."

"Yes. It shows your horses are very valuable. That leads to the
other of yesterday's crimes. Another rancher reported that his
stallion was stolen at about 2:30 last night. He says his horse was
appraised by the same man for three hundred fifty thousand, a bit more than your mares.
The appraiser claims that file was another one stolen.

"Professor, we have reason to believe the thieves will target your
barn tonight. Your horses, especially the stallion are a prime catch
for them."

"What can I do?"

Another voice spoke, much higher than the first one. "We need you to
stay out of the way. The thieves probably won't use bullets as a
half million dollar horse that's dead is worthless. They will use
tranquilizer darts and a dart loaded to put a two thousand pound
horse to sleep will kill a two hundred pound man. A dart in your toe
could be just as deadly as a bullet through the brain. So even
though you want to protect a half million dollar investment, your
life isn't worth it."

"I can understand that," said Professor.

"Beyond that," said the higher voice, "we're not sure yet. We've
planned a stakeout around your place tonight, but we have a dilemma.
We want to protect your animals, yet we would also like a way to
track down the horse that was stolen yesterday."

The deep voice continued, "Here's how you can contact us." Dave
could imagine the cops handing over business cards, or whatever it
is that cops use. "We will also keep you informed. Thank you for
your time, sir."

"And thank you for the warning," said Professor.

A few moments later, the squad car could be heard driving away.

Dave said, "Well girls, any suggestions?"

Zane said, "I think the --"

"Hold it right there," Jack interrupted. "You're not seriously going
to put this kid in charge of our safety, are you?"

"Yes, Jack, we are," said Amos. "He is our stallion."

Jack snorted. "He may have the equipment, but any one of us, and
especially Zane and her 'Nam experience would be a better choice to
lead us. This isn't some little circus with clueless computer
thieves. We're talking serious trouble. We're talking tranq darts,
horsenapping, and either the possibility of an irate owner when we
return to human or being bred so frequently we're trapped in horse
form. Nuh-uh. I want someone with experience in charge."

Amos could see Dave's ears go back so stepped between them. "No,
Jack. Dave is in charge. He has learned a lot in the last six months
about delegating and accepting advice. I'm sure he will make sure
Zane's experience is used."

"There you go hiding behind your women. A real stallion would speak
for himself."

"All right, Jack," Dave bellowed. His ears were flat. Amos quickly
stepped out of the way. "I've had enough. Out!"

Jack didn't move. Dave stepped forward. "I said, out!"

Dave took two more steps towards a surprised Jack. "Out! I mean it!
You are not welcome in this barn."

Jack had put up with verbal rebukes from Amos and Zane. That was
nothing. But no one had actually threatened her before.

Dave took another step. "I don't care where you go. I don't care if
you ever return to human. I want you out of here!" Another step.

Jack held her ground. No one had dared to order her around before.

"I don't care if you ever regain your precious cock or if the
horsenappers get you. Out." Dave could almost touch Jack's nose.

Jack fled.

The barn was silent for a whole minute. Amos broke it, asking, "Do
you think it was wise to expose her to danger?"

"As you keep saying, I'm the stallion."

"Of course, Dave."

A very long and very quiet minute later, Dave said, "You were
saying, Zane?"

Zane said, "I think the police were hinting that they would like
volunteers."

"Volunteers for what?"

"Volunteers to be a prisoner. Let the thieves nab a horse, but in
such a way that it leads the police to the previously stolen horse."

"You mean using one of us as bait?" asked Dave.

"Essentially, yeah."

"So why not just ask?"

"I don't think even the police would feel right about saying, 'A
three hundred thousand dollar horse has been stolen. May we use your
five hundred thousand dollar horse as bait?' On the other hand, the
police won't turn it down if Professor makes an offer."

They talked for a while longer, then Dave spoke to Professor on the
intercom, "We have a plan we'd like to discuss with you."

{{Separator|stars}}

Zane was impressed with the number of cops that joined the stakeout.
As darkness fell, Zane could look across the fields and see cop cars
behind several clumps of brush. There were cops spread across the
perimeter of the pastures. There were even two cops in the hayloft,
which meant the horses had to act like horses, and a third cop who
would stay with the horses until the intruder alert was given.

It was after three when the Oren, the cop on the floor, heard his
walkie-talkie crackled. Mike reported a truck passing his position
in the south pasture. Oren thanked him, and called up to the loft,
"Tony, Walt, it is showtime."

Tony said, "Roger. Come on Walt, wake up."

Oren picked up the small radio beacon, turned it on, checked it with
his receiver, then walked over to Dave's stall. "Come on, horsie,
I've got a little treat for you."

Dave quickly and calmly swallowed the proffered beacon.

Oren went into the tack room to hide. He was surprised when the
three mares let themselves out of their stalls and went quietly past
him and out behind the barn. The horses had agreed it would do no
good to expose them all to danger and that the thieves would want to
work quickly, not bothering with horses they would have to search
for.

Five minutes later, a truck came up the lane and pulled up outside
the big door. It sounded like it was being backed up to the door.
Dave waited until then to let himself out of his stall and stand
near the big door. He had had a long time of undisturbed thought
that evening, once the cops climbed into the loft, to consider things
carefully.

Dave, and no doubt the police, could hear the thieves pick the
padlock that had been installed that afternoon. The police were
amazed at the lack of security and had insisted on at least the
appearance that expensive horses were inside.

The door was pushed open. From the glow of the yard light, Dave took
in the situation. The open back of the truck was just a few feet
away. The thief that had opened the door was startled to see a huge
stallion in front of his face. Another thief had the dart gun in his
hands. A third, with a wary expression, was lowering the lift on the
back of the truck.

Dave knew the he had a main task to accomplish, so let the thieves
guide him onto the lift and, once the lift was raised, from there
into the truck. As soon as his guide let go of his halter and walked
to the back of the truck, Dave kicked him. He was satisfied to hear
bones crack. The man went down, first screaming, then releasing a
stream of profanity.

The dart gun was quickly raised and used. Dave felt the expected
sting beside his tail and calmly lay down so that he wouldn't hurt
himself in falling over.

Before darkness swallowed him Dave thought, it worked! He was going
to be tranquilized sooner or later from the looks of the one with
the gun and the thieves wouldn't hurt their prize in any other way.
Might as well get in a blow for the good guys while he could.

{{Separator|stars}}

When Dave awoke, he was sprawled on the floor of the truck. The
light through the vents told him it was sometime after dawn, though
Dave couldn't tell if daybreak had been minutes or hours ago. The
truck was slowing to a stop. A moment later, the engine was turned
off. Wherever they were going, they had arrived. A minute after
that, the door opened. Dave blinked in the bright light and soon
focused on a familiar barn door. Dave slowly got to his feet.

Oren the cop noted that Dave was awake as he unfolded the lift. He
then climbed in to grab Dave's halter. Dave beat him to it by
stepping onto the lift. The cop soon had Dave standing on the
ground. Professor was there, as were the mares, though Jack kept her
distance.

"Thanks for offering the use your horse, Professor. Two of the perps
are in jail and the third will be there soon once his leg is in a
cast. The other rancher also thanks you for helping rescue his
horse." They shook hands. Oren then patted Dave on the neck. "From
the report of that broken leg, I'm glad your stallion was on our
side." The cop left.

Once the truck was out of earshot, Zane said, "So what happened? Was
there a big shootout?"

"I have no idea," said Dave. "I just woke up. What happened here?"

"The cops radioed in that you were loaded into the truck, you kicked
one of them, and then they sped away as soon as they could get the
truck door closed. You must have spooked them, as they never came
into the barn to look for us. A moment later the cops reported that they were in careful pursuit."

Professor added, "Officer Walt reported that they apprehended both
the thieves and their contacts at a rest stop on I-90 twenty-five
miles east of here. They were caught while money was changing hands.
As far as the police are concerned, it is a pretty tight case."

The stories continued for several minutes, but soon most of them
began to drift away. Amos said to Dave, "Thank you, Dave."

"For what? All I did was lie there in the truck unconscious."

"You put your life at risk for someone else, someone you didn't even
know. That rates pretty high in my book. And your kick wasn't half
bad either." Amos twitched her ears. "The cops who saw it were
quite impressed that a horse would do such a thing. They promise not
to get on your bad side."

"What do you mean, I put my life at risk?"

"Oh, I can think of a hundred ways in which that little adventure
could have gone wrong."

"I think one will be enough." Dave's eyes were getting big.

"Only one? Then we'll go with the tranquilizer dart. You say you
just woke up. That implies the dosage was a bit too high, even for a
big guy like you. A little bit more and it could have killed you.
And there is always the risk of an allergic reaction."

Dave visibly gulped. "So why didn't you tell me all about these
risks before we got into this mess?"

"Because I realized it wouldn't have made any difference in your
decision. It is good to see a stallion willing to risk his life for
another."

{{Separator|stars}}

Two days later, after another snowstorm dumped yet another inch of
snow. Jack approached Professor as he was scraping the snow off his
car.

"Good morning Jack," Professor called out. "Though it is mornings
like this where I would much rather live in town instead of facing a
commute over icy roads."

Professor took a good look at Jack, "How are you doing, Jack? Did
Stan work things out?"

"Yeah, he stacked up bales of straw under the roof overhang outside
the tack room. He even found a second blanket for me. I think he
brought it from his parent's place." Professor had noticed Jack
looked bulkier than usual. "It is such a relief to get out of the
way of that aspiring dictator and his fawning groupies that I don't
mind the cold."

Professor stopped scraping and turned to face Jack, but said
nothing. It seemed the perception of Dave inside the barn had
shifted.

"But my cozy living arrangements aren't what brought me out here to
talk to you away from the others," continued Jack. "I was thinking
about mating season next month. It's no secret that I think Dave is
abusing his role as stallion, the little twerp." It certainly isn't
a secret, thought Professor. He returned to his scraping while Jack
talked. "I am pretty sure he will refuse me when I come into heat. I
can't bear to be a mare for any longer that I absolutely have to.
How about getting a stud service for me?"

The professor studied Jack for a moment, then sighed. "Sorry, Jack,
the answer is no. We'll leave out the things you did to make the
problem worse and look at only the practical and financial. This
ranch runs on a shoestring, there is very little extra money. We
can't afford it."

"I've got lots of savings!" protested Jack.

"And we can't get at any of it without your signature. We can't even
use it as collateral for a loan. You know that."

"It doesn't have to be an expensive stud. I'm not looking to be the
mother of the next Triple Crown winner!"

"And Dave's services are free. You forget the fifty percent success
rate for stud services. You would have to at least double any quoted
fees. But think of another aspect. We're talking about your child.
Even if that child will remain a horse, you won't be happy being
studded by any run-down, bedraggled, excuse for a stallion that we
might find around here for the price we can afford. Compare that
against Dave, who has been judged to be a very fine horse, worthy of
siring your offspring. The answer is no."

"But that little twerp hates me!" sputtered Jack. "He'll refuse."

"Well, you have about a month to do something about that."

Professor climbed into his car, shut the door, and started the
engine, drowning out the stream of profanities from Jack.

[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 9|Part 9]] * Part 10 *
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 11|Part 11]]

User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 9

2011-07-25T01:47:51Z

Erastus: Replacing a lost story

{{title|name= Serving the Sentence - Part 9/14|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

Two men appeared on an Indian Summer day in mid November. Their
pickup was about ten years old and had numerous small dings all over
it. The bottom edges of the doors were just getting serious about
rust. The men were clean and well groomed, but their clothes looked
worn -- holes in the jackets and rips in the jeans.

The taller one selected Dave as his mount for the day, his partner
chose Piet. They paid Stan in cash and were soon heading down the
drive and along the road.

The men were silent until they were past the edge of the property.
The shorter one broke the silence, "You've got a plan for this
place, don't you, Fred."

"Hmm?"

"Otherwise you wouldn't have spent our scarce resources for a horse
ride."

Dave wiggled his ears to let Piet know he was listening.

"Yeah," said Fred in an easy manner, "Kyle told me the owner of this
place bought five computers along with network boxes and cables. I
figure we can come back tonight and clean them out. He said he knew
where we could unload 'em. Make a couple grand on it."

"So why spend money on the horsies?"

"Well, Rick, part of it is to get the horses used to us so they
won't make trouble later --"

"But they'll be in the barn. We'll be heading to the house."

"-- and part of it is I like horses. Didn't Kyle tell you anything
about me when he suggested me as a partner?"

"Yeah, he did. He just didn't mention you were a horse nut."

"Then he left out the most important part."

"So how we gonna do this job?"

"I checked that the professor who lives here is on a field trip so
there shouldn't be anyone in the house. The stableboy will likely
leave at sunset to go home to his mama for his supper. So after we
have our own supper, we come back and lift those computers."

"You saved enough money for our supper, didn't you?"

"Yes, I saved enough money for our supper."

Dave had to smile to himself at the mocking tone of voice.

The two men turned to idle chatter, which Dave listened to just to
be sure there were no more important details. Even while he listened
he did his best to enjoy the nice weather while it lasted. Most of
the leaves were off the trees, but the land had a golden glow about it.

After the two men climbed into the beat up pickup and eased on down
the drive and after Stan had gone home Dave said, "Listen up,
girls." He paused to wait for Amos and Zane to stop talking.
"Today's customers heard from the computer dealer in town that the
professor owns five computers. They intend to come back this evening
to steal them. I think we need to do our part to nab a couple bad
guys. We'll have a few advantages on our side. One, they think the
computers are in the house, not out here with us. Two, we outnumber
them five to two. Three, they don't know we're on to them."

"We ''know'' that, Dave," said Jack.

"You just shush," said Amos. "Our stallion is taking charge. So what
if he is stating the obvious."

"Here's what we'll do," said Dave. "Amos, you stay by the phone and
call the police when they come."

"Excuse me, Dave," said Zane, "I don't think the police will come
just because some bad guys drive in. Besides, we really can't tell
the police that we overheard them talking."

"Your point is?" asked Dave.

"We have to wait until they do something criminal. Fortunately, just
getting the door open is enough for a charge of breaking and
entering."

"Oh," said Dave. "Makes sense. Then we only need to keep them in the
house until the police arrive." He thought about it a moment. "But
won't the police want to talk to the person that called them?"

"Nah. Police get anonymous tips all the time. It will be the police
who are the witnesses to the crime."

"Then we're clear," said Dave. "Back to the plan. Here's what we'll
do..."

When Dave was done, Piet said, "You know, it might even be fun to
talk to them."

"And give ourselves away?" asked Dave.

"Who's going to believe them when they claim horses talked to them?"

Dave chuckled.

Zane said, "I'm not so sure. They may want to take revenge on the
talking horses once they're out of jail."

"No problem," said Amos. "By the time they get back to us, we'll be
back to human."

"I just thought of something," said Zane. "They know we will be
here. It's a good idea not to eat anything they offer as a way of a
treat. All kinds of things might have been added to it."

"Very good point," said Dave. "Any more comments or questions?"
There were none. "Let's take our positions."

It was more than two hours in a breeze that was getting downright
cold before the battered pickup came up the drive with its lights
off. Dave wasn't worried about them hitting the fence as the sodium
light on the barn gave off plenty of light. The two men got out of
the pickup leaving the doors open to avoid the sound of closing
them, even though no human was close enough to hear. They made their way to the house.

Once they got halfway there, Dave tried to look like he was ambling
along and just happened by and wanted to greet his rider.

"Well, hello there Dave," said Fred. "I didn't expect you to be out
here in the dark." He reached out a hand to pet Dave on the nose,
which Dave allowed. Fred then did exactly what Zane had expected; he
pulled some apple slices out of his pocket.

Though they were very tempting, Dave ignored the treat and pulled
back a step. "Wow," said Fred. "That is the first time I have ever
seen a horse refuse some apple."

He reached out and petted Dave on the nose again before proceeding
to the door. Dave followed them onto the porch. It took Rick only a
minute to pick the lock. As soon as he turned the knob, Dave flagged
his tail several times.

Amos, who had been standing in the doorway of the barn with a pencil
in her mouth, walked over to the speakerphone and tapped out 9-1-1
then dropped the pencil. When the connection was complete she calmly
said, "Hi, There is a robbery in progress here." She gave the
location. When the dispatcher asked for a name, she said, "I'd like
to stay anonymous."

The thieves opened the door. Fred took off his hat and waived it at
Dave and said, "Shoo!" Dave didn't move.

The two men very carefully eased themselves in through the door in
in the same way that a person would try to slip in while making sure
the dog stayed outside. Dave found their efforts amusing but kept
quiet.

Once inside, the thieves turned on the lights and began looking
around for five computers.

Dave operated the door latch with his lips, glad that he had
convinced Professor such non-standard handles were a good idea. He
stuck his head and neck through the open door. Getting his shoulders
through would be a bit of a squeeze, but at the moment, that was the
point. Dave followed the sound of footsteps through the house.

Zane, from her position in the side yard, watched through the
windows as the men wandered from room to room, turning on lights
as they went.

It didn't take the men long to see that the computers were not in
the house, or at least not in plain sight. They also couldn't find
the nest of cables to indicate a computer inside a desk. Time to cut
their losses.

As the men turned off the lights as they returned to the main door,
Zane flagged her tail to signal Piet who was at the door off the
kitchen.

The thieves found their way quite completely blocked by Dave. "You
latched the door, didn't you?" said Fred.

"Yes, of course I did," said Rick. "I'm not some idiot."

Fred took off his hat again, waived it in Dave's face and hollered,
"Shoo!" Dave didn't budge. He yelled a few more times getting quite
close to Dave's face.

Dave lunged at the hat, grabbed it in his teeth, yanked it out of
Fred's grasp, and flung it to the floor.

Both men stopped, startled.

"That's quite enough of that!" said Dave.

The men's eyes bugged out and their mouths dropped open.

"And no you won't find five computers in this house," said Dave.
"All of them are in the barn for the horses to use, right where they
should be."

The men turned and fled through the house to the kitchen door, not
bothering to turn on the lights along the way. In the dark and in
their haste it took several moments to figure out how to work the
door's lock. They finally flung the door open but found Piet's head in the way. Piet carefully and
deliberately pushed the men back into the kitchen until she filled
the doorway in the same manner as Dave.

The two men were too surprised to protest.

"Hey Dave!" said Piet, shouting to make sure Dave at the other end
of the house could hear her.

"Yeah!" said Dave, just as loud.

"How soon until the police get here?"

"Well," said Dave, "I reckon no more than ten minutes."

"Do you think these thieves will get a lighter sentence if they
snitch on their informant?"

"Probably. It would be worth a try."

"Sounds good," said Piet. "Dave, wasn't Kyle the one that installed
our systems out at the barn?"

"Sure was."

"And these two losers were sent to the house? Hmm. Sounds like a
double cross to me."

"That it does," said Dave.

In a quieter voice, Piet said to the thieves. "You guys might as
well have a seat until the police get here. Make yourselves
comfortable. You might even find a beer in the fridge."

It was only eight minutes before the police arrived. The driver
muttered to his partner as their headlights swept over the house,
"These guys must be fools to let the horses out, then leave the
doors open in November to let the horses into the house."

Dave backed out of the door when he heard the squad car stop. He
stayed on the porch until the police led the two men out. On the way
by, one cop said, "They'll probably try an insanity defense with the
way these guys are yammering about horses that talk."

Once the thieves were in the car with one cop, the other came around
to lock the doors and round up Dave and Piet, who went docilely.
Zane had already slipped back to her stall.

{{Separator|stars}}

"Dave, what do you know about horse breeding?" asked Zane. It was a
blustery November morning, the kind that is just right for keeping
the internet humming. There weren't going to be any riding club customers.

"I suppose what everyone knows," said Dave.

"And that is?"

"Um, mating season each spring, probably May. A foal born nine or
ten months later at the end of winter."

"You've got a curse on you and you don't check out the specifics on
how to rid yourself of it?" snarled Zane.

"Please, Zane, don't be so hard on our man," said Amos. She turned
to Dave, "It seems we keep forgetting you don't have your degree
yet. What year have you finished?"

"Junior."

"And what classes are you taking online right now?"

"You tutor me every evening, Amos. You should know."

"Humor me."

"Well, um, it's rather difficult to do a science lab right now, so
I'm studying Shakespeare's Plays and Comparative Religions."

Jack chuckled. "Real useful."

"Shush, Jack!" said Amos. "Don't mind her," she said to Dave. "In
other words, you haven't yet taken the senior level paleontology
classes."

"Yeah," said Dave. "Why do you ask?"

"Because it is in the senior year that you get deep into such things
as verification. How is it you know something? Can you trust it? If
you're going to make it as a paleontologist, you don't want to base
your research on common knowledge because you will be wasting your
time. Your advisor or your colleagues will throw it out. You have to
verify what you know.

"And now you have to get out from under a curse. The rules are
simple. Produce offspring. Wean them. Don't have another pregnancy
in progress. But can you answer a simple question: How long after a
mare gives birth does she go into heat again?"

"I don't know. But why should it matter?"

"It may matter very much. If she goes into heat before she is done
weaning, she may be pregnant again before the curse can be broken.
That means she'll have to endure life as a horse for another year.
And if you did your part as stallion, it would be another year for
you as well."

Dave's eyes got big. "I, uh, guess I need to start a class in horse
breeding."

"I suspect," said Amos with a wink, "that Zane brought up the topic
because her browsing led her to something useful."

"That I did," said Zane. "It took some digging, but I found the
webpages for the University of Missouri School of Agriculture. For
some reason, these things aren't found through a standard search
engine."

"So what did you learn?" asked Dave.

"That we need to clear up several of your misconceptions."

"Somehow I knew that was coming back around to me."

"First of all, mating season doesn't start in May. A mare can go
into heat as early as mid March. Second, it isn't a one-shot deal. A
mare will cycle into heat every three to four weeks after that."

"That's a relief," said Jack. "I'd hate to have to wait a whole year
if our ''man'' here," her sarcasm was obvious, "wasn't man enough for
the job."

"Oh, I don't think that will be a problem," said Amos. "The curse
laid on us made us horses primed for breeding. I'm sure we will all
be quite fertile."

"To put your mind at rest, Jack," said Zane, "it says here that Dave
will be able to produce about five ounces a hit, containing about 6
billion little guys. He'll be able to produce enough hits to keep
fifty mares happy -- and there will only be four of us."

"The most impressive male of any species and it's not me," muttered
Jack.

"Actually, the stats for whales are more impressive," said Amos.

Zane continued, "The sperm will live for about twenty-four to forty-eight hours. The
egg survives for about six hours after being released."

"In other words, Dave," said Piet, "to improve our chances, you'll
need to load us up at least once a day for the whole week we're in
heat." She winked.

Amos glanced at Dave and noticed his eyes. "Are we embarrassing you
with all this talk?"

"Um, yeah."

"Your wimp factor kicking in again? You should be delighted in all
this," said Jack.

"Oh shush," said Amos. "Dave, are you a virgin?"

Dave visibly gulped. "Yeah."

Amos turned to Jack and glared. "Not a word from you!"

Jack glared back.

"And you are uncomfortable," said Amos to Dave, "because you want to
save yourself for a future wife, such as Erin, and you don't like
the idea of sleeping around."

Dave could only nod.

Amos glared at Jack for a moment, then turned to Dave again. "I
admire your intentions, Dave, but, unfortunately, with this curse
hanging over us you don't have the luxury."

Amos let Dave think about it a while, then said, "Anything else,
Zane?"

"Yeah. Gestation is about twenty-five days short of a year."

Piet said, "Ouch! That's a long time to be so uncomfortable!"

"I bet you are remembering your wife trying to get out of a chair in
her last month."

"Strange that we were just talking about whales!"

"You're thinking in human terms. We have four legs to support the
extra weight and that weight is proportionally less."

Dave said, "I don't mean to be intrusive Piet, but you hadn't said
anything about a having a wife. Does she know about you now? What
about your child?"

Piet said, "The short version is we were divorced. She got custody
then remarried. I haven't been able to see my boy in about a
decade."

There was silence for a few moments before Jack asked, "How long
after birth will the little brats stop using us as their meal ticket
and let us return to human?"

"According to this website," said Zane, "a foal will naturally stop
going to its mother after six months."

"First you spoil our day by saying it will take nearly a year before
the brats pop out," said Jack. "Then you do it again by saying they
don't let go for another half year. And it is still four months
before mating season even begins!"

"Cut the yammering," said Zane. "I'm not done yet. That was the
natural way. We can safely start 'encouraging' them after four
months. That gets you back to human two months sooner."

"Saving two months is not much of a comfort when I've still got
nineteen months as a horse! Changing back today isn't too soon."

Zane turned back to her computer. "For us, this will be an important
detail. A mare will go back into heat about three weeks after giving
birth."

Amos nodded. "That's long before a foal is weaned. We'll have to do
something to keep from being trapped in the curse."

"But don't couples simply abstain when they don't want kids?" asked
Dave. "We can do the same."

"Oh man, listen to that! A male willing to give up sex!" said Jack.

"Actually, very few humans use abstinence as a form of birth
control," said Zane. "And even fewer use it successfully. The sexual
urge is just too strong. And since horses pump out pheromones, I'm
sure the urge is much stronger."

"So what about contraceptives -- pills and such?"

"I doubt there has been much research into a pill for horses," said
Zane. "And I'm sure there aren't horse condoms." Jack snickered.
"That's because surgery is relatively easy. It doesn't make sense
for us to have surgery just a few months before the curse ends. And
I doubt you want to become a gelding." Jack gave a hearty laugh. "It
might ruin your chances with Erin once you're human." Dave backed up
until his tail brushed the back of his stall.

"I think we're back to abstinence," said Amos. "And the only
abstinence that works is enforced. Dave, we're going to have to get
you out of here once the foals are born."

"But you're in heat only one week a month," said Dave.

"It is unlikely all four of us will be in heat the same week," said Zane.

A moment later Zane said, "Damn, my internet search froze. Are the rest of you getting through?"

"My computer seems to be running just fine," said Piet. "Let me try New York Times."

"No connection here," said Amos.

Jack and Dave had nothing either. Piet said, "Mine timed out. Hmm. If it has affected all of us…"

Dave said, "I'm on it. Ah. I found the number for the place that installed the dish." He ambled over to the speakerphone. "Hi, this is Dave." He gave the address. "It looks like our internet connection has gone out. Can you send someone to repair it? Tomorrow, late afternoon? Sounds good. Thanks."

Amos looked at Zane and nodded.

{{Separator|stars}}

Professor brought an artificial Christmas tree to the barn in early
December. Stan happily decorated the tree and placed more
decorations around the barn. The riding club was essentially closed,
though not officially. Stan still came by every day to feed and
groom his charges and, if necessary, plow the driveway for
Professor.

Stan was amused when six small gifts were waiting for him on
Christmas Eve. After he opened them, he went to each horse in turn
to give his thanks and a scratch between the ears. Professor was
content with just a handshake.

Stan, of course, stayed home on Christmas Day.

Not long after his usual breakfast time, Professor came into the
barn pulling a child's wagon full of presents.

In spite of Professor's attempts, it was a somber day. Professor had
to open each present, which included a horse blanket from Professor
himself for each of them and a passport wallet for Dave from his
parents. They had each gotten Professor something -- scarf, sweater,
and other such barn clothing -- from their riding club earnings, but
then had to ask Professor to write a check. It made them all feel
very dependent.

It was not the kind of Christmas Dave had looked forward to as a
child, and his childhood was only a few short years before. Once
Professor had opened the last gift and had slipped a blanket on each
of them, Dave quietly left the group and stood staring out the
window of his stall, occasionally rubbing his nose against the old
dinosaur toy on the windowsill. There wasn't even snow on the
ground.

After the third sigh, Amos crowded into the stall with Dave. She
simply stood there for a long moment, offering comfort with her
presence, then said, "How's my stallion doing?"

"Oh, Amos! I don't know if I can go through with this. I just don't
think I can be the stallion you need me to be. I wish I were back in
Cincinnati with Mom and Dad and Matt."

"Dave," Amos said gently. "You're doing just fine."

"Am I?"

"I guess I had better answer each of your comments. Can you go
through with this? Let's talk of the alternative. Do you want to
kill yourself? You might find it very difficult to do without hands,
though the Buffalo Jump near Three Forks could serve the purpose.
But this is a temporary problem. It has an end. You will either
decide to remain a horse or you will return to human. Killing
yourself it too permanent a solution."

Dave's voice was quiet. "No, I wasn't thinking of killing myself."

"Then you go through with it. A lot of life is just getting through
it. Now for the next question. Can you be the stallion we need?
Think about all that you've accomplished over the last six months
and about all you've learned. Compare your first call to a
contractor with a month ago when the satellite dish went out. You
aren't timid anymore."

"You're just saying that."

"Am I? Think about it."

Dave was quiet.

"Now I can't get you to Cincinnati today, but that was the reason
why phones were invented."

It took only a few moments for Professor to get the speakerphone
into Dave's stall and to dial the number. All the others moved away
as the phone rang to give Dave a feeling of privacy. Even stallions
needed Mom on occasion.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mom."

"David! It's so good to hear your voice! Where are you?"

"I'm in Bozeman. I've missed you..."

{{Separator|stars}}

When Stan returned the next day Amos whispered, "Dave is feeling rather blue right now. May I suggest you call Erin and offer a late Christmas gift of a free winter ride?"

Stan nodded, "I'm on it."

[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 8|Part 8]] * Part 9 *
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 10|Part 10]]

User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 8

2011-07-25T01:40:48Z

Erastus: Replacing a lost story

{{title|name= Serving the Sentence - Part 8/14|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

The riding club would open in two days. Stan had done a great job --
at least as far as Dave could tell -- of oiling and polishing the
tack and organizing the mismatched pieces in the tack room. Stan
still eyed he horses warily, still getting used the idea his charges
had human brains and speech.

Stan was finishing off the last saddle when he glanced towards the
door of the tack room and found Dave's head and neck filling it.

"Just about done, Dave," said Stan. Dave's watchful eye also took
some getting used to. "Even though this stuff is used, it's in good
shape."

"We have Zane to thank for that," said Dave.

"The next task is to get all this stuff on you and get all the
straps adjusted properly."

"So soon?" Dave edged away a bit.

"Dave, we open the day after tomorrow. I can't be fumbling with
straps while customers are waiting."

"Of course," said Dave.

Stan set the gleaming saddle aside. Dave could see it was the one
purchased for Piet. Stan reached over and grabbed the halter at the
end of the row. "We might as well start with you," said Stan,
turning to Dave.

Dave lowered his head and held still while Stan slipped the halter
over it. With quick motions, Stan adjusted the various buckles.
"I've never been able to ask this before," said Stan. "How does that
feel?"

Dave could feel the loop around his head, more straps along his
cheeks, and a loop around his muzzle. "Weird," he said.

"I mean, does it feel tight or loose? Does it hurt?"

"No. It feels all right. Though I don't know how it's supposed to
feel. It's just weird."

Stan patted him on the cheek, "You'll get used to it." Dave was very
aware of the strap being pressed into his cheek by Stan's hand.

Stan reached over for Dave's blanket and saddle and soon had them
on and adjusted. He attached reins to the side of the halter and
draped them over the saddle horn, then stepped back to admire his
work. "Looking good!" he said, giving Dave a thumb's up. Tomorrow,
I'll teach all of you how to respond to a rider."

Stan quickly had the saddle and blanket off.

"Aren't you going to take of the halter?" asked Dave.

"Nope."

Dave's eyes got wide.

"Sorry, Dave. Domesticated horses wear halters all the time. As far
as our customers are concerned, that's what you are. As I said,
you'll get used to it and will forget it's there."

Dave knew it wasn't logical, but he still felt as if a tiny bit of
his humanity had tiptoed away.

{{Separator|stars}}

Nell gave directions as Erin drove. "Turn left here. This is it."
Erin loved horses and checked out new riding clubs as soon as she
heard about them. Nell wasn't quite the fanatic, but was willing to
be dragged along. Quite willing, in fact. The weather was perfect
for a late summer ride.

"Look at that!" said Nell.

"Look at what?" Erin's eyes darted around the drive. They weren't
about to run over anything.

"The horse that's pacing us, off to our left."

Erin stole a glance. "Wow!" She jammed on the brakes. The horse
obliged by slowing down too. "I've never seen a horse that color!"

They both got out of the car. The horse was on the driver's side so
Erin got to it first. As she got to the fence the horse stuck its
head over it. Erin quickly stroked its nose. "Aren't you a pretty
one!"

While she stroked, she looked the horse over. A fanatic like her
would, of course, be able to recognize breeds. She told Nell, "All
the classic markings of a Clydesdale -- white face, white legs with
feathering, strong build -- but I've never seen a Clydesdale that
was a match for crayon red. This must be one-of-a-kind. I wonder
about the lineage? He's certainly healthy looking." She pulled a bag
of apple slices out of her pocket. One comes prepared when visiting
horses. The horse ate each slice eagerly as it was offered.

"Come on Erin," said Nell. "As beautiful as he is, one horse does
not make a riding club."

Erin turned to the horse. "Do you think we should go find your
stablemates?"

The horse very clearly shook his head. The human action looked so
strange when being done by a horse it sent Erin into a howling
laugh. When she subsided, she said, 'I know dear boy, you want to
keep me all to yourself." The horse nodded. Erin laughed again.

Erin patted him on the nose one more time before the women climbed
back into their car and drove slowly on up to the barn. The
beautiful red stallion kept pace again.

Stan came out to greet them. Dave strolled up to the fence beside
the barn at about the same time. "Good morning, ladies," said Stan,
"What can I do for you today?"

While Erin was good at sizing up horses, Nell was as good at sizing
up men. Stan looked rather harmless. He had all the trappings of
being offspring from an area ranch, a guy wanting out from under the
thumb of his father but still wanting to work with horses and not at
all ready to do it on his own. Nell figured Stan looked old enough
to have finished high school. She guessed this was a job to make a
bit of money while he decided whether he wanted to go to college.

"You haven't been open very long, have you," said Nell.

"No, just opened for business this past Saturday."

As would any straight male teenager with a beating heart, Stan sized
up the women. From their clothing, both looked to be experienced
riders. The one that had spoken was taller, almost to his own six
feet. She had blond hair that just brushed her shoulders. The other
was about a half foot shorter with dark blond hair pulled back in a
ponytail. He guessed that the were in their early-20s, old enough to
have finished college (and from the looks of the car, it looked like
they had), but not yet interested in settling down.

"I've never seen that color on a Clydesdale," said Erin.

"Yeah," said Stan, "He's a strange one, though the mares don't
exactly seem to be standard issue either."

"Now you have me interested."

Stan gave a whistle. Amos, Piet, Zane, and -- reluctantly -- Jack
came up to the fence.

Erin studied them for a moment. "I see what you mean. I've never
seen a Paint so highly decorated, a dapple gray quarterhorse, a
brown Arabian, and the strangest of all, a yellow Thoroughbred." By
then she was at the fence, stroking Piet on the nose. "Does the
owner have an idea of their worth? I imagine they are worth a lot."

"If he does, he hasn't told me," said Stan. "Shall I saddle up a
couple of them for you?"

The women nodded and Stan led them in through the main door of barn.
Erin watched as the five horses brought themselves in through the
door from the paddock. Each one seemed to pick out a stall and stand
in front of it. Four of the horses clustered at one end. The brown
Arabian stayed by herself at the other.

Erin made mental notes of little differences from the typical stable
-- the orderliness of the horses, that Stan didn't lead them around,
the aloofness of one. She noticed that the stall latches were much
newer than the wood they were mounted on and had a crazy notion that
horses could operate them if they had a mind to. She wondered if
Stan really watched the TV that was in the central area. He probably
didn't have time during the day and wasn't around in the evening.
She also noticed a couple other strange features. In each of the
stalls that appeared to be claimed by the horses there was a large
something covered by heavy canvas cloth. Erin quashed the thought
that it looked to be about the right size for a computer monitor on
a card table. The last oddity was in the red stallion's stall. She
was sure that was a stuffed dinosaur toy sitting on the windowsill.

Erin glanced from horse to horse and said, "Before I mount up, I
like to know my horse's name. I feel a bit better connected that
way. Will you introduce me?"

Stan got a sly smile on his face and came up to the red stallion. He
turned to Erin and said, "To do that, I need to know your name." She
told him.

In formal tones, Stan said, "Erin, I'd like you to meet Dave. Dave,
may I present Erin."

"Glad to meet you, Dave," said Erin. She caught on to the game and
gave a small curtsey."

Dave extended one foreleg, curled up the other, and lowered his
head. The image of seeing this horse in this barn bowing like a
circus horse sent Erin into another fit of laughter. She caught
sight of the here-we-go-again look on Stan's face and laughed even
harder.

When her laughter had quieted, Stan said, "I know these are mighty
strange horses -- you have yet to see how strange." Stan proceeded
with the introductions. "The Paint is Amos." He patted her on the
side of the neck. Amos bobbed her head. "This beautiful Thoroughbred
is Piet. The owner said to use the Swedish spelling. Don't ask me
why; I don't know." Piet also nodded. Stan moved over to scratch
behind the ears of the dapple gray. "This one is Zane." Zane did a
curtsey. "And the last one --" Stan had to take several steps to get
to the aloof animal. "-- is Jack." Jack seemed to glare. "And that
is the staff of The Mongolian Riding Club."

Erin had been stroking Dave's nose through most of the
introductions. She said, "Why do all the mares have male names?"

"The owner said that they were named before someone thought to check
the gender."

The women laughed again.

"And why the Mongolian name?"

"The owner said it was in celebration of the Mongolian horse
culture. He recently did paleontology work there. So which of these
fine horses should I saddle up for you?"

"No contest," said Erin, still stroking Dave's nose. "I'll take Dave
here." Dave looked like he was enjoying the attention very much.

"It's a tough choice," said Nell. She had slipped between Amos and
Piet, petting one with each hand and glancing back and forth between
them. Finally, she turned to Amos, "I hope you don't mind, girl, but
I'd like to ride Piet today. I'll ride you some other day."

Stan may have been young, but Erin could see he knew about riding.
It didn't take him long to saddle up Dave for Erin to ride and Piet
for Nell.

"Why isn't there a bridle with a bit attached to the halters?" asked
Nell.

"Because the owner forbids it and the horses seem to do just fine
without it."

Once on the trail, Erin did find her horse easy to control, or to
put it more accurately, needed less control than other horses. It
didn't take the two women long to relax and let the horses choose
the route. They soon turned to talking about a frequent topic.

"So did Hank ask you out?" asked Nell.

Erin let out a short laugh.

"That's not a good sign," said Nell.

"I spent a lot of time hinting about my ideal date. He completely
ignore the hints -- or didn't realize I was hinting. Either way, the
message didn't get through."

"So where'd you go?"

"The rodeo! Aarrgh! I hate rodeos! I think all that bucking is cruel
to both the horse and rider and Hank thought that was the best part!
Needless to say, I don't see Hank in my future."

"So what do you consider the ideal date?"

Piet saw Dave's ears twitch.

It didn't take Erin long to answer. "A picnic at a spot only
accessible by horseback." She had a dreamy quality to her voice. "Up
on a hill or mountain would be nice, though I'd settle for spreading
a blanket out in the middle of a field."

"Sounds wonderful!" agreed Nell. She was quiet for a few moments,
then asked, "And what would you put in that picnic basket? Wine and
cheese?"

"No. Heavens no. I hate wine. I don't know why, but alcoholic drinks
taste disgusting to me." She paused for a moment. "Though cheese, on
the other hand, cheese is good. I would enjoy sampling a wide
variety of cheese. And damn the arteries!" She giggled. Another
pause. "I guess I would want a variety of crackers for the cheese
and a good mixed fruit salad."

"As long as he leaves out the honeydew," said Nell.

Erin laughed, a hearty sound. "You're not going to let me forget
that story, are you." She smiled a toothy smile at Nell. "Yes, as
long as he leaves out the honeydew."

Dave didn't want to turn back to the barn when the ride was supposed
to be over, but he didn't know how to stay out longer without giving
himself away or appearing to be a balky horse. With reluctance, Dave
turned around when Erin tugged on the reins.

Once back in the barn, Erin and Nell volunteered to groom their
mounts. They long ago learned that the task was an enjoyable one for
themselves and the horses and the caretakers usually enjoyed the
break. Stan was no exception. Besides, it gave Erin a chance to more
closely inspect the horses and assess the quality of the stable.

Erin decided Stan was a pretty good groomer. The Clydesdale looked
well cared for. She also decided that this red Clydesdale was an
exceptional animal and wouldn't mind having this one for her own.

"Stan, do you think I might be able to buy this one?" She patted
Dave on the flank.

Dave's head came around to look at her.

"You'd have to talk to the owner," said Stan.

"How do I reach him?"

"Here's a card with his phone number, but don't expect a quick
reply. He's a professor at the university and is swamped with all
the problems of the start of the term."

"You're about to take matters into your own hands, aren't you,"
whispered Nell.

"You know me too well," Erin whispered back as she patted the
stallion on the nose.

{{Separator|stars}}

The women were back a week later and brought a man with them. Erin
was saying, "These are such unusual horses. I'm sure you'll
recognize that when you see them."

"You keep saying that," the man said. "I keep having to remind you
that while I am checking them out as a favor to you, you don't know
if they are for sale."

"Everything is for sale at the right price."

"My mother isn't."

As the three of them got out of the car, Stan gave a whistle. Three
horses appeared.

"Stan, this is Gary. He is a friend of mine. He works as an
appraiser at the Livingston horse auction," said Erin. "I asked him
to determine what these horses are worth. Don't worry. He is doing
it for free as a favor for me."

She saw the three horses were Amos, Piet, and Zane. "Where's the
Clydesdale?" asked Erin.

"Out with another customer. He should be back soon."

Erin felt a pang of jealousy. "Well, we can look at these three
while we wait for him."

"You're right", said Gary to Erin. "I've never seen a yellow
Thoroughbred, much less one of this shade. And it certainly isn't
paint or dye."

He examined each horse in turn, including Dave and Jack, once they
returned, and made notes on a clipboard as he went.

When he was done, he gave Erin a summary sheet and a copy to Stan.
"These are excellent horses. Each one is top quality and shows the
best traits of its breed. The unusual colors add to their value. It
is a shame there aren't papers on any of them. Even so, I'm sure
breeders who aren't so interested in lineage would love to improve
their stock, or perhaps even start a new breed."

"So what do you think they are worth?" asked Stan. He could have
read the number off the appraiser's report, but wanted the horses to
hear.

"The stallion could go for a half million and with one exception the
mares could fetch a quarter million each."

Gary expected a gasp from the humans. He was surprised to hear gasps
from the horses.

Gary continued, "The exception is the Thoroughbred." He walked over
to Piet and gave her neck a pat. "Without proper registration, a
Thoroughbred is useless for breeding. It's just one of the quirks of
the Thoroughbred Association rules.

Erin said, "I guess I won't be buying this one." She patted Dave.
"I'll have to be satisfied just riding him when I get the chance."
She turned to Stan. "Are you sure it is wise to use such valuable
animals as a riding club?"

Stan could only shrug.

That evening, after Erin had a ride on Dave and Nell on Amos and
after Stan had left for the day, Dave said, "Half a million! Wow! I
could have Professor sell me. That would certainly improve things
around here and I'm sure whoever bought me would keep me in luxury."

"Sorry," said Amos, "That would be unethical. What would you do if
you bought a horse for a half million and after only one breeding
cycle that horse turned into a man? I dare say that man wouldn't
have long to live. Or do you like being a horse so much that you
want to stay one the rest of your life?"

"At least I could get rich on stud fees."

"I doubt you really want that," said Amos. "First, the money would
go to your owner, not you. Second, I doubt you are the type that can
love 'em and leave 'em. It isn't the mare so much as the offspring.
Some men can donate sperm and have no further thought of any
possible offspring. I think that is highly irresponsible."

"But these offspring will be horses! They won't be human."

"But you aren't all horse. You will want to form an emotional
attachment to them."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"What is this!" said Jack. "Has our big manly stallion gone soft? If
you won't sell his offspring, then sell mine."

"I think," said Amos, trying to be diplomatic, "we had better wait until you ''have'' offspring. You might change your mind then."

{{Separator|stars}}

Erin came to visit often, always choosing to ride the red stallion, while
Nell made sure she took turns on each of the mares so she wouldn't
show favoritism.

Over the golden days of September and October they traveled over the fields, mountains, and valleys around Bozeman. During a break in their rambling Dave would watch Erin as she and Nell sat on a rock to each the lunch they packed. There was always food and a treat for Dave and Nell's mount. It was an idyllic time. If Dave had to be a horse, this was the way to do it.

Dave looked forward to Erin's visits. He almost always met her along
the drive and paced her to the barn. He paid attention to her
throughout her stay. He dreaded that another customer would choose him and he would be away when Erin came. But when it did happen Erin waited for his return. His waning energy always rebounded with her on his back. There was no doubt why Erin always rode him.

After a couple months -- when Erin began to come less frequently due
to the snow -- Amos said in a gentle voice, "You're falling in love
with her, aren't you."

Dave only let out a long sigh.

The next nineteen months were going to be long ones.

[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 7|Part 7]] * Part 8 *
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 9|Part 9]]

User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 7

2011-07-25T01:36:17Z

Erastus: Replacing a lost story

{{title|name= Serving the Sentence - Part 7/14|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

The ranch was actually described by the real estate agent as a
"ranchette." That meant there were forty acres, not four
hundred or forty thousand. The acreage was divided into a paddock
and five pastures as recommended for grazing horses. The long dirt drive was flanked by two of the pastures. It ended
in a "parking lot," an area large enough to turn a truck
and horse trailer around. Along the right side of the parking lot
was a two bedroom house made of logs, which was actually quite well
made, with a porch along the front and down one side. The barn had a
large central area with five stalls on either side with a hayloft
above them and a tack room in the back. A lane lined with trees went
from between the house and barn back into the pastures. The ranch
was the kind of place where someone with a day job could enjoy
horses in the evening and on weekends, but not make a living off them.

In other words, it was ideal in both size and price. It was also
ideal in another respect -- the house and barn were reasonably well
insulated for Montana winters.

Alas, there were other things that were not ideal. The builder had
expected the resident horses to be horses.

Dave found Professor sitting on the porch, enjoying the pleasant
June weather. Zane and Piet were around the corner -- where Dave
could see them -- offering silent support. "Uh, Professor, may I
talk to you?"

"Sure, David."

"I would prefer you call me Dave now."

"Oh? Well. What would you like to talk about, Dave."

"Um, the girls and I --"

"The girls?"

"-- uh, Zane, Piet, Amos --"

"So they are the girls now, are they?"

"Uh, yes sir. They are mares after all."

"Quite. Go on."

"Um, we would like to have some improvements made to the barn."

Dave paused.

Professor prompted, "And those improvements would be..."

"Um, let's see. At the top of the list is, um, five computers with
internet access and voice recognition software."

"And you need them because..."

"Because, um, I could continue my studies while confined to this
form."

"That would account for one of the five."

"And the others need a computer so their brains don't go soft from
boredom."

Piet slowly shook his head.

"And how do we pay for them?" said Professor.

"Um, I'm not sure. Perhaps use education discounts or perhaps we can
do some telecommute jobs?"

Piet slowly shook his head again.

"Hmm. I'll have to think about it. You said you had a list of things?"

"Yeah. Um. The next item is the barn door. We can't operate the big
barn doors ourselves. Zane is concerned that if there is a fire, we
couldn't get ourselves out. It is no problem now as you have been
leaving the door open, but it will be a problem this winter."

"Go on."

"For the same reason, we need latches on our stalls that we can
operate ourselves. And it would be nice to have similar latches on
the pasture gates."

"Anything else?"

"Um. We don't mean any disrespect, Professor, but Zane, um, I mean
all of us, are concerned something may happen to you. With the
doorknobs you have, we can't come into the house and check on you."

"I doubt you would fit through the door anyway."

"Maybe not, but Piet and Jack can or at least can get in far enough
to sniff out a problem."

"Anything else?"

"Once we have Internet satellite or cable, it won't be too much more
to also connect that to a television. It, um, might even be
cheaper."

"Television? You actually watch that stuff?"

"Yeah," Dave said defensively. "I, um, can't exactly hold a book these days.
And to avoid making it look like the TV is for horses, it would look
good to have a comfortable old chair there."

"Television, Bah! Though I see your point. Anything else?"

"A clock. I can't exactly, um, wear a watch anymore."

"A clock. Anything else?"

"I think I have only one more. Since our goal is to produce foals,
at some point the girls will go into labor. That means we may need
to have you summon a vet, maybe even in the middle of the night. We
need an intercom between the house and barn with some kind of alarm
on it. Piet thinks we should make our end as simple to operate as
possible. We can't use a pencil to hold down a talk button and talk
at the same time."

"Hmm." Professor thought for a moment, long enough for Dave to start
swishing his tail in agitation. Professor got up, went inside, and
was back a moment later with his laptop computer. "A person who
complains had better be willing to do something about it." He set
the laptop on the floor of the porch. After another trip inside, he
placed a speakerphone beside the laptop and connected the laptop to
it. "Claiming the barn is a fire hazard is a bit vague. I need more
detail. It will be your job to research appropriate doors,
fasteners, and internet connections and come up with costs."

"You want ''me'' to do all this?"

"You're the stallion," said Amos from around the corner.

Dave groaned. He eyed the laptop. "I don't think I can type with
hoof or lips."

"Oh, sorry," said Professor. He reached into a pocket and pulled out
a pencil. "I think the big eraser on this one will do nicely."

{{Separator|stars}}

"Telecommuting jobs? Are you out of your mind?" said Piet.

"Calm down!" said Amos, "Don't be so hard on our man."

Piet sighed. "OK. Dave, you do get points for talking to Professor
about the state of things around here and you do get points for
original thinking. It's just that paleontology can't be done over
the internet. We have to see the rocks. We have to pick them up and
turn them over and see what is on the other side. We have to feel
them with our fingers." She held up a forehoof for emphasis. "No,
telecommuting isn't gonna work and I only know paleontology."

"I think our man is right," said Zane. "We need to help out in the
finance department."

"But how?" asked Piet.

"I don't know," said Zane.

"Since we can't come up with something using our human brains, can
we do something using our horse bodies?" asked Dave.

"You know," said Zane as she pawed the ground, "our man may have
something there."

"What do you mean?" asked Amos.

"The Mongols had this thing about never putting any kind of harness
on their transformed humans," said Zane.

"How could I forget?" said Piet. "That's what got us into this mess
in the first place."

"But does that taboo hold for us?" said Zane. "Think of it another way. Have you
ever worn leather? Have you ever played bondage games?" Jack's head
popped up over the gate to her stall. "Have you ever intentionally
given control of yourself over to another person?"

"This sounds extremely kinky," said Piet, "if not downright
dangerous."

"I wouldn't do it with just anybody, only with someone that I trust
would never actually harm me. But that act of submission can be a
real rush."

Amos chuckled. "I don't think we could do that kind of thing with a
human, and I certainly wouldn't want to do it for money."

Zane laughed too. "No, no. Not ''that.'' Getting dressed up in tack --
the halter and saddle and such -- might actually be enjoyable. And
the submission would come in responding to a rider. What I'm
proposing is that we work as a riding club."

Jack's head disappeared behind her stall gate again.

"You had an odd and roundabout way of getting to your point," said Amos.

Piet pondered it a moment. "That just might work. Though we won't be
able to talk while we have customers on the grounds." She doodled on
the floor with a hoof. "And if we are open to the public, there will
no doubt be lots of young girls that would be glad to groom us, a
detail that has been lacking of late."

She turned to Dave. "Perhaps you can work with Professor to set it
all up."

"Yeah, I know. I'm the stallion." Dave grumbled. He thought for a
moment. "I wonder if we can get by with a halter that doesn't have a
bit. I'm not too interested in having that thing in my mouth." The
city boy had learned a great deal about tack during their stay with
Stan.

"I'm sure there are such things," said Zane.

"And what do we do about being the most ungraceful horses around?"
asked Piet. "People coming to a riding club do not want clumsy
horses."

"Stan mentioned something called dressage and said I might be a
natural," said Dave. "If we spend some time learning it, I"m sure we
won't look so clumsy."

"So are we agreed?" asked Amos.

"Well, fine!" came the voice from Jack's stall. "But those little
girls are ''not'' allowed to put bows in my mane!"

Zane said, "Once this riding club is in operation, part of being the
stallion is knowing who is approaching and making a reasonable guess
as to whether the visitor is friend or foe. That means when the club
is open, you position yourself so you can see who is coming and
going."

"But what if I'm out on the trail with a customer?"

"Then I guess you can't watch the approach, can you."

"So then why bother?"

Amos answered this one. "It may be more of the symbolism than actual
guard duty. There won't be a lot you can do and still make people
think we are actual horses. Even so, symbolism may count for a great
deal come mating season."

{{Separator|stars}}

"You've got one strange place here," said the guy from the computer
company to Professor. The nametag above his pocket read, "Kyle". He
went on to say, "It was strange from the moment I turned into your
drive. I can see four horses in the field and it looks like the red
Clydesdale is leading the others through the steps of a dance. About
the time it hears my engine, the red one leaves the others to their
dance and paces me up the drive. Then you ask me to install the dish
by the barn and lead the wires into it and have me set up the
computers in the stalls. Nobody has asked me to do that before and
this is Montana. And the whole time I'm doing it, that red horse is
watching every move I make. I couldn't get rid of him. Really
strange."

{{Separator|stars}}

The workers had just left. The new doors for the barn didn't fit. It
would take a week for replacements to arrive.

"Sorry girls," said Dave, "I blew it."

"So why didn't you ask for help?" asked Zane.

"Because I'm the stallion and I'm supposed to be in charge!" snapped
Dave.

"Being in charge," said Zane in a mild tone, "does not mean doing it
all yourself. It also means knowing what your limits are and
delegating the task to the person most knowledgeable or most capable
for the task."

"So why was I the one to research all the repair work needed? Why
wouldn't you let me delegate it all to one of you?"

"Because," Zane said wearily, "even when delegating, the one in
charge still needs to know what is going on. And in your case,
having you deal with the contractors taught you how to be less timid
and how to deal with things that go wrong. You're becoming more of a
stallion."

{{Separator|stars}}

Dave put Zane in charge of selecting tack for the riding club. Since
she also wanted Dave to be a better stallion, Zane graciously
submitted options and proposals to Dave for review, even while
biting her tongue about his tendency to micromanage the whole thing.

Dave was surprised by the variations in halters, saddles, blankets,
and even reins. He didn't know so many pieces were involved and that
one had to be careful so that they all would fit together. Dave was
downright astonished at the cost. All those pieces added up and they
had to get five sets. Dave regretted they couldn't buy nice new
saddles that matched, but ''previously owned'' equipment was so much
cheaper. Oh, well. The horses didn't match, why should the saddles?

There were several debates about what type and style would be most
comfortable for themselves, best value for cost, and reflect the
image (whatever that was) of the club. They were all pleased with
the tack when it finally arrived and chose Labor Day weekend as the
best time to hold the grand opening of a new small riding club.

{{Separator|stars}}

"Good afternoon, Stan." Professor was leaning against the open
doorway of the barn. Dave had just heard Stan's pickup door slam.
"I'm glad you could come over to meet with me. I have a job for you
for which you come highly recommended."

Stan appeared in the doorway and shook Professor's hand, grimacing
as he did so. "You'll have to excuse my reaction, sir. Whenever my
father says those words, it is a task about as tasteful as mucking
out the horse stalls."

Professor laid a hand on Stan's shoulder. "I'm afraid there will be
some of that, though with these barnbroken horses, there won't be
much." He chuckled. "But the job will also be much more." He waived
an arm to include the horses. Each one was in its stall, with its
head stretched over the gate, watching Stan carefully. "I have
decided to put these freeloaders to work." Stan smirked. "And the
best way to do that is to turn this little ranch into a riding club.
I'd like you to run it for me."

"What do you mean by, 'run it'?"

"Keep the horses groomed and the tack in good shape. Saddle them up
for customers. Keep the customers happy. Keep refreshments stocked.
Collect the money. Do any advertising necessary. In other words, run
the whole thing."

"What kind of pay are we talking about?"

"The horses might quibble with me about this, claiming they will be
doing all of the work --" Stan smirked again. "-- but you can keep
fifty percent of all the money brought in. The more people who ride,
the more money you earn."

"Sounds fair enough," said Stan. "You, um, said I come highly
recommended for this job. I haven't run a riding club before, so who
gave the recommendation?"

"Dave did. He likes the way you groom him."

"''Dave'' did?" Stan was incredulous. "Dave's a horse! How can he tell
you about the way I groom?"

"Remember I said I couldn't tell you where I got these horses until
you were old enough to drink?"

"Um, yes, sir."

"If you're going to work here, you need to hear the story. Would you
like a Coke? Sorry, I can't offer you anything stronger." Professor
indicated two bales of straw he had dragged to the middle of the
floor. "Perhaps we had better sit..."

{{Separator|stars}}

::Dear Mom and Dad,

::Yes, I've been getting your emails, but things have been a bit hectic and strange around here and I've been too busy to reply. I'm writing now as you need to know my change of plans. I've transferred to the University of Montana and I won't be able to come home before the fall semester begins. I've felt I haven't been myself lately, but don't fret. I'm getting a handle on the situation. Physically, I'm feeling as strong as a horse and mentally, I'm learning to deal with the stress of life here.

::I guess I'm feeling contrary enough that I'm going to use a trick that Uncle Nick used to pull. I'll tell you a few different versions of my summer and leave it to you to decide which one is true.

::* While in Mongolia, Professor was so impressed with my work that he offered me a position on his staff even while giving me a scholarship to finish my studies here in Bozeman. Unfortunately, I'll be so busy with classes and international travel that I won't be able to come home for holidays or the summer and won't have time to see you if you came to visit.

::* While in Mongolia, I ran afoul of the locals who laid a curse on me. The curse turned me into a horse, a beautiful red Clydesdale. I'm now living on Professor's ranch outside Bozeman working as part of a riding club. If you come, I'll be glad to give you a free ride.

::* I've dropped out of school entirely. Well, not quite. I mop the floors every evening after the students have gone home. It doesn't pay much but even the janitorial staff here at the university gets free internet access and email accounts. It wouldn't do to visit as I sleep under a different bridge every night.

::Any way you look at it I can still receive email, letters, and care packages through the university.

::Pass on my congratulations to Matt on getting engaged. Suzy sounds like the perfect match for him. I hope the engagement is a long one. If not, my situation here may prevent me from attending the wedding.

::Love,
::Dave

[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 6|Part 6]] * Part 7 *
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 8|Part 8]]

User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 6

2011-07-25T01:26:27Z

Erastus: Replacing a lost story

{{title|name= Serving the Sentence - Part 6/14|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

Professor turned the evening meal into a business meeting. "It
appears our season has been cut short. We will have to spend
tomorrow morning packing while I work out the details of how to get our horses back
to the States and get the rest of you assigned to other teams."

As the rest scattered to their evening tasks, Professor held a
meeting with the horses.

"It appears we have more than two years before this curse runs its
course. The question is what to do during that time.

"The first problem is what to tell your families. I can't answer
that one. It is up to you. I can put my official stamp on anything
you come up with.

"The second problem is where to live. Unless anyone has other ideas,
I will assume the easy part of the answer is that we go back to
Bozeman, buy a small ranch, and move you into it. Now we face the hard
part of the answer -- how to pay for a ranch. From David's youth, I
will assume he has no money -- meaning not enough to make a
difference. As for the rest of you, I will also assume that for the
next two years, your assets are frozen for the simple reason that
none of you can produce a signature."

Piet said, "I don't need a signature to get money out of an ATM."

"How much money do you have in that account and where is an ATM that
doesn't have a built in camera?" asked Amos.

"Oh," said Piet. "As you said, not enough to make a difference. And
you certainly don't look like me. Then again, ''I'' don't look like
me."

Professor continued, "Since I am the leader of this team, I am at
least partly responsible for your welfare. I have a proposal." He
paused to quiet an internal debate. "When we get back to Bozeman, I
will buy a ranch within commuting distance of the university with my
retirement savings. This will provide a place for you to live over
the next two years. Unfortunately, professors are never paid well
and finances will undoubtedly be tight on my salary. In return, I
ask that once you return to human form, you provide for my
retirement in some manner, perhaps by buying the ranch from me."

"Sounds fair enough," said Piet. "I thank you for your offer. I'm
sure we can agree on a way to keep you from being a pauper in your
old age."

David said, "I'd be glad to help out too, though I have no idea how
I might do that. But why not simply sell the ranch yourself when we
are done with it?"

"Because our offspring will need a place to live," said Zane. "The
only way we are going to return to human is to produce at least four
foals. I can't imagine we would want to sell them or otherwise
abandon them."

"I guess you're right," said David.

"I'll contact a real estate agent to get things rolling," said
Professor. "With luck, we'll have something by the time we get to
Bozeman."

{{Separator|stars}}

Ivan approached Professor as soon as the meeting with the horses
broke up and the five beasts had moved away. Ivan had his duffel bag
packed. He set it by his feet once he drew near to where Professor
sat.

"I must leave immediately," said Ivan. His eyes darted from horse to
horse. "What the trader said sounded like the old Russian
legends. I remembered a bit more. The legends told of men captured
by foreigners and turned into breeding mares. The foreigners then
took their captives back to wherever they came from. Such stories
are used to scare boys that are becoming men. Telling such a boy
that if he isn't careful, foreigners will ride out of the sunrise,
capture him, turn him into a mare where he'll spend the rest of his
life birthing foals is a highly effective way to get that boy to
obey you."

"It sounds like you heard that threat several times when you were
about thirteen," said Professor.

"Yes. Many times." Ivan shook his head and sighed.

"You're being irrational," said Professor. The curse cannot rub off
on you and the elder can't sing the curse anymore. It can't happen
to you."

"I can say with my brain that you are correct. However, my heart
says differently. Though it may be foolish, I can not stay in the
same country as this curse. I've already booked a flight."

"I suppose you need a ride to the airport."

Ivan nodded.

{{Separator|stars}}

"Oho!" said Taki. "What is this?" There was a note of triumph in his
voice as he held up a stuffed dinosaur toy he had pulled out of
David's cot. It was bright green, about the length of Taki's hand,
and had a small bandanna around the base of its neck. Much of the
velveteen had been worn away.

Since a good number of the team no longer had hands, the job of
packing everyone's personal belongings had fallen to Taki and Chaz.

"That's Sinclair," said David. "Please be gentle with him. I don't
think I could replace him."

"Sinclair?" asked Taki.

"Yeah. According to my mother there were Sinclair gas stations back
in the sixties. They used a green brontosaurus like this one as
their logo. Mom gave this guy to me when I was nine and I've kept
him ever since."

"And you still sleep with him?" The incredulity was dripping from
Taki's voice

"Well, yeah."

"But stuffed animals are for kids!"

Amos saw David's ears go back. "Cool it, Taki!" Amos said. "You're
supposed to be packing David's belongings, not commenting on whether
he fits your definition of manhood."

Taki turned to Amos and pouted, "Why pick on me? Jack does this kind
of stuff all the time!"

"Actually, I pick on Jack too. It just never seems to do any good.
On the other hand, when ''you'' grow up --" David could hear the
sarcasm "-- I doubt you want to be just like Jack."

Taki went back to packing.

{{Separator|stars}}

The five horses couldn't ride in the jeeps so Professor kept his
cell phone humming trying to arrange horse trailers.

That's when he found out that when a Mongolian wants to get a horse
from one place to another, he rides the horse. Horse trailers were
unheard of. He had to rent a delivery van to hold two horses and a
flatbed truck for the other three. It wasn't all that safe, but there
wasn't a lot of choice.

Exporting five horses was time consuming, but routine, as horses
were a already a major export. Professor relied on forged documents
of clean health and of sale, graciously supplied by contacts
provided by the trader (with suitable payments, of course).

Chaz, Taki, Rose, and Lily left the team at the airport. They needed
a job for the rest of the summer and Professor had arranged for them
to join another paleontology team -- at the other end of Mongolia.

Professor arranged for a horse transportation company to fly the remains of his
team from Mongolia to Los Angeles. The fee for the horses was huge,
though it did include passage for Professor.

That didn't make the flight any shorter or make jetlag problems any
easier.

Once back in America, customs went fairly smoothly. The forged
documents didn't even cause the officials to blink. There was one
thing the horses simply could not avoid -- the three day quarantine
while their blood was checked for diseases.

There was a disadvantage of a horse with a human mind, that being
the boredom. The only thing they could do to relieve the boredom was
to talk -- but only when there were no humans around. And when
humans were around, David would get lost in his thoughts and come
close to panic as he contemplated his predicament. Fortunately, Amos
was in the next stall and could nuzzle him or whisper into his hear.

Jack spent most of the time sulking about the indignity of it all.
The other four took advantage of the time to get to know each other
and share life stories. They might as well -- they would be stuck
together for two years.

The most important part of the discussion was around one of David's
questions to Zane. "What did you mean when you said I had to ask the
trader that question because I was the stallion?"

Zane responded, "Though we have human minds, our sexuality is that
of a horse. If we are going to produce foals, we're going to have to
do it the horse's way. You are the stallion and we are the mares."

"This is gonna get weird. I keep thinking of all of you as guys. I'm
not into sex with guys."

"When we come into heat," said Zane, "Your body won't respond to us
that way. We'll be female enough."

"So I let my body do its thing, right?"

"It isn't that simple, David."

"Why not?"

"A mare rejects a stallion she doesn't consider worthy. He can't
just have the right equipment. He has to act like one too. At the
moment, you don't act like a stallion."

"How do you mean?"

"You're way too timid," said Amos.

Zane added, "A stallion is in charge of things. He protects his
mares from danger."

"You guys know so much more than I do. How can I protect you from
danger when you can recognize it so much faster than I can?"

Zane said to Amos, "I see our work is cut out for us." Amos nodded.

"We'll start with something simple," said Amos, "your name."

"What's wrong with my name?"

"I bet," said Zane, "that your mother always called you David."

"Well, yeah."

"So that is your childhood name. You are a stallion now. It is time
for an adult name."

"But that's the name on my birth certificate. Don't you guys use the
name on your birth certificates?"

"I do now", said Zane. "My childhood name was Zaney. I put a stop to
that as soon as I could. I think I was about eight at the time."

"So didn't Zane become a childhood name, since you were only eight?"
asked David.

"No, it didn't. Here's the distinction. When you are born, your
parents pick out an official name for you. But when you are young,
they rarely call you by that name. As they grow up, most people make
a break from what their parents called them. This amounts to a
declaration of independence. Their official name has nothing to do
with it. For some people, it is a time to take up their official
name, for others, it is a time to declare which nickname they
prefer."

"What about the rest of you? Did you also make that break?"

"My dad always called me PJ. The J is for Jarron," said Piet.

"My older sister called me Scooter," said Amos. "That was one of the
hazards of having the same first name as my father."

"My younger sister was called Betsy," said Zane. "She was only five
when she insisted on Elizabeth. It didn't take my brother and me
long to call her E-Lizard-Breath. She now introduces herself as
Liz."

David chuckled at that one, then grew serious. "So what do I choose
for a name?"

"Anything you want, kid. It's your choice," said Amos. "Though most
people choose a version of their official name. The important thing
is that it is your decision."

"I guess you can call me Dave."

"You ''guess''? A stallion is more definite than that," said Amos.

"My name is Dave."

"That's much better, kid," said Zane.

"And stop calling me kid!"

"Yes, of course," said Amos. She nodded appreciatively. "In return,
you will have to stop referring to your mares as, 'you guys'. For
the next two years, we are not guys."

"I guess I can do that, though it will take some practice," said
Dave. "I hear your deep voices and my mind thinks about guys. Will
you ladies also change your names?"

"Well, actually, I'm rather fond of Piet. I think I'll keep it, even
if the gender is wrong." Amos and Zane decided to do the same.

The conversation paused for a moment. Then Dave said, "I got to be
thinking about what you said a moment ago. You described yourselves
as 'my mares'. My dad tried to make it clear that a man doesn't
possess his wife."

"In talking about humans," said Amos, "your dad is correct. However,
we are horses, at least for the moment. We form herds with a head
stallion. Human standards don't apply to us."

{{Separator|stars}}

"These quarantine quarters have got to be the most boring place on
earth," said Amos. "And it is only three days! I think I've now
gotten everyone's life story except Jack's. I can't imagine living
in a stable to be much better, though. My mind needs some
stimulation."

"I think I know what we need," said Zane. "A barn with an internet
connection. Well, five computers with internet connections."

"Do tell," said Piet.

"I'm sure that modern computers could come with voice activation, or
at least joysticks we can operate with our lips. Each of us could
have a computer in our stall and let the internet stimulate our
minds."

"There's a lot of garbage out there," said Dave, "and I've glanced
at a good deal of it. I doubt that a gal with a doctorate would find
it able to stimulate her mind."

"There are also a lot of very worthwhile things," said Amos. "For
instance, you could continue with your studies. I'm certain the
university has some online courses. And you will have four tutors on
hand."

"Nothing like being put on the spot!" said Dave.

Zane said, "All this is going to cost money. Professor said he is on
a tight budget."

Amos wiggled her ears. "I guess the first lesson will be in sales
and negotiation."

Dave was prompt in asking, "What do you mean, 'first lesson'? Who's
gonna do the sell job?"

"You are," said Amos. David looked at her in surprise. "You're the
stallion."

"I think I'm gonna get very sick of that phrase."

{{Separator|stars}}

"Here are your horses, sir; they've passed quarantine. I must say
they are the most ungraceful horses I've ever seen."

Professor had rented a horse trailer big enough to hold them all. As they filed in Zane was pleased to see it had been well stocked.

Once the trailer's door closed, Amos said, "Ungraceful, are we? Hey
Dave, make a note of that. We'll have to do something about it."

{{Separator|stars}}

At the first rest stop outside the Los Angeles area, Professor
opened the trailer to let the occupants out for a stretch. He was
probably disobeying several laws, but didn't care.

"I didn't want the quarantine manager hear me talking to you," said
Professor. "I have some news for you. The real estate agent in
Bozeman found a ranch for us that looks to be large enough, cheap
enough, and available. During the last three days, I was in Bozeman
and gave them a deposit. I also put my house up for sale.

"There's just one catch. Real Estate closings never happen
overnight, at least not honest ones. It may be a week or two before
we can move in. Fortunately, an old friend has space on his ranch
for a while."

It took three nights to drive from Los Angeles to Bozeman. Dave was
happy not to be in the horse trailer when the temperatures in the
desert hit 100 degrees in the June afternoons. They weren't in an
air conditioned building, but being under a scraggly tree was better
than inside the trailer. At least he didn't have to worry about
sunburn.

To keep Dave's mind off his situation, Zane had them singing all the
raunchy sailor and army songs he knew. Professor didn't pay any
attention to the stares from people in passing vehicles who had
heard singing horses.

{{Separator|stars}}

Luke met them when Professor rolled to a stop. He was amazed when
Professor merely lowered the ramp and said, "Here we are. Everybody
out," and five horses got themselves out the trailer in an orderly
fashion without any guidance from Professor. Luke was also amazed
that none of the horses had a halter and that Professor dismissed
his concern. He was downright astonished when he saw the five horses
in the light and could see the quality of horseflesh standing there.

"You old Devil," said Luke, "How in the world did you afford horses
of this quality on your teaching salary?"

"Let's just I'd like to keep an air of mystery."

"I bet no one has said that about you since before you married Bess,
God rest her soul. I've always appreciated that you work hard not to
be mysterious."

"Someday, Luke, I'll tell you how I came to own these fine animals.
But if I do, I'll either have to kill you or get you drunk." Luke
smiled as Professor winked.

Luke turned towards the house and shouted, "Hey, Stan. They're here!"

In a moment, a teenager appeared, looking like a young version of
Luke. Stan had sandy hair and a pretty decent moustache and goatee
in contrast to his father's flecks of gray and clean shaven face,
but the two had the same six foot height, narrow face, slim build,
blue eyes, and quirky smile.

Luke was saying, "Now that he's graduated from high school, it is
getting harder to keep him busy. Five more horses should do it."

Stan had veered from the men to the horses and was inspecting them
carefully.

"So what are their names?" said Luke.

"The stallion is David. The mares," Professor pointed as he ran
through the names, "are Piet, Amos, Jack, and Zane."

"Mares with guys' names? I thought you were more traditional than
that."

"Hey, I didn't name them."

Stan gave a low whistle. "Mighty impressive horses, Professor. But I
can't help but notice a couple strange things."

"Do tell," said Professor.

"Someone gave their manes and tails a strange trimming, and I don't
know anyone who would trim the feathering of a Clydesdale like
that." Stan did a bit of a double take. "Not that I've ever seen a
Clydesdale this color before." He pulled up Dave's left forehoof.
"And I've never seen a horse without shoes that had a hoof in this
great of shape." Stan stood and stroked Dave's neck. "I can call the
farrier and have him come next week."

"Sounds good," said Professor.

Dave looked at Professor with alarm. Professor ignored the look.

By this time Stan had worked his way up to Dave's head. "No halter?"

"You won't need it," said Professor. "Tell them what you want and
they'll do it."

"Weird," said Stan.

{{Separator|stars}}

When Professor came to visit a few days later, Dave ambled over, but
made sure Stan was in the barn before speaking. "Oh, man. That barn
sure stinks in the morning! It is a good thing that Stan is prompt
about mucking it out."

"Besides that, how is everything?"

"Stan's a good guy. For a horse, it's a great place. The problem is
that I'm a horse."

Professor stroked Dave's nose. "Still feeling panicky about that?"

"Yeah. Stan's been good about giving me a good scratch when I come
up to him, though every time he does so he calls me Davey. I don't
like that name. Stan also knows how to give a good brushing, that's
the best... I hear him coming."

Stan came through the barn door, "Oh, hi, Professor!" He came over
and put his arm around Dave's neck. Dave lowered his head a bit so
Stan could idly scratch between the ears. It was obvious to
Professor that man and horse did this a lot.

"I gotta tell you, Professor, I've never seen such beautiful horses
or such weird ones."

"Weird in what way?" said Professor. Dave could see him suppressing
a grin.

"I've never seen housebroken, um, barnbroken horses before. Their
straw is clean each morning, but as soon as I let them out, they
relieve themselves in the corner of the field."

Professor let his grin show. "Barnbroken horses. Anything else
weird?"

"Yeah. You were right. It seems they understand every word I say."

Professor only nodded.

"And here's the really freaky part. I took old Blue around the
paddock to put him through his paces and soon your horses are in the
middle of the paddock and seem to be studying what Blue is doing.
Pretty soon, they seem to be trying it for themselves, like they've
never done it before. I shifted Blue to a trot and I can see all
five of them practicing the trot. I shift Blue to a canter and all
five of them are soon trying the canter, though they don't seem to
be doing it well. I let Blue open up to a gallop and they watched
that one for a long time before trying it. The brown mare, um Jack,
is still having trouble with anything faster than a walk. But this
one," he patted Dave's cheek, "was soon switching easily between the
various gaits." He concentrated on stroking Dave's nose for a
moment. "About the only gait this fella doesn't know -- and only
because Blue can't do it -- is the harness racing gait."

Professor thought he could see a blend of questioning and challenge
in Dave's eyes. "And what's that?"

"Oh," said Stan, "that is a trot in which the legs on the same side
move together."

Dave pulled his head away from Stan's fingers and moved off a few
yards. He stood there a moment as if deep in thought. Then he
carefully stepped forward with both right legs and then both left
legs. Soon he picked up speed and was trotting smoothly around the
paddock. After a full circuit Dave came back and welcomed Stan's
fingers between his ears.

While his fingers worked, Stan stared at the horse with his mouth
hanging open. It was a full minute before he found his voice.
"That's incredible! You're such a smart horse, Davey. Perhaps you
could be taught dressage."

Professor could see the hint of pleading in Dave's eyes. "Stan, I
don't think he likes to be called Davey." Stan snapped his head
around to stare at Professor. "Do it too often and he might step on
your toes, and I daresay a ton of horse resting on those toes won't
feel so good."

A second later Stan snapped his eyes to his left boot. Dave had
shifted his weight and was now using a forehoof to exert a gentle
pressure on Stan's toes.

Stan gulped. "Okay. Dave it is." He looked Professor in the eye. "So
are you going to tell me where you got these guys?"

"Perhaps when you're old enough to drink."

"That's still three years away! Why wait that long?"

"Because you'll want a drink after I tell you the story."

[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 5|Part 5]] * Part 6*
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 7|Part 7]]

User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 5

2011-07-25T01:16:25Z

Erastus: Replacing a lost story

{{title|name= Serving the Sentence - Part 5/14|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

[[File:HorseMechanic.jpg]]

''This image is so appropriate it just had to be included, though I'm aware the details are all wrong -- wrong size and color horse, wrong vehicle, wrong man, wrong location. I don't remember where I got it, so if it is yours and you object, let me know.''

-----

"Now ever so gently adjust your wrench counter-clockwise. No, no,
the other direction." Taki glared at Piet, who was speaking. "Um,
sorry, you're looking down on a bolt pointing up. I mean
counter-clockwise when looking from the bolt head."

It was a strange sight -- a horse sticking its head under the hood
of a jeep. But the jeep needed to be put back together and Piet was
the only one with the expertise. And Taki was the one chosen to be
Piet's hands.

Taki didn't know anything about car repair. For that matter, neither
did Rose, Lily, Chaz, Ivan, and Professor. At least Taki knew what a wrench was, even if he didn't know what direction to turn it.

It had not gone well. Piet had to explain ''everything''.

But they were almost done. Piet was using his good hearing to tune
the engine. "A little more. Oops, a tad too much. Ease it back just
a hair. There! That sounds good."

Since the horses had eaten so much of their supplies, breakfast for
the humans was rather strange -- eggs and sausage and nothing else.
The horses had grazed for their breakfast. Ivan ate his
breakfast in his tent, to be as far from the horses as he could get.
The discussion as they ate had been about how to track down Jack and
then about what to do next. The discussion hadn't gotten very far.

When Taki shut off the motor, the team could hear the trader's
approaching truck. Rose was delighted that the trader chose to come
that day as it saved her the long trip into the closest town to
replenish all that the horses had eaten. She was also surprised as
he had been there only two days before. Why would he come back in
less than a week?

He came slowly that day. Tied to the bumper of his truck was a rope
with the other end around Jack's neck. The trader was being kind as
Jack was still clumsy on four feet. The trader wasn't on any
particular schedule anyway.

When the truck stopped and the trader got out, Professor and Chaz
were there to meet him. Lily went straight to Jack an put her arms
around his neck. The trader walked around to the back of his truck
as he said to Chaz, "I wonder if this beauty might belong to you."
He saw Lily. "I guess it is true." He untied the rope from around
Jack's neck.

"Yes, this is one of ours," said Chaz. "How did you know?"

Lily said, "Jack? Jack, are you in there? Jack, it's Lily. Jack,
please speak to me." As she spoke, she stroked Jack's neck and
scratched him behind the ears.

"Hi, Lily," said Jack after a minute. Jack's voice sounded weary.

"Are you OK?"

"I'm alive. Is that enough for now?"

Lily continued to stroke the sweet spot behind Jack's ears. "I
suppose it is."

"It's a long story," said the trader.

"It always is," Chaz said to him, "and we want to hear every word of it. It
isn't very often we encounter men who become horses. I'm sure we
could trade your story for the one about what we did when our team
members transformed."

"I think a lot of tribes around here would find that story
entertaining," said the trader.

"I'll bet", said Professor, once Chaz had translated.

"Before we sit for your story and mine," said Chaz, not translating
Professor's comment, "we should get today's trading taken care of.
Men tend to eat a lot as they transform."

Lily guided Jack back into the camp, where Amos and Piet made a big
deal of welcoming Jack. Rose failed at hiding a smirk. The
rest of the team helped with storing provisions, including oats and
lots of extra carrots.

Rose laid out coffee for the trader -- everyone else got their own
-- while the trader settled in to tell his story. Humans and horses
gathered 'round with Ivan making sure he was as far from the horses
as he could get and still listen.

"A strange plague struck the horses of Mongolia," the trader said.
"Our animal doctors don't know what it was. It came, did its
devastation, and vanished before outsiders could come in to identify
it. Our herds were decimated, losing as much as half. Since much of
our tribal culture is built around the horse and a man's wealth in
this region is measured in horses, this was a calamity.

"One small tribe high in the western mountains held an ancient
wisdom which allowed its members to become horses. The quality of
the horses they sold was legendary. They even managed to escape the
Communist purges by keeping the local officials supplied with the
best horses in the country, the offspring of their time as beasts.
Those officials knew it was a bribe, but needed the horses for the
army that was facing both Russians and Chinese across the border.

"After the plague had done its work, this tribe volunteered to teach
its wisdom to others to allow tribes across the country to replenish
their herds and pull themselves out of poverty. They weren't good
judges of character, so taught that greedy fellow your team
encountered.

Amos said, "I just remembered I took pictures of him. Taki, would you please get my camera? I'm sure it's on my cot, where I dumped it yesterday."

The trader paused as Taki stepped into the nearby tent. He returned with a camera and handed it to Chaz who pushed a few buttons and showed it to the trader.

"That's definitely the same fellow," said the trader. Chaz passed the camera around the group.

The trader continued his story. "The wisdom allows our people to replenish our herds by taking the form of a horse and bearing horse children. The person that is
chosen for the task keeps the form for at least one birth. They may
then choose to remain a horse or to become human again.

"We, of course, treat our own in horse form differently than we
treat our horses. One of our own is never harnessed and never
ridden. They are not beasts of burden. It would be a dishonor to do
otherwise.

"As part of my rounds, I met yesterday afternoon with the tribal
elder that your team members encountered. I have never trusted him,
having found he is greedy and ruthless. I would do a favor for any
other person I meet in my travels. I will not do one for him as he
will make sure it is to my disadvantage. If anyone had asked me, he
would not have been given the wisdom. He used blackmail so that he
and his wife were included in the party that traveled to the western
mountains.

"This elder commented to me that he had used the wisdom, but the new
horses had wandered away and he was concerned for their safety. He
asked if I would watch for them and let him know where they might be
found. He even offered a reward -- a very small one -- if I would
bring any horses to him or to direct him to them."

"The horse that found your boy is the elder's wife. He had forced
her into helping to replenish his herd. She is so angry with her
husband she has wished to stay in horse form. She would rather have
a stallion mount her than her husband. He can do nothing about that.
She made sure I knew her part of the story as well. She found the
boy. She knew flash floods frequently hit the ravine and that it
wasn't safe to stay in it for very long. She offered herself as a
guide, then as a mount. She knew the possible result if anyone saw
the boy on her back but did not expect her husband to be waiting at
the mouth of the ravine.

"When the elder found another man using his wife as a mount he
declared that such a man had insulted him and must be sentenced to
join his herd. He ignored the protests of his wife that the boy was
innocent, that she only did it for the boy's safety. If anyone
should be punished it should be her. The elder was unmoved.

"The wife convinced the elder to make your boy a stallion instead of
a mare. He agreed as he thought the hair color was unusual and knew
that a stallion would produce more offspring, spreading his unique
color through the herd. Those horses would then fetch a higher
price."

David interrupted. "The wife isn't telling all the truth. She may
have offered to be a guide, but she was quite insistent that I ride
her by backing me up onto a boulder and then blocking my way off it.
Since I didn't know about the taboo, I decided it was easier to ride
her than not. I think she was in on the scam. I think she wanted to
have some red-furred offspring of her own."

"Our stallion speaks!" joked Jack.

The trader said to David, "You may be correct as she has been as
much of a problem as her husband. Yet it did rain yesterday." He
went on with his story.

"When more of your team appeared to take the boy away, the elder
quickly convicted them of being horse thieves. That tribal law
applied as the boy had already been convicted and the wisdom had
been set upon him though it had not yet taken effect. In the eyes of
tribal law, he was already a horse. The sentence for a horse thief,
at least in this time of rebuilding the herds, is to become a horse
and help with the rebuilding. Many mares are more useful for that
task than many stallions. Besides, he already had a new stallion in
the boy.

"The wife influenced the wisdom by using a bit of
wisdom of her own. The punishment for a horse thief is to become a
horse permanently. She used her wisdom to make it temporary as they
are foreigners. She could not prevent her husband from using the
wisdom."

Professor said to the trader, "I'm wondering if you could help me
understand a little detail here. You said that humans that became
horses were special, they were never harnessed. Then you said that
such horses were treated just like natural horses under tribal law."
The trader started to smile at about this point in the translation.
"Am I the only one that sees this contradiction?"

By the time Chaz finished translating, the trader's smile was quite
broad. He replied, "When I spoke before, I was repeating the lie the
elder had used. In tribal law, taking a human in horse form is
kidnapping, not theft. The penalties are quite different. You can
see that this particular elder was going to treat your team members
as horses, not as humans."

A shiver ran along Zane's spine, a shiver that had a lot farther to
travel than before. Amos noticed Zane's reaction and said, "I quite
agree."

The trader drained his mug and asked for more coffee. Chaz took the
opportunity to drain his own, then to refill both mugs. The story
paused until the translator returned.

Zane whispered, "David, ask him what he means by temporary."

"Ask him yourself."

"You're the stallion, David, you need to care for your mares."

"Huh?" said David.

"Zane's right," said Amos. "We'll explain later. Just ask the
question."

Chaz wandered back with two mugs of coffee and resumed his seat.
David said, "Um, what did the trader mean when he said it's all
temporary?"

"Very good," whispered Zane as Chaz translated the question.

"Your teammates will remain horses for now," said the trader. "No
one knows how to undo the wisdom when it is applied to the wrong
person. Though the sentence was not appropriate, it must be served.
There is no parole. According to the wisdom, the sentence will automatically be lifted for
each mare when she gives birth to a foal and that foal has been
weaned. The sentence will be lifted for the stallion after he sires
at least one foal and all the foals he sires have been weaned. This
is true whether they mate with each other or with normal horses. A
return visit to the elder is not necessary."

"Nor advisable," muttered Amos.

David spoke again, "You said the normal sentence for a thief
is that he becomes a horse permanently. You then said the wife made
it temporary. She lied about trying to protect me. How do we know
she isn't lying again?"

"Very good question, David," said Amos as Chaz translated. "You
might become a good stallion after all."

"She did not lie," said the trader. "There really was a flash flood
in that ravine yesterday. I'm sure you saw the rain. If she had not
gotten you out of the ravine, it is likely you would have drowned in
the flood as some hikers almost did in a nearby canyon. They kept an
emergency team busy for the whole afternoon. You must not have any
experience with flash floods. You don't know how quickly they arrive
and how deadly they can be. Your choices were between
becoming a horse and being dead."

David's eyes got wide.

"Chaz, you heard to the weather report yesterday," said Professor.
"Didn't you hear about the chance of floods?"

"Yeah, I heard the forecast," said Chaz. "It said nothing about rain
or floods."

Chaz was soon translating for the trader, "The Mongolian weather
service is a joke. Everyone assumes it is wrong."

Professor indicated the next question was to be translated, "You
said the wife chose to remain a horse. How does that work?"

The trader said, "When the sentence is lifted, the wisdom will
evaluate the mind. If there is a desire to become human, the change
will begin. If the person is content as a horse, he will stay as a
horse. Any time after that, as long as there is no pregnancy or foal
to nurse, a simple wish will trigger the change.

"As they have figured out, your teammates have kept
their human intelligence and their ability to speak. They will find
that they cannot whinny like a horse, but only sound like a human
imitating a horse. However, as long as they don't speak or
demonstrate their intelligence, no one will know they were
originally human. Another elder even sent a DNA sample for testing and the
report said it was normal horse DNA. Their foals will be normal
horses, with normal horse intelligence. No one will be able to tell
the offspring apart from the real thing."

Amos pondered all that, then said, "But wouldn't an x-ray of our
necks show the voice box of a human instead of a horse?"

The trader paused for a moment. "I don't know and don't think anyone
has bothered to try that. There aren't many x-ray machines around
here. It might also be that you have kept your human voices through
the wisdom. A human voice should sound different coming from the
inside of a horse's head," he circled a hand around his forehead,
"but it does not."

David said, "How long might I expect to be a horse?"

"You don't know much about horses," said the trader.

"I grew up in a city," said David.

"You will be a horse for at least two years."

"Two years!" Jack nearly shouted. "I do ''not'' want to be a mare for
two years!"

"Oh, shush," said Amos. "There's not a damn thing you can do about
it. Deal with it."

Jack's reaction was obvious to the trader even without translation.
He said, "Yes, two years. The first mating season won't happen for
six months as it takes that long for the mares to adapt to their new
form and the first eggs to ripen. Pregnancy takes nearly a year."
Jack groaned when that was translated. "And weaning can take as much
as another six months."

As Chaz translated, the trader had time to think about what he had
said and was ready to speak again. "It is now late spring. Six
months from now will be late fall. The mares probably will not go
into heat before winter. That will add another few months."

Before Jack had a chance to speak, Amos said to him, "Yes, I know it
will seem like a long time. Just remember we're all in this
together." Jack grumbled at that comment.

The trader waved a hand towards Jack. "This morning, I found this
brown mare out in the bush. I could tell from the shortness of the
hair of the tail that she was recently changed from human. I guessed
that this must be one of your team members, based on the story from
the elder. I would be doing a great wrong if it was a member of your
team and I took her back to be a part of that man's herd. I thought
it better to first see if she belonged here. From the way she was
greeted and from the way she replied, I am sure I did it the right
way.

"The council of elders is aware that this elder did not follow
tribal justice. He acted on his own rather than taking his complaint
to the council. He did not give the violators the chance to refute
his evidence or offer any of their own. He applied the wisdom to
foreigners. Those are just the violations from this particular case.
However, because he knows the wisdom, members of the council do not
want to bring him to justice for his wrongs. Whoever attempts to do
so will probably spend time bearing a foal for their efforts. Most
council members will not take that risk."

David was looking pretty glum after that recitation. "Is there no
way to deal with this guy? I don't want to spend any time in his
herd."

"But as the stallion, you'd be able to mate with all those mares!"
cracked Jack. "Wouldn't that be worth it?"

David ducked his head and felt his face get warm, even if the others
could no longer see him blush.

The trader said, "Perhaps there is a solution. The council may not
act out of fear they will become horses. You already are." He paused
dramatically and Chaz took the time to translate, then went on. "The
elder's wife, the horse that rescued the boy, has decided that her
husband has gone too far and something must be done before he uses
the wisdom on someone else. If you are willing to help, she will do
her part."

There was silence for only a few seconds before Zane said, "I'm in."

"Me too," said Amos.

"Piet?" said Zane after a moment of silence.

"Yeah", said Piet, "I'll help."

"Jack?" said Zane.

Before Jack could answer, Amos said, "I think Jack is still
recovering from yesterday."

Jack bared his teeth. Zane sensed that both Amos and Jack understood
something they weren't going to talk about.

"David?"

David tried to be unobtrusive as he stepped backwards. Since they
were all staring at him for his reply, it didn't work.

Amos said, "There's plenty of time to teach him to be a stallion. We
can leave him out of this one."

Zane turned back to the trader. "You can tell her she has the help
she needs. Is there a plan?"

{{Separator|stars}}

It was time for Chaz to tell the other side of the story. Since he
was a witness, there was no need for someone else to tell it while
he translated. Everyone else drifted away, the humans to resume
their duties and the horses to commiserate on their fate and the
likelihood that the story Chaz told about them would be
embarrassing. Once they heard the trader's laughter, they were sure
of it. There were little ways to make Chaz pay for that later.

Once the stories had been properly bartered and the demands of
hospitality had been satisfied, the trader talked to Professor
about how to get his horses through Mongolian customs. He then
left to find the elder and his wife -- and collect the small reward
for supplying the location of some missing horses.

{{Separator|stars}}

It was mid afternoon when Zane, who was keeping watch, saw a dust
cloud on the horizon. "He's here." She, Piet, and Amos went out to
meet the visitors so that the elder would see none of the humans in camp.

The three horses stopped a kilometer from the camp. As their nemesis
and his retinue approached, they tried to look like placid horses,
ignoring the outer world, quietly cropping grass. Amos had no idea
what such a horse actually looked like. She just followed Zane's lead.

The elder was mounted on a horse, which Zane assumed was not a
former human. Behind the elder were five more men, also mounted. The
group stopped ten meters away and studied the three browsing mares.

The elder spoke. Zane imagined that he said, "Alright men, let's
round 'em up." He urged his mount forward and was surprised when his
comrades did not do the same. He harangued them for a minute
but none of them budged.

The trader said the elder's wife would tell the men of the tribe
what her husband had done and suggest they guide the elder into a
trap. She had apparently done her work well.

When the elder started to sing the three mares took action. They had
an element of surprise as the elder had turned his back. Amos came
up on the elder's left and pushed at him with her nose while Zane
came up on the other side and pulled on a sleeve with her teeth. The
song faltered as the elder tumbled to the ground with his right foot
caught in the stirrup. Piet was there to roll him onto his back and
pin him with a hoof. His struggling was no match for a determined
horse. Zane took great care to place a hoof on his neck and firmly
crush his larynx. All three mares left the now voiceless elder gasping on the
ground and walked back to camp. Let his men deal with him now.

Amos eyed Zane and thought of her ruthlessness in dealing with the
elder. I'm sure glad that old soldier is on my team, thought Amos.

[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 4|Part 4]] * Part 5 *
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 6|Part 6]]

File:HorseMechanic.jpg

2011-07-25T01:09:52Z

Erastus: Used in the story Serving the Sentence, Part 5/14 by Erastus Centaur

Used in the story Serving the Sentence, Part 5/14 by Erastus Centaur

User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 4

2011-07-25T00:53:29Z

Erastus: Replacing a lost story

{{title|name= Serving the Sentence - Part 4/14|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

At lunch the whole team gathered under the protection of the mess
tent to celebrate Ivan's birthday, a chance to show him how
Americans celebrate. Ivan was presented with a cake and the
appropriate number of candles. They all sang the birthday song and
everyone presented him with some type of gift, most often one that
was a gag of some sort. Rose took lots of pictures with her digital
camera. As soon as it appeared the sky was clearing, the party
spilled into the rest of the camp.

As she surveyed the wreckage of the party, Rose was the first to
notice something strange. There were leftover hamburgers. All five
who had been in the jeep had eaten a very large lunch -- Lily had
commented that she had never seen David eat so much -- and all five
had avoided the meat. "Jack, a big man like you is eating
vegetarian? I'm surprised."

"I have no idea why, Rose, the burgers just didn't look good today,"
said Jack. Rose could see him shudder at the thought.

This was a switch. Rose knew she wasn't a great cook, but her
burgers were palatable -- at least, as the rest joked, if you put
enough ketchup on them. But, bad as they were, Jack hadn't refused
them before.

Rose shifted her eyes from Jack and studied David for a moment,
another one who had avoided her burgers today but had been willing
to eat them in the past. "I didn't think I would ever say this to
you, David, but did you shave this morning?"

"Yeah, I did," said David, as he brought his hand to his cheek. This
was a surprise. There was actual stubble there and it wasn't just a
little bit, either. He ran his fingers across his face. It actually
felt like he was capable of growing a thick beard, and he knew that
such a beard had never grown on this face before. Perhaps he was one
of those 'late bloomers'. Perhaps having a thick beard would get
Jack off his back.

Perhaps pigs will sprout wings. He had attracted Jack's attention.
"Stubble looks ridiculous on you, kid, especially the white around
your mouth. You're not enough of a man to have a beard. And where'd
you get those weird ears?"

David touched his ears. That was odd. The curl along the top edge
unrolled into a point.

As David brought his hand back down, he noticed that there were a
few more hairs on this arm than he remembered having -- and he
remembered not having many at all -- and even more strangely, while
the sparse hairs on his arm were red, the ones on the back of his
hand were white. He checked the other arm. Same thing. Strange upon
strange. He ran his fingers through the hairs on his arm, then
through the stubble on his chin again. Was it a bit longer? "Rose,
do you have a mirror?"

She disappeared for a moment to get it.

David felt an odd pain in his abdomen. "My belt feels tight," he
said.

"I'm not surprised, with the way you were packing it in during
lunch," said Rose, handing him the mirror. "Did you miss breakfast
and try to make up for lost time?"

David set the mirror down on the table while he checked out the
belt. He didn't seem fat -- his abdomen didn't jiggle anymore than
it had before and he didn't look bloated -- but the belt was
definitely too tight now. He undid the buckle and watched the ends
retreat a ways into the belt loops. That relieved the pain a bit,
but not entirely. The seams of his shorts looked a little strained.
They would have to go. "Excuse me." He picked up the mirror and
headed into his tent. His boots didn't seem to fit right.

Once inside, David took off boots and socks and stripped to his
briefs. Men, faced with the female doctor, tend to become bashful.
That was definitely the case when David faced Lily, the camp's sole
medical staff, and he would no doubt have to face her soon. While
his khaki shorts were tight, his briefs still had some give to them.

By the light of sun coming through the open screens of the tent, he
could see several things that were wrong.

He had a lot more body hair -- chest, legs, arms -- than before. He
didn't exactly have a lot -- he had noticed that Zane had a lot more
-- but when one had so little any increase was noticeable. The hair
on the top of his feet was white like the hair on the back of his
hands. The rest of it was the expected brilliant red. His middle
toes seemed large, as did his middle fingers. His class ring was
loose and the hairs on his arm were getting caught in the spreading
links of his watchband. He took both of them off.

He picked up the mirror. His beard looked to be on loan from someone
capable of growing a thick beard who hadn't shaved in a week. Even
more strange, the area he had tried (and failed) to cultivate into a
mustache and goatee was now white, not red, as Jack had said. How
had his body managed that trick?

His ears definitely had points to them. His nose looked big and
round. "Lily!"

He heard a bit of commotion outside the tent. Several voices seemed
to babble at once, Jack's loudest among them. Lily stepped into the
tent. "Something's wrong!" David wailed.

He was about to launch into his catalog of complaints, when Lily
held up her hand. She held the edge of the tent so she could see out
while speaking to David inside. "It seems it is happening to the
others too. Piet and Amos now have thick stubble and the ears of all
four of them look a little pointed."

Once she finished speaking, Lily came over to David, "Is there
anything else that's different?"

David only got as far as showing her the white hair on the back of
his hands before the other four came into the tent. "Waistline is
getting tight," said Piet. "We might as well make this your
infirmary. We aren't all going to fit in your little medical tent."
All four proceeded to take off everything but their briefs. Even the
personification of macho can get bashful in front of a female
doctor.

While they stripped, Lily went to get Professor. His quick eye took
in the situation within a couple seconds. He disappeared and could
be heard talking a moment later. "Something strange is going on with
our team members. I have no idea what. Just to be on the safe side
in case this is contagious, Taki, Ivan, and Rose should head out to
one of our nearby survey sites. You might even get some work done
while you're out there. Please keep your phones on. Sorry Ivan, the
party is over. Chaz, I'm sorry I might be putting you in harm's way,
but please stick around. We may need you to translate. Rose, I would
like to use your camera. Chaz, please find my tape measure."

Professor came back into the tent, camera in hand, to check on his
team. "Do any of you feel ill or are in pain?"

He got a chorus of nos in reply. David said, "Well, only when my
shorts were too tight."

Professor surveyed his team. Each man thought he had more body hair
than before. Piet's and Jack's were the expected yellow and brown.
Zane's seemed to be a variety of shades of gray, similar to the salt
and pepper of his beard and not like the black of his hair. Amos had
the strangest. His body hair had areas that were ghostly white
against his black skin and other areas that were black. These areas
were small and numerous and seemed almost chaotic.

"I hope all of you will consent to a few pictures and measurements.
This is strange enough that I would like a record." He poked his
head out of the tent for a moment. "The rest of the team is gone.
Let's do this in the light."

"Ever the scientist," said Piet.

They each stood in front of the tent for a photo. While Professor
downloaded them into his laptop, Chaz and Lily took measurements and
asked the men about clothing sizes. Professor brought up the latest
photo of David and positioned it beside a photo of David taken
during the party.

The differences were striking. "David, it appears your neck is
lengthening, and your nose seems to have gotten a bit fat," said
Professor. He then added, "Check your ears too."

David grabbed the mirror for another look. It seemed his nose now
took up the entire center of his face and was much rounder. His ears
had grown a bit and had several red hairs at the point.

In the process of touching his ears, David again noticed his
fingers. The middle one was half again as wide as the others and the
whole of the last joint stuck out beyond the end of its neighbor.
David showed his hands to Professor, who took pictures.

A moment later, David whispered, "Professor, I think my briefs are
getting tight. What do I do about Lily?"

"Think of her as a doctor, not a woman. I'm sure she has dealt with
male anatomy before."

David made a face, too bashful to believe Professor.

"Chaz," said Professor, "I think we need to give our friends at the
medical center a call. I may not be a doctor, but this is not in any
way normal."

Chaz took the cell phone and dialed, then spoke in Mongolian. After
much less time than Professor expected, Chaz shut off the phone. He
had an amazed expression on his face. "I started describing symptoms
and the dispatcher laughed at me! Of course, if I had heard those
same symptoms I would laugh too." He shook his head in wonder. "Then
she said that I had better get off the line because there was an
emergency of some sort up in the hills. I guess we're under Lily's
tender care."

David whispered to Professor with a grimace, "The briefs gotta go. I
think they're about to split." Professor could see the leg holes
were now quite tight.

"It's OK, David, you can take them off. As our medical staff, Lily
has seen such things before."

David blushed across his nose and forehead, the only parts of his
face not covered with hair, but obeyed. He grasped the waistband of
his briefs and tugged downward, working the poor garment over a body
now much too big for it.

When he got the band low enough for his manhood to spill out, he
turned and even brighter shade of red. What a thing to reveal before
onlookers! David wanted to dash into any nearby tent, but that was
simply not possible with his briefs around his knees. He felt frozen
in place from embarrassment.

Jack gave a low whistle in appreciation of its size, then said,
"David, I'm impressed. How does a guy with a cock like that manage
to act so wimpy? You should be proud, not embarrassed."

"It, um, didn't used to be like this," David stammered. It was a
huge thing, reaching halfway to his knees with a coloring that was
darker than the rest of his skin. David was afraid to touch it or
even think about it. He didn't want it to stiffen, not in front of
Lily.

Jack's chuckle showed his delight. "If that is one of the benefits
of whatever is going on, then bring it on!"

Jack had a big smile on his face as he struggled with his own
briefs. The smile faded quickly when his own manhood was revealed --
it wasn't any larger than before.

Zane said, "Don't worry Jack. Remember that David starting changing
before we did." He turned to Amos and Piet. "Well guys, I suppose we
should also strip to show the big guy we're all in this together."

They did so. Each assured Jack that his own manhood hadn't grown
yet. Jack was now the one embarrassed as even mild mannered Piet's
manhood was bigger than his own. And everyone could easily see that.

Now that he was naked, Amos started tracing the outlines of the many
white patches of body hair. He would inspect a patch, then stare off
into the distance or close his eyes. After a moment, he would move
onto the next patch. He looked so deep in thought that no one wanted
to disturb him.

Professor noted the pattern of patches while Amos inspected himself.
The hair on Amos' hands and feet was white, but with lots of small
splotches of black, like a densely spotted Dalmatian. The hair on
his arms and legs was black with splotches of white. Across his
torso, front and back, were a large number of white spots about the
size of the professor's fist, all crowded together.

After ten minutes Amos picked up the mirror and inspected his head.
His beard was black, the hair on top of his head was black, though
it was now straight instead of curly. He tugged at a few of the
straight hairs. The new hairs on the left ear were black, the ones
on the right ear were white. When he was done, Amos turned to the
group and said, "Are you guys still thinking about horses like we
were in the jeep?"

"Yeah," said Piet with a surprised look on his face. "Now that you
mention it, even the party couldn't shake the image of a
Thoroughbred floating behind my eyelids." David, Jack, and Zane
nodded in agreement.

"I've had that image of a Paint in my mind the whole time as well,"
said Amos. "I think I know what's going on. We're becoming horses."

"Aw man, don't joke like that," said Jack with derision. "Men don't
become horses."

Amos glared at Jack. "I would hope that is simply an automatic
reaction of your little brain and quick mouth. ''Something'' is going
on here as you have noticed." Amos paused for a breath. "Consider.
The pattern of my white body hair matches the markings of the Paint
that I see clearly when I close my eyes. The white hair on David's
hands and feet and in his beard suggest the white stockings and
white face of the Clydesdales he talked about. Zane's hair darkens
to black on his hands and feet and suggests a dapple gray with black
stockings. Your own hair also darkens at your hands and feet
suggesting a brown horse with black stockings."

"Your whole theory is based only on hair color?" asked Jack.

"Not at all. That's just how I figured it out. Look at David's ears
and nose. Horses have pointy ears and rounded noses. Check out his
fingers and toes. Horses have only one toe on each leg."

"That's still crazy," said Jack.

"Do you have a better explanation of why your body is different than it was five minutes ago?" Jack shook his head. "I didn't think so."

Zane said, "Your theory might be right, but if David is becoming a
Clydesdale, I would expect brown fur, not red. And though I can't
say I'm an expert on horse breeds, I've never heard of a yellow
Thoroughbred." He nodded towards Piet.

"Sorry," said Amos, "I don't have an answer for that."

"So what triggered the change?" asked Piet.

"I don't know for sure. Since the five of us are affected and no one
else seems to be -- though I know it may be too soon to tell -- it
must have been triggered when we were together and no one else was
around. The first time that happened was when we pulled up alongside
David and listened to the horse talk and sing."

"So you think it was the horse that did this?" asked David.

"The ride back in the jeep certainly didn't make it happen." Amos
paused for a moment. "It probably wasn't the horse. That man was
pretty creepy. My guess is he did to the female horse the same thing he is
doing to us."

"That still doesn't answer how or why," said Piet.

"No it doesn't. I don't have those answers."

"In other words," Professor said, as he gathered his thoughts, "you
had an unfortunate encounter with a local who put a curse on you, no
doubt because you violated some taboo which you have no knowledge
of. I might even theorize that he installed an image in your brain
and told your body to reshape itself to match."

They fell silent for a moment as they recognized there wasn't any
way to refute the theory. Professor said, "From what I see of David,
another round of photos and measurements are in order. If you are
willing, I'd like to take several close-ups of various features." He
looked at David expectantly.

There was no mistaking Professor's meaning. "Um." David swallowed
hard. "I guess."

The close-up of David's manhood -- to David's extreme embarrassment
-- showed a gigantic specimen hanging to his knees now considerably
darker in color. It was backed by a large and very hairy ball-sack.
The legs on either side were also quite hairy.

David was now standing with his heels off the ground, balancing on
the balls of his feet. His feet were now long and slender tipped
with one very large toe and four tiny stubs.

David's hands were photographed next, showing the back of one and
the palm of the other. Professor even put a quarter in David's open
palm to show scale. The hands were now narrow with one large and
long finger tipped with a thick nail and four short ones. There was
a lot more hair now emphasizing the change from red to white at the
wrist. David could still grasp a cup, but couldn't grasp a pen or
hold onto Professor's quarter.

Jack examined his own strange hand and said, "We seem to be quite
well equipped to give someone the finger. I doubt we could avoid it."

The next close-up was of David's head, both from the front and the
side. His nose was now huge, beginning to push between the eyes and
moving the mouth forward. Hair was now growing on his forehead and
nose. This hair was white across the whole nose, the white extending
up around his eyes to his hairline. His ears had grown some more and
were attached higher on his head than before.

Enough hair had grown on the faces of the other men to show what
their markings would be. Amos was developing a white star in the
middle of his forehead, bright in contrast to the black hair around
it. Piet had a blaze from hairline to between his eyes, though there
wasn't much contrast with his yellow hair. Zane had a stripe the
whole length of his nose, the rest filling in with dapple gray. Jack
was also developing a star surrounded by brown hair.

Full body shots of David, front and back, showed a noticeably longer
neck with a ridge of red hair down the back of it to the shoulder
blades, a much more barrel shaped chest, a lot more body hair --
though David's pale skin was still visible -- and a stub of a tail
that was already covered with red hair. His arms seemed to hang
funny. His shoulders were pulled forward and seemed to swallow up a
bit of the upper arm and the elbow now bent forward rather than
inward.

Photos were also taken of the other four men, whose features were
similar, though not as progressed as far as David's. The exception,
which was distressing to Jack, was that their manhood refused to
grow.

About the time that Professor was done dumping the photos in his
laptop, David said, "I don't want to be a horse."

"So change back," said Professor.

"I don't know how. I don't even know how I'm changing into a horse."

"I don't know either." Professor turned back to this laptop.

Lily had an inspired thought. She came over to David and began to
stroke his neck.

Zane said, "When we were in the jeep, David, you dreamed about
galloping across the prairie. Perhaps you can think about actually
doing that."

"That might have sounded fun back then but it doesn't now. How am I
going to meet a nice girl when I look like a horse? I won't be able
to go to a dance or even graduate! I'd rather go to a dance than
gallop across the prairie."

"Zane," Professor said, "Would the elder that did all this volunteer
to undo it?"

Zane laughed. "No, he won't undo it even if we said, 'Pretty-please
with sugar and honey on top.' That was one weird and scary dude. It
seemed like he was doing it for a very particular reason. The only
other time I saw an expression like that was when I was a POW back
in 'Nam. My captor had that same grin on his face when we both
realized I was in his control and there was nothing I could do about
it. No, this dude isn't going to change us back until his purposes
are satisfied. And I don't particularly want to be around him long
enough to find out what his purposes are. I'd rather be a horse for
the rest of my life than be under his control."

Professor could see David didn't like that news and needed a
distraction, so he asked David to recount his flight from Cincinnati
while Lily stroked his neck.

The next photograph of David's head showed a shape that had clearly
departed from human, though it didn't yet look right for a horse
head. His face was much longer than before; the muzzle had pushed
between the eyes. The hair on his nose and forehead had now obscured
his skin. His ears were too wide for horse ears and too pointed for
human and perched high on the side of his head.

Professor asked David to turn around, then clapped his hands behind
David's head. Both ears twitched towards the sound. "Try to figure
out how to move them," said Professor.

David moved his hands to the ears with the intent of wiggling them
by hand. He found his arms and fingers didn't move right, his big
finger was longer than he thought it was, and his ear had moved. He
jammed his thickened nail into the side of his head before he found
his ear, then discovered again he didn't have enough of a thumb to
grab the ear.

"I hate this!" he wailed. His rising frustration looked like it was
about to boil over.

Lily resumed her stroking along David's neck and behind the ears,
though now it was a bit of a reach. David relaxed as he leaned into
it. After a minute he was able to endure more photos.

The photo of his body showed that his arms had shifted forward more
and that more of his upper arm seemed to be swallowed up by his
torso, which was longer and rounder. He now had flanks. His tail was
longer.

Professor wiggled David's tail. "This is another body part you
didn't have before. Try to move it yourself."

Jack said, "Sorry, Professor, you're not wiggling my tail." His
voice was halfway between an apology and a leer. He reached behind
himself, but found with the changed position of his arms, he
couldn't reach his tail. "Lily, could you wiggle my tail for me?"

Jack's expression may have been hidden behind fur and a new bone
structure and now unreadable, but his tone of voice made his real
wish unmistakable.

"Sorry, Jack," said Lily. "You'll have to get someone else to do it.
I'm not touching your tail."

The next photo was of David's hands. The nail had thickened to cover
the entire fingertip. The joints of the finger had reformed into
recognizable fetlock and pastern -- it was Zane that supplied the
terms. The hand had lengthened into the cannon; the only evidence
that it had been a hand was that it was a bit wider than what was
normal for a horse and there were four stubby nails along the sides.

The photos of David's feet and legs showed a condition similar to
his hands. Since David was teetering on the fetlock, he was much
taller than Professor, a view he liked very much. He realized he
couldn't support himself like that much longer and would have to
sit. He was afraid that if he did, he would never stand on two legs
again.

Again, David was embarrassed when the photo was taken of his groin.
There was now a patch of fur across the base of his member, the
start of his sheath.

"So why is it David's cock is so immense and even has the start of a
sheath and mine hasn't grown at all and is still hanging in the
breeze?" said Jack. "Did this curse simply forget my cock? What kind
of a curse is that? How can I be a proper stallion with a cock this
small?" There was panic in Jack's voice.

"Cool it," said Piet, "Whatever the problem is, it affects us too."

"I wonder," mused Amos, drawing out the thought, "if this curse is
waiting to play a big trick on us." That got Jack's attention. Amos
looked like he was enjoying the tease. "I wonder if this curse is
going to make us female."

"Don't say that! Don't even think it!" Jack bellowed.

"After all," Amos was downright laconic, "A herd needs only one
stallion and it appears that David will get the job."

"That little twerp isn't worthy of being a stallion!"

"Watch out. You probably haven't noticed lately, but 'that little
twerp' is now bigger than you."

Jack got as far as saying, "This is so unfair!" before lapsing into
a string of profanity.

Professor disappeared into the mess tent and reappeared with a mug
of tea. Piet said, "Chaz, could you get some coffee for me? I don't
think I would fit in the mess tent anymore. Anyone else want some?"

"What do you want it in, a bowl?" chided Chaz. "I doubt you could
manage a mug."

I don't think coffee is a good idea," said Lily. "Since all you guys
avoided meat at lunch, I suspect your digestion is mostly horse by
now. I don't think coffee for a horse is a good idea."

"Not that it's all that good for a human," muttered Zane.

"If you are hungry," said Lily, "I'm sure I can find something
suitable."

"Yes, I'm hungry," said David. The others echoed him. In a moment,
Lily was back with several bunches of carrots.

David worked a carrot between his two long fingers and tried to pick
it up. "This isn't going to work." A moment later, he said, "Hold
on. I got it." He had the carrot squeezed between the two thick
nails. He then found he couldn't bring it to his mouth.

"I guess you're going to have to lean over and grab it with your
lips," said Lily. David's eyes widened. "Sorry, David, but you had
better get used to it."

David leaned over, lost his balance, and put those thick fingernails
on the ground. He looked down and let out a ragged sigh. On four
feet. A big symbol that his humanity was just about gone. Lily was
quick to begin scratching him between the ears again.

Dave was still hungry, though. He reached with his lips and found it
quite easy to snag the carrot. He bit down on it. "Ow!" No longer
having fingers to investigate the problem, he spat out the mouthful
-- including a metallic tooth. "My crown fell out!" He investigated
with his tongue. "That's strange. When it was put in, I remember the
dentist shaped what was left of my tooth into a point. It isn't a
point anymore; it feels like a regular molar." Lily could see
David's tongue working around his protruding mouth. "I can also feel
a gap between my front teeth and the rest."

Zane said, "That's normal for a horse. There's no need for canine
teeth when you're not a carnivore and the molars need to be close to
the jaw joint."

David spat out another chunk of metal. Lily said, "My guess is that
another chunk of filling just got expelled as your teeth reformed as
horse teeth."

"How many teeth does a horse have?" asked David.

"I don't know," said Zane. "I suspect we'll be able to count teeth
soon."

David eyed the carrot. "I'm still hungry." He took another careful
bite, then finished off the carrot. Before biting into the next
carrot he spat out another filling. "I think that's the last one."
He proceeded to eat carrots as fast as he could. The other four were
now spitting out occasional fillings as they ate.

When the carrots were gone, David said, "I'm still hungry."

Lily got a loaf of bread and proceeded to tear off chunks and set
them on the table. All five of them ate as fast as she could tear.
She went back for the rest of the bread and carrots, then all of the
apples. When that disappeared, she brought out all the fruits and
vegetables she had.

"Fuel for growth," observed Professor as the horses devoured the
camp's resources. "However, I must insist that you switch to grass
if you are still hungry. We have to eat too."

David said, "Yuck," but changed his mind once he tasted it.

The men grazed quietly while they submitted to another round of
photos and measurements, including photos of the mouth and a count
of teeth. All had 42 of them, in much better shape than some had
been in a long time. Other measurements were done a little
differently this time as all five of them were now standing on four
legs.

David looked a lot more like a horse than a human, though there were
details that didn't quite look right. It was the little things --
Ears that didn't quite seem to be in the right position, head not
quite in proper proportion, arms -- forelegs -- that didn't seem
positioned quite right, hindlegs that weren't the right shape,
barrel that looked quite scrawny, mane that looked too short, and
tail that looked like a bushy bottle brush instead of a long cascade
of hair.

Lily stopped calling out measurements to Chaz when she measured
Jack's tail and legs. "What's going on back there? Why so quiet?"
said Jack.

"You're just fine, Jack," called out Chaz. "Everything is as it
should be. That is for someone turning into a horse."

"Oh, no. You can't fool me. There is something you aren't telling
me." He stuck his head between his forelegs. Lily and Chaz stepped
back out of the way "Damn. There seems to be too much fur in the
way. I can't get a good look."

Jack carefully turned to face Piet's flank. "Hold it there a moment,
would you Piet?" Jack stuck his head under Piet's belly.

"Jack!" said Piet, "I'm not that kind of guy," but he didn't step
away.

"All in the name of science, man." Jack now got one eye where he
could see where he wanted. "Yours shrunk!" He pulled his head back.
"I'm sure of it! It's just a nub, and your balls are tiny too!" He
stuck his head between his own legs again. "That means I can't see
mine because it isn't there!"

The panic was rising in his voice. Lily put down the tape measure
and came up to Jack. "Calm down Jack. Take it easy." She reached to
scratch him behind the ears.

He stepped aside -- clumsily -- to avoid her touch. "You don't
understand! That means I'm not going to be a stallion! I can't be a
woman. I'm a man! I have a dick! I have balls! It can't be true. I'm
not some silly mare!"

Jack was fully into his panic now. He pranced around and shied from
everyone's touch. Since he wasn't used to four legs yet, he also
stumbled a lot. Lily was afraid he would hurt himself or crash into a tent. Jack wouldn't
respond to anyone's voice. His ranting had turned to general
profanity and his gyrations became wilder and more clumsy.

"Someone get some rope," said Professor. "Lily, do you have any
tranquilizer?"

"The rope is with Taki," said Chaz. "He heard about this morning's
problems and wanted to make sure he had enough to get out of any
canyon."

"I don't have enough tranq for a horse," said Lily. She almost had
to shout to be heard over Jack's ranting.

Just then Jack bumped up against a tent. It collapsed, harmlessly.
The touch and movement spooked Jack, who simply fled. He was clumsy
on four feet and found he couldn't go on two. Even so, he quickly
outdistanced Chaz.

Professor ran for a jeep -- to discover one was at the worksite and
the other was inoperable. Piet had been working on it when he was
called away to change a tire and help search for David.

A sound off to her left drew Lily's attention from Jack's
disappearing form. She glanced over to see that David's eyes had
gone wide. She started talking in a soothing voice, "It's OK David,"
as she walked over to him and put her arm around his neck and
scratched him behind the ears. Lily kept up her reassurance for
several minutes, even after she heard a long shuddering sigh from
him.

"Thank you," he said. "I was getting very close to taking off like
Jack did." He turned to Amos. "You look so calm. I almost completely
freaked out. You've just turned from man to horse. How can you take
it so calmly?"

"Well, kid, I don't sweat the things I can't change. There are
things I have control over and things I don't. I had no control when
my body shifted from human to horse. No need to sweat it. I do have
control of my attitude about being a horse. If the cosmos decides
for some strange reason that Amos is to be a horse, then I say let
me enjoy the experience while I can. Is it scary? Sure. And
sometimes I can even enjoy a good scare. That would at least bump me
out of any ruts I might be in."

"But this has taken away everything that makes you human!" said
David.

"Not everything. Not by a long shot. I can still talk, and I would
bet I haven't lost one bit of my intelligence."

"Are you sure?" asked David.

"What's eight times twelve?"

David was startled by the question. "Uh, ninety-six."

"A horse can't do that. I also believe that I am still human because
I still have a soul. I still understand God." He paused for a
moment. "At least I understand as much about God as I did before and
as much as any human can."

"How do you know that?"

"I was meditating on God and various religious concepts during the
course of the change so that I wouldn't panic like Jack did."

That satisfied David. He wasn't going to lose his mind.

Professor called the worksite. "Has anyone discovered their belt is
way too tight?"

"Nooo..." said Rose, "What kind of question is that?"

"I'll explain when you return and it is safe to do so now."

"We're on our way. Taki is getting hungry."

The jeep arrived back at camp just before sunset and Professor and
Lily came out to meet them. "I need to talk to you before you get
into the camp. It seems that five of our team, David, Amos, Piet,
Zane, and Jack, encountered a curse of some kind. The curse has
changed all five of them into intelligent horses."

"Professor, this has got to be one of your crazier practical jokes,"
said Taki.

"No joke. Amos," he called out, "please come over here."

Out from behind a tent came a beautiful Paint horse. It approached
the jeep, though its movements suggested it had to think about each
step. Rose said, "That's a beautiful horse!"

Taki said, "That horse may have beautiful markings, but the horse
itself seems scrawny, gangly, and a klutz."

Rose glared at Taki a moment, then turned back to Professor, "Where
did you get it?"

Professor said, "Why don't you say hello, Amos."

"Hi, guys." said Amos. "I'm glad you think I'm beautiful."

Hearing a horse speak was shock enough, hearing it speak in the
voice of Amos was almost too much.

Professor raised the camera and snapped a picture. "I just love your
expressions."

After recovering from the shock, Rose bounded out of the jeep and
gave Amos a hug. "I love horses! Always have."

Taki climbed out, but didn't move very far. "You aren't using
ventriloquism, are you?"

Ivan stayed in the jeep. "Professor, this can't be good."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't remember the details, but there are old Russian legends
about men that become horses. If these horses remain in camp, I'm
afraid I must go home to Moscow."

"I'm sorry if you must go, but you're being foolish. The curse that
affected David and the rest can't affect you now."

Ivan didn't look convinced.

As they walked into camp -- Rose with a hand on Amos, Taki looking
puzzled and hanging back, and Ivan bringing up the rear -- Amos told
his part of the story. Amos introduced Rose to the new David, Zane,
and Piet.

Of course, Rose immediately asked, "What happened to Jack?"

"He fled," said Professor.

"You didn't go after him?"

"You had one jeep and Piet had left the other one in pieces."

"The change was too much for Jack?"

"Not exactly."

"What do you mean, 'not exactly'?"

"David is the only stallion."

Rose's laughter could be heard far into the night.

[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 3|Part 3]] * Part 4 *
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 5|Part 5]]

User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 3

2011-07-25T00:49:01Z

Erastus: Replacing a lost story

{{title|name= Serving the Sentence - Part 3/14|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

In her slow, plodding walk, the mare made her way down the ravine. David
was hungry, but had nothing with him to eat. After twenty minutes by
his watch, the mouth of the ravine appeared. Beyond it was an empty
rolling plain.

Shortly after the horse stepped into the plain, a man came riding up
up to David and the horse, shouting as he came. He was obviously a
local, though dressed a bit fancier than most of the local men with
his horse decked out with similarly fancy trappings. This one
definitely had a saddle, not like the one David was riding. David
didn't understand what the man said as it was all in Mongolian.

As the man got close, David decided it would be better to be on the
ground. He managed to slide off the horse's back, but didn't nail
the landing and ended up on his butt. Ah well, he was off. He got to
his feet to face the man as he set the radio back on his head.

Much to his surprise, the man didn't approach David. He got off his
own mount and faced the horse that David had ridden. It sounded as
though the man was gearing up for a mighty argument with hands
gesturing wildly and an aggressive stance. But with a horse?

Much more to David's surprise, the horse talked back! It was a
sweet, rich feminine voice that seemed to manage the Mongolian
language effortlessly. A horse that talks? Whatever she was saying,
she said it with as much vigor and volume as the man. She pawed at
the ground as if to emphasize a point or two and her ears went back
and her tail swished wildly. If David hadn't been hearing the voice
come out of a horse's mouth, he could easily have imagined the two
were husband and wife in the moment before the dishes started
flying.

David's radio crackled. Amos was saying, "... there? David! Come in
please! Are you there?"

As soon as Amos took a breath, David said, "I'm here."

"Good to hear you. What's your GPS?"

"Hold on." David pulled his locator out of its holder and read off
the coordinates.

"Got it," said Amos. "We're still above the escarpment. There is a
road nearby that will get us down. We should be there in a few
moments. What's all that racket?"

"You're just going to say that I'm now hearing things. You know, a
bump on the head? You might as well wait and see for yourself."

The man turned to face David, though he stayed near the horses. He
began to sing. After a moment, David decided it wasn't quite
singing, it didn't exactly have a melody. It seemed somewhere
between song and chant. What is this? Am I trapped in some kind of
Mongolian musical? The man won his argument and now gets to sing
about it?

It became almost hilarious as it appeared the horse wasn't quite
done arguing and kept interrupting the song. The man would have to
break off singing to answer her.

David heard the jeep approach and turned to see it come along the
face of the escarpment. He waved and turned back to the singer.

The jeep pulled up alongside. Piet was driving this time. "Come on,
David. Hop in."

David leaned over to peer in. "Hi guys. Glad you found me. This is
incredible," he said, waving towards the man and horse. "That horse
can talk!"

"Sure it can," said Jack. "You've obviously been out in the sun way
too long, not to mention delusional from a head wound. Get in the
jeep."

"No, no. The horse really spoke!"

"Come on David," said Zane with exasperation, "the sooner we get you
in the car, the sooner you can get treated."

"I keep telling you I'm fine!" David backed up when he saw Zane's
hand come toward the window. They'd have to get out of the jeep now.

"That does it!" Piet yelled as he shut off the motor and yanked off
his seatbelt. A moment later, Piet was standing beside the jeep with
his mouth hanging open as he stared at the horse.

The horse really was talking! Actually arguing. Right there, just a
couple meters in front of the jeep. The man's song had been
interrupted again. It soon resumed.

Now that the engine was off the others could hear it too. Amos and
Jack got out of the far side of the jeep to listen and Zane came up
beside Piet. All four mouths hung open.

"See? I told you I was fine!" said David.

"We're still gonna get your head checked," said Amos, absently.

They listened for a few minutes. "Anybody have an idea what the
words mean?" asked Zane.

"The only one that knows Mongolian is Chaz," said Piet.

They listened for another moment. "Just think kid. You get to hear a
real slice of Mongolian culture." said Amos.

"It's kinda neat," said David. "I wish I knew what it meant. I
wonder why no one heard of Mongolian talking horses before."

"Is that all you have to say?" asked Jack. "It's kinda neat?
Your brain has truly been fried. This is a talking ''horse''! Start
talking to agents! Get them on David Letterman as a Stupid Pet
Trick! Fool kid." Jack muttered several profanities.

"We need to be getting back to camp," said Piet. "Rose will have
lunch ready soon. Her food is so much better hot than it is cold."

"And leave a Talking Horse meal-ticket just standing there? Where's
your phone?"

"It's not going to be that simple," said Piet. "What agent is going
to take your word for it? Besides, you can call from camp."

"We at least have to take a picture of this guy so we can find him
again. Then we can get Chaz here to talk about coming to America."

Amos took several photos of the man and the two horses. The man had
stopped singing and had a wolfish grin on his face. The five of them
got back into the jeep with Zane moving over to make room for David.

As soon as David grabbed the doorframe to get into the jeep, the
Mongolian started shouting and walking towards the jeep. The horse
also stepped forward and tripped the man, sending him sprawling
against the hood and bumper. David froze halfway in, eyeing the man
carefully. The man recovered his balance and began to climb onto the
hood and began to sing again. The menace in his eyes frightened
David who quickly climbed in and shut the door.

To their amazement, the horse began to sing too! The Mongolian
turned to her and waved and shouted, but she ignored him. After a
moment, he returned his attention to the men in the jeep and his own
eerie song.

Piet started the motor, but was unsure what to do next. The
Mongolian merely knelt on the hood and sang. It wasn't really a good
idea to put the jeep in motion with the man kneeling there, but the
menace Piet saw was spooking him.

"How could this guy not feel the heat from the hood?" said Amos. "Is he that intent on his song? I don't think he's singing about the joys of Mongolia."

"Let's get out of here," said Jack. His tone implied he felt it too.

Piet didn't want to hurt the man, so started backing up slowly. The
Mongolian kept his position for a moment, then slid off. He didn't
interrupt his song. Neither did the horse.

Once the man was off, Piet gunned it. Their backward motion kicked
up sand at the Mongolian who kept right on singing.

It was obvious they were not going to be followed, so Piet spun the
jeep around and took off along the escarpment.

"Man, that was weird," said Amos. He turned so he could see Jack.
"Still want to get an agent for this guy?"

"No," was Jack's quick reply. "He's way too creepy even for me."

Amos looked over at David. "You OK kid?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Maybe that'll get some sense into that thick brain of yours," said
Jack. "Keep you from doing fool things like wandering away." Jack
continued on his tirade, to which David rolled his eyes and then
tuned out.

After Jack wound down, the conversation ran on for a few moments
about talking horses and creepy locals, then slowed to a halt. Amos
put the topographical map back across his lap and tapped their
position with a finger. It started to rain, developing quickly into
a downpour. "I thought Chaz said it wasn't going to rain today,"
muttered Piet as he turned on the wipers.

Zane glanced at David, who looked completely lost in thought. "Hey
kid, what are you thinking about?" asked Zane.

"Huh?" said David. His mind was obviously a million miles away.

"Are you sure you're OK? Not suffering from too much sun or that
bump on the head?"

"I keep saying I'm OK," said David. "Nobody listens."

"So what were you thinking about so hard?"

"Clydesdales," David said absently.

"Clydesdales?" asked Zane, surprised. "The beer commercial horses?"

"Yeah, those."

"After spending the morning on that black and brown mare, you are
thinking of Clydesdales?"

"They were my favorite horses when I was little, not that I ever got
a chance to ride one. Today was the first horse ride of my life,"
said David. "I think I got the hang of it by the time I got off."

Zane wasn't quite sure what to ask next and within a few seconds,
David looked lost in thought again. "So," said Zane. David glanced
at him. "Do you think lunch will be any good?"

"When was the last time it any good?" growled Jack.

The question didn't seem to penetrate David's brain. The zoned out
expression continued. "David?" prompted Zane. Maybe the bump had
affected his brain in spite of his protest to the contrary.

With effort, David roused himself. "I think what I like best about
Clydesdales is the shaggy hair around the hoof." David was quiet for
a second. "That and how the shaggy part is white in contrast with
the rest of the body."

It was time for another tactic, thought Zane. "David, can you tell
us anything about the ravine? Was there much water in it?"

David looked at him strangely for a moment. "Have you ever thought
about what it would be like to be a horse?"

"Can't say that I have," said Zane.

"Cut the foolishness kid, we need to know what that ravine is like!"
said Jack, his voice getting loud.

David ignored him. He didn't even roll his eyes. Zane said, "Cool it
Jack. Something strange is going on here. This isn't a good time to
hassle the kid." Zane turned back to watch David.

Amos pulled out his phone and dialed, "Ah, Rose. Amos here. I think
David is beginning to suffer from his head wound. Could you ask Lily
to be available to meet us when we drive up? Thanks, dear. Bye."

"A horse is so big and strong," said David in a dreamy voice. "It
can gallop so fast. I wonder what it would be like to be that big
and strong."

"You can get to be strong by playing a sport like a real man,' said
Jack. "A runt like you will never be big."

Zane put an edge in his voice. "I said cool it!"

Jack had a frown on his face and was ready with a comeback when
David spoke again. "Have you ever wanted to gallop into the wind
with your mane and tail flying out behind you? Just enjoy the
freedom? The exhilaration?"

David paused for a moment. Zane glared at Jack. Jack glared back but
kept his mouth shut. The wipers, even at top speed, seemed to do
little against the rain. Amos could see the concern on Piet's face
in trying to decide between hurrying for David's sake and driving
safely.

David said, "Since I told you about my favorite horse, what's yours?"

"Thoroughbred," blurted Piet. He seemed surprised. A moment later,
with much more deliberateness he said, "Yeah, Thoroughbred. I hadn't
thought about it in years, but I was fascinated by race horses when
I was a kid." He paused. "Thanks for reminding me, David." Another
pause. "I think the kid is right. Galloping across the plains sounds
pretty good right now. It would sure beat being stuck in this old
jeep bouncing along on this excuse of a road and trying to see
through this rain. Chaz really missed the weather report this time."

After a long silence, Zane said, "I've been thinking about how much
I liked the stately quarter horse, the noble mount of the American
Cowboy. A real man's job." He smirked at Jack. Jack frowned back.
Zane paused for a moment. "I wonder what it would be like to be
harnessed to a stagecoach? I'd use my strength to open the prairie."

"You guys got it all wrong," said Jack. "Ain't no horse better than
the Arabian. That one has them all beat on strength, speed, and
style. Ya need a horse bred by those noble men of the desert."

Zane said, "No, Jack, you're the one that's got it all wr-" About
then, Zane saw the look in Jack's eyes. Jack didn't care if his
claims were accurate, but he was quite willing to defend his views.
Zane wasn't interested in a fight, even a verbal one.

They were all quiet for a moment, listening to the rain.

"Guys, this is really weird," said Amos. "I barely knew what a horse
was as a kid. I've hardly seen one since. I've never had a favorite
breed and don't know any of the ones you all have mentioned. I do
know the beer commercial horses, but didn't know the name. In short,
I know next to nothing about horses and don't care to learn. So why
is it ever since Piet started talking about his favorite I've had an
image of a black and white horse floating behind my eyelids? I never
knew horses were colored like that. I'm sure I've never seen one."

"You mean a zebra?" asked Piet.

"Nah, not stripes. This horse has splotches."

"Sounds like a Pinto or a Paint," said Zane.

"I've heard of a Pinto car," said Amos. "There really is a kind of
horse called Paint?"

"Sure is," said Zane.

Amos closed his eyes for a moment. "Yeah, I can see it. I see a
white horse that looks like it was splattered with a can of black
paint." He paused. "Or maybe it's the other way around." He paused
again. "But that still doesn't answer my question. I didn't know
this kind of horse exists. Why do I see it in my head?"

No one had an answer.

"We're not just talking about horses to humor David, are we?" said
Amos with a bit of alarm. After a pause, when no one commented, Amos
went on, "I wonder what it would be like to have a rider?"

"That sounds way too kinky. A real man would not let himself be
ridden," said Jack.

Amos pounced on an opportunity to tease Jack. "Maybe so, but I think
you would look great wearing leather straps." He winked at David.

Even David laughed at that one as Jack bellowed, "That's not funny!"
They laughed a bit harder when Jack got a strange expression on his
face that seemed to imply leather straps wouldn't be so bad, come to
think of it.

The laughter subsided and the jeep became quiet. Even the rain had
tapered off.

Then Jack said, "The Arabian is still the better horse."

Lily was waiting when the jeep pulled into camp. David knew it was
futile to evade her, so went to the medical tent willingly, avoiding
rain puddles along the way. The rest of those in the team followed
out of concern and were soon joined by Professor.

Lily examined David's head as she said, "So what happened that made
Amos so concerned?"

"He didn't believe me when I told him a horse found me in the ravine
and started pushing me around and then when I told him the horse
sang and also when he thought I was daydreaming about Clydesdales."

Lily glanced at Amos. He nodded. Lily said, "I understand his
concern. There aren't any bumps or scratches on your head. We had
better check reflexes." She got out a penlight to check for proper
dilation in his eyes. "Did the rest of you hear singing?"

Piet glanced at the others before daring to answer, "Yeah. Female
voice out of a horse." Jack looked like he didn't want to admit it,
but he nodded with the others.

Lily checked David's knee reflexes and a half dozen other things as
she asked, "And the daydreaming?"

David jumped in. "I don't know why they were picking on me 'cause
Piet thought pretty hard about Thoroughbreds, Amos thought about
Paints, Zane thought about quarterhorses, and Jack thinks the
Arabian is better than the others."

Amos said, "So you were paying attention, kid." David nodded.

"I don't see anything wrong," said Lily, "though you might want to
take it easy this afternoon." She turned to the other men. "If you
heard a horse sing too, I had better check you over as well." She
saw protests start to develop. "But it can wait until after lunch."

"I think," said Professor, as the group turned to go, "you had
better take a moment to tell me all about your little adventure."

Amos sighed and began to talk.

[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 2|Part 2]] * Part 3 *
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 4|Part 4]]

User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 2

2011-07-25T00:44:44Z

Erastus: Replacing a lost story

{{title|name= Serving the Sentence - Part 2/14|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

Professor made sure that Piet and Taki trained David in how to use
the rope ladders safely and how to do some simple rock climbing.
Taki tried to assure David that they did not survey the steepest
cliffs. David tried to tell Taki that it didn't matter as David
wasn't going to be the one doing the surveying then.

Two weeks later, it was David's turn, his protests having been
completely ignored. They -- David, Zane, Jack, and Amos -- were at
the edge of a ravine. It was steep but not deep, though it would
still hurt if you fell over the edge. It wasn't very wide either.
There was just enough space at the bottom to walk on either side of
the stream, which was currently dry.

The side of the ravine looked a lot steeper than David liked. Amos
ignored the complaints as did Zane. Jack said, "Come on, ya wimp! A
real man ain't afraid of a little height. A real man would even use
the rock climbing rope, not this sissy ladder!"

So much for David not being the one to survey steep cliffs.

Zane and Jack lowered the rope ladder over the edge of the canyon.
David watched carefully to make sure it was anchored firmly. Jack
saw David's gaze and said in mock horror, "What? You don't trust
me?" David rolled his eyes but said nothing.

David put the two-way radio over his head and said, "Testing."

Amos, wearing the radio's mate, responded with, "Roger."

David nodded. He also checked that his digital camera and GPS
receiver were clipped to his belt and were working. Amos tapped at his computer to record David's commentary of the rock layers. Amos would transcribe it later.

Jack said, "Come on, kid, quit your dawdling." David glared at him
for a moment, then eased himself over the edge and started down.

At each change in the rock formation, David paused to report on the
color and type of the stone, whether it had visible fossils, how
many rungs on the ladder he was from the top, and what the GPS gave
as his altitude. He also took a few pictures. It didn't take long
for the GPS to indicate that there were no satellites "visible."

An hour later, David was describing the lowest visible layer of
stone. "The top of this stratum is still ten feet, uh, three meters
above the ravine floor. It is sandstone, pink in color, and seems to
be AAAAAaaaaaa..."

Amos winced as pulled the headphones away from his ears for a moment
because of volume. He quickly recovered. "Dave!" Both Zane and Jack
stared at Amos. "David! Are you there?"

Jack muttered, "The kid can't even manage a ladder."

"Quiet!" said Amos. "David! Answer me!" After a pause, Amos turned
to Zane, "Can you see anything?"

"No," said Zane, peering over the edge. "There's an outcrop in the
way." He tugged on the ladder. "I don't feel his weight on the
ladder at all."

"David! Answer me!" cried Amos. Still nothing. "Should someone else
start down?"

Before anyone could answer, Amos held up his hand for silence. "I
heard a groan," Amos said softly. "David!"

Amos heard another groan, then faintly, "Yeah." After another short
pause, "I'm here Amos."

"David, what happened?" Zane relaxed a bit on hearing that question.
It wasn't filled with alarm. David had responded, at least.

"Just a sec -- the radio got knocked off." For a moment Amos heard
rustling, then David's voice was clear. "I fell," said David. "Um.
Since I'm still holding onto the ladder, it looks like the ladder
broke."

Amos relayed the information to Zane and Jack. Jack muttered,
"Little twerp," under his breath.

Zane glared at Jack. "And who was in charge of inspecting the
ladder?"

Jack glared back. "I inspected it! Who knows what the fool kid did?"

"Are you hurt?" said Amos into the radio.

"Well," David paused, doing a physical inventory, "I think I have a
bruise or two and I definitely have a headache from the bump on the
back of my head. I also had the wind knocked out of me. I only fell
a couple meters."

"Can you reach the end of the ladder?"

"Since I'm buried under about ten meters of my end of it, no, I
can't."

"What does your end of the break look like," asked Amos. "Does it
look frayed or cut?"

"Just a sec. Let me find it." A pause. "It looks cut."

When Amos relayed the news, Jack said, "Stupid kid can't even use a
ladder right." He caught Zane's glare. "I mean, look! Get someone
who can't stand still and the ropes rub against a rock outcrop which
acts like a knife."

"Let's save the pieces to verify all that," said Zane.

"How about climbing on the rocks up to the end of the ladder?" Amos
said to David.

"It looks pretty sheer and I don't have a rock-climbing rope. Didn't
need one with the ladder."

"And where is that rock-climbing rope, Jack?" Zane asked pointedly.

"Back in camp," Jack said with a scowl. "Didn't need it with the
ladder. Besides, the kid's no good with the rope."

"It looks like you're stuck down there for now," Amos said to David.
"We'll have to send someone back to camp and get another ladder.
Hold on. I'll stay up here and keep the radio on."

Hold on, he says, thought David. Holding on to my end of the ladder
isn't going to do a thing for me. He felt recovered enough to first
sit, and then stand, letting his end of the ladder fall in a heap.

Zane hauled up the top part of the ladder and inspected the broken
end as he went to the jeep. Jack grabbed it out of Zane's hand to
study it himself, then waved it Zane's face. "Yep, rubbed against an
outcrop. Stupid kid." The ladder was stashed in the jeep and Zane
and Jack took off for camp after yelling to Amos, "We'll be back as
soon as possible." Amos waived after them.

After several minutes of silence, Amos said, "You OK, kid?"

"Yeah, I'm OK. It can't be too bad if I'm able to walk around. The
headache is fading."

"Perhaps you should keep talking," said Amos. "Head injuries can do
strange things."

"Yeah, I suppose. What should I talk... sshhh." David's voice
dropped to a whisper. "I hear something coming."

David turned to the approaching sound. He was sure his yelp had
attracted whomever it was that was coming. The locals in the area
didn't seem to care for the research team. Would they try to take it
out on him? He didn't have anywhere he could go except farther up
the ravine. There weren't even good places to hide.

By the time he decided he could do nothing, the noise came around
the last bend. It was a horse. Much to David's surprise, it was a
horse without a rider, a horse without a halter. In this horse
culture, a horse without a halter of some sort was strange.

The horse came up to David and looked him over. It went over to the
broken ladder, still where David had left it, studied it a moment,
pawed the broken ropes, then looked up the ravine wall. How does a
horse know about rope ladders?

The horse was far enough away and standing at an angle so that David
could tell it was female. He might be a city boy, but he knew enough
to tell mare from stallion. She was a beautiful animal with dark
brown fur and black legs, mane, and tail. She had a white stripe
from between her ears almost to her nose.

David studied her studying the ladder. If a horse got into the
ravine then someone as small as himself could certainly get out.

Well, no. He should wait for Zane to return.

The horse completed her inspection of the ladder and came back to
David, again looking him over carefully. He reached out a hand to
pet her, which she allowed. He said, "That's a good girl."

Amos spoke over the radio, "Who ya talkin' to?"

I forgot all about the radio, thought David. "That thing that was
approaching turned out to be a horse."

"Just a horse? No rider?"

"Yeah, that's the strange part. This is a beautiful mare and there
is no halter or anything. I thought all Mongolian horses were tamed
and owned, but this one doesn't appear to be."

"I thought so too," said Amos.

The horse stood beside David for a moment and let him pet and admire
her. She then put her nose against his chest and pushed, just enough
for him to take a step backward.

"Whoa girl! What's that all about?"

"What's what all about?" said Amos.

"This horse stuck her nose on my chest and pushed me!"

David stroked her nose a while longer and idly thinking about horses
in general, when she gave him another firm push in the chest.
"Whoa!" He managed to avoid falling by grabbing the part of her mane
that hung between her ears. She didn't move until he had a chance to
steady himself. Then she pushed at him again. This time he was ready
and sidestepped her. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

She pushed at him again, more gently but more persistently. David
took a couple steps back, then he looped his arm around her neck and
stepped beside her. "I think this will work better."

That seemed to satisfy the horse. She proceeded to walk towards the
direction from which she had appeared.

David followed for a bit, then stopped, pointed upward, and said, "I
can't go with you. I'm supposed to wait for my friends."

Amos chuckled through the radio. "Good luck arguing with a horse,
kid. What is she doing?"

"I guess she's guiding me out the way she came in."

"David, I wonder if that bump on the head didn't scramble your
brains?"

"My head's fine, Amos."

"You sure?"

The horse gave David another determined push with her nose. He
caught his balance, then circled around her back to the broken
ladder. She ambled over and pushed with her nose again. Definitely
determined, though in no hurry.

"Amos? I gotta feeling she won't take no for an answer."

"David, please stay put! Zane called on the cell phone and said they
have a flat tire. He said he called Piet, who is going to grab the
other ladder and walk out to them. They're only a kilometer from
camp. It will take some time for Piet to get there and to get the
tire changed."

"Zane and Jack can't change a tire themselves?"

Amos chuckled. "They probably can, but Piet will get there before
they finish."

The horse pushed again. David stepped back and found his foot
blocked by a large boulder, causing him to sit on it. The horse
turned so that her flank was in front of his face. He didn't have
room to stand up. He swatted at her. She didn't move. He pulled his
legs up and scrambled to stand on the boulder. He stepped to the
side. She moved to stay in front of him. He stepped again; she still
barred the way.

"Amos? I just figured out what his horse wants. She wants me to ride
her."

"She may want it David, but you're the human. Just stay put."

David sat on the boulder with his feet pulled up. The horse waited a
moment, then swung her head around to face him. She blew air through
her lips, making a sound that sounded exactly like an exasperated
parent. She then pushed him in the chest again. He grabbed onto the
boulder to hang on, then swatted her on the nose. She didn't move
away. She pushed again.

"Amos, this crazy horse in being awfully persistent. She won't let
me just sit here. She keeps pushing me with her nose. I'm going to
have to ride her."

"Have you ever ridden a horse before?"

"No. There aren't many horses in Cincinnati."

"I haven't ridden one either," said Amos, "so I can't give any
pointers. Look David, your story is getting way too weird. I'm
wondering if that bump has you seeing things. A horse insists you
ride it? That's crazy."

"I'm not seeing things Amos! This horse is actually pushing me."

"Perhaps I should tell the guys to bring Lily along."

"No, Amos. I'm fine."

"It sure doesn't sound like it."

David looked the situation over for a moment. He realized why the
horse guided him to the boulder. He was up just high enough so all
he had to do was turn around and sit on her back.

He did so. He was amazed that the horse stood patiently until he was
well settled with legs on either side and a good grip on the mane.
As soon as he was settled, the horse ambled in the direction she had
come.

"Well, Amos, I'm off. I don't know where I'm going."

"David! Every so often I think Jack is right about you. Either that
or that bump knocked all sense out of your head. I'll personally
make sure Lily has a good look at that noggin of yours when we get
you back to camp."

"My head's fine! There really is a horse down here and she insists
that I ride her. I can't just sit down here with a horse this
pushy."

Amos sighed, "At least you can keep in contact, David. Give me your
GPS when you can."

The horse didn't move very fast, which was just fine with David. It
gave him time to study the sides of the ravine. He reported his
general direction and some interesting features to Amos as long as
he was in radio range.

Even though the radio was silent, David didn't dare turn it off.
"Well, old girl, I guess we're on our own."

[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 1|Part 1]] * Part 2 *
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 3|Part 3]]

User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 1

2011-07-25T00:38:18Z

Erastus: Replacing a lost story

{{title|name= Serving the Sentence - Part 1/14|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

Copyright © 2010 Erastus Centaur -- all rights reserved

-----

"Here we are," said Rose, pulling the jeep to a stop. It had been a long flight for David -- four flights over a twenty-four hour
period, actually -- to get from Cincinnati to Mongolia. That was
followed by a jeep ride that felt just as long as it bounced over
the bad roads and rough terrain. And now, with the camp before him, David expected to feel a sense of wonder at the start
of an adventure. Instead, he felt his heart sink. Perhaps he could blame his mood on lack of sleep.

This was David's first job at an actual paleontology site. His
advisor at the University of Cincinnati had assured him it was a
wonderful opportunity to work with the top-notch team from the
University of Montana. Looking over the camp here in northern
Mongolia, he had his doubts about whether this opportunity was all
that wonderful. The job might be to do a paleontology survey -- his
area of study -- and it might look good on a resume, but northern
Mongolia was out in the middle of ''nowhere''.

David tried to keep in mind that it would only be for the summer,
May through August, a mere four months. Then he would be back on a
modern American university campus in the fall with all the amenities
of modern civilization. The scene now before him made him seriously question why
he thought paleontology was an ideal major.

He had to repeat to himself, "Dinosaurs are cool," as he surveyed
this desolate outpost, "Dinosaurs are cool and a lot of dinosaur
bones are from Mongolia." Perhaps if he repeated it enough times
he might actually believe it -- at least until he got home.

There were perhaps ten tents scattered around the site, though they
didn't look like the Boy Scout variety. They had canvas tops and
sides, of course, but they were big enough so one could stand up
inside and large sections of canvas could be opened for ventilation.

The tents were on the edge of a grassy plain, the Steppes of Central
Asia, nestled against the foothills of a mountain range. When he
looked across the plain, David was reminded of the prairie of Kansas
-- or what the prairie might have looked like before it was divided
into farms. Much of their work, however, would be in and around the
hills.

They hadn't taken a dozen steps from the jeep when a man appeared
from a tent, eyed David critically for a second and turned to Rose.
"Rose, I thought we told you this wasn't a nursery. What are you
doing bringing a child to camp?"

David felt himself shrink before the onslaught. He has just turned
21 and had completed his junior year! He was not a kid. His face
had given him away again. As he had learned through encounters with
the police and bartenders, he was treated like he was 15, official
documentation to the contrary notwithstanding. His height -- five
foot seven -- his pale complexion, his brilliant red hair, his
inability to grow a satisfactory moustache or goatee -- though his
latest attempt at a moustache was still on his face -- all
contributed to the impression of lingering childhood. His mother had
tried to tell him it would work to his advantage when he was 42, but
that was still a long time away and no help at the moment.

"Oh, shut up, Jack," said Rose. She turned to David. "Don't mind
him. He's our resident grouch."

Jack had a burly physique and cultivated a tough-guy image, a
combination that made many people -- not just David -- fearful. He
wore cutoff jeans, a bright red tee-shirt, whose message was
thankfully obscured by a leather vest. Both his hair and beard were
brown and short, his visible face tan and weather beaten. His forearm
tattoo did ''not'' say "Mom".

Jack grunted, but with a bit of a sneer on his face. He disappeared
back into his tent as Rose steered David into a second one. Another
man was inside, this one with better manners. "Hi, I'm Zane. You
must be the new kid."

Though not great manners. According to David, if he had great
manners there would be none of this "kid" nonsense. David shook
hands anyway -- at least ''he'' was polite -- as he briefly considered
if it was worth the effort to protest, "But I'm not a kid!"

Zane had nearly black hair with a neat salt-and-pepper beard. He was
tall enough to be respected, but not so tall as to intimidate. He
was slender, but David could see his strength.

David claimed the empty cot and proceeded to unpack his backpack and
stow his few belongings. He was suddenly glad his brother Matt had
offered the backpack, allowing him to avoid showing up lugging a
suitcase and looking even more out of place.

As David approached the mess tent an hour later he had no trouble
hearing Jack talking to Rose. "How 'bout you coming over to my tent?
Say nine-thirty? I can even guarantee some privacy."

"Give it up, Jack," said Rose. "The answer hasn't changed from the
other hundred times you've invited me to your tent."

David wondered if Jack had issued his invitation because he though
Rose was beautiful or because he hoped she was an easy target. In
David's eyes, Rose was rather plain looking with brown hair styled
for the sake of minimum fuss.

"Couldn't have been that many," said Jack. "We've only been here
two weeks."

"The answer is still no."

He reached a hand towards here cheek. She swatted it away and
marched into the ness tent.

At dinner, Rose introduced David to the rest of the team. "This
is Amos," she said of an imposing black man. "We think of him as
our camp philosopher. You won't find anyone more practical than
him. He got his doctorate from--"

"Rose," Amos interrupted, "you don't have to go into that." He
glared at David, "And please ''don't'' call me Doc Amos."

"You got a doctorate?" David was impressed.

"What's the matter?" teased Amos. "You didn't expect me to be
smart?"

David glanced away. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

Amos chuckled. "Long ago, I learned people rarely mean to offend.
There's no use getting upset about it."

Rose directed David's attention to the man beside Amos, who seemed
to be quite the opposite--pale skin and definitely not imposing.
David had never seen hair such a brilliant golden-yellow, though
David wasn't one to talk when his own was such a bright red. "This
is Piet."

"The Swedish spelling," said Piet, tapping the embroidered name
above his pocket. "Having it on my clothes can save so much hassle."

"You don't seem to have a Swedish accent," said David.

"Actually, I have a Wisconsin accent. Grew up in Madison."

"Piet's our mechanic," said Rose. "When you can't take a jeep to
the corner garage," she waived an arm to indicate the emptiness
around them, "someone like Piet is a necessity.

"This is Taki," said Rose indicating the Asian guy next to Piet
who wore a Laker's shirt. Taki must have been the one David heard
at the makeshift hoop while he was unpacking.

"Pleased to meet you," said Taki, rising to shake hands. So much for
stereotypes of small Asian men; David guessed he was at least six
foot three.

"Is Taki an Japanese name?" asked David.

"Sure is, though I didn't see the country myself until I was
twelve."

"Taki is our expert on ''really'' old fossils. You can ask him
anything about trilobites," said Rose.

Next was a guy that looked to be about David's size and age. "This
is Ivan, our foreigner."

Ivan responded with the mock indignation of an old joke, "I'm the
foreigner? My home in Moscow is so much closer than yours that I'm
almost a local."

Rose turned to David, "'Foreigner' is so much easier to say. He's
the only non-American. I'm sure the two of you could swap stories
about college life -- Ivan will finish with his Masters next
spring."

Rose steered her charge to the other side of Amos. "This is Chaz,
our translator with the locals."

"Howdy," said Chaz.

Piet leaned over in front of Amos, "Not only does he look like a
Texan, he ''is'' a Texan. That hat," he pointed to the Stetson Chaz
was wearing, "only comes off his head when he's asleep, and then he
uses it to shield his face."

The brown Stetson Chaz wore was a good match for his hair and
moustache, both of which were carefully trimmed. David saw that Chaz
was only a couple inches taller than himself.

"Do you spend all your time translating?" asked David.

"Nah," drawled Chaz. "I'll be out at the worksites just like
everyone else."

Rose turned to the only other woman in camp. "This is Lily, our
camp nurse."

David thought she was rather pretty, with long hair bleached by
the sun. "Hi," he said.

"Hi," she replied. David watched her look him over. Alas, it was
with the eyes of a nurse or a mother, not of someone who might think
he was handsome. "You did pack sunscreen, didn't you? Your skin
looks like it will burn to a crisp in fifteen minutes flat."

She even sounded like a mother. David looked away. "Um, no. I forgot
the sunscreen."

Lily got up from the table and scurried away. A moment later she was
back with a large bottle of sunscreen and thrust it into David's
hands. "I do ''not'' want you in my tent with a burn. Apply this
generously after breakfast and again after lunch. Every day."

About then, the last member of the team entered the tent. His hair
was white, his face had become lined, his beard was bushy, his
head and general physique were round. If he had been sitting in a
classroom instead of a tent, he would have been wearing tweed with
elbow patches. Rose said, "And this is Professor." David turned to
her to prompt her for the rest. She saw his expression, "Yup. Just
Professor, though don't believe him when he says that it's the name
on his birth certificate."

Professor winked at her than shook David's hand. "Welcome to my
team, son. I hope you have a good summer. Did anyone happen to tell
you what we're doing here?"

"My advisor only said you were doing a fossil survey. Will that
include dinosaur bones?"

"Sorry, David," said Professor. "Probably not. Not in this part of
Mongolia. Yes, we're doing a fossil survey in the hills nearby. We
will be recording the type and age of rocks and looking to see if
there actually are fossils in the rock. We have Taki on the team as
these rocks tend to be older than the dinosaur era."

Ah, well. His advisor back in Cincinnati had assured him that
working as a grunt at this site for a summer would add appropriate
luster to a resume, something about "paying the dues". Next time,
David would be in more of a position to choose a site with higher
chances of finding dinosaur bones. Always next time.

Over the next few days David settled into camp life with its lack of
privacy, barely tolerable food -- he figured out the reason for the
bottles of ketchup at every meal -- and the camaraderie amongst
fellow sufferers.

David got his first real taste of local culture when the trader
pulled his truck into the camp just after breakfast at the end of
the week. There weren't any nearby stores this far from the nearest
town, so the trader had volunteered to bring supplies to them -- at
a price, of course. He was a local that visited many of the area's
nomadic tribes as a roving general store and news service. Chaz
translated for Rose as she listed the supplied she needed, then
translated the stories the trader had to share as they sipped
coffee.

{{Separator|stars}}

David's first encounter with Jack was a mere glimpse of what Jack
could dish out. David frequently heard, "Come on, ya wimp!" or "Real
men would just do it," or "I don't know why we even bother with a
child like you." These comments came whenever David showed the
slightest hesitation about climbing rope ladders, carrying any kind
of a load, or simply getting his hands dirty.

Rose was the one David felt most comfortable around due both to the
chance to talk in that long ride from the airport and to her faint
resemblance to his Aunt Beth. After watching Jack's fourth dinner
proposal David finally got the nerve to ask, "Why is Jack so mean to
me?"

She sighed. "The way I have it figured is that Jack is obsessed with
being macho."

"That much is obvious even to me," said David. "But why?"

"You would have to ask Jack -- and asking Jack is like talking to
a brick wall. He'll only get annoyed that you asked. All I can tell
you is how you fit into it."

"How I fit in?"

"Yeah. Jack is obsessed with macho, but it was obvious to me at
first glance he'll never get there. Then he has to look at Zane
every day. Zane can embody Jack's macho ideal simply by opening his
eyes in the morning, something Jack won't ever accomplish in a
lifetime. My guess is that Zane's physique and personality just
happens to match Jack's goal. Jack has to work at it, and is
undercut by his own personality."

"So Jack hates Zane for being what Jack can't be. It makes some
sense, but I still can't see why Jack bothers."

Rose ignored the comment. "And now we come to you. What do you think
about the macho image."

"Not very much," said David. "Everyone I've known that has talked
about macho has been a bully -- usually attacking me."

"And why attack you?"

"I'm short and look young." David shook his head. "They're bullies."

"In other words, it is because they know you can't defend yourself."
She held up a hand to stop the protest that wasn't coming. "Whether
you really can or can't usually has nothing to do with it. As you
said, you look like you can't. How many of the fights after those
attacks have you won?"

"None."

"Why?"

"I wish I knew." David let out a sigh. Rose waited. "I think about
it a lot. I'm not very big or strong. I think it is wrong to fight."

"And on a macho meter, how would you rate?"

"Zero."

"How important to you is that macho meter?"

"Like I said, it isn't."

"That's why Jack hates you. You're the opposite of Zane. You want to
have nothing to do with the macho ideal and Jack doesn't understand
why you don't and thinks that you mock him in your refusal to
attempt it."

"So what do I do about it."

"Endure it. There's not a lot you can do. It is Jack's problem. I
know that understanding is supposed to bring compassion, but I'm
afraid understanding the group dynamics doesn't bring us much closer
to understanding the man. I know it is going to be a long summer for
you, but it will be for all of us, at least when dealing with Jack."

"If Jack is such a pain, why is he even here?"

"Because he's good." Rose saw the answer didn't quite satisfy David.
She sighed and looked off into the distance. "Because he can
identify fossils faster than anyone else on this team and do it with
greater accuracy. It is strange that he can put up with someone not
knowing their stuff, but not with someone that he thinks isn't doing
the work."

Part 1 * [[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 2|Part 2]]

[[Category:Story|Serving the Sentence]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
[[Category:Equine]]
{{DEFAULTSORT: Serving the Sentence }}

User:Erastus

2011-06-27T01:51:04Z

Erastus: Adding setting links, adding links to the parts of Serving the Sentence.

Welcome to my story page. I'm a gay man and some of these stories contain gay characters.

Many of these stories were lost in the Shift disk crash. I'm slowly recreating them from personal copies. Until that happens some of these links will remain stubs.

Stories on this site:

[[User:Erastus/The Cart Before the Centaur|The Cart Before the Centaur]]

This was the first story I wrote, back in 2001, as part of the
[[:Category:Passing Fad|Passing Fad]] universe. A desire to be a
centaur combined with industrial processes.

[[User:Erastus/Midair Turbulence|Midair Turbulence]]

Another story in the [[:Category:Passing Fad|Passing Fad]] universe, written in 2001. What if you were in an ultralight plane when the Event happened?

[[User:Erastus/The Pastor|The Pastor]]

This is a story in the [[:Category:Tales from the Blind Pig|Tales from the Blind Pig]] universe. It was written in 2001 shortly after my church renewed its prohibitions against homosexuality, though the tale doesn't have gay characters.

[[User:Erastus/A Most Unusual Family|A Most Unusual Family]]

A curse not completely undone affects later generations. This one was written in 2001.

[[User:Erastus/The One True Bob|The One True Bob]]

In 2001 there was a silly discussion on TSA Talk about stray side characters who get transformed in the course of a story. These characters became collectively known as Bob. About the same time I heard from a colleague, whose name is Bob, that when he was young there were several in his circle of friends named Bob. To avoid confusion each was given a number. The guy known as Bob-One called himself The One True Bob.

[[User:Erastus/The Writing Lesson|The Writing Lesson]]

Over the summer of 2001 Bill Kieffer held a couple writing contests. Alas, I haven't seen any contributions on the web from Bill lately. As part of the contest Bill said he couldn't write a transformation scene he really wanted to see. My muse suggested that Bill needed a writing lesson. This story came in second place in Bill's second contest.

[[User:Erastus/Summer Job|Summer Job]]

This is the original story in the [[:Category:Professional Animals|Professional Animals]] universe. I wrote one other story (which needs extensive rewriting before posting) and a handful of authors tried their hand as well. This story was written in 2002.

[[User:Erastus/Just the Right Shoes for This Life|Just the Right Shoes for This Life]]

What if you could become someone else? How much of a change are you willing to make? This is set in Posti's [[:Category:Walk-A-Mile|Walk-A-Mile]] universe. Written in 2002.

[[User:Erastus/The Effect of Spotted Clothes|The Effect of Spotted Clothes]]

A gay couple meet in college. One of them is from [[:Category:Barken|Barken, Texas]] and intends to return there when he graduates. Written in 2003.

[[User:Erastus/Like Father, Like Son|Like Father, Like Son]]

A young man discovers his father is a werewolf. I'm not sure this is the last chapter in the story of the father or the first chapter in the story of the son. Alas, this is all that has been written and that was back in 2003.

'''Serving the Sentence'''

This is my novel, completed in 2004. Becoming a man is hard enough but this lad had to do it while serving out a curse.

[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 1|Part 1]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 2|Part 2]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 3|Part 3]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 4|Part 4]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 5|Part 5]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 6|Part 6]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 7|Part 7]]

[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 8|Part 8]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 9|Part 9]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 10|Part 10]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 11|Part 11]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 12|Part 12]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 13|Part 13]] |
[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence - Part 14|Part 14]]

[[User:Erastus/Implementing the Cure|Implementing the Cure]]

If gender dysphoria is cured with a transgender transition what does one do with a bad case of species dysphoria, especially if the species is mythical? Written in 2005.

[[User:Erastus/On the Outside Looking|On the Outside, Looking...]]

One half of a gay couple becomes an anthropomorphic horse and the other half doesn't. This is set in Jon Buck's [[Paradise_(Setting)|Paradise]] universe and written 2008.

[[User:Erastus/Power Play|Power Play]]

A male escort meets a male client who gives him his heart's desire but then becomes stingy in how the gift is used. Written in 2010.

----

I also have stories on TSAT, the transformation ezine. Here are links to those stories.

'''Deepest Dreams''' was a winner in a contest to create a story that defied transformation story conventions. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/deepest.dreams.html here].

'''The Harness of Society''' tells the story of three juvenile delinquents taken to a reform camp when their other options fail. The camp has an unusual way to motivate its inmates. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/harness.of.society.html here].

'''A Conversation''' was recorded by a barfly about a man who gets what he wishes for and a lot more. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/conversation.html here].

'''Paint''' explains why most mages are childless. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/paint.html here].

{{author page}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Erastus}}

User:Erastus/Midair Turbulence

2011-06-24T21:09:09Z

Erastus: Restoring a story that was lost in the disk crash.

{{title|name=Midair Turbulence|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

I love flying.

I loved to take my ultralight aircraft up into the air. I loved
being alone with its motor purring behind me as I looked down on the
scenery below. I loved the freedom and the solitude.

I don't fly in that ultralight anymore.

Was it dangerous? Probably somewhat. Though the danger isn't why I
don't use the ultralight anymore. I remember the story of a child
that exclaims to an airline pilot about his job. "Isn't it scary?"
To which the pilot replies, "Not if I do it right." I worked very
hard to do it right. I took all the precautions. I didn't fly if the
weather wasn't right. I stayed on the ground if I felt ill.

Which is why that day came as such a shock.

I knew I was going to have a rough day at the office. I worked at
McKay Motors as an engineer. I had to make an important client
presentation that morning, so I thought a pre-dawn flight would be
just the thing to relax before the big day. The weather was perfect.
The wind was still. There were no clouds. The eastern sky was just a
bit lighter than overhead. The stars still twinkled. It was all
quite idyllic, just the tonic I would need to face the day.

It wasn't long before I was in the air and cruising over the town at
a half-mile up. The streets were lit up by
streetlights, forming paths through the darkness. I could see a few
cars below by their headlights. This would be the perfect way to
greet the dawn.

Just at dawn came a solo flyer's worst nightmare. I blacked out. I
had never done that before.

I woke up to see sky beyond my feet and ground above my head. My
first response was fright, not the usual cool I needed just then.

Everyone has had the experience of lying in bed and just about to
drift off when there is a thought of falling or tipping. The body
does a violent jerk. The heart thuds for a moment and the person is
wide awake again.

The fright caused my body to jerk like that. My heart thudded. I was
most definitely awake. Strangely, before I had a chance to give it
much thought, I felt a bit of wind resistance and felt myself turn
so that I was face down instead of head down. I leveled off.

Some strange thoughts quickly fought for attention.

Where was the engine noise?

Why was I face down? Ultralights have seats.

Where were the ultralight's controls?

Did I fall out? Did the safety harness break?

What was now holding me up?

I glanced toward my waist and extended my legs, which I had bent to
put my feet above me. I was still wearing my flight jumpsuit and
boots, but no sign of the ultralight. Other than no plane,
everything seemed normal in that direction.

I glanced to the right. The wing was still there -- but it seemed a
lot closer than before. Waitaminit! Why was the wing covered with
feathers? I turned my head to the left. That wing had feathers too!

I seemed to be stable as I glided over the town, so I didn't want to
do anything drastic. I carefully pulled my right glove off, making
sure I wouldn't drop it. I then carefully felt around my head. Yes,
my helmet was still in place and intact. My face felt normal and my
head didn't throb.

I reached around to feel my left shoulder. Feathers! That was
enough of a fright to make my muscles jerk again. I quickly
stabilized. I reached again. Yes, there were feathers. I could also
feel my fingers on my shoulder - but it didn't feel quite like my
shoulder. And it wasn't only because there were feathers in the way.
I felt outward along the leading edge as I turned my head. This was
indeed the wing I saw in my first glance. I felt closer to my neck.

This strange wing was attached to me! It seemed to arch over my
shoulder. I felt along it, even putting my hand into my jumpsuit,
which seemed to have a brand new hole to accommodate the wing.
I felt around the hole. It seemed to be properly tailored,
not ripped. Of course, marveling that my jumpsuit now had a carefully tailored wing opening paled in comparison to marveling that I had a wing.

I carefully took off the left glove and stuffed both gloves into a
pocket. Then I used the left hand to explore the right shoulder. I
could stick my hand between my shoulder and the wing only so far.
The wing was mostly behind my shoulder but part of it also reached
over my shoulder and seemed to attach to my chest. It was hard to
determine anything else with my jumpsuit on.

I stretched my arm out underneath the wing. It extended another
three feet beyond my fingertips. That caused a bit of turbulence, so
I quickly pulled my arm back.

I did the same with right hand at the right shoulder and arm under
the right wing. At least I had a matched pair.

I had a strange thought. Here I am flying without any visible
airplane and with wings sticking out of my back and doing a good job
of holding me aloft. Had I died during that blackout and become an
angel? I thought about that for a few moments and decided I had
insufficient data.

I had now flown beyond the edge of town. I had also lost a bit of
altitude. Could I do more than glide with these wings? I might as
well find out now that I was up here.

How do I figure out what muscles control them?

I brought my hands up to my chest, stuck my elbows out under the
wings and moved my elbows up and down. The wings certainly flapped,
but I could feel the turbulence around my arms. I stopped.

I thought for a bit about what I felt moving and tried moving just
that. The first few attempts caused my arms to move too, but soon I
could flap the wings and leave the arms still. That still didn't
feel very smooth.

I heard a flock of geese approach below me. From my viewpoint, I
watched what they did with their wings. I imitated how they twisted
the tip to slide through the air on the upstroke and to catch the
air on the downstroke. In a few minutes I had it worked out. This
was really cool! I could pretty much keep pace with the geese,
though I didn't want to lose altitude just yet to join them.

Next I learned how to steer, how to bank for a tight turn and to
just make slight adjustments for a gentle curve. I enjoyed this
immensely!

My chest, back, and wings began to feel tired. I suddenly realized
I've been up here a while. My business meeting! I glanced at my
watch. AAHHH! It was to have started 10 minutes ago!

I could fly and be there in no time!

No, that wouldn't work. All the stuff I needed for the meeting was
in my pickup truck. I banked around and flapped those wings as hard
as I could to take me back to my truck which was back in the field I
used for a runway.

The town isn't very large, maybe fifty thousand, including the army
base. One doesn't have to go very far out of town to get to fields.
Though there are working farms all around, this particular field had
not been plowed for several years. I knew the owner as a friend of a
friend. He mowed the weeds and didn't mind me using it as a runway.

I circled the field as I descended. Where was my truck? A black
truck big enough to hold the ultralight could not have been hidden
in a treeless field. Was it stolen? The truck was only a year old,
but nondescript, and insured, so I wasn't too concerned about
losing it other than the hassle of replacing it. I would be in
''serious'' trouble if my meeting materials had been stolen! There was
no truck in the field, but there was a black horse about where I had
left the truck.

A more important question than what happened to the truck. How do I
land this thing?

I came in low and lowered my legs. It didn't take much to realize I
was going way too fast for that type of landing. I couldn't move my
legs fast enough to match my current speed. Any attempt to land
would probably result in a face plant. I flapped my wings again to
gain altitude for another attempt.

So how does a bird do it?

I glided around the field until I spotted a bird. I watched it land
in a tree. Ah! Don't land like an airplane. Use wings to brake and
drop to the ground.

I came in low and slow. In the middle of the field, I cupped the
wings. I dropped all right. On my butt. With a twist to an ankle
along the way. I was lucky -- not much hurt beyond my dignity and it
appeared only the horse witnessed that. If these wing are permanent,
I'll have time to work on finesse.

The painful landing did provide the missing piece of data. I was not
dead.

I got to my feet and felt a little wobbly. A little change in arm or
wing position made me feel off balance. It took only a moment to
figure out why. I was much more top-heavy than I had been before.
Walking without stumbling would take some practice.

I inspected the ground as I walked over to the horse. There they
were, tire tracks from the truck. I followed them to where I was
sure I had parked it. The tire tracks stopped there -- on either side
of the horse. There were no tracks leading away, neither forward nor
backward. It is very difficult to drive backwards and exactly match
existing tire tracks. It's not so easy doing it forward either. I
had driven the truck to this spot. No one had driven it away. It
wasn't there. What happened to it? Towed away by helicopter?

I then realized there were hoofprints only in this small area
between the tire tracks. The horse had not walked to this spot.
Was the horse flown in as the truck was flown out?

I took a look at the horse. It was BIG! It looked strong. The coat
was black except for the white stripe down the nose and the white
long hairs on the legs that covered the hooves. I funny thought
went through my head - I have a black truck with whitewall tires and
now there is a black horse with white stockings. No, I wasn't the
idiot that thought whitewalls were just the thing on a truck.

I went up to the horse. He seemed to greet me as though we had been
old friends. He was already saddled with what looked to be fine
equipment -- not that I was a judge of that since I had never ridden
a horse before.

I now faced a dilemma. My truck was gone. I'm late for a meeting.
There is a horse in front of me that clearly belonged to someone.
That someone doesn't appear to be around here. Do I take the horse?

I took the horse.

It was a struggle getting into the saddle since the horse was so big
and I was such a novice. As soon as I picked up the reins -- though
not knowing what to do with them -- the horse started forward,
fortunately headed towards town. He moved off at a good speed,
though not at a gallop. I was how a half hour late for the meeting.
Even so, I really didn't want to go any faster.

While the horse trotted on, I opened the saddlebags. I wanted to see
if there was anything that would identify the owner. The saddlebags
were empty.

McKay Motors was on the same side of town as the field, so it didn't
take long to get there. I had no idea how to guide the horse, but it
took me straight to my parking spot. How did someone else's horse
know where my office parking spot was? That little surprise was mild
compared to the next one -- the parking lot was empty! Well, not
quite. There were a few piles of manure.

I walked over to the lobby door. A roughly printed sign said,
"Closed Indefinitely." I had never seen McKay motors closed except
for holidays. Why would it close today? There were certainly no
plans to close when I left yesterday. I would have to call the boss
later to find out what happened.

I heard some strange noise so walked around to the side of the
building. Another surprise! The lot that was supposed to contain
the completed carts was filled with horses. How did they get there
and where was our inventory?

Not much more to do here, I might as well head home. I remounted the
horse. As soon as I picked up the reins, the horse headed out in the
right direction. He knew the way to the office, he just might know
the way to the house. Weird.

McKay Motors is on the edge of town. There is a lot of "town" along
one side, fields along the other sides. In coming to the office from
my landing field, I usually saw no other cars. Between
the office and home there was usually a lot of traffic. Strange, all
the traffic was on horseback with lots more horses along the curb!
I had never seen this many horses in town before and here they were
in one block with more visible in the next block. Another piece of
my brain fired off a neuron just then -- there were no cars!

I saw a boy standing in a yard, perhaps all of 5 or 6 years old. He
was watching the horses. He seemed fascinated by them all. He looked
at me when he heard my horse approach and I could see his surprise.
He ran over to me. The horse obliged by stopping. The boy called
out, "Hi Mister Angel!"

"Hello," I replied. "You think I look like an angel?"

"Yeah!" he said. He had a big grin. "You look just like the angel we
had on the top of our Christmas tree! My mommy says angels are good
people and everybody had their own angel to keep them out of
trouble. She says I have one too! My angel must not watch me much.
I still get into trouble. Are you somebody's angel?"

"I'm not really an angel," I said. I'm a person, just like you."

"Aww, you're teasing me. People don't have wings! Only angels have
wings."

I realized there was no sense in arguing with the wisdom of a child.

"Well, if I'm a guardian angel, I had better find my person." I
waived goodbye and shook the reins. The boy waived back.

I went back to pondering the lack of cars and the abundance of
horses and managed to do that without interruption for a few blocks.
Riding a horse was an advantage. The horse apparently knew the way,
even if it wasn't mine, and wouldn't hit anything. I could just
enjoy the ride. The disadvantage was that it was a much longer ride.

I saw a guy watching me intently from the front porch of a house. As
I got closer, he stepped inside for a moment, then reappeared,
casually leaning a rifle against the door behind him. "Don't come
any closer," he called out. "You aren't taking my wife just yet."

I jerked back on the reins and the horse stopped at what was
probably the edge of his property. "I don't intend to ever take your
wife," I said.

"Don't mock me!" His hand went back to the gun. "The Angel of Death
always comes. My wife has been sick for a long time, but she is not
ready for you. She isn't that sick. Now get out of here!"

Again, I didn't dare argue, though I did wonder that he thought he
could kill the Angel of Death. I pulled the reins to the side and
spoke to the horse. Thankfully the horse obliged, and I went back up
the street. I guided the horse around the block through voice and
reins as best I was able. Soon the horse seemed to pick up the route
again on his own.

I was approaching my home street and recognized a few faces. One or
two even called me by name and commented on my wings.

I passed the church near my corner, one that was way too
conservative for my tastes, though I had met the pastor a few times.
The pastor, a Reverend Hawke, came out to me, shouting as he walked.
"The end of the world is at hand! Even now Gabriel rides before you!
Repent! Repent before Gabriel blows his trumpet! Repent and be
saved! You can still get into Heaven if you repent before the
trumpet sounds!"

A commotion like that will draw a crowd. The horse had stopped as
the crowd gathered. The pastor reached me and grabbed onto the
bridle. He now spoke to me as he bowed low. "Welcome Gabriel. I pray
you find me and my flock worthy of heaven."

I stared at him for a few moments, dumbfounded. "I'm sorry to
disappoint you but I'm not the angel Gabriel. I'm only Gary Bell. I
live in a house down the street." I pointed. "We've even met a few
times. I've only had these wings since dawn when I fell out of my
ultralight plane."

He looked at with great respect. "I'm sorry sir Gabriel. My ears
must be playing tricks on me. It sounded like you first denied, then
confirmed you were Gabriel. Please forgive my mortal weaknesses and
make me fit for Heaven." He bowed low again. "I stand ready to
serve."

I glanced around at the crowd. Most of the expressions were of
bemusement. If Reverend Hawke wanted to play the idiot,
that was fine with them.

I decided I would have to play the part, even if just a little bit.
"I am sure you lead your flock well. Please release my horse. I have
to practice my trumpet playing." He let go of the bridle as if
burned by it. The crowd parted as I flipped the reins.

I made the rest of the way home without further incident. I parked
the horse in the driveway. I didn't have the remote for the garage
door opener. That was in the missing truck. I went through the front
door and opened the garage from the inside. Once the door was up,
the horse walked in, stopping where I normally parked the truck.

A horse that I have never seen before knowing my parking spot and
my house was just too weird.

Once inside, I called Mr. McKay. As soon as he answered I said, "Mr.
McKay, this is Gary Bell. I'm sorry, but I lost the materials for
today's meeting."

"It won't matter," he said. He sounded weary.

"What do you mean it won't matter?" I said.

"You don't know?"

"Well," I said, "I saw that the plant was closed by the time I got
there today. I lost track of time during my morning flight." Mr.
McKay knew of my fondness for my ultralight.

Mr. McKay sighed. I could almost hear him thinking
''I'm dealing with an idiot.'' He said, "Where were you at dawn?"

"I apparently blacked out at dawn, fell out of my ultralight, and
somehow sprouted wings. I lost track of time because I was trying
them out."

"Interesting! And what have you noticed since then?" he prompted.

"There are a lot of horses and don't seem to be any cars. I can't
find my truck. I rode back into town on a horse that was grazing
where my truck was parked."

"That horse didn't have a radio. You haven't heard the news
reports." He was merely stating the obvious.

"No sir. And I just got home."

He sighed again. "It looks like you were caught in whatever it was
that destroyed my business." Destroyed? "At dawn, all of the
finished carts were turned into horses. Jackson was driving one out
to the inventory lot and became a centaur. Eric, that fool, hopped
into a cart as we made it operational to see if whatever it was that
did it was a one time event. He's a centaur now too."

Centaurs? Wow!

He went on. "It appears that whatever it was turned all cars into
horses and apparently combined you with your ultralight."

"I'm not sure I understand that last part," I said.

"You didn't fall out of it. The ultralight is now a part of you."

Oh.

He said, "So there is no need to be a vehicle company if all the
vehicles we build turns into horses. That's why I closed the plant.
I don't know if I can ever reopen. That fool boy of mine thinks we
can make money by turning willing people into centaurs. You can be
sure I put a stop to that nonsense real quick!"

I couldn't tell him what I was thinking just then, so I said
nothing. The silence dragged on for a moment.

Mr. McKay said, "I think I know what happened to your meeting
presentation stuff. You didn't lose it. They are now a part of the
horse." He paused for a moment. "Don't worry about it. Those ideas
won't be any good now anyway."

We said some other pleasantries and our goodbyes and hung up.

It was time to see what I had become. The first thing was to get out
of my jumpsuit. I was amazed it had just the right zippers near the
new wing holes so that the back would separate and I could get the
jumpsuit off without pulling it over the wings. The t-shirt under
the jumpsuit had strategically place snaps so that it could be
removed the same way. I also removed my shoes, socks, pants, and
briefs then went into the bathroom to stand before the large mirror.

What I saw in the mirror looked very much like a Renaissance
painting of an angel.

The wings stood above my shoulders similar to an angel, but also
arched over my shoulders. The wings connected in front as another
collarbone or like the part of a cape that would be fastened at the
neck. The wings rose out of my chest muscles, which were massive!
The chest itself was still very much covered with human skin and the
expected amount of hair.

I turned sideways to see a bit of my back. The wings met along my
spine from the base of my neck halfway to my waist. The muscles
within them appeared to bulge. The skin on my back under the wings
looked to be about the same as before. From the joint above my head,
the wings hung nearly to the floor. There was no fear of kicking
them as I walked as the part that hung down was more to the side.

I stretched out both my arms and wings. I quickly saw I couldn't do
that inside the bathroom, so moved to the larger bedroom. My wings
did indeed stretch three feet beyond my fingertips on either side.
They barely fit in the bedroom and the bedroom was fourteen feet
long.

I extended a wing forward -- and had to move the arm forward as well
to get it out of the way. I ran the other hand through the feathers,
noticing the feel of feathers in my fingers and examining several
feathers in detail. The feathers were firm and a glistening white,
almost iridescent.

I examined the rest of my body closely. I appeared to be the same
height as before, but checked it just to be sure. My waist was a lot
smaller and my legs and arms thinner. The image of a stork came to
mind. Apparently, I was now built for the air, not the ground.

The hair on the top of my head (and on the rest of my body) was the
same ordinary brown as before. There was also enough beard stubble
that I would have to shave in the morning.

A wild thought popped into my head just then. Wouldn't an angel look
more authentic with a beard rather than clean shaven?

I wanted to see how much these wings weighed, so stepped on the
scale. I was one quarter lighter than before, not heavier!

Say hello to Gary Bell, angel.

It was now time for lunch. I was hungry after all that exercise of
flying. When I sat down to eat it, I realized chairs with backs were
not good. Leaning against my wings was not comfortable. It appeared
I would be sitting on stools for the rest of my life.

As an engineer, I was curious about the structure of the wings and
how they fit around my arms and into my chest. After lunch I made an
appointment with my doctor, in spite of my fears of being held
captive as a research specimen.

The only clothing that fit around my wings were the jumpsuit and
shirt I had worn when I was changed. I would be able to buy pants
and shoes off the rack (thought the pants had a much smaller waist
size) but I wasn't going to be able to buy any shirts or jackets
that way. The weather and my modesty dictated that I shouldn't have
a bare chest. It was time to see a tailor. He was able to use my
jumpsuit and shirt as a model to make a new wardrobe. I gave all
my old clothes to charity and gave the tailor a lot of money.

It was only two days until I saw the doctor, but by then he had seen
Eric McKay and Jackson. He was intrigued with my wings, but he
had gotten over the surprise.

The doctor did x-rays, an MRI, and blood tests. He checked my
nervous system and my strength, including the strength of my wings.
We talked about his findings.

The x-rays and MRI showed that my chest and back had an extra layer
of muscle. The outer layer controlled my wings, the inner layer
controlled my arms. My leg and arm muscles were not at all as strong
as they had been. In contrast, my wing muscles were a lot stronger
than my arms had ever been.

My bones were hollow in the manner of birds. I could have lots of
problems with broken bones.

A DNA test showed that I was no longer human. If I successfully
mated with a human my offspring would probably have wings but would
be sterile in the manner of a mule.

I grew up in the church, meaning my parents made sure I rarely
missed a Sunday. I think I learned all its lessons well. I even took
a Bible course or two in college. While I had memorized many verses
and had read most of it I was no Bible-thumper. I couldn't take it
literally because of what I knew from science. Don't get me wrong. I
considered myself a believer, but definitely not a literalist.

I had joined this particular church when I moved to town several
years ago. That had given the other members a chance to know me and
my goofy sense of humor. They marveled over my wings, but knew me
too well to even consider I had become a literal messenger of God.
I was certainly not Gabriel to them. The thought of it made them
laugh. I was the same Gary Bell they had known who just happened to
end up with a pair of wings. I appreciated that bit of normalcy. The
rest of the world had become strange enough.

I was quite annoyed when the service started the next Sunday and our
regular, liberal minded pastor announced the guest preacher was
Reverend Hawke.

When the sermon began, Hawke launched into his rantings. "I see that
Gabriel sits among us today. This is a sure sign that the end is
near at hand! It is a sure sign this congregation is called to
repentance! The time left is surely only a matter of days. You must
get your lives in order! You must confess all of your vile sins to
the Lord! You must follow the straight and narrow!"

He soon launched into his definition of the straight and narrow. I
could see from the faces around me how well that was being received.
Calla, the single mother, was looking daggers at the preacher as she
couldn't stay home with her daughter even if she wanted to. Irene,
the divorcee, held a tissue to her nose as she refused to stay with
an abusive husband and had gotten a divorce. Jim and Pete, more
married than most couples, shook their heads. Steve, the biology
teacher, had a grimace on his face. A few others rolled their eyes
thinking, "Here we go again."

This guy was needlessly torturing my friends! I realized with this
particular pastor I could do something. I flipped through my Bible
and found the passage I wanted. It was in the book of Matthew, the
23rd chapter. Carrying the open Bible, I stood and walked towards
the pulpit.

Reverend Hawke noticed me immediately when I stood. He realized what
I was doing by the time I had taken a step. He stopped in
mid-sentence to say, "I see Gabriel wants to speak to you himself.
Pray that he hasn't chosen this moment to sound his trumpet!" Hawke
bowed low as I approached the pulpit and stepped aside. I could hear
a few in the congregation chuckle at the man's actions.

"Woe unto you teachers of the law! Hypocrites!" I said when
I reached the pulpit. "You tie up heavy loads and place them on men's shoulders, but you yourselves are not willing to lift a finger to move them!"

I closed the Bible and turned to him. "If I blow my trumpet today,
it will be for you and you alone! You are distorting the Lord's
message for your own purposes, so that you can be master over others. You insist that everyone follows rules the Lord never

intended. You declare morality more important than love.
You declare that others must have a faith like yours or their faith is a sham. You shut away the Lord's diverse world. You are forcing out those the Lord loves. You have turned his message of love into one of hate. If I blow my trumpet today, it won't be to take you to heaven!"

I stopped and heard a few people quietly exclaim, "Amen!".

Hawke was visibly quaking now. I turned to the congregation and
suddenly felt very self-conscious. I felt my face burn. I returned
to my stool. I didn't realize I was such a talker.

Hawke just stood there.

Our own pastor led Hawke out the door then returned a few moments
later alone. He went to the pulpit. "Reverend Hawke is resting now.
It appears he will live through his fright." He paused for a moment.
"I want to apologize for letting our guest convince me to let him
speak to you today. He was so insistent that I thought it easier to
let him speak than to put up with his verbal tactics. I'm sorry I
didn't stand up to him and sorry for what he put you through. I want
to thank our resident angel for doing what I could not."

Life settled back into a routine after that, though quite different
than before.

Reverend Hawke mellowed a lot. He still thought of me as Gabriel
which gave me a chance to influence his intolerant theology. I
talked to my own pastor a lot so that I did not abuse the privilege.

A few months after the EVENT, I managed to get a condo on the top
floor of the tallest building in town -- though that is all of seven
stories. It severely stretched the budget but it has been worth it
to get such a nice perch to take off from. The seller had even cut
the price once he saw how appropriate it was for me.

With my engineering background it wasn't long before I did a
complete analysis of my wings. I was surprised my analysis showed my
wings were inadequate to get me off the ground! This was a much more
thorough analysis than the famous "bumblebees can't fly" report.
Eric McKay reminded me that magic is involved. The same magic that
created me must be what allows me to fly.

I still do some engineering work for McKay Motors, now Centaur
Industries. On the day of the EVENT the ultralight company found
their inventory has suddenly changed to condors and quickly closed.
I had to recreate the plans for a "working" ultralight corresponding
to the stripped down carts they used to create centaurs.

I married Janet, a fine woman who changed while sitting in the
ultralight I created while holding an egg of the Eastern Blue Jay.
Her wings have a beautiful pattern of blue, white, and black. In spite of the size of the bird that colored her wings, they are almost as
large as mine and certainly as functional. Nearly everything in her
new wardrobe is a matching shade of blue.

My son Jason was born two year later. Janet was disappointed that
the last half of the pregnancy kept her grounded. Not long after he
learned to talk, other kids teased him about his wings, which have
the same bright blue pattern as his mother's. They called him "jay"
as a taunt. Much to our chagrin, he named himself Jay. He is now
learning to use his wings and progressing quite well.

I'm no longer a full time employee at Centaur Industries. I have
another job that few others can do. I spend a good deal of time
flying over our town. I serve as eyes in the sky. I can do all sorts
of things that policemen in helicopters used to do back when we had
helicopters. A town does need its guardian angel.

[[Category:Story|Midair Turbulence]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
[[Category:Mythical]]
[[Category:Passing Fad]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Midair Turbulence}}

User:Erastus/The Cart Before the Centaur

2011-05-31T21:07:29Z

Erastus: Corrected spelling.

{{title|name=
The Cart Before the Centaur|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

Life is now different in a lot of ways than it was 18 months ago.
Since cars became horses, people don't travel as far. When we order
goods from a catalog, overnight shipment has became weeks. There
aren't planes anymore either. Even computers were eventually
replaced with something simpler.

Back before the telegraph, ideas could only move as fast as a horse.
Now that so much technology had become something else, the spread
of ideas had slowed a bit, though the still working radios and
phones allow ideas to spread faster than a horse. Long distance news
tends to be a bit old. But even old news can grab one's attention.

This is the article that did it:

::Scientists reported today that the milkmen, bovitaurs
::created by the EVENT, have proven to breed true. These
::milkmen were caught in their electric delivery carts
::when the EVENT happened and became creatures that are
::human from the waist up joined to cows from the shoulder
::down. Scientists theorize that since the carts were
::carrying milk, the men's bovine part became female.

::Their wives adapted to this problem by stepping into a
::nearly completed cart that held vials of bull semen and
::allowing someone else complete the cart and triggering
::the change. They remained female above and became male
::below.

::The couples were able to mate and conceive. The first
::of the babies was born yesterday to Phil and Marie at St.
::Catherine Hospital and proved to be a bovitaur like its
::parents. It is confusing to know what pronouns to use as
::the child appears to be human male and bovine female, just
::like the original milkman.

The story was short, but it was enough. I realized a childhood
dream was in my grasp. I talked to my wife, showing her the
article. She saw the twinkle in my eye. She said I could pursue it
if I wanted, but she wasn't convinced yet.

What I've always wanted was to be a centaur, a graceful melding of
human and horse. I've collected dozens of images of centaurs, a
hobby I've indulged in over the years. If these carts can use the
EVENT magic to make their occupants into bovitaurs, it should also
be possible to make me into a centaur.

My wife Rose and I are still young. We have no children - yet. I
would love to have my children grow up as centaurs. I also love my
wife. I would not do this without her.

I heard of other people becoming centaurs because of the EVENT,
but that had looked to be a one-time artifact of the EVENT. But this
news article indicated that my dream was a possibility. The company
that made the carts was still around and at least producing the
parts. Or at least they were at the time the milkmen's wives made
the change.

I had to do a lot of digging to find the name of the company and
get their phone number. The name had been omitted from the news
article. With number in hand, I called.

"Centaur Industries. May I help you?" The voice was a sweet female.

"Uhh, I seem to have dialed the wrong number. I dialed
313-555-8723."

"Yes, you reached that number."

"Uhh, I was expecting to talk to someone from McKay Motor Company."

"That is our old name, sir. How may I help you?"

"I saw the newspaper article about the milkmen and their wives --"

"You'll want to speak to a representative," she interrupted. "I'll
connect you."

They didn't leave you in hold limbo here. A few clicks later and I
heard a rich male voice. "Jackson here. How may I help you?"

"Uhh." Why so hesitant? "I saw an article about milkmen --"

"And you want to do it too."

"Yeah! Well, not exactly. I want to be a centaur, not a bovitaur."

"We can help you with that too. We've worked with a variety of
'taurs."

"So what do I do?"

"Are you married or otherwise in a relationship?"

"Yes, I'm married"

"What does your wife think of centaurs?"

"She's uncertain, but willing to explore the idea."

"That's good. The first step is for me and my wife to pay you a
visit to present the whole procedure in detail. This isn't a
decision you want to take lightly. The earliest I can come is next
month. It will take a while to get there as I'll have to hoof it."

We worked out my location and travel time (no more jumping on a
plane), agreed to meet for lunch at my house with Jackson bringing
the food, then said goodbye. He assured me it would be easy to spot
him.

{{Separator|stars}}

Indeed it was easy to spot him. As the appointed hour approached, I
heard a commotion outside. I poked my head out the door to see what
was going on. I quickly called my wife to see too. What we saw was
a pair of centaurs, one male and one female, walking down the street
towards us. Hoofing it, indeed. Each was pulling a wagon covered by
a tarpaulin. The cover on his wagon carefully covered its contents.
The cover on hers seemed to create a tent - well fastened, but
letting the breeze blow through. The pair had attracted a lot of
attention, most good, some not so friendly. Both endured the crowd
with quiet dignity.

The male was a huge creature. The lower part was a draft horse. I
saw that I would have to study breeds in more detail if I wanted
to choose one for myself. I wondered if I could choose. The coat
was a dark blond (were those the right words?) with shaggy pale
blond socks (definitely a ''lot'' to learn). The color of the fur
matched the thick, close cropped hair of his beard and on his head.
He wore a jacket that came down to the top the forelegs in front. I
could see the chest muscles bulging underneath. The cap on the top
of his head had a stylized centaur logo, as did the side of the
wagon.

The female appeared to be more of a racer, definitely built for
speed rather than power, and a little shorter. Her fur was blond
(tan?) with black stockings. Her coat matched the blond hair on her
head. She wore a jacket to match her partner, though the curves under it were obvious and ample.

Both of them were gorgeous creatures! I had lots of drawings and
composite photos of centaurs, but none matched the reality in front
of me. I glanced at my wife. She had a look of awe on her face. I
had the feeling she could be easily convinced to go through with it.

You would think that if I was so interested in centaurs, I would
know all the proper terms for horses. Amazingly, that is not true.
I guess I was fascinated with the centaur form, not the horse, and
since the centaur was unattainable, there wasn't much need to learn
all the details. That had now changed.

The centaurs stopped in front of our house. "Are you Nate and Rose
Greenslade?" We nodded, a bit too overwhelmed to say anything. "I'm
Jackson. We talked on the phone." I nodded again. "This is my wife
Jenny." By this point, we had walked down to the curb and shook
their hands. Jackson went on, "We have a lot to talk about so
perhaps we should get started. I doubt we would fit comfortably in
your house, perhaps we can meet in your back yard?"

Jackson and Jenny maneuvered their wagons into my little used
driveway. Rose moved to help Jenny unpack the lunch and guide her to
the back yard. That left me to encounter the crowd on my own. I
surely didn't have the intimidation factor of the centaurs. Many
voices expressed their awe, but one stuck out. "What are you doing
welcoming those demons into our town!" Jackson came over just then
and the voice's owner fled.

The less timid took a moment to talk to Jackson, asking him where he
was born (Toledo, Ohio), was he born that way (no), how did he get
that way (the EVENT), does he like being a centaur (yes). Some even
ventured to touch his flanks, then began to pet him. He apparently
had been in crowds before and let them get used to him. I admired
his public relations skills.

After several minutes, we did move to the back yard. Jenny and Rose
had the lunch set up in the middle of the yard, avoiding the awning
we usually favored. It was just too low.

Jackson spoke. "Before you go through with becoming a centaur, there
are a lot of things for you to think about. It will be a major
disruption to your life and in good conscience, we can't let you go
through with it before you know what you are getting into, not to
mention the possibility of lawsuits."

The meal happened to be vegetarian, and delicious, though I like
meat with my meal. While we ate, Jackson told his story.

"Before the EVENT, I was an all-around handyman at McKay Motors. I
was primarily a junior salesman, but I helped out in any way I was
needed." That explained his PR skills. "I happened to be helping out
on the assembly line, about to finish the night shift when the
EVENT happened. My job that night was to drive the completed
three wheeled electric delivery carts from the last station of the
assembly line out to the shipping lot.

{{Separator|stars}}

Jackson's story.

"This one is done!" Dave shouted. I hopped in and turned the key.
The electric motor started right up. I had been doing this for
several hours now. Drive the cart out to the lot, park it, and walk
back in time to get the next one. The operation wasn't like an
automobile assembly line that had a car completed every thirty
seconds. This was more like one every 10 minutes. The demand for
electric carts isn't quite the same as for cars.

I got as far as the big doors when I suddenly felt dizzy and blacked
out. When I awoke, I found I had done a face plant on the cement
floor. I later felt grateful I hadn't gotten out to the gravel of
the lot. My face had a few scratches, especially my nose, which
stung a bit and felt bruised. The rest of me just didn't feel right.

I noticed the room was quiet. Someone must have hit the emergency
shutoff for the line. I lay there and tried to sort out the
sensations. My dizziness had passed, so that wasn't it. I pushed up
with my hands and tried to draw my knee, which didn't seem to
provide the right sensations. As strong as I was, doing a pushup
should have been a piece of cake. I was rather confused when it
wasn't.

About then Dave said, "Uh, Jackson, just stay still for a moment.
This is really weird. We have to unhook this wagon to get you
untangled." What wagon? I wondered. From my face down position, I
couldn't see much and didn't want to move much if Dave thought it
was a bad idea. "Jackson, uhh, it seems you somehow got blended with
a horse."

"Dave, I can do without the nonsense right now," I said.

"It isn't nonsense," he protested.

Eric McKay, the owner's son came up. Eric was finishing up his
schooling in engineering and working in the plant to get a feel for
the engineering problems. We didn't think he would take over from
his father. More likely, he would end up running the engineering
department. This might be a lot to say for someone who was still in
school, but in Eric's case it looked likely. Eric's said, "Cool! A
centaur! I've always thought they were so neat!" Centaur?

The factory had gotten so quiet that I could hear some faint noises
of perhaps cloth against cloth. I felt something like a big belt
being loosened from around me, but it didn't seem to be in right
place to be me. It certainly didn't feel like the right place for my
waist and seemed to be more than a simple belt. Then I heard
squeaking wheels moving a short distance away.

Dave again, "Jackson, why don't we roll you onto your side. At least
you can see a bit more clearly what is going on around here." My
first attempt didn't seem to work right, something kept getting in
the way. Dave and Eric and some other guys helped by moving my legs
out of the way (though they didn't quite feel like my legs) and a
second attempt worked. I ended up with my right shoulder against the
floor.

Dave was right. I seemed to have been blended with a horse! My work
jacket was where it should be as I glanced down at my chest, but my
pants were not. Instead, there was what appeared to be horse forelegs.
"I wish I had a camera for that expression," said Dave. I looked at
one leg and thought of moving it. It moved! I reached down and
touched it. My hand felt fur and the skin below the fur felt
fingers! I craned my neck around. There was a huge horse body
attached! My brain was having a hard time dealing with this.

"I now know exactly what 'hung like a horse' means," said Dave. To
have all that on display (if indeed it was me) was mighty
embarrassing! Dave and Eric checked for anything broken by rubbing
their hands along each leg. The back legs and tail (I had a tail!)
had moved so the backbone must be OK. My mind had trouble sorting
out what the sensations of hands on ''my'' fur meant.

Dave and Eric helped me to stand. It was a slow process. Eric
directed the operation by indicating which leg had to bend in which
manner. He and Dave then touched and guided that leg to give my poor
brain and idea of what muscles needed to be moved. I rarely got it
right the first time. Fold up left rear. Fold up right rear. Do the
same for the front. Roll so the legs are under the body. Straighten
and push up with front legs. Do the same with the rear. I was now
breathing heavily, more from the concentration than the exertion. I
didn't dare take a step with any leg for fear of collapsing in a
heap.

I was now in the center of a rather large crowd. Workers will always
take advantage of a stopped line and most people are curious. There
was a noticeable gasp as I got onto my hooves. I glanced at the crowd
-- and realized I could see way over everyone's head! The tallest one
came up to my chest, most of the rest came up to a lot lower than
that. I was a ''lot'' taller than I had been!

"Thanks guys," I said, "but I feel OK now." Well, not exactly OK.
In fact, definitely not! But I didn't feel sick, and I didn't hurt.
Well, except for the nose. "Shouldn't you get back to work?"

"No," said Dave. "Take a look." I turned to look down the assembly
line. There were nine horses standing there, each harnessed to a
wagon. I realized that each cart that had been complete enough to
move under its own power had been replaced by a horse and wagon. The
rest of the line still had unfinished electric carts.

Dave said, "Just after you drove that last one away, I turned my
attention to the next one. It started shimmering and rippling, and
soon reformed into a horse and wagon. I looked down the line and
saw a few more horses and the last few carts shimmering. I turned
to see the cart you were in do the same. Whatever changed our
carts into horses also changed you. You just had the disadvantage
of doing it at ten miles an hour. That sent you sprawling."

I looked at the wagon near me, the one apparently created when I was
transformed. It was a little two wheeled thing made of an aluminum
frame and a fiberglass box - quite similar to the cart it came from.
There were two aluminum poles extending forward from the sides.
Draped over the side of the box was the harness that had evidently
been around me. The harness looked to be made out of nylon, similar
to the straps of a backpack.

Mr. McKay came in through the big doors with Snyder, the parking lot
security guard, and Jennifer, his "Administrative Assistant", behind
him. You could hear the capitals when she used the title. He saw me
and his eyes bugged out. "Jackson?"

"Yep, that's me," I said. He stared. I continued, "I was
inside one of our carts when it suddenly decided to be a horse
instead."

That brought him back to his task. "Snyder tells me that all the
cars and trucks in our employee parking lot have also decided to be
horses."

He was interrupted with a shout, "My Corvette!" A man dashed for the
door. On factory pay, that Corvette must have cost him dearly.

Mr. McKay continued once the man had left. "On the way here, I
passed the shipping lot. All of our product has made the same
decision, though each of those horses was harnessed to a wagon. I
have no idea what we are going to do with all those horses. And here
are more at the end of the line." Mr. McKay scratched his chin for a
moment and studied the horses in front of him.

The boss turned back to me and looked me over. "Well, Jackson, all
this happened in the line of duty. I'll get insurance to help you
out with whatever you need to help you live."

He thinks this is permanent? I hope not!

Mr. McKay, with Eric in tow, walked down the assembly line past the
horses to the last almost-working cart. "Sam, let's see if I'm
ruined. Let's make this cart operational." Sam made the last few
connections to the motor. Just as he finished, I saw Eric jump into
the cart. I yelled at him, as did his father and others, but he just
grinned through the windshield at me as the cart started to shimmer
and ripple. No one dared stick an arm into the shimmer to attempt to
pull Eric out. Moments later, there stood a second centaur. His
one-piece overalls abruptly ended with a neat seam at the waist.
The fur below was a riotous mix of white and red patches.

Eric awoke to Mr. McKay berating him for being so stupid. Eric
looked down and grinned. I realized what he had done. Eric ''wanted''
to be a centaur and took advantage of the opportunity. The whole
time Mr. McKay ranted (and very little of it is repeatable in polite
company), Eric just grinned and moved his hands over the fur just
below his overalls.

I'm sure the grin infuriated the father as it took a while for the
ranting to end. Mr. McKay turned to stomp off. Eric said, "But
Father, this will save your company!"

Mr. McKay stopped. He turned not to his son, but to the surrounding
crowd of workers. He paused for a moment before speaking. "I'm not
sure what happened here this morning. I have no idea if it is
temporary or permanent. All I know is that completed carts become
horses or turn an occupant into a freak. At the moment, I don't dare
restart the assembly line. I don't know what that will do to the
company, surely nothing good. As of this moment, you are all on
sabbatical. I don't know how long I can pay you. I will announce a
plant reopening if it ever becomes possible. Good luck with the
horses that have replaced your cars. Foremen, please begin vacation
shutdown."

Mr. McKay turned around and stood there. I could see a tear building
in his eye. The old man had shown many times how much he cared for
us and I'm sure the tears were because a couple hundred families would
soon lose paychecks.

The workers took that as a sign to leave. I got some "interesting"
expressions cast in my direction as the men passed me, which they
did at respectful distance. I'm sure Eric received some too. I don't think
Eric paid any attention to them. He had an exasperated expression on
his face as he stared at his father's back. I saw a few tears
finally escape the father's eyes. Most of the footsteps faded after
five minutes as did the sound of timecards being punched. The foreman
began to secure things and to unfasten the wagons and lead the
horses away.

I didn't go anywhere as I wasn't sure I had anywhere to go, not to
mention feeling unsure about walking. I had serious doubts about
fitting in the stairs up to my tiny second floor apartment.

Finally Eric spoke to his father's back. "Dad, we can reopen, even
if the world doesn't come back to normal. I doubt Jackson and I are
the only casualties of whatever it is that happened. We can retool
to make things that centaurs would need. I'm just the person to help
design such things! I also think there are lots of people that would
jump at the chance to become centaurs. We could have them step into
a cart as we finished it."

"NO!" shouted Mr. McKay, wheeling around. "I will not be responsible
for turning people into freaks!" He took a deep breath. "I know you
have had a fascination with centaurs since you were a small boy. The
decorations in your room show that clearly as do the hours you spend
talking to your Internet friends. Well, you have your wish." He most
certainly did. "But it isn't my wish for you. I would not have
wished for you to be a freak. I won't be responsible for any others
becoming freaks."

"But Dad, just let me ask those Internet friends if they think
centaurs are freaks and if they would buy a cart to become one."

"I said no. And you are not contacting your friends. Your computer
will stay in your room and I'm sure you won't fit up the stairs
and around the landing to get to it." This time he did stomp off.

Eric had an expression of defeat and steely resolve. This could get
interesting.

In the short term, now what? I was feeling tired and very hungry.
Food and sleep were rising pretty high on my personal agenda. Come
to think of it, even if I could get to my apartment, the keys had
been in my pants pocket. I didn't have those pants anymore. Perhaps
I should rephrase that. I am those pants. I'm also that electric
cart and now half horse. This was getting to be too much to think
about while tired and hungry.

The food problem was solved for the moment when Jennifer returned.
She was carrying several boxes of instant oatmeal and a couple bags
of carrots. She went into the break room and came back with the hot
water urn. As she made oatmeal she said, "This may not seem like a
great meal before sleep. I'm guessing that you digestive system may
be more horse than human, so I brought food that a horse might eat.
Just to be on the safe side, you probably should eat vegetarian for
a while before reintroducing meats and non 'horse' foods."

Eric and I ate -- nearly all Jennifer brought -- while she studied us. Her
expression was totally unreadable.

It might have been time for the rest of the world to come to work,
but we had been working all night. Jennifer got some blankets from
Mr. McKay's office where he kept a cot. Eric introduced me to
walking on four feet instead of two. It turned out to be easier than
I expected. Some adaptation of the brain must have come along with
the change. Eric guided me to the grassy field behind the plant
where we bedded down on the ground. We were able to use our caps as
eyeshades from the morning sun. We slept soundly.

{{Separator|stars}}

I woke up to a sore right shoulder. I tried rolling over to relieve
the ache. That didn't work at all! I was suddenly wide awake. I
wasn't in my bed or my apartment. I was lying under a blanket on the
lawn with my hat pulled down to keep what was now mid afternoon sun
out of my eyes. It all came back now. I couldn't roll over as I
didn't have the simple human shape anymore. Time to start in on the
life of a freak.

I must have made a face as Eric said, "I see you're awake and
feeling grumpy. Welcome back to the real world. After some food, I
have some ideas to help with that mood."

With Eric's guidance, I got onto my hooves, then rubbed my sore
shoulder.

Eric said, "I only woke up about 15 minutes ago. Jennifer was just
arriving with our food. I asked her to get some things from my office
and leave us alone for a while. She'll be back later."

Jennifer had provided more oatmeal and carrots for our "breakfast".
I could get real tired of that, even with a variety of oatmeal
flavors.

In between mouthfuls, Eric said, "I have no idea if our current
shape is permanent. We might as well assume that it is." He had a
bit of a smile that said he would prefer that permanence. "We'll
have to get used to our new selves so we can deal with permanence if
that is the case." My grumpy mood continued and we ate in silence
until the oatmeal was gone.

"Come with me," Eric said. He led me into the main office lobby and
its mirrored wall. The desks and chairs looked a lot lower than they
used to. "It is time to introduce you to the new Jackson. We
approached the mirror, standing at an angle.

"Lets start at the top," he said. I took off my cap. And stared. I
didn't have a bald spot anymore! I'm not yet thirty, but I had
started serious balding at 22. The hair was now quite dense. The
color was no longer dark brown, but somewhere between dark blond and
red. The hair just above the center of my forehead was a pale blond,
almost white. I wondered about that. My eyebrows were the same new
color as my hair. I ran my fingers through it and tugged on it a
bit. It was definitely mine.

My eyes got as far as my cheeks before stopping again. That was
quite a five o'clock shadow! That was saying a lot since it was
slightly lighter as what was on the top of my head. I rubbed my
fingers over the stubble. It didn't seem any longer than it should
have for not shaving for 24 hours, but it was definitely more dense
and the bare area on the front of my chin had filled in. The rest of
my face looked the same as before.

I looked at Eric. The hair on his head had been blond, but was now
the same dark red of his fur. He definitely could use a shave too. I
had never before seen a hint of stubble on his chin, and I didn't
think that was because he shaved carefully. He rubbed fingers over
the stubble and with an amazed tone said, "I do believe I'll give up
shaving. I'm not interested in trying to work my way through this
every morning." I decided then to do the same.

"Onward," said Eric. He removed what had been the top half of his
overalls as well as the shirt underneath. I took off my company work
jacket and my shirt. The familiar muscular chest and arms had more
hair on them than before. That hair had also changed from brown to
dark blond. I ran my fingers through it. The hair was about the same
length as before, there was just a lot more of it. It also extended
all the way down my abdomen. My eyes and hands worked their way
down my torso, my fingers sliding through the hair. There was a
sudden change from skin with hair to fur.

I glanced at Eric to see he was watching me. He said, "There is a
question running through my brain. Would you please twist your
shoulders away from me?" I was puzzled, but did so. "That answers
it. You don't have a mane, just normal body hair." As I turned back,
he twisted his shoulders. "Do I have one?"

His back appeared to be normal human skin. "Sorry, no mane," I said.

Eric said, "Though we may be the first centaurs, I've talked to
people that have tried to define centaur body parts. A favored term
for where the fur begins is the 'blend'. Above the blend is the
trunk. Behind it is the barrel."

I could feel that the line of the blend went from just above where
my human butt had been, around the sides above where my hips had
been, then down around and under my abdominal muscles. The bare skin
extended lower in front than at the sides or in back. The abdominal
muscles stood out as before, the skin just as firm.

I moved my eyes lower. It took a moment to reengage the brain. My
human legs were gone. What I saw was most definitely horse. I saw
horse fur, horse flanks, horse tail, horse legs, horse hooves. I
moved my hands around the blend, crossing from skin to fur and
back again, then moving my hands across the fur. I felt the fur
with my fingers. The skin under the fur felt the movement of my
fingers over it. I kept thinking, "This is me. This really is me.
Whether permanent or not, I now have fur. I have four legs. I have a
tail."

The fur over my barrel was the same shade as the hair on my head.
The long hairs that started below the knee and covered my hooves
were a pale blond. My tail was pale blond and hung nearly to the
ground. I twitched some muscles back there and it swished back and
forth. I would be slowly getting used to all the muscles that hadn't
existed before.

I've always wondered about the structure of horse legs. The hoof is
not directly under the leg. What held it all in position? With a
full set of my own now, I was all the more curious.

The muscle development of my horse part seemed to match those of my
chest and arms, bulging when I lifted a hoof. It all spoke of power.

I now looked over at Eric. He was doing the same close examination
that I had done on myself. His blend followed the same line as mine,
dipping under his abs, though his muscles were less defined. I
guessed they were about as well defined as they had been. His chest
was also quite hairy with red hair. His fur had large patches of red
and white. His tail was white.

Eric produced a tape measure and a ruler. "Everyone will want to
know how tall we are." I put the ruler on my head, then held the end
of the tape measure where the ruler touched the mirror. Eric bent
over from the waist and flexed his forelegs to pull the tape to the
floor. "Eight foot one," he said. He put the ruler along the back of
the blend and measured from there to the floor, "five foot two, or
just under sixteen hands."

He picked up a book of horses from the end table and paged through
it, glancing from me to the pictures. "Ah, here we are," he said,
holding up the book for me to see. "Your coloring is called
bay with flaxen feathers and tail. I think the breed is Jutland, a
type of draft horse, though your fur is light for a typical Jutland.
Under sixteen hands is a bit small for a Jutland. I guess your horse
part is chosen to be in proper proportion with your human part." He
eyed me critically. "Your height from the blend up is about the same
as the length of your legs, a pretty good balance. I think your hair
now features a star marking." My hand went to the spot of pale hair
as I studied it in the mirror.

I measured Eric. Seven foot five for total height, fourteen and a
half hands at the blend. Eric paged through the book again, then
held it up. "It appears I am a pinto modeled on the Arabian breed."
He was a lot sleeker looking than me. He also looked well
proportioned.

Before yesterday, I had been just a shade under 6 feet tall and,
thanks to high school and college sports and an active life since
then, I had well developed muscles. I guessed that had influenced
what breed I had become. Eric had been slim without much muscle
development, a rather short 5 foot six. His horse part reflected
his slimness.

"Stretch out your arms and let's see how far you reach," commanded
Eric. He did the same. "First the downward reach." Arms down, my
hands came to the top of my forelegs. I could roll my shoulders and
bend at the blend to reach most of the way down my forelegs.
Following Eric's example, I bent a foreleg up to feel all the way
down to the hoof. Feeling the hand through the fur was quite an
eerie experience as was feeling the hoof in the hand. Following
Eric's lead again, I reached between my forelegs. I didn't reach
very far. I twisted my torso (not very far), leaned back (actually
quite far), and reached. I could just wrap my hand around the base
of my tail. I pulled my hand up, feeling my tail move with it, then
let my tail slide through my grip as I raised my hand. I could feel
where the skin and bones of my tail ended, leaving just hair. I ran
my hand down my back and saw how far I could reach along my flanks.

"A human can touch every part of his body with one hand or the
other," said Eric. "That isn't true for us. There are things we will
need someone else to do for us -- like wipe our butts." My eyes
widened. "Yeah, I know a horse doesn't do it, but a horse also
smells like a horse and isn't usually permitted into polite company.
We may be stuck with each other for a while." Eric was a nice guy,
but there were some things a guy would rather do for himself and
would rather not do for others.

Eric said, "I think it's important we know how we're put together,
at the very least so we don't tell a doctor there is something wrong
'back there'. I'll turn around so you can use me as an example of
how you are put together. I'll do the same with you." I almost
refused, but he was being so practical. I certainly couldn't see
back there and couldn't touch much either. Eric turned around and
came alongside me, but stayed forward enough that I could bend at the
waist with a hand on his back and still see underneath his barrel.
I could feel Eric's hand on my own back.

It was ''huge''! Since Eric was smaller than me, it implied mine was
even bigger! And Eric was getting a good look at mine. I felt the
embarrassment rise.

A thought struck me -- about knocked me over -- unless I found a
female centaur or wanted to get friendly with a mare (a very
distasteful idea), I was about to become a monk in certain aspects
of life. Women may like a well endowed man, but not ''this'' well
endowed!

I also gazed at Eric's hindquarters, hooves, and tail. I even ran my
hand over it's base and through the long hairs. I was likely to
become very familiar with this part of Eric. Bah!

I straightened up and turned my head. Soon Eric did too. "Now that
we know what we look like, there is one more measurement to make."
We went through the factory to the shipping scales. I topped out at
a good 1950 pounds, Eric at a modest 1125.

Now it is time to see what these bodies can do," said Eric. We went
outside and back to the field. We seemed to have the walk down, so
he took me through a trot and canter, describing the pattern of leg
movements. We did a couple laps around the field with each gait.
Then Eric described the gallop and we took off. Wow! The field
suddenly became a lot smaller! Such power! Such speed! So what if my
draft horse form was slower than Eric's racer. It was still much
faster than ''any'' human. Such stamina! We went several times around
the field before I felt tired.

When I did stop, Eric noticed the grin on my face. "I knew that
would make you appreciate your new form!" he said, with a grin of
his own.

"One more exercise," he said. "We need to work on sitting down and
lying down and getting up again. It should take no more thought than
getting out of bed used to be." He guided me into folding my legs
under me so that my barrel was on the ground but my trunk remained
upright. It was easier than it was last night but we still practiced
getting into that position then getting back on our feet. We also
lay down so that our feet stuck out to one side and one shoulder was
against the ground and rose from that position. That took more
concentrated effort. Then Eric demonstrated the complete roll. This
included bending at the blend so that the back of his trunk and the
top of his barrel were both on the ground as he rolled from his
right shoulder to his left. "Once all this is automatic, you should
be able to go from a lying position to your feet in one smooth
rolling motion," Eric said. I got the hang of it faster than I
thought I should.

"All right," he said, "it is time for an assessment. There are some
advantages to being a centaur." He held up one hand to count off his
points with the other. "Things like a powerful body and an imposing
and noble image." He touched two fingers. "You now have a big
intimidation factor." He touched another finger. "If vehicles have
been replaced with horses, we can get from place to place more
easily than others." A fourth finger. "If we find mates, I would bet
we're in for a fabulous experience." He tapped his thumb. "And
though it may not count, I think we simply look cool."

He switched what his hands were doing "As for the disadvantages...
We won't fit well inside many buildings." One finger. "We may be
vegetarian -- which some think is a good thing." I grimaced. He
ignored it. A second finger. "There are some things we can't do for
ourselves." A third finger. "And at the moment, I don't know of any
possible mates. We could be stuck as bachelors." He touched his
little finger. "Finally, many humans -- like my dad -- will consider
us freaks." He touched his thumb.

An even count, though some of those disadvantages were large in
size. I wasn't convinced.

"I know you didn't choose this form, but I did. I've always thought
of centaurs as wonderful and noble. I don't think of centaurs as a
piece of human stuck on a piece of horse, but a blend of the best
parts of each. I've always felt I should have been a centaur and
jumped at the chance when I could. Even if this is temporary, I'm
glad I took that chance. I know you felt like a freak after you
woke up. I hope I've been able to change your mind at least a little
bit and you will change it more over the days to come. Whatever
happens at this point, I want to help you out as much as possible."

As I pondered what Eric said, Jennifer returned with dinner. It
wasn't oatmeal this time. She had stopped at the best vegetarian
restaurant in town and brought a large selection. Eric and I set up
a stack of boards on sawhorses to get a table at a more comfortable
height, though it was near Jennifer's armpits. We laid the meal out
on that. The supplies were complete with tablecloth and real dishes.
As the three of us ate, Jennifer gazed at us -- well, mostly at me.

She told us of the news outside the factory compound. There was now
a battalion of thirty centaurs at the army base. They were out in
the tracks during the EVENT. It affected them the same way being in
a milk cart affected me. Eric paid close attention to that item. I
suspected we would be paying a visit soon.

Jennifer also told us about the chaos that resulted when all
vehicles had become horses. Anyone that lived through it already
knows about it so I won't repeat it.

Eric handed his book to me. It was open to a diagram of a horse with
all tha parts labeled. "I suggest you spend some time studying this
to the the proper names of things," he said.

After we finished eating, Jennifer, still gazing at me, said, "You
have such an incredibly hot bod!" Then she winked. I was suddenly
very aware that we hadn't put our shirts back on. "And I don't mean
just your hairy chest." I was even more aware that I don't have
pants to put on. My maleness was on display for anyone that wanted
to look and I would have been surprise if Jennifer hadn't looked.
I'm sure my face turned a bright red. Eric quietly chuckled and gave
me a thumbs up and a wink.

Jennifer said, "Eric, it looks like the two of you need someone to
groom you. I know you could groom each other, but I'd like to learn
how." Eric nodded.

{{Separator|stars}}

Though Jennifer had cautioned patience, I wanted to try some meat by
the second day. Jennifer protested, but brought a hamburger. Not
long after eating a few bites, my stomach began to hurt and I lost
my appetite. A few moments later and I thought it wise to try to
induce vomiting, and was surprised when it didn't work. Eric clued
me in - horses can't vomit.

Jennifer called a doctor. Eric called a veterinarian. Both made
house calls as that was easier than bringing a patient to the clinic
on horseback (especially me!), though the doctor hadn't had time to
develop good riding skills yet. Both were quite surprised when they
saw their patient.

The human doctor found his stomach pump didn't go far enough, though
I was most uncomfortable during his attempt to learn that. The vet
had a stomach pump that reached far enough, but its diameter was
a bit too big for my throat. It took the rest of the night and half
the next day to recover. You can be sure that was the end of my
desire for meat.

{{Separator|stars}}

Jennifer couldn't convince my landlord to give her a key to my
apartment, so she brought him to the factory. His eyes bugged when
he saw me and bugged some more when I explained what happened to my
key. He began to rant about not letting me into my apartment as the
floors would not support my weight, but I stopped him by saying I
didn't think I would fit up the stairway and considered this as
giving notice that I was moving out. I wasn't particularly attached
to the place. I got him to waive the requirement of giving 30 days
notice.

Over the next few days, Eric rigged a tent for us. Jennifer brought
shirts and jackets from my apartment and from Eric's parents. She
also put a crew together to empty and clean out my apartment. The
stuff she didn't bring to the factory grounds went into a storage
unit. I'd have to decide whether to keep the furniture (and the
pants -- I still had hopes this was all temporary), but it was cheaper
to pay for a storage unit than for an apartment.

We discovered that normal human clothing didn't work very well. The
clothing was still the right size, but as my mother would say, it
didn't quite cover the situation. Dress shirts -- what few I had --
just don't look right without pants. Casual shirts tended up bunch
up at the back of the blend and not cover the bottom part of the
abdominal skin. I tried on my parka and found it had the same
problem. Things could get chilly on the exposed parts in winter. It
was time for new clothes, and they would have to be hand tailored --
and expensive for my dwindling bank account.

A tailor soon arrived on his horse. Eric thought he had better have
the works -- suit jacket and all -- while I settled for casual shirts,
sweaters, and jacket. The tailor measured us -- or at least our
trunks for now -- and made some drawings proposing what he would do.
He drew a parka that would cover both the trunk and barrel. I
suggested he keep that idea on file until the weather got cold and
the bank account recovered. With no job I wasn't sure how it would
recover. His drawings for shirts looked more like
long tunics than what I wore before, with a pouched belt at the
blend - one had to do something instead of pockets. We talked a bit
about style before he went off to work. Eric's family may have
money, but my savings just took a big hit.

{{Separator|stars}}

We trotted over to the Army base to visit the centaur battalion. The
guard at the gate to the army base was reluctant to let us in, but
he did call the captain of the battalion. Once the captain heard
there were two centaurs at the gate, he ordered the guard to let us
in.

It didn't take long for a private to escort us to the proper
barracks. It was obvious that he didn't particularly enjoy the task.
Once inside, Eric and I stopped and stared at what was before us. We
didn't feel bad about that as they were staring right back.

There were thirty centaurs in front of us, twenty-seven men and
three women. They would have clustered around us if there had been
room. Instead they stood quietly beside their sleeping pallets down
the length of the room. What had been room for more than a hundred
men now seemed quite full with thirty centaurs.

The captain introduced himself, breaking the silence. His name was
Dan. Eric didn't have to open his book of breeds in Dan's case. Even
I could have figured it out. Dan's horse part was Clydesdale. The
hair on his head was a chocolate brown and featured a white star.

Captain Dan escorted us around the room, introducing us to the
members of the battalion.

Samuel had black skin - about as dark as possible - and white fur.
The hair on his head was also white and now quite straight.

Moses had skin just as dark with jet black fur and white socks. His
black hair was also straight and featured a star. The whole effect
was imposing.

Jerome appeared to be a true son of Africa. His horse part was
zebra. His skin almost matched his black stripes, making the white
stripes stand out. In contrast to Moses, Jerome's black hair was
still crinkly.

The rest of those of African descent had skin the color of coffee
with various amounts of cream. Ossie's horse part was also
Clydesdale. The brown of his fur was only a bit darker than his
skin, creating a handsome combination. The rest had brown or
chestnut fur with black socks, though the breed varied a lot.

John Chin of Chinese descent had fur of a yellowish cream that was
lightest across the underside of the barrel and darkest on the legs
and near the blend. There was a black stripe down his back and dark
bands across the legs. His fur color complemented his yellowish skin
quite well. The odd part was his hair and tail. Instead of being
the same color as the coat, his hair matched his tail. There were
three different colors of hairs - white, near black, and the darker
yellow-cream. The hair on his head also did a good job of sticking
up and out, not laying flat against his head.

John Chin's breed was not at all obvious. Eric paged through is book,
finally declared a match and held up the book to show the wild
Przewalski's horse from Asia.

The two other Asians had dark brown coats and black socks. The breed
of both of them was Thoroughbred.

Karl, a Caucasian, had white fur with dark red spots in a manner
similar to a Dalmatian. I guess I expected the hair on his head to
be spotted as well, but it was a solid dark red. Eric declared his
breed to be Knabstrup, one that is common in Denmark. Karl was
intrigued at the reasoning behind whatever process chose his horse
part as his parents were immigrants from Denmark. He also noted that
Jerome was part zebra and John was blended with a wild Asian horse.

I responded that there was no such obvious logic as the Jutland is
also a Danish breed and my ancestors are Irish and Swiss. Besides,
Ossie's breed was Clydesdale, which was not African, and the other
Asians were Thoroughbred, which was an American breed.

The rest of the Caucasians were rather standard looking centaurs, if
centaurs could by any stretch be called standard. They had coat
colors ranging from black through chestnut and bay on through cream,
flax, and white. There were even a few dapples and "fleabitten"
patterns, a couple more pintos, and an Appaloosa.

A few of the guys had thick four-day beards. The rest of them tried
-- with poor success -- to follow the Army's clean-shaven guidelines.

The three females in the group were Ann, Terry, and Calla. They were
stunningly beautiful. I felt some stirrings and quickly put a stop
to that line of thinking. If any of these women ever gave the
slightest encouragement, there would be stallions battling it out.
Their eyes suggested that they were strictly off limits for
everyone, at least for now.

We became a support group. The first topic was shoes. The Army,
being bureaucratic as only the Army can, was insisting the battalion
be shod by the base farrier. The battalion resisted as they felt the
standard steel shoe would not be good for indoors.

This got Eric asking whether the shoes should be permanent, what
they should be made out of, how they should be attached, and whether
covering just the hoof was enough. I could see his engineering mind
working.

Captain Dan shared the findings of the base doctor and veterinarian.
I was glad I had escaped the poking and prodding. The DNA test
showed that we were neither human nor horse, but a blend of the two.
That meant we were a new species and would breed true! I heard Eric
try out the phrase "Homo Equus Sapiens" a few times. Eric took a
copy of the report for us to study later.

Other topics ranged from reactions from others (everything from
hostile to staring to curious to friendly to attempts at anatomical
liberties) and how to deal with them, what the future might hold,
what problems result because of our size (height, length, and
weight), how we have to help each other, what we can and cannot do,
what was safe and good to eat, where to get vegetarian recipes and
how to get them into the hands of the Army cooks (and how to endure
taunts from other soldiers who implied that Real Soldiers Eat Meat),
and helpful hints on how to live. Eric kept his notebook out and
made careful notes. We talked of our tailor for a bit, but the
soldiers decided to wait until we could show them. Their camouflage
clothing which had changed with them would serve for now and the
Army could duplicate that for a spare set of clothes.

The important item was saved for the end -- the reactions of wives,
children, and girlfriends. The three females had been unattached and
essentially had their pick now. Some wives had already filed for
divorce. Some girlfriends had already broken off relationships. The
rest seemed to be committed, but puzzled about what they were
committing to. The reactions of the children -- when not whisked off
by departing wives -- was almost always, "Dad's a centaur? Cool!"
Various daughters had to be told in no uncertain terms that Dad's tail
was not for braiding nor for ribbons.

I suggested the wives and girlfriends also form a support group and
the two groups meet together on occasion.

On the way back to the factory, Eric commented, "I think we may be
able to get some men back to work. A few of these ideas have market
potential." One item to be considered was a stool to allow wives and
girlfriends to give a proper hug and kiss. He also had one of the
plant engineers talking to a farrier and a shoe manufacturer to work
out a design. The farrier welcomed a new source of shoes. He had
suddenly run out of supplies now that all the former cars needed
shoes. It was only a few days before Eric has a small part of the
plant humming again.

{{Separator|stars}}

Mr. McKay showed up the next day, looking much older and less well
and very much not pleased. Along with him came a man I didn't know.
Mr. McKay said, "Mr. Caldwell, this is Jackson." He indicated me.
"Jackson, this is Mr. Caldwell from our insurance company."

I held out my hand to Mr. Caldwell, who reluctantly reached up and
shook it. He then looked me over.

Mr. McKay said, "I have explained to Mr. Caldwell what happened to
you and why I think his insurance company should pay you. He asked
to speak to you directly." I nodded.

Mr. Caldwell said, "How are you feeling?"

I said, "I guess the best way to answer that is to say that I'm not
in pain. My body seems to be working well -- though I must avoid meat
now. I seem to be stronger than before. Even my nose has healed.
Other than that, I would say I feel less strange than when I was
first changed."

He asked, "Are there things you can't do now?"

I said, "Since I can barely reach my tail, I need help in the
bathroom and shower. There are places I can't go because of my
size."

He asked, "Would you consider yourself employable?"

"Well," I said, "I've been helping Eric around here, so I guess that
means I could hold a job. There are probably jobs I can't do because
of my size and the job location. There are probably jobs that I am
more suited to now." That didn't improve Mr. McKay's expression.

Another question, "What are reactions to you by people you meet."

I chuckled a bit. "Your own reaction was a mild one compared to
others. I haven't been attacked, mostly because I look so imposing,
but some responses have been hostile. Other reactions have been
staring, comments about the freak, and a few of interest and
delight."

"Hmm," was all he said for a long moment. He turned to Mr. McKay and
said, "I see the basis for your claim. I don't think I would call it
disablement, but rather disfigurement. The payout won't be as big,
but will still be substantial." He turned back to me. "A claims
check should be ready in a week."

I felt like I had been kicked in the gut -- with a much more
substantial gut and Moses from the battalion doing the kicking.
Under Eric's careful guidance, I had begun to feel pretty good about
the new me. Then comes this guy saying I'm disfigured! I'm a freak!
I'm only fit to be stared at or hidden away!

Eric whispered beside me, "We'll talk later. Shake his hand and say
'thank you'." Still in shock, I complied and began to wander away.

The voice of Mr. McKay brought me back to here and now. "Eric, Dave
thanked me for calling him back to work. Since it wasn't me, I think
you had better start explaining."

Eric said, "I've got a list of things the centaur Army battalion
thought would be useful."

"I don't want to deal with Army bureaucrats!" growled Mr. McKay.

"I'm not!" said Eric. "I'm selling only to the men. They are in the
same situation as Jackson." I noticed he carefully excluded himself.
His change was voluntary. "The Army seems to be a little too
inflexible and slow to deal with it."

This time, I did wander away, brooding as I went. It looked like
Eric and his dad had lots to talk about.

Eric found me about an hour later with Jennifer in tow. "I asked
Jennifer to test out the prototype of our new hugging stools," said
Eric. "I want to be sure they are the right height." I shrugged.

Jennifer planted the stool in front of me and climbed onto it. Her
head was about even with mine. She put her arms around me and gave
me a kiss, which proved to be quite passionate. Within a brief
moment, I was responding. We remained in a serious lip-lock for
several minutes.

When we finally parted, she said, "Good. For a couple days now, I've
been wondering if you had been gelded. It is good to know you
aren't. I'm sure Mr. Caldwell didn't help matters with his verdict.
She put her arms around me again. "I think you are pretty special
just the way you are. I love you from the bottom of your hooves to
the the tip of your sweeping tail and all that fur in between. I
love your thick beard and broad shoulders. I love your kind manner
and your concern for others. If the rest of the world considers you
a disfigurement, that's their problem. They don't see your nobility
and sexiness." The way she said that word left no doubts to the
meaning. "Perhaps it is just as well. It means I'll have less
competition." She winked, hugged and kissed again, then climbed off
the stool. "Eric, this one is mine. Just perfect." Eric nodded. Did
she mean the stool or me?

Eric may be a few years younger than me, but he had proven to be
very wise in a lot of ways. I felt a whole lot better.

I began to court her, even with my qualms that I was simply too big
for her. She responded by helping me (well Eric too) with bathing
as well as the grooming chores.

{{Separator|stars}}

Our first real date was to the local drive-in movies. This was the
last one in the area, having escaped being turned into a shopping
center. The large screen was still there, but since there were no
more cars, a few things had changed. A patron rode a horse onto the
grounds, then tethered it to the post that held the sound system. To
avoid spooking the horses, the window mounted speakers had been
replaced with headphones. The concession stand sold bags of oats in
addition to popcorn. A patron usually dismounted and sat in a lawn
chair (available for rent) to enjoy the show. The next morning, the
grounds crew had a lot more than popcorn boxes to get rid of.

Jennifer rode me bareback. Once we chose a spot, I folded my legs
under me so that I was at a bit of an angle to the screen. Jennifer
could sit on my barrel without having to peer over my shoulder and
could nestle against it. My neck was a bit sore by the end of the
night, but it was a small price to pay.

I doubt either one of us could tell you which movie we saw or what
it was about. I'm sure only some of that was because we had our
headphones partway off so that we could talk. I only remember it was
a pre-EVENT movie as it had cars in it.

{{Separator|stars}}

The insurance check came a week later. I was astonished at the size,
though Eric wasn't. I thought this made me rich, but apparently not.

I decided the first need was a house -- centaur sized. I offered to
let Eric live with me -- at least for a while. He accepted and put me
in contact with a real estate agent and the corporate architect.

I would have liked to have kept the whole 500 acre farm that was for
sale. I settled for building on one very large lot and dividing the
rest up for sale to others that needed big lots. I figured we would
have eventual buyers from the Army battalion. It wasn't far from the
Army base.

I didn't want narrow halls or tiny rooms that would be tough for me
to turn around in. The design was of a house on one floor with high
ceilings, one large room for the kitchen-dining-living area, high
counters in the kitchen, three large bedrooms (who knows?) and one
special bathroom.

The ever resourceful Eric pulled out a small pamphlet that he had
printed off the Internet before the EVENT. It described what a
centaur house would be like and considered many aspects I wouldn't
have thought about. It also got a few details wrong since it was
based on a hypothetical centaur that didn't quite match the real
thing. Thankfully, it recommended a style that did ''not'' mimic a
stable!

Eric got an engineer working on a design for a centaur toilet, one
that we could straddle and take care of both parts of business. The
bathroom would contain a huge shower with multiple nozzles. Since
cleaning required an assistant, two might as well shower together
and each help the other.

I selected for my house the part of the farm that was most wooded.
In addition to just liking woods, I wanted privacy, even if my
neighbors were fellow centaurs. If I married, there were probably
activities that would not fit inside the house.

I was amazed at the amount of things that needed to be done before
the house could be built and how long it all took. I had to get a
zoning variance as the house wouldn't meet some standards - and
considering my size, these were standards that didn't make sense.
I had to spend time finding a builder that was willing to follow
the plans even if those plans didn't match the standards he was
used to. All of it was such a bother.

As the shell began to take shape, I felt the bother was worth it. I
began to envision a community of centaurs with centaur sized
buildings, such as offices and stores, growing up from the acreage I
had for sale and other nearby farms. I went back the realtor to lay
out a town instead of just a subdivision.

{{Separator|stars}}

Jennifer began attending the wives and girlfriends support group.
She was definitely my girlfriend. The next time all the centaurs met
with the wives and girlfriends as one big group, the women had a few
things to say. "I love my husband dearly, but something has to
change. He is living in the barracks, I'm at our house. Even when we
are together, his anatomy is too big for mine. If he can't change
back, can I be changed to match him? If Eric changed voluntarily
after the EVENT changed everyone else, can that same technique be
used again?" There was a lot of discussion about this one.

The battalion captain declared he would work out new housing
arrangements so that families would be together again. He also
suggested that wives and girlfriends take over the grooming chores
the men had been doing for each other. If they wanted to be
centaurs, they needed to be more familiar with what was involved.
A few of the women said it was about time!

As we left the meeting, Jennifer said, "I'll volunteer to be first."
I was about to object until I saw the look of determination in her
eye and the grin on Eric's face. I'm sure they noticed my frown.

In the shower the next morning, Jennifer didn't hide behind me to
clean herself. She even asked me to help with her hair. When she
shampooed my fur, she didn't stick to business. She paused to tickle
and stroke. I could feel the stimulation start to have an effect.
"Please," I said, "I don't think you should do that. We aren't
married." I have a strong sense of morals. "And it wouldn't work
anyway. Without that option, I don't want to get stirred up."

She stopped. Her eye kept the twinkle. "A big healthy male like you
has to deal with it sometime. And I think the best way to deal with
it is to help me to be a full mate to you. I have been with you long
enough to know what is good and bad about being a centaur. I want it
for myself. I want you to desire it for me too."

Her hugging stool wasn't in easy reach, so with shower water still
spraying over us I folded my legs under me so we could share a
proper hug and kiss. I sighed. "If you're sure about going through
the change, I would want you as my mate."

{{Separator|stars}}

Eric led us to the most complete cart on the assembly line. We were
away from the part of the factory in use and there was only Eric,
Jennifer, and myself. Eric looked over the cart, then around the
nearby area. He soon gathered tools and parts, then folded his legs,
lowering himself beside the cart. "Jennifer, would you please step
into the cart?" She did. "It won't take me long to make it
operational and trigger the change". He muttered under his breath
while he attached a few things and made a few connections. She
waited patiently. Eric said, "This should do it." I started my
camcorder. Eric made the final connection and leaned back. The cart
began to ripple and shimmer. When it subsided, she stood there in
all her centaur glory! It worked! A moment later, she awoke and
looked down, a big smile spreading across her face.

Eric opened the book of horse breeds. After turning a few pages, he
held it out. "Definitely Thoroughbred lines," he said. "A cream coat
with black stockings." He led her into the front office to get a
good look in the mirrors. He pulled out the tape measure to get all
the measurements he had done for me. She was now seven foot two and
fourteen hands.

She was gorgeous! There was most definitely an attraction. When Eric
was done with her, she came over to me and gave me a kiss and a hug.
"Eric," she said, "It is time to give my hugging stool to someone
else."

"Eric," I said, "It is time to clean out my storage unit. All the
old clothing -- especially the pants -- should be given to someone
that needs them. It is also time to decide what furniture we should
keep for humans that happen to visit our home."

Jennifer -- well, Jenny now -- and I were married the next week. The
ceremony was held in the woods beside the shell of our new house.
Eric was best man. Calla from the Army Battalion was maid of honor.

We didn't have elegant clothes to wear. There just wasn't time to
have our tailor make a tux for me, never mind making any type of
elaborate dress for Jenny. We didn't want to postpone our wedding
just for fancy clothes. Our tailor was able to create a tux shirt
for me and a simple elegant white blouse for Jenny. She bought a
headpiece to serve as a veil.

Eric never did move in with me. After the wedding, he started
building his own house in the lot next to mine.

The video of Jenny's change showed nothing. The shimmer obscured all
hints of what happened during the change.

{{Separator|stars}}

Interlude.

"Th next part of the story would naturally be our wedding night,"
said Jackson. "But there are some things we don't want spread all
over the neighborhood. I will tell you it was wonderful! Later, we
can talk man-to-man and woman-to-woman about centaur sex. I will
tell you now that our sexuality is more human than horse, in spite
the size of the equipment. We are fertile all year round."

Jackson turned the pages of his scrapbook to photos of the wedding.
We had already seen photos of himself, Eric, Jenny, and most members
of the Army battalion. As we studied them for a moment, Jackson held
his fingers to his lips. We could hear voices belonging to two women
on the other side of the high wooden fence.

"Rats! They aren't going to tell the good parts!"

"Shame on you! You shouldn't be listening to a private conversation!"

"How else can I find out about them?"

"I'm surprised at you! You know what your father would say!"

"Yes, I do. But he is sooooo dreamy!" Jenny nudged Jackson. They
both grinned. "She's not too bad looking either." Jackson winked at
Jenny. "It sounds like the Greenslades invited the centaurs for a
visit because they want to be centaurs too!"

"How horrible! People should be happy with what they are and not
try to be what they aren't. To disfigure yourself so! I certainly
hope you have no intention of doing the same."

"Oh, I don't know."

"Alright! Inside with you! Another word and it will be time to wash
that mouth with soap!"

Jackson paused until he heard a door slam and then close a second
time more gently.

I was about to apologize for my neighbors, but Jackson waved his
hand. "I got over the disfigurement issue a long time ago. You can't
be responsible for your neighbor's feelings. But as usually happens,
I'm likely to make more than one sale." He winked.

{{Separator|stars}}

Jackson's story resumes.

In the week after the wedding, several things seemed to happen all
at once. The battalion wives saw Jenny and clamored for the same.
Eric's father heard about Jenny's change and was most irate. And
Eric's Internet friends found him, though he swears computer and
modem problems prevented him from contacting them. The Internet
seemed to be slowly falling apart after the EVENT, so I felt Eric
was telling the truth.

Bob and Jack were the first to arrive, followed shortly by John and
a few others. The idea of centaurs, things equine, or just human
animal blending had been a passion of all of them. The story of the
milkmen had fired their imagination. They had emptied savings
accounts to make the journey and start a new life. Eric explained
that he hadn't actually met any of them before, they had only
communicated by e-mail. Even, so they seemed to know a lot about
each other. They all congratulated Eric on his good fortune and
admired both Jenny and me.

Eric brought his friends to a support meeting at the barracks. "I
have a proposal," he said, "that I think will interest all of you.
Once my father learned about Jenny's successful change, he made all
kinds of threats about what he would do if we ever did that again.
He is also brokenhearted that his company failed, throwing out of
work many of those that depended on him. My proposal is that we buy
the company from my father. We would then be free to use the
inventory and equipment of the factory to change as many of you as
would like to be changed. Those of you who become shareholders would
be entitled to a change at no additional cost. Everyone else,
including any future customers would be able to buy any of our
centaur products and services, including possible changes."

Almost as soon as Eric was done speaking, Bob said, "I'm in." The
rest of his friends were almost as quick. I glanced at Jenny. She
nodded. We had already been changed, we now had a chance to "pay"
for our changes. I still had a chunk of insurance money. I nodded
to Eric.

The battalion members were clearly interested, but such ventures
don't come easily on soldier's pay. I could see a few wives standing
on their stools leaning against their mates and talking in whispers.
We would make sales later, but no investors now.

Back at the boardroom of the factory, we -- the investors -- held a
meeting. It didn't take long to vote Eric to lead us as he had been
working with his father for many years, in spite of his age. Though
Eric would have preferred to head an engineering department, we
didn't have a big pool of talent to work from. We then pooled our
money. The total looked like a great deal, but was only a part of
what Eric said the company was worth and he didn't want to be a part
of a company that cheated on its purchase price.

John asked, "What about your money? Can you contribute your
inheritance to the pot? Can you borrow against your inheritance or
ask for it early?"

"Sorry, no," said Eric. "Once my dad heard that we had changed Jenny
he cut me out of his will. I have no money. Even the house being
built for me is owned by my father. He will provide for me, but he
won't allow me to own the factory."

I don't know enough about finance to understand how we did it, but
there was finally agreement from the group on how to come up with
the remaining money. I didn't become an investor to make a fortune.

Eric said that since his father did not approve of what we wanted to
do, he should not be on the team to make the proposal to Mr. McKay.
Bob and Jack agreed to do it. They would leave out their eventual
use and emphasize that Mr. McKay and his stockholders wouldn't be
facing worthless stock. The rest of us waited impatiently until they
reported success. It was another month before the papers were all
signed and Centaur Industries was born.

It was easy to convince Eric to pose for our logo. We worked from a
photo that showed Eric at about a 45 degree angle from the front. He
had a bare chest, his rear legs were stretched back, one foreleg
stretched forward, the other one raised up. He was holding a pennant
along his right arm with his left arm across his chest to support
it. On the pennant were the letters "CI" designed to look like they
were made out of old steel horseshoes. It looked a bit Old English,
but with a big difference. The embroidered patch for clothing came
out well, the decal for wagons looked even better.

During our wait, we talked strategy. Jack wondered if we needed
everything in the cart for the change to happen. He used the example
of the speedometer. We could offer a cheaper change if we could put
less into each cart. Jack dubbed the almost completed vehicles as
"The Cart Before the Centaur". We all groaned. There was still the
question of how to determine what was needed and what wasn't. Bob
had ideas from the news of the milkmen and of the EVENT as a whole,
but nothing definite.

{{Separator|stars}}

At the next support group meeting, Bob said, "We have a guess that
the price of a change will be five thousand dollars. We understand
it is steep for many of you. In exchange for a free change, we would
like some volunteers to help with our trials. What we propose is to
make a stripped down cart operational to trigger a change to see
what happens. I will tell you now that we don't know what will
happen. It could be no change, a partial change, or a completely
different kind of change. If it is a partial change, we can try for
a complete change. If it is a different kind of change, you will
probably be stuck that way. Is there anyone interested?" Three wives
and both sons of one of them agreed. We made sure we got their
signatures on documents we explained in great detail.

Back in the factory, there was a whole assembly line full of carts
in various stages of assembly. We went to one near the beginning of
the process that had a complete frame and not much else. Jack and
John added the electric engine and drivetrain to it. They asked
Cheryl to stand in it as they finished. Nothing happened.

We moved down the line a ways and tried again. Still nothing. We
then had a discussion about what might and might not be needed to
create a "complete" cart. Jack added an old battery with little
charge left. Cheryl shimmered and her feet became hooves. She also
had a tail. She decided that was enough experimenting, so we took
her to the end of the line and initiated a change. She became a
brown furred centaur with a blend noticeably higher on the trunk
than what was normal for the rest of us. She certainly didn't
quarrel over such a small detail. After we unhooked the wagon, her
husband carefully guided her as she learned how to walk on four
hooves. They went to the main office where she could get a good look
at herself.

The next attempt was with Janice. We tried a cart similar to the
previous one but with a fully charged battery. Janice awoke to
having rear legs and tail of a horse, the equivalent of a satyr. She
decided she wanted a more complete change but was willing to try
another experiment to get it. We took her about 3/4 of the way down
the line and triggered a change. When the shimmering stopped, we saw
a female centaur covered in cream colored fur to her neck and with
horse ears. This was definitely overdoing it, but after calming down
with the help of her husband, she decided it was better than no
change or the first change. At least she could mate with her husband
again. That was good as we couldn't change her back. We couldn't
afford a lawsuit either.

After watching procedures with Cheryl and Janice, Hannah looked a
bit like someone had whacked her between the eyes with a club. She
was determined to try, especially after some reassurance from her
husband Hank. We again discussed what should be included and what
could be left out. We decided to try the fully charged battery, the
whole engine and drivetrain, four wheels, complete frame, and the
steering mechanism. We took out the seats, all the dashboard
indicators, the lights, and windows. Hannah stepped in and we made
the final connections. When the shimmering stopped, Hannah was a
classic female centaur, a beautiful sorrel color and a strong racing
physique. We decided this was close enough. We had our recipe.

Hannah's son Peter was next. He was thirteen and hadn't hit his
growth spurt yet. He very much wanted to be like his dad. He
couldn't be very far into puberty if he still thought dad was a
hero. We configured a cart like the one for his mother and triggered
the change.

Apparently age or size was a factor in the outcome. Peter also had
fur to his neck and nearly to his fingertips along with horse ears.
His face seemed to be a bit long. His horse part had the appearance
of a short colt, so he would likely grow to standard size. His coat
was a bright bay with black tail and stockings. The fur on his arms
changed from bay to black at his elbows. In contrast to most of the
centaurs I had seen so far, the hair on Peter's head matched his
socks and tail instead of the color of his coat. Once his beard grew
in the only bare skin would be around his nose, and eyes, on his
forehead and on the palms of his hands. I was relieved when he saw
his furry arms and said, "Cool!" I'll never understand teenagers. I
hope he feels the same way when he starts dating.

Before Peter's younger brother Nathaniel took a turn, we huddled
again. Bob proposed a cart with a proportionally smaller body. This
would take some extra shop work, so it was a couple days later
before we tried it. The smaller cart didn't look all that great as
we didn't bother with carefully rounded corners and properly molded
sides. We only wanted the proper size and weight. Nathaniel stepped
in and Bob made the final connections. We got it right! Nathaniel
was a beautiful colt centaur, brown with black stockings and tail.
Nathaniel was a bit disappointed that he didn't have furry arms like
his brother. I told him that his arms would grow hair like his
father when he grew up. He decided that was good enough.

Each person that was changed kept the wagon and harness created with
the change. All of them wanted the company logo on the side.

{{Separator|stars}}

It took a bit of work to plan the assembly line around what we
needed for a cart that would trigger a change. We also planned for
the possibility that some of the crew would be centaurs and would
need extra space. I didn't think many would work here without making
the change themselves. The shorter assembly line freed up floor
space to make other centaur products. We positioned the end of the
line to be near a pair of change rooms. These rooms were large
enough for several centaurs to move easily around a cart. We filled
them with a lot of light and put big mirrors on the walls. We added
two sets of large doors, big enough to wheel in a cart on one side
and for a centaur and wagon to walk out on the other side.

We hired back a large part of the old crew. A few had left the area
and a few others didn't want to be involved in changing humans to
centaurs. The rest liked the idea or didn't care and were happy for
the work.

It was during the last part of the line configuration that Jenny
came to me with some news. "Honey, I'm pregnant."

"That's great!" I said. "Wow! Our child have the chance to grow up
a centaur!" Jenny didn't look quite so pleased. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure what it is I'm going to give birth to." I knew it was
time to enfold her in a hug as she talked. "We don't know anything
about it, how long it takes, whether I get morning sickness -- which
could be nasty if you can't vomit, and whether the result will be
centaur, horse, human, or some weird thing."

I said about the only thing I could say. "Whatever happens, I'll be
with you. We will deal with it together."

{{Separator|stars}}

With a complete assembly line, we started it up and offered changes
to battalion wives, employees, and the general public. When the
first general public customer walked through the door, Jack realized
that we had better not shove them into the next available cart
without giving him clue as what he was in for. Jenny and the Army
wives knew what was involved in dealing with a centaur. The general
public did not. Jack was afraid that a lawsuit might result.

Eric and Jack decided that with my sales experience, I should take
the job of counseling our customers. Jenny agreed to be the female
counterpart. We weren't pleased with the idea that the task required
our bodies to be on display. Some people wanted to put their hands
in the most annoying places. Others could come up with the rudest
jokes.

Our experiences with our first public customer helped us to map out
what our counseling sessions should cover. I was pleased with his
willingness to take whatever came his way and to offer suggestions
about how to make it easier for the next guy.

{{Separator|stars}}

In addition to carts, Centaur Industries launched into production
of things that only Centaurs need. Some of the products we made in
the factory, some of it we contracted out. Our products included
horseshoes, toilets, and home furnishings scaled to centaurs. Eric
even contracted our tailor to make patterns for centaur clothing of
a variety of styles and then contracted a garment maker to make the
stuff.

Unfortunately, while all these products was necessary, they could
not be made with any economy of scale, at least not yet. Our
fledgling company became very close to not surviving.

{{Separator|stars}}

A week later, Eric got a call from Marie, the wife of one of the
Milkmen. Her husband, Phil, had become the combination of human male
and bovine female. She wanted to become the reverse. That got Eric a
bit flustered, and Eric doesn't fluster easily. He told her he had
no idea how to make that happen. She assured him that she did. All
she needed from him were the pieces to a cart that would trigger a
change. She would do the rest. Eric isn't one to turn down hard
cash, especially considering how he got to be what he is.

That was how I got my first assignment in the field. I loaded the
pieces of a cart into my personal wagon as well as a huge tent.
Jenny reminded me that I shouldn't travel alone if I wanted to avoid
smelling like a barnyard. I was pleased to have her along, even with
the potential problems of her pregnancy. With complete directions in
hand, we went to visit Marie. The only way to get there was by
hoofing it. It took 4 days. We spent nights in the tent. No hotel
could hold us.

Marie had directed me to the house of her friend Janet, who led me
into a spacious garage. Janet even thought about having a full
length mirror available. Marie came soon after I did.

Both women exclaimed over Jenny and were soon talking womnen stuff
from the point of view of a centaur. Jenny said that they should be
asking me questions since Marie wanted to be a functioning male. I
only said that many aspects were like being a human male and for
that, Marie should ask her husband. For any other aspects, her
husband already knew about them.

With my assistance, the two women assembled the cart up to just
before the trigger. Janet went into the house and soon came out with
a box that obviously just came out of the freezer. "Bull semen," she
said. She set the box in the bed of the cart.

Janet looked at Marie. "Are you really sure you want to do this?"
her friend asked. "There's no way back."

"Do it," Marie said, taking a deep breath.

Marie stepped into the cart. Janet made the final connections. The
cart shimmered. When the shimmering stopped, Marie was the same from
the waist up, but bovine below. Janet ducked her head underneath
about the time Marie woke up. "Yes!" Janet said. "You are definitely
male down there!"

Marie looked down at herself in satisfaction tinged with fright, and
stepped forward. "Well, at least we can have kids now, although I
don't think this was they way either of us expected to do it when we
married." She giggled, and hugged Janet, who hesitantly hugged her
back and wished her luck.

I suggested Marie do the same close exam that Eric had used with me
several months ago. The final inspection would need to be done by
Phil.

Marie said, "I want to thank you Jackson. You have provided the way
to save our marriage. If this is as good as I think it will be, you
and Centaur Industries will have a lot of customers."

We went to find Phil. When he saw Marie, it was obvious she had done
it without telling him. When all the yelling died down, he gave her
a hug. It was then obvious they wanted to be alone.

{{Separator|stars}}

"Bull semen, eh?" said Bob.

Bob, Jack, and John had not taken advantage of the shareholder
rights yet. From their initial enthusiasm, I had wondered why they
waited.

"We'll have to tell Eric to install freezers in the change rooms,"
said Jack. "There are lots of items we'll need to stock there."

"Oh?" I said. Some days I'm slow on the uptake.

"Yeah," said John. "With well stocked freezers full of semen, we can
offer a change into a particular breed of horse. Well, at least the
males. We'll have to experiment to see if the same effect holds true
for mare's milk." I finally understood.

"And it might not have to be a horse," said Jack. "Marie managed to
become part bull. I was thinking for myself something more on the
lines of a mule."

"Careful," said Bob. "Unlike your Internet stories, mules in real
life are sterile." He winked.

Bob chose Shire. Jack decided on donkey. John wouldn't tell us what
he was thinking.

{{Separator|stars}}

It was two weeks -- two very busy weeks as orders began pouring in
from milkmen wives -- before John claimed a spot in the production
line. When his turn came, he wanted Bob, Jack, Eric, and myself in
the change room with him. One or two assistants are normally enough.

He muttered something about demonstrating new product development as
he closed the door. John walked over to the waiting cart and opened
a satchel. He pulled out a big piece of fur. "Whitetail," he said.
He laid it across the bed of the cart. Next was a large vial.
"Whitetail deer semen. I got it from a local deer processor who also
does taxidermy. I usually avoid such places. Gives me the creeps."
The vial was slid under the hide. One more item from the satchel.
"Whitetail antlers. Also from the taxidermist. He helped me rig them
in the way I suggested." John seemed to be untangling the pair of
antlers - from what, I couldn't tell - then slipped the whole thing
on his head. That's when I realized the antlers had been entangled
in wire and the wire now held the antlers upright.

"Let's do it!" John said, and stepped into the cart. Eric completed
the connections. When the shimmering stopped, John was a deertaur,
complete with antlers. Wow! He was majestic! It made me jealous that
horses didn't have antlers.

Saying that John was pleased with the outcome only hinted at his
joy. He ran his hands over the antlers as he stepped up to the
mirrors.

{{Separator|stars}}

A bit of experimentation showed that mare's milk from various breeds
did determine the breed of the resulting female centaur. I didn't
think there was any DNA in the milk, but Eric concluded we were
dealing with magic which followed its own rules.

Jack's change showed that only one vial of semen was needed to guide
a change for a male. The full case that Marie had used wasn't
necessary. We found that one quart of milk was enough to get the
desired breed or species for females. All later male deer changes
visited the taxidermist for antlers. No one wanted to be the test
case that would find out that one needed antlers to end up with
antlers. They didn't want to take the risk of being without them.

It wasn't long before we had several freezers in a room between the
two change rooms. We had milk and semen from 60 horse breeds; a
dozen cow breeds; whitetail, mule, and three other deer species;
various elk and moose species; and African species such as zebra,
gnu, wildebeest, and giraffe. I don't want to know how they made
such acquisitions.

The guy that prompted us to acquire giraffe ended up a bit
disappointed with his change. His human torso was longer than
before, but his giraffe part was scaled accordingly. He was ten feet
tall, but not the eighteen he had hoped. He was pleased with
everything but the height.

I added a new session to my orientation class. I now had to discuss
breeds and species.

It was in the month after John's change that I began making regular
sales calls around the country, sometimes with Jenny, sometimes
with John or Bob. We found we were the best possible advertizement.
I never made just one sale.

{{Separator|stars}}

During one of my periods of counseling at the factory, two men came
in for a session. It didn't take much to realize they were lovers.

They marveled over my form, checking me over with respectful
dignity, as I told them about life as a centaur. They paid close
attention when I explained what was in the freezers and how it
guided the change. They took careful notes during my sessions on
having to deal with a much larger body and on the need for centaur
interdependence. They offered menu suggestions for the factory cook
book during my session on diet. They seemed bored during my session
on dealing with the public. They had already been there. They took
delight in my descriptions of centaur houses and seemed resigned
when I talked about restrictions to jobs.

I had their full attention when I talked about anatomy and
sexuality. When Jenny came into the room to discuss the feminine
side, they didn't do the usual male snickering or leering. They were
quite respectful of her and showed a great deal of interest, enough
so that I was puzzled.

The two studied the scrapbooks of prior changes and the photos in
the freezer catalogs with great care. They quietly discussed their
choices. The interest in Jenny became clear when they told me what
to pull from the freezer. "We both want a vial of semen and a quart
of milk in the cart when we change," said Adam, the taller one.

He continued, "We want to be hermaphrodite, both male and female. We
heard of the milkmen and their wives and thought it would work for
us. Neither of us wants to give up the male to take on the female,
though we could live with being female if this doesn't work. We
decided we both want to try adding the female to the male and both
be happy."

"We have done cross sex changes before," I said, "but we haven't
tried what you suggest. We don't know what the result will be."

"We understand," said Jesse, the shorter one, though not shorter by
much. "We are prepared to sign a legal release saying that we
understand the results are not known. We will accept the outcome,
whatever it is."

It didn't take long to draw up such a paper. I was reluctant, but
Eric and Jack said that we should know what the results might be
and using volunteer test subjects, especially enthusiastic ones,
was the best way to find out.

Adam and Jesse wanted to be a matched pair, so they both chose
Quarterhorse, even to the same bay color. I offered the vials and
milk containers for their inspection, as I always do. They confirmed
the labels and loaded the beds of the carts themselves and climbed
in. I made the connections on one while Eric worked on the other.

We were soon rewarded with the sight of two handsome centaurs. As
each awoke, he turned to his partner and admired him. "Lookin'
good!" said Jesse, once he saw Adam was awake. "Time for the real
test." Jesse turned around carefully so that he could peer
underneath Adam. "Nipples and cock! Female and male!"

"You have both too!" said Adam. "I like the size of that thing!"

While holding a handful of Adam's tail, Jesse said, "Then it worked!
Shall we find a secluded clearing for the night? I don't think we'll
bother with sleep!"

I took them through the basic exercises to help them get used to
their new bodies and guided them through a complete exam, each of
the other. Adam and Jesse then readily agreed to photos for our
scrapbook, even insisting we take closeup pictures for scientific
documentation.

I hoped they could wait until they got some privacy.

{{Separator|stars}}

Nine and a half months after the start of Jenny's pregnancy, we began
to be concerned when she hadn't delivered yet. At 10 months we
checked books on horses and consulted both a vet and a doctor. The
books said that horse gestation was 11 months. The vet and doctor
scanned the ultrasound images and declared the fetus to be healthy,
though small. It was a full year before Zander put in an appearance.

He was quite small! Much smaller than a newborn colt - perhaps twice
the size of a human infant and not any stronger. Zander certainly
wasn't going to be walking any time soon. We quickly acquired the
knack of holding him without his legs getting in the way and putting
a diaper on around his tail.

Watching Zander develop reminded my of a comment by Isaac Asimov. He
had written an encyclopedia of mythical animals. As part of his
description of the centaur, he declared that it wouldn't work due to
the differences in maturity rates of human and horse. The rest of us
became centaurs after maturity, so it was up to Zander to answer Mr.
Asimov.

{{Separator|stars}}

Nate's story resumes.

I heard the cry of a small voice coming from the wagons. Jenny got
to her hooves and walked over to her wagon. She extracted a small,
noisy form from under the cover and returned. "This is Zander," she
said. "He likes sleeping in his tent. I'm pleased he was able to
sleep through our lunch."

Zander proved to be quite an armful, even though he didn't squirm
much. The head and trunk was that of a typical 5 month old human.
The barrel was a lot smaller than any horse body I had seen, not
that I've seen many, but was properly proportioned to his trunk. He
had his mother's coloring and many of her facial features. The
feathering around his tiny hooves showed he might have inherited his
father's physique. Zander smiled shyly, then turned his face towards
his mother. She soon draped Zander's blanket over her shoulder so
she could feed him.

Jackson's scrapbook was still open to the photos of Adam and Jesse.
He pointed to Adam and said, "I know it sounds strange saying it
this way but he's pregnant. He should deliver in two months. Jesse
didn't waste time either and should deliver in five months.

Jackson got up and walked over to the fence. A voice on the other
side whispered (though we could hear it clearly) "Hi." We could see
Jackson's head nod. The voice whispered again, "You're one of the
centaurs, aren't you." Never mind that two feet of a human would not
be visible above such a tall fence. Jackson nodded again. "If my mom
ever heard about Adam, I'd be locked in my room until you were gone.
I think he and Jesse are wonderful!" Jackson dug into his jacket
pocket. "Here is my card. Call me in a few years." He paused for a
moment before returning to the table and settling himself.

Jenny said, "We'll be camping nearby for a few more days." She
named the campground. "Just by being out in public, we do some
pretty effective advertizing. I'm sure we'll have the chance of
telling our story a few more times before we leave."

"In the meantime," said Jackson, "you have a lot to think about.
Many aspects of our story were included to warn you about life as a
centaur. It is quite different from being a human. Please consider
in what ways your life will change and whether you can live with
the changes. You will have to get used to a new body and a new way
of mating. You will be much larger. You will need a new diet. You
will have to help each other in more ways than you do now. You will
need a new house. You may need to get a new job. You will be an
object of public attention whether you want it or not." He stood
again and posed, showing off his form to best advantage. "Then you
need to decide if all those tradeoffs are worth getting this." He
gestured as himself. "I think it is, but then I'm rather biased.
Just let us know if you want a spot in our production line."

Zander had finished eating. Jenny laid the blanket on the grass and
put Zander in the middle of it. Zander lay on his side, then rolled
onto his back, putting two arms and four legs into the air. Rose
moved around the table to sit beside the blanket to play with him.
It was clear that he didn't walk yet. Humans at five months didn't
walk either.

I paged through the scrapbook again while Jackson and I talked of
all kinds of things. Actually, we talked mostly about centaur sex
and I'm pretty sure Jenny and Rose were doing the same.

It was getting to be late afternoon. Jenny had packed up the wagons
and settled Zander into hers. I turned to Jackson and said, "I have
one final question. Why was it so hard to find your phone number?"

Jackson smiled. "We don't publish our number partly because we don't
need to -- we have more than enough business -- and partly to weed out
those that aren't really serious about wanting to be a centaur. By
finding our number you showed me it was worth my effort to come for
a visit."

I knew my answer. Rose and I would have a chance for a long talk
now that she had a chance to see a centaur baby up close.

{{Separator|stars}}

That evening, Rose sat beside me on the couch. "Yes," was all she
said. I smiled and we hugged. The long talk wasn't necessary.

The next morning, I called the factory. We were given a date five
weeks in the future.

{{Separator|stars}}

We spent the next month getting affairs in order. We put the house
up for sale. We changed our diet to mostly vegetarian, though we
ate one last meat meal, a farewell to steaks. We arranged to have
a new house built to centaur standards. I stopped shaving - no need
to continue a task I was going to give up anyway. Soon enough we
were off to the factory in our last ride in a horse-drawn carriage.

{{Separator|stars}}

Jackson met us in the reception area and soon introduced us to Eric.
We joined the current "class" and went through the full orientation
session. We spent plenty of time browsing the freezer catalog and
debating whether we wanted to let the magic make its own choice or
whether we wanted to choose the breed. If we chose, did we want to
be a matched pair?

We decided we wanted to keep some sense of individuality, not
immersing ourselves in being a pair. I also decided not to let the
magic choose. I was too interested in breeds with feathered fetlocks.
It also happens these breeds were big and strong, certainly not a
detraction. Rose commented about the male feeling the need to be the
stronger of a pair. She decided to let the magic take its course.

The cart before the centaur doesn't look like much. There is no
attempt to make it look nice. I understood why this was so, but it
made me wonder how something so ugly was a necessary piece in making
something so beautiful.

We loaded my cart first. Rose and I had agreed on Clydesdale for me,
so the proper vial was placed in the bed of the cart. I suddenly
felt nervous.

"Second thoughts?" said Jackson.

"Yeah," I said. I paused for a moment and said a mental goodbye to
my toes. "But I'm going to do it anyway." I stepped into the cart.
Jackson reached down to make the connections.

The world disappeared for a moment. I awoke to an eye level more
than a foot higher than what it had been. I glanced at Rose who now
seemed much shorter. She had a smile spreading across her face. I
glanced down.

The first view was most disorienting. My legs don't look right! What
happened? I felt panic rising. Jackson stepped beside me and put an
arm around my shoulders. "Easy," he said. "It's OK." I looked at
him. Hmmm. We were eye to eye now. I took a deep breath.

Bob and Jack stepped forward to undo the straps of my harness and
back the wagon away. Jackson said, "We'll talk about pulling a wagon
later. Believe it or not, you can walk on those legs. Let's give
Rose a turn now. Then we'll take you closer to the mirrors."

A second cart was wheeled forward. Rose stepped in, showing
confidence I had lacked. That bothered me as this was my wish we
were pursuing, not hers. When she makes up her mind, she doesn't
waver. When the shimmering stopped, I saw before me the creature of
my dreams. I meant that quite literally -- I had been dreaming of a
female centaur since we made our decision. Letting the magic choose
her breed had been the right choice.

Rose was unhooked from her wagon. With guidance we both carefully
walked to the wall of mirrors, a bit amazed that we could walk at
all, that our brains really could properly control four hooves.

"Wow!" was all I could say when I saw our reflections. I had a
magnificent body -- strong muscles, chocolate fur on the body, white
fur on the legs, beautiful feathering covering the hooves, and
thick brown hair on my head with a prominent white star. I think
the muscles of my arms and chest were also improved.

Rose had become an Appaloosa, a patchwork of tan and white. While my
form emphasized strength, hers stressed sleek beauty. Her hair was
now a matching blond with a white star larger than mine.

Jackson led us through the inspections and exercises to acquaint us
with our new bodies and each other. We were both mighty pleased with
the results! It had been the right choice for us.

{{Separator|stars}}

It has now been five years since our change, seven since the EVENT.
Tom is now four years old and is a wonderful kid. He has my coloring
but will likely have his mother's build. Sandra is a year old. Her
Appaloosa coloring is darker than her mother's and she has white
feathering around her hooves to match mine.

My neighbor is the young woman who had been my neighbor before my
change. She became a beautiful bay Arabian centaur, much to her
parent's dismay. She is now married to a young centaur who had
chosen to be Thoroughbred. I have seen her parents around. They
seem to have decided that centaur grandchildren will be OK.

Adam and Jesse now have six children. Since the two decided to be a
matched pair, their children are all similar, only differing a bit
in the shape of the face and their current size. Since Adam and
Jesse tended to give birth at about the same time, even the sizes
are similar. The children are all hermaphrodites.

I've heard that Centaur Industries has been close to capacity since
it went into full cart production. They added a second shift within
a year of the EVENT. They turn out 60,000 carts in a year and they
still have a waiting list. The centaur equipment and clothing
business is also doing well, now that there are enough 'taurs for
good economy of scale.

Between the EVENT itself, changes by Centaur Industries, and births,
the population of centaurs is now over half million. The population
of bovitaurs is over a million, though a large percentage of them
were changed because of the EVENT itself. There's also a few
thousand other types, such as deertaurs, elktaurs, zebrataurs, and
giraffetaurs. John inspired a woman to become a deertaur and join
him. He and his family are doing fine.

The house we bought is in Kyron, the community that Jackson started
at the edge of the city. He named it after the ancient Greek
centaur known for wisdom, but he changed the spelling so people
would pronounce it right. There is a population of about 60,000
'taurs here.

Jackson and his consultants did a good job in designing the place.
It was expressly laid out as a "post automotive" town. There are
no paved streets. Instead, there are well maintained trails that
weave amongst the many trees that Jackson had planted. There are
lots of parks for playing and fields left open for galloping.

The schools are built, but don't have many children in them yet. Not
many parents want to put their children through the change. The
school situation is different in kindergarten and first grade with
the oldest of the natural born centaurs filling the rooms. There
aren't enough of the older students for full sports teams. We're not
sure who we would play anyway.

My job in construction -- I build centaur size buildings -- is going
well, though I have to hire humans to do the roof.

I met Peter when he was 15 years old, after his beard had grown
in. It is blond, matching the color of his coat and contrasting
sharply with the dark hair on his head. Peter is now 19. His furry
torso has not kept the girls away from him.

Peter is going through a punk phase, though as rebellions go, it is
rather mild. He made the dark hair of his head stand up between his
horse ears and trimmed the sides so that it looks like a mane. He
keeps the beard trimmed short to look like fur. When he doesn't wear
clothes, a quick glance will make you think a horse is there, a game
he relishes. He convinced Centaur Industries to create a line of
punk clothing, though they agreed no leather items. I heard
him talk enviously of tattoos, but he has no skin (except his
forehead) on which to put one. He even mentioned branding, but
decided that was too painful. He settled for using dye to put
designs in his fur, though the fur eventually sheds, making the
design fade. That only gives him a chance to create another one.

There are a few community sports leagues that pull in the young
adults along with the students. Football and basketball don't seem
to work. Centaurs are too hard to tackle and block and when your
arms are higher off the ground, dribbling is harder and sinking
baskets is easier. We may have to think about creating a centaur version of
baseball. Polo and soccer are popular and Peter excels at both.

Life is good.

[[Category:Story|The Cart Before the Centaur]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
[[Category:Mythical]]
[[Category:Passing Fad]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Cart Before the Centaur, The}}

User:Erastus/The Pastor

2011-05-31T20:47:50Z

Erastus: Corrected spelling and formatting

{{title|name=The Pastor|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

''Warning: adult situations''

"You must be pure before the Lord!" Pastor Danforth Symms was
hitting his stride as he brought his sermon to a close. "You must
not let any abomination hide within you! God will bring all such
vileness to the light of day! He will not let evil go unpunished!"
An intense itching began in the center of his back, in that spot
that is hard to reach in good circumstances and impossible to
relieve when wearing vestments and standing in front of the choir.
"He sees into your heart and knows when you defy him!" The itching
spread across his back. "He will cast you into the Abyss!" The
itching spread around to his abdomen. "He will brand you so your sin
is declared to everyone!" The itching spread up his chest and down
to his elbows. "Just look around you! SCABS is the mark of
condemnation from God!" The itching spread through his groin and
down his legs all the way to his toes ending with a hot pain under
each toenail.

It was too much! He quickly decided that he had made his point and
stepped out of the pulpit. So the message today was a bit short.
The hymn started and he fled to the vestry. By this time the itching
and pain had faded though he still felt uncomfortable.

Pastor Symms appeared in time for the benediction and took up his
post at the outer doors of the sanctuary to greet the parisoners on
their way out. Some of them thanked him for his fine message. Some
were glad to see him back in charge after the flu that had put him
into the hospital two weeks before.

Pastor Symms said goodbye to the last of his flock and retreated to
the vestry. He took off his vestments and stored them carefully. He
sat heavily into a chair to rest. Within a few moments, he felt
better. He reached down and pulled up his sagging socks. As he did
so, his hand brushed his leg, which seemed to brush back. He glanced
down and pulled up his pantleg. It appeared his leg was covered with
fur.

No. Couldn't be. Not to him.

Yep. There it was. His leg was covered in short, thick, chocolate
fur, which come to think of it, was probably the same shade as the
hair on his head. He pulled up the other pantleg. More fur. He was
starting to feel a bit of panic now.

He stood up and glanced out the vestry door. No one around. He
closed the door to avoid surprises. He unbuttoned his sleeve and
pulled it up. His forearm still showed pink skin. That was a relief.

He unzipped his pants and pulled them off. Both legs were covered
with fur, the fur disappearing into his socks and under his shorts.
He felt a hollowness in his gut. He sat down and pulled off a shoe
and sock. All but the sole of his foot was covered with fur and each
toe ended in a small claw. The foot appeared to remain human shaped.
He pulled off the other shoe and sock. The other foot matched the
first one. The pain in his gut increased.

He pulled off his shorts. If his gut had felt like it was sinking,
it now felt like it had fallen through the basement. Not only did
the fur extend up under his shirt, but it looked like his manhood
had disappeared. Closer inspection showed he did have balls - though
now quite fur covered - and he now had a sheath that kept his
manhood firmly in place.

Just to be sure, he reached behind himself. One good thing in this
mess - he had no tail. Even without a tail, he didn't like the feel
of all that fur.

Since the fur extended upward, he removed his shirt, carefully
undoing the clerical collar. The fur extended up to just short of
his collarbone, then continued over his shoulders and down his arms
to just short of his elbows. He reached around to his back and felt
fur there as well. He wanted to weep.

He checked his hands. The same pink skin as before. He checked his
head in the mirror he used to comb his hair. Pink human ears, pink
human nose, no fangs in his mouth.

Final result: Pastor Danforth Symms, SCABS victim! No!

Here was a man that had dedicated his life to getting rid of those
that God had marked only to find he had been marked as well. It was
enough to crush a man's soul.

He heard a knock at the door. "Honey, are you still in there?"

His wife, Muriel! "Just a minute dear. I just stopped a moment to
catch my breath."

He quickly got dressed. As he did so, he realized that all of his
SCABS manifestations could be hidden by his clothes. It was going
to stay hidden too! Perhaps he could shave it off.

He opened the door and stepped out. His wife's reaction was almost
immediate. "You don't look so good. Are you feeling OK?"

"No," he said, "I'm not. I think I may have a relapse of the flu."

"Goodness, gracious!" she said. "Perhaps we should take you to the
hospital right now."

"It's not that bad," he said. "Let's just go home. Would you drive?"

"Sure," she said. He got into the passenger side and leaned his head
back.

His reply to his wife may have been mild, but his thoughts carried
an edge to them. His flu had actually been Martian Flu! His doctors
had kept that from him! He didn't particularly want to go back to
someone that would lie. Besides, he didn't want any doctor poking
around into the SCABS manifestations of Pastor Danforth Symms. No
chance of publicity for him!

Once at home, Danforth went straight to the bedroom and shut the
door. Muriel knocked on the door ten minutes later holding a tray
with his lunch. On hearing him grunt, she pushed the door open to
find him lying on the bed, but still fully clothed.

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable with your clothes off and under
the blankets?" she said.

Yeah, he would. Slacks over fur meant the fur was all being pulled
in the wrong directions. "I'm fine," he said. "Just set it down and
please leave me alone."

She gave him a strange look, but set the tray down and left.

Danforth slipped into the bathroom, pulled off his shirt, and
grabbed his shaver. That was going to take forever! Surely Muriel
would wonder why the shaver was running so long. He set it down.

Danforth appeared in the kitchen an hour later with the lunch tray
and a suitcase. He said, "I need some time alone to recuperate. I
talked to Sam Kelly about borrowing his cabin for a couple of weeks.
I may not stay the whole time. I also called Janice at the church
about getting someone to preach for me the next couple of weeks."
He saw she was about to protest. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. Two
weeks with nothing to worry about should work wonders." He handed
her the tray and walked out to the car, hoping his tiny lie was
sufficient.

Muriel saw the expression on his face and knew there was no use in
saying anything, even though what she heard didn't quite have the
ring of truth. She might as well start planning on two weeks alone.

Throughout the drive, Danforth tried not to think about his problem.
He didn't get far in that attempt. Once at the cabin, he made a
sandwich for his supper.

He took the shaver into the bathroom and stripped, ready to shave it
all off, no matter how long it took. He surveyed the situation and
set the shaver down. It wasn't going to work. As part of his recent
physical, he had done a heart stress test on a treadmill to check for
heart problems that ran in the family. He had passed the test with
flying colors but they had shaved his chest in patches so the
electrodes could be attached. He had hated the way the stubble had
gotten pulled around by his clothing for three weeks after the test.
He decided dealing with fur beneath his clothing would be simple
compared to dealing with fur stubble for the rest of his life.

One more thought settled the shaving matter for good. Muriel had
enjoyed running her fingers through his chest hair. She would notice
if it was shaved off. Even if he did shave it, Muriel would notice
the claws on his toes and would definitely notice the sheath. The
thought of shaving the sheath made him cringe.

After a few confusing moments at the toilet, Danforth went to bed.

The next morning, he couldn't bear to wear much other than his
shorts and even those weren't comfortable. He opened his Bible and
kneeled to pray.

''God! Why have you so branded me with your mark of condemnation? Why? I have followed you my entire life. I have followed all your laws. I turned my life over to your church. I have been faithful to my wife. I have been a servant to the flock you have given me. I have avoided all dens of iniquity. What few minor sins I have committed, I have readily confessed and have worked to make amends. I have done all that you and your church has required of me. So why have I been marked as one under your wrath? Why do you cast me into the abyss and turn your back on me? Please name my sin! Please name it so I may confess the blot on my soul and be washed clean!''

There was no response to his hours of praying on Monday. There was
none on Tuesday to his hours of praying and Bible reading. None on
Wednesday, either. It wasn't until Thursday that Danforth felt a
whisper in his mind.

''You didn't sin'', whispered the voice. ''There is no sin to confess. I did not brand you, nor did I cast you into the abyss and turn from you. I am still with you. I am only giving you a new task, that of fighting for the justice of my children with SCABS. You will soon learn how much my children need justice.''

''But they're nothing but animals!'' shouted Danforth. ''They have lost their humanity! They threaten to pull the rest of humanity down with them! We need to be protected from them!''

Danforth quivered in anger at God for not understanding the depths
of the problem. How could God not see!

The voice whispered again. ''Be careful about who is we and who is they. Do you not have more fur than is normal for a human? Have you lost your own humanity? Has your soul been taken from you? Since you can still pray and that I am speaking to you means your soul, bruised as it is, is still intact. Your humanity is still within you. All that live with SCABS are still my children, even you. They are still human, no matter their form. They still have souls. They do not carry my curse. I have not abandoned them.''

Danforth felt like his purpose in life had been knocked out from
under him.

The voice continued. ''I won't explain my purposes because you won't understand them. Just understand that those with SCABS are not evil. They simply are. There is evil to battle against, however. That is the evil that declares that my children have no place in my family of believers. That is the evil who decides for me which of my children deserves my compassion. That evil has taken ahold of you too long. I have banished it from you. I ask that you help me banish it from my flock.''

It wasn't until Tuesday of the second week that Danforth realized he
was progressing through the steps of grief.

There was denial of the voice, of what it said, that it was from God
and not a demon.

There was anger at what the voice had done to him, what the
consequences would do to him, and what the voice was asking him to
do.

There was despair at the way of life he would be leaving behind.

Finally, by the second Friday, there was a calm acceptance. Despite
the jolt and the coming difficulties, he could go on, and even
prosper in a new life.

That didn't mean he wanted to hurry into that new life, especially
with such a nice cabin available for his use for a few more days.
One doesn't idly throw away little pleasures. He stayed until
Wednesday, two and a half weeks since he arrived.

Once back home, he gave his wife a long hug, fearing it might be his
last. After a moment, she sensed all was not right. "What's wrong?"
she said.

He started to unbutton his shirt as he spoke, "The flu a month ago
that put me into the hospital was Martian flu." He pulled the shirt
open enough to reveal his furry chest.

Her reaction was all quiet venom. "After all that preaching about
a pure life and God marks you as impure! I don't need to know what
vile thing you tried to hide, though my guess is adultery. You only
compound your punishment by heaping hypocrisy upon it!" As she
stormed off, she added, "I'm off to see a divorce lawyer."

"Wait! We've had it all wrong! SCABS does not mean God has marked
us!"

She barely let him finish. She turned to face him. "An now you
compound it even more by claiming your sin is not a sin at all! I
didn't think you of all people would sink so low!" She left. He
wasn't surprised at all.

On his arrival at the church the next Sunday - with fur carefully
hidden - he was greeted warmly with comments about hoping he was
feeling better. He assured everyone that he was. He said Muriel was
visiting her sister, which was likely true.

Danforth preached a sermon on compassion. It had considerably less
fire than his last sermon and a lot more empathy. It was only close
to the end that he slipped in a single sentence indicating that
compassion should extend to those living with SCABS. That single
sentence was enough.

After shaking the hands of his flock, with very few words about what
a great sermon it was, the chairman of the administrative board
approached, along with many of the board members. "Come with us." He
said, and led the way into the vestry.

Once the door was closed, the chairman said, "I got a strange call
from Muriel during the service. She only said that if your sermon
had lost its fire, I should ask you to take your shirt off. I
listened to her because I trust her even though the request is
bizarre. Your sermon was the wimpiest I have ever heard. Strip."

Danforth only needed to get four buttons undone before the chairman
said, "You're fired. Please move out of the parish house by the end
of the week." Again, Danforth wasn't surprised. He had already
started to pack.

Danforth wrote a letter to the city newspaper declaring that he was
no longer waging an anti-SCABS campaign and that he was apologizing
for his attacks on SCABS. He ended the letter with some of the same
biblical references from his last sermon. It appeared in the paper
a week later. A week after that were several responses. Some were
from his former congregation essentially flaming him for being a
traitor. The others thanked him for his apology, but doubted his
sincerity in light of his previous sermons and writings.

He got a job at his denomination's publishing company. Though his
own congregation was quite firm in their beliefs, the denomination
as a whole was quite vocal as it battled over the issue. An upcoming
church conference seemed destined to discuss that and nothing else.
A job working with the faction that worked to treat SCABS survivors
as humans and full members of the church seemed an ideal way to pay
for his previous treatment of them.

Along with the job came a new apartment in a new town. Danforth
decided that though he sympathized with the plight of SCABS, he
didn't particularly want to be seen as one. He didn't relish the
possible beating that SCABS victims frequently encountered. As
uncomfortable as it was, he didn't venture out of his apartment
without wearing a long-sleeve shirt, long pants, and high top
shoes - even in hot weather.

It was amazing how long he could be a SCABS victim while at home and
be a normal human in public. His viewpoint changed, but that was
all. He didn't even dare go into a SCABS bar. He may work with SCABS
issues, but he didn't want to be identified as being one. He
maintained a double life.

He was assigned the task of editing a book by a woman named Rose.
The book wasn't much to engage him - the title was "Loyalty and
Opposition: Speaking Out Against Religious Persecution of those
with SCABS" - but Rose was. She was quite the change from his
ex-wife, having all the joy of life that Muriel lacked.

As much as his self-protection thoughts shouted that he shouldn't,
he took Rose to dinner -- several times. It was also against that
mental shouting that he realized he was falling in love with her.
And he dreaded the outcome. Rejection by her would mean a lot more
than rejection by the church and by Muriel.

"As much as I love you and admire you," she said one evening over
dinner, "you are about the most uptight person I've had to deal
with." He squirmed in his clothes. "I'm gonna have to do something
about that." She winked.

"Why is it," he said, "women feel they need to reform the men around
them? Why can't they just enjoy their men?"

She stroked his cheek. "We don't always. In your case, something is
making you uptight and that amount of stress can damage your health.
I actually do like you the way you are. I don't want illness to take
you from me too soon. Lets start by going somewhere not in the
public eye. You might relax a bit more there."

Actually, in the public eye is where he wanted to stay. Less chance
of revealing himself. He said, "I want to be clear that I do not
approve of sex outside of marriage."

"I understand and completely agree," she said. "But you do need to
relax. Your living room or mine?"

As any male living alone knows, such a male is reluctant to take a
female into his apartment without advance notice so that he has a
chance to do some cleaning. "Let's go to your place," he said. He
paid the bill and followed her car with his.

Once settled into chairs in her apartment, she tried again, a bit
indirectly. "Danforth, within our denomination nothing brings out
tempers faster than the SCABS issue. I'm sure, given your current
job, I'm only stating the obvious. I'm also sure on which side of
the SCABS debate you stand, or you wouldn't be in that job.
Danforth, I am a person with SCABS." His eyebrows went up. "I won't
think less of you if that is what makes you uptight. Unless you
murdered someone, our church doesn't think there is anything
worse than SCABS, and I'm inclined to think the church would
forgive the murderer."

This was cutting just a little bit too close to his shell. He
mumbled an apology, which he knew she wouldn't believe, and as
politely as he could, fled.

Rose didn't give up so easily. She brought his favorite cookies the
next day and set them on his desk. Danforth felt trapped. He
couldn't gracefully flee from his own desk. He took a cookie so he
wouldn't have to speak for a while.

Rose said, "I'm still concerned about you. My place for dinner. Six
o'clock." He glared at her as he chewed.

He went. Not just for the promise of avoiding single male food, but
he did understand the wisdom of what she said, even if he didn't
like the way she barged in on his comfortable life.

The meal was delicious and Rose carefully steered the conversation
around the "problem", but still managed to learn a lot of his past
life.

It wasn't until they settled in the living room that Rose brought up
the subject. "I said yesterday that I live with SCABS. Looking at me
you wouldn't know it. It is not something I intend to show a guy
until I am married. Even so, I find a women's locker room to be a
dangerous place."

She paused for a moment. "From the way you disappeared yesterday, I
would guess that you also deal with SCABS. If so, it is a case that
can be hidden.

"Danforth, please don't fear me. I know you have created defense
mechanisms for yourself. I have done the same. Be assured that I
will not betray you. But I can tell that you suffer and in a great
need of a friend. Please let me be that friend."

Almost near tears, Danforth undid the buttons on his shirt, then
pulled it open to reveal the short chocolate fur beneath.

Rose was beside him in an instant, holding him in a soothing
embrace. He clung to her as the feeling of loss over his cracked
protective shell surged through him, followed shortly be a feeling
of relief. He didn't have to face life alone anymore.

"I happen to like fur," she said.

They were married six months later.

As the wedding night approached, Danforth wondered what his bride
would only show her husband about her case of SCABS. He didn't pry
and the only hint she gave out was that she was a woman waiting
calmly to be joined to her man. He had nothing to fear. Beyond that,
he realized he didn't particularly care what she had hidden.

They had evaded the chasing guests, checked into the hotel, had a
chance to settle into their room, and took a long moment for a kiss.
Danforth realized his bride hadn't seen much more of him than he had
of her. He drew the blinds and began to undress. It wasn't yet a
passionate tugging at clothes. It was more methodical than that. His
wife needed to see the details along the way.

The easy part was the tux jacket, the shoes, the tie, the cummerbund.
He removed his shirt and let her hand trace the boundary of the fur
at his collarbone, across the back, and around the elbows. She
pushed her fingers through the fur on his chest to feel its softness
and how well it would lie in one direction. Next were the socks. She
felt the carefully clipped claws on his toes and saw how the fur
stopped at the sole of his foot. The slacks came off to show the
short fur completely covered his legs. Finally, the shorts. She
marveled how tidy he looked, but within a few moments, it peeked
above its sheath.

She started with the easy stuff as well - hair clips, earrings,
necklace, shoes. The elaborate gown came off next, revealing an
ordinary body -- one that appeared unaffected by SCABS -- though quite
beautiful. It wasn't until the pantyhose came off that Danforth saw
what SCABS had done. The patch of pubic hair was much larger than
he had seen on Muriel (his only other point of comparison) even
extending onto her thighs.

"That's it? That's the only change?" he said.

She smiled. "I'm a virgin, remember?"

He hadn't explored his own for that matter. The only thing that
really reminded him of his manhood since his change had been the
occasional wet dream. He had been carefully avoiding confronting how
much he had changed.

A few minutes later he was surprised to feel himself expand with
each thrust. The fit seemed tighter and the friction increased. He
had never felt this intense with Muriel. He experienced a sudden
strong tightening during a thrust and felt himself burst within her.
Once he subsided, he collapsed against her for a few moments and
felt her relax against him. They both rested to catch their breath.
Each exclaimed their delight.

It was only then that he found he could not withdraw. He nearly
panicked, but decided to enjoy it, at least for a while. He simply
held her.

It was about 20 minutes later that he felt the tightening relax
allowing him to withdraw. It was only then that she spoke.

"I consulted a doctor after the onset of SCABS. He thought that I
had a touch of dog or wolf. He said that it was possible that I
would clamp onto a man at climax. We also talked about the matching
male anatomy. It seems that since you couldn't withdraw at all,
your changes must also be be based on wolf or dog and that you have
a knot. That would mean you have dog fur. It is too short and fine
for wolf. That means we are made for each other."

The next morning it didn't take Danforth very long to find out what
a knot was.

They settled into a rewarding life. The bigots were still out
there. So were those that would twist the scriptures to fit a
narrow personal agenda. By day, Danforth and Rose worked to battle
that, now even making public appearances in addition to wielding a
pen. By night, they were quite literally locked in each other's
embrace.

[[Category:Story|The Pastor]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
[[Category:Tales from the Blind Pig]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:The Pastor}}

User:Erastus/A Most Unusual Family

2011-05-31T18:06:19Z

Erastus: Restoring a story that was lost in the disk crash.

{{title|name=A Most Unusual Family|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

''warning: adult situations''

I consider myself to be an average guy - average height, not much
overweight, medium blond hair, average looks, average desk job,
average income. I even have an average name of Jack.

So how is it an average guy can be so unlucky in love? Here I'm
trying for a long lasting relationship and nothing seems to work
right. I've had women leave me for a variety of reasons both gentle
and pointed and I've had women I found I couldn't tolerate anymore.
This was always about the time I started to talk of marriage. There
have been dozens of women and still no wife. What is a poor guy to
do?

With another relationship ending in disaster, I needed a vacation. I
took three weeks to backpack with a Eurail Pass. I wasn't interested
in the romantic cities of Rome, Paris, and London. Instead, I went
to Warsaw, Krakow, Berlin, Prague, Brno, and Budapest.

All of those cities -- and the towns between them -- were great --
but not wonderful. I kept feeling that I needed someone to share them
with. I hadn't escaped my problem.

It was evening of the last day. I was in Budapest. I had to take the
overnight train back to Vienna to catch a morning flight. I had a
couple hours after dinner before catching the train. I decided on a
last visit the street fair that had been running for the duration of
my visit.

I saw a tent at the end of the street that hadn't been there before
-- or at least I hadn't seen before. The crudely lettered sign said,
"Fortune Teller". Oddly, it was only in English. I suddenly had a
big urge to hear the answer to my important question. Would I ever
find a wife? Perhaps I might waste a few dollars. Perhaps I might
get some peace of mind. I went inside.

The woman facing the glass ball (who could tell if it was crystal?)
might have been a gypsy straight out of a Hollywood movie. Who could
tell if she were authentic or preying on gullible Americans?
Did I care which it was? I paid the fee, pulled off my backpack,
and sat down.

She asked in heavily accented English, "What in future you want
know?"

"I want to know if I will ever marry," I said.

She caressed the ball and it began to glow. At least I would get a
good light show for my money.

The glow brightened and broke into colors. I couldn't make out any
recognizable images, but the gypsy studied the colors intently. She
stared for several minutes. Finally she spoke, "Yes, you will mate."

That seemed an odd way to say it, but perhaps her Engish is not
good. I asked, "Who will I marry?"

"That is second question. Pay more please."

Fleece the mark time. "Aw, man! You already know. Why can't you just
tell me?"

"Pay more please."

"Why should I pay more? It isn't any more work for you to tell me
who my bride will be. You should just tell me!"

"You Americans all same. You take from world. You step on poor." She
began to chant what almost seemed like singing. The language didn't
sound like the Hungarian I had been hearing the last couple of days.
Her singing was accompanied my movements that seemed like a fast Tai
Chi and almost seemed to be a dance.

Part of my mind said that I should get out of there, forget about
who I might marry. Just leave. It was getting too wierd. My future
bride wasn't worth getting into danger. Part of my mind was
entranced by her singing and movement. I stayed glued to my seat.
I wonder if I could have moved if I tried.

My belt was suddenly tight. In glancing down to see what was wrong
with my belt, I saw a golden fur on my arms that changed to a light
cream at the wrists.

The belt was becoming painful. I stood and undid the belt and saw
it spring back into the beltloops. The pants themselves split along
seams and fell. I tried to lunge at her but merely banged into the
table.

"What are you doing! Stop it!" I yelled. I tried getting around the
table but chairs and my pants got in the way. I felt very
uncoordinated. I fell heavily against the table but still couldn't
reach her. It was a struggle to stand again.

She ignored me, but a moment later stopped her chant and looked at
me. "Stupid Americans. Always take." She stood there with a
sneer on her face.

My toes cramped painfully. I worked quickly to get them out of my
boots while six fingers and two thumbs began to shrink. The nail of
the remaining fingers thickened. I was too occupied to try to attack
her again. Golden fur grew on my legs. Eight toes shrank and two
grew, with thickening nails. My feet deformed, looking more like
part of a leg than a foot. Long creamy hairs covered over the
distorted feet. My chest expanded, splitting the seams and popping
buttons of my shirt, which fell to the ground. It was already
covered in golden fur. My eyes seemed to get higher and my forward
vision wouldn't work right. My field of vision expanded. The elastic
band on my shorts gave way. My manhood seemed bigger but hidden
away. I felt my jaw push out. My ears twitched. My two remaining
fingers grew hooves. Long creamy hairs grew out to cover them. New
muscles in my butt twitched and I felt a tail brush against the back
of my legs. My deformed legs wouldn't balance properly anymore and I
fell forward onto arms that had become legs.

I turned my head on a now very flexible neck. I was standing on four
hooves! I was covered with golden fur which became light cream for
the feathering over those hooves. I could swish a light cream tail. I
was a horse! This witch had turned me into a horse! I let out a yell,
which came out as a whinny. I tried another attack, but only got as
far as painfully banging a foreleg into the table.

Just then a man pulled back the tent flap and stepped in. He was
breathing as though he had been running. He could have easily been
the gypsy's brother. He started shouting to her in what must have
been their native language. She shouted right back. It got quite
noisy for a moment. He smacked her cheek hard enough to send her
sprawling. She got up, glared at him, and disappeared through the flap.

He turned to me. "I am most sorry. Marika not like Americans." That
was obvious! "I try stop her telling fortunes. She sometime sneak
away. She be punished. I will try undo."

He started singing and moving as she had. I had a bad feeling, but
soon felt my body relax. Glancing down, I watched things slowly
return to normal - the hooves shrank, the fingers grew, the legs
reformed, the neck shortened, the chest flattened, the vision
shifted, the fur retracted. When things seemed about right, I dug
into my backpack for clothes.

He spoke as I dressed. "Marika stronger than me. I can no remove
all. This shape hold for few days. Go home quick! Curse then come
and go. Leave now! Quick!"

I left. Quick.

I practically ran to the train station and almost cowered on the
platform waiting for the train to arrive. I wanted a way to lock a
door with me inside, but there isn't much of that on a train in
which one doesn't buy a sleeping compartment. That wasn't a part of
my Eurail pass and I didn't have enough money on me for that kind
of ticket. I chose a seat so I had my right shoulder against the
window, bunched up my jacket for a pillow and tried to shut out the
world.

I actually slept a bit, though my dreams were plagued with strange
images. By the time the train got close to Vienna I had convinced
myself the episode in the tent was either a dream or a hallucination
caused by something in that tent.

The man beside me saw that I was awake. He said, "Nice girl, wild
night?"

"Huh?" was about all I could manage.

He tapped my watch on my left arm. I looked at it. Caught in the
flexible metal band were a few long cream colored hairs - just about
the right color and length to match the hoof feathering of a certain
horse. My stomach felt like that certain horse had kicked it. I
managed a weak smile. "Yeah. Wild night."

If my stomach didn't feel so queasy, the thought of a horse with a
watch on the left foreleg might have been amusing.

I was filled with dread the entire flight back to the States. I
couldn't concentrate on reading. I couldn't sleep. The man in the
tent said the curse wouldn't reappear for a few days, but what if
he was wrong? What if I became a horse on the plane? There just
wasn't room for that, not to mention the thought of panic in the
horse and fellow passengers.

The plane landed with the flight being properly uneventful. I made
it home without incident. Though only early evening local time, I
was exhausted though felt somewhat safe if the curse came back.

I called my boss the next morning -- a Monday -- and left a message on
his voice mail. I explained that I was indeed home but had caught a
nasty illness and needed a few days to recover.

I spent that Monday in nervous energy doing all the things around
the house that men who live alone rarely bother with. I needed a
distraction. Bad!

I did the same Tuesday, this time tackling the garage and yard. The
yard had overgrown while I was gone, though the lawn service had
been there recently. I had done a lot of trimming and weeding by the
time I was ready for dinner.

As I was about to pull food from the refrigerator I felt a sudden
tightening at the belt. I glanced at my arm and saw a sheen of
golden fur. Almost in a panic, I ran to the garage, closed the large
door and stripped out of my clothes. I even thought to remove my
watch. I watched the fur grow, the fingers shrink, the legs and arms
reform, the hooves expand.

I was soon a horse on four hooves. I now had a problem. I was in a
suburban garage. I didn't know how long I would be a horse. I had
missed my dinner and I was hungry.

I glanced out the back door of the garage. The lawn actually looked
rather yummy. I didn't dare go out there until after dark.

In the meantime, thanks to a flexible neck I could get a good look
at myself. I had seen the golden fur and creamy feathering in the
dim light of the gypsy's tent. Now I could get a better look at it
and also see the overall muscle tone (very good!), the light colored
hooves, the creamy mane. I tried various exercises just to feel the
body. What is it like to raise each leg one at a time? What is it
like to twitch an ear? How does one swish a tail? How do I lie down
and get up again?

I naturally stuck my head between my forelegs (not as easy as I
hoped it would be) to get a look at my equipment. Wow! I was
certainly hung like a horse!

All this sounds like methodical thinking. On the contrary, I was
doing it as a distraction to keep me from bolting through that
little open door and trying to jump the fence in a blind panic.
The panic was not just from my new shape. The garage seemed awfully
small and crowded.

Darkness finally came. I squeezed through the little door and
started to browse the lawn. It actually tasted pretty good! Once
I got a bit of food in my stomach and got the hang of nibbling
the grass, I could stop thinking of my body and start thinking of
my future.

Item one: The gypsy brother implied the curse would come and go.
Would it really? If so, how long of a cycle? If the cycle was longer
than several days - or my shape was permanent - I could be in
trouble. I would have to deal with the world as a horse. I had no
way of knowing the length of the cycle. I could only wait it out.

Item two: The garage and lawn were too small for a horse. The house
was out of the question. I would have to move. Item three: I needed
horse food and related supplies. Item four: I needed to spend a lot
of time in the library and bookstore learning about horses.

I felt my hunger was satisfied and squeezed back into the garage. I
heard horses slept on their feet. I found it worked well.

I awoke as a horse and began to ponder what to do next when I
noticed my vision change. I had begun to change from horse to human.
I waited until the last of the fur receded, grabbed my clothes
and went inside. During the change I realized that I could feel
things moving around inside me, but none of it actually hurt. I
had been a horse for 12 hours.

Once I had some breakfast, I called my boss. I explained that I was
feeling better, but something came up and I would like a leave of
absence. He didn't particularly like the idea, but corporate rules
said I could apply for one. I figured I had time as a human so went
into the personnel office to fill out the form and to my boss for
his signature.

The next stop was to see a realtor. I put my house up for sale and
started the search for a small farm within commuting distance of the
city.

The third stop was to the library for horse books. The fourth was
at an animal store to buy some straw and what feed they thought
might work for horses. The city just doesn't have many horses in it.
When their food choices looked rather dubious, I headed to the
grocery store to buy large bags of raw oats and lots of carrots.
The fifth stop was to buy a digital camera with a tripod and a small
TV with big controls.

I was home by noon back to nervous energy wondering when I would
become a horse again. I used it to whip the house into shape to
sell, doing all the little jobs I had kept putting off. During
breaks, I read about horses.

I set the camera up in the garage and set the controls for exposures
every 20 seconds. I set out the feed. I hooked up the TV.

I went to bed Wednesday evening still waiting for the second shoe to
drop. I was convinced the stress would get to me sooner rather than
later. I woke up human, but partway through breakfast, the belt of
my robe began to feel tight. I dashed to the garage, stripped off my
robe, triggered the camera, turned on the TV, then stood in the
camera's field of view. Each time the camera clicked, I turned about
a third of the way around. I continued even after the transformation
was complete and until the camera had filled its disk and shut off.

If anyone could have seen into my garage during the next twelve
hours, they would have seen a horse idly watching television as it
occasionally stuck its nose into a bag of oats. The horse sometimes
grabbed a stick in its mouth to poke at the remote on the floor to
change the channel.

Once back in human form, I downloaded the images into my computer.
The first thirty images showed the transformation took about 10
minutes. The rest of the images showed a pretty good looking horse.
I used the library books to identify the breed as Jutland, known for
the chestnut fur and flaxen mane, tail, and feathers. The Jutland is
a draft animal, quite solidly built, with an average weight of
nearly a ton. I printed a couple of the best photos of the complete
horse. I wanted to see what a horse dealer would say.

As for the curse, it appeared that I would be a horse for 12 hours
and human for 24. And while television might have an effect on my
intelligence, shifting to horse did not. I could still follow the
plot of movies and read the text of commercials. I could also still
see in color.

I figured that I had until early evening on Friday as human. I spent
it with the real estate agent looking at farms. They were either too
expensive or too small.

I tried an experiment. After an early dinner, I tried to shift. I
visualized the growing fur and the shifting bones. It worked! I was
soon back in my horse form two hours ahead of my predicted time.
I left the TV off and merely tried to get some sleep.

After eight hours as a horse and at least a bit of sleep - it
was now the middle of the night. I imagined the fur receding and
fingers growing. Another success! I now had enough control and
could perhaps hold a job.

I was forced into a change after 16 hours as a human. It appeared
I could be human for twice as long as I was a horse. The next
morning when I felt the shift to human begin, I imagined myself
as a horse. I kept the form for a few more hours. I could shift to
horse early, but I couldn't keep the curse waiting. I could keep
my horse form for longer than I needed to.

As much as I grew to hate that confining garage, I felt it best to
be human during the day and horse at night, at least for a while.

During the second day with the real estate agent, we did find a farm
that would be perfect. The commute was longer than I wanted, but
that would be the least of my worries. The house was small, but the
barn was close to the house, new, spacious, and even weathertight
and heated. I didn't know they did that for barns. The farm was also
available immediately. I signed.

I moved over the next couple of days, spending nights in my new
barn. That was much better than the old garage! I spent another day
thoroughly cleaning that old garage and spreading the tainted straw
in the garden. I took the keys to the agent assuring her it could
now be shown. It was three months of tight finances before it was
sold.

I spent a wonderful two days as a horse exploring my new pasture and
barn. Even the rain felt delightful as a horse. I found I didn't
shift for four days after that. During those days, I laid in
horse supplies and got to know the local farmer businesses. I also
showed the photos of my horse form to a few people. All thought the
horse was a good one, able to fetch a high price when sold or used
for a stud service. Stud service? That got me a bit flustered and
apparently that showed. One asked why I wouldn't want to use such a
fine horse that way?

I saw that I would be spending lots of time in the barn. Since
my equine form still appreciated movies and music, I installed a
stereo sound system and a TV system complete with cable. The cable
installer did think I was a bit nuts to run the cable to the barn.
I added large foot switches to everything. I also added locks to the
barn doors and made sure I could operate them from the inside as a
horse. I wanted security, but I didn't want to be trapped by a fire
and need 10 minutes before I could operate a lock. To finish it off,
I added framed prints and posters.

I felt ready to face the job again. It had been a month and I didn't
have enough money to retire yet. During the week, I worked by day
and slept as a horse by night, spending one day each weekend as a
horse. If there was a business trip coming up, I spent both weekend
days as a horse, saving up enough horse time to be human for the
duration of the trip, which was rarely more than three days.

The job was tolerable, but it felt so good to come home, head
straight for the barn, check that the feed bin was full, queue up
some music or a movie, slip out of my clothes, and become a horse,
letting the pressures of job and commute fade away. After a few
turns around the pasture, I was ready to settle in for the night.

I barely used the house. I was in it for my breakfast and morning
shower and for such things as laundry, but that was about it.

As a life, it was actually rather pleasant, even if I was alone most
of the time.

I tried dating a few times. While dating Alyssa I asked what she
thought of werecreatures. She replied that the concept was a waste
of time and that people should be happy with what they are. While
dating Cassie I asked the same question. She never returned my calls
after that. While dating Rose she said, "Are you gay? You just don't
seem to be attracted to me. I don't feel any energy from you." I
realized women didn't turn me on as they once had - men didn't
either - and felt rather relieved not to have to bother with the
dating scene anymore. I could deal with being single.

{{Separator|stars}}

Once a life becomes routine, there always seems to be something to
break that routine. Many times that only results in a new routine.

I had the barn doors open one evening getting ready for the night.
As I was filling the feed bins, a young man appeared at the door. He
introduced himself as Ethan Salinger, living with his parents on
the next farm down the road. As I shook his hand, I figured he
probably just graduated from high school if he had gotten that far.

Ethan said, "I've seen that beautiful stallion galloping around your
pasture. He doesn't look like he gets brushed very often. If you
would like, I could teach you how to do it."

That seemed rather presumptuous, but accurate. I couldn't exactly
brush myself. I thought for a moment, then said, "Rather than
teaching me, would you like the job of brushing him in the evening?"
I offered a few dollars for each time.

"Uh, sure," Ethan said, "I could do that. You're sure you wouldn't
want to do it yourself? It is a great way to bond with your horse.
By the way, where is your horse?"

"He's at the back of the pasture," I said. "As for bonding, I think
it would be tough for me to bond any closer." That produced a
puzzled expression, which I let pass. "Why don't you come back in
about an hour? I'm sure he'll be settled down by then. The door will
be unlocked. Come on in even if you don't see me."

Ethan asked, "What's the horse's name?"

Uh... I'd never had a need for a name for my alter-ego. My pause was
not going over well with Ethan. I grabbed a name out of the movie I
saw last night. "His name is Maverick."

Ethan maintained the look of a skeptic. He said, "For a guy that has
bonded so well with his horse, it seems odd that you stumble over
his name. But I could use a bit of spending money, so I'll do it.
I'll be back in about an hour." He left. I continued with
preparations until I was sure he wouldn't be back during the change.

I made sure my clothes were well hidden, did the change, took a
quicker than usual turn around the pasture -- a shame as it is always
so invigorating -- and made sure I was back in the barn before the
hour was up.

Ethan brought some tools with him when he returned. He first walked
around me with a critical eye. "Bonding with his horse," he
muttered. "Yeah, I'll believe that. I don't think I've ever seen a
horse so filthy." Evidently my morning human shower had no effect
on horse dirt. I wonder where such dirt went when I was human? "Time
for a bath!"

Ethan found the hose and turned it on me. He proceeded to give me a
thorough shampoo. He dried me off, then gave me a thorough brushing.
Ooohhhh, that felt good! He even pulled out scissors and trimmed the
edges of my mane, tail, and around each hoof.

"There we are!" said Ethan as he put his equipment away. "I'm gonna
have to speak to your owner about neglecting you like that. Maybe
we should have a discussion about the word 'bonding', or why the
SPCA shouldn't be called."

I would have 24 hours to think about that one.

Ethan showed up shortly after I arrived from work the next day. He
must have been watching for my car. He started talking almost as he
cleared the door of the barn. "From the filthyness of Maverick, I
should report you to SPCA! Bonded with your horse, have you? Ha!"

I held up my hand. He stopped. I said, "Calling the SPCA might be a
bit overboard. Other than dirty, did Maverick look ill or underfed?"
It was weird talking about myself this way. Ethan shook his head.
"Was Maverick injured or have signs of abuse?" Another head shake.
"So you think having a horse that is merely dirty is a great crime?"

"I guess not,' said Ethan. "But it is important to a horse! It shows
how much the caretaker really cares for the horse."

"Maverick and I have a very unusual relationship. I care very much
for Maverick. Someday I might tell you the story. I was impressed
with the way Maverick looked when you were done yesterday. I have
a bonus for your work." I paid him three times our agreed price. "If
you want the job of keeping him groomed, you have it. You can come
back in a couple hours to groom him this evening. If you leave a
list of equipment, I will keep it all in stock so you don't have to
bring your own stuff every day."

Though the start was rocky, Ethan was faithful about grooming me in
horse form. I sure appreciated his efforts. Those groomings made me
feel so much better!

I'm sure Ethan wondered why he never saw both me as human and
Maverick at the same time. I still didn't think it was the right
time to explain it to him.

{{Separator|stars}}

Ethan came for a grooming and was obviously not in a good mood. I as
Maverick did nothing to anger him. He soon set to work with the
brush. After a moment, he paused, faced my head, and said, "This is
one of those times that a guy needs someone to talk to. Are you a
good listener?" I wanted to nod my head, but only turned my head to
look at him. "People will say I'm a bit crazy for talking to a horse,
but who else can I talk to?"

Ethan brushed me for awhile gathering up his courage. "The problem
is that my dad and I don't agree on what I should major in now that
I'm in college." One of the common problems of youth. Ethan
explained the details, waving the brush to emphasize a point here
and there. When he got into descriptions of his battles for
independence from his father -- something a young man forgets all
young people go through -- his brushing got a little too vigorous and
downright painful. When that happened, I merely stepped away. Ethan
got a surprised look on his face, muttered, "Oh, sorry," before
resuming his work. He ran out of steam in his talking about the time
he finished brushing me. He put the tools away and said, "Good
night, Maverick."

After work the next day, I stopped by a card shop and found a poster
with an "inspirational" do-your-own-thing message. I used that to
replace a poster I had in the barn.

Ethan saw it that evening and seemed a little surprised by it. He
glanced at it repeatedly while he worked and otherwise seemed deep
in thought.

The next time I was Jack when he came, I casually asked, "Have you
picked out a major for college yet?" We hadn't exactly been buddies
so the question caught him off guard.

He recovered and said, "I've signed up for..." then named the
subject he had claimed as his choice.

I merely said, "Good. That sounds like an interesting subject. You
should do well in it."

Over the next few months, Ethan took opportunities to talk to
Maverick about a wide variety of subjects that affect the college
man. I varied the poster for a bit of guidance, though I usually
didn't change it the day after the talk. At times, he didn't
talk of his problems, instead he just talked about what had happened
that day. It appeared this guy didn't have a whole lot of friends.

{{Separator|stars}}

Between having to work later than usual and heavy traffic due to an
accident, it was more than two hours after my usual arrival time
when I finally pulled up to the barn. Ethan wasn't due for an hour
yet, so I didn't feel anxious or rushed. I filled the feed bins,
stripped off my clothes and hid them, and triggered the change. I
relaxed as the change did its work.

It wasn't until my eyes had worked their way to the sides of my head
that I noticed Ethan in the doorway behind me. From the way his
mouth hung open, he had evidently been there for some time. Damn! My
first thought was to change back, but Ethan would react one way or
another before I had use of my voice again.

Once the change was complete I turned around to face him. He didn't
move. I stepped towards him. He held his ground. I stopped when I
was within reach of his arms.

"Jack?" he said. I nodded with huge motions. "Jack? That's you in
there?" I nodded again. "Jack? Your a horse!"

Why is it intelligence seems to vanish when a person is faced with
something really strange? I shouldn't complain. I did the same type
of thing when I turned into a horse for the second time.

Ethan reached out a hand to touch my nose. "Wow. Jack and Maverick
are the same person! Uh, horse! Uh, creature!" I nodded again. "Can
you change back?" I nodded. "Uh, of course you can. Can you change
back now?" I nodded again. I triggered the change to human. I was
glad my schedule had allowed me to save up time as a horse.

Ethan watched the whole reverse change with avid fascination. He
barely moved a muscle. It was only when I felt the change was
complete and went to get my clothes out of hiding did Ethan speak.
"Wow! I wish I could do that!"

"Sorry," I said. "I can't share."

"How is it you can do this?" he asked.

I told him my story.

"That certainly explains the close relationship you talked about
after I gave you that first bath. It also explains why I've never
seen a saddle or halter and why I've never seemed to need that
halter."

He thought a moment. "Do you think you could find the gypsy again?"
he asked.

"Sorry, I doubt her brother would let her back into Budapest. I have
no idea where they live."

"Have you ever been ridden? Uh, I mean, has Maverick ever been
ridden?"

"No," I said.

"Would you be willing? You should know by now that I know how to
care for horses and that includes riding. I could teach you -- how to
be ridden, that is. I'm sure you would be a lot easier to train than
a real horse. I could even supply my own tack and saddle."

"I'll consider it," I said.

Ethan's eyes suddenly got big. "All those nights I thought I was
pouring my heart out to a horse, I was really talking to you!"

I nodded.

"Do you understand me when you are a horse?" he asked.

"I keep a very human mind when I have a horse body." The eyes got
big again. "Don't worry. I'm good at keeping secrets." I winked. I
had kept my secret of Maverick well. "I also think those talks were
good for both of us. I'll still be a good listener if you ever need
someone to talk to."

I glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's getting late and I do
need to sleep as a horse if I am going to avoid unexpected changes
at the office tomorrow."

"May I watch you change one more time?"

"Sure," I said, "though there will likely be lots of chances to do
so in the future."

Again, he watched carefully.

The next day I agreed to be ridden. That began my training as a
horse. I thought I had gotten to know my horse body well. When I
realized how wrong that notion was, I also realized humans tend to
not know their body well until they take up a sport or are trained
in dancing.

{{Separator|stars}}

Ethan and a woman approached the barn. From the grin on his face --
and some of his musings while he groomed me -- I felt sure I knew
what was coming. I let Ethan lead. I didn't want to tarnish his big
moment.

Ethan said in his most formal manner, "Jack, I'd like you to meet
my fiance Ellen. Ellen, this is Jack." Ellen and I shook hands. "He
is a good friend of mine and the one I told you about that spends
his nights as a horse."

It was an odd expression she got on her face, a mix of wide-eyed
wonder and long term skeptic.

"Ethan," I said, "before I demonstrate for the lady, I would like to
know a few more details."

Ethan's smile got a guilty edge to it. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm
sure I told you how we met in the library." Indeed, he had. At
length. "You want to know the wedding details, don't you."

When I nodded, he mentioned a date a week after graduation and
described the church and what they wanted to do for the ceremony.

I turned to Ellen, "If you would excuse me for a moment, I'll get
out of these clothes. It destroys the clothing budget rather quickly
if I change to a horse while wearing anything."

Ellen left the barn while I took off my clothes. After I had turned
my back to Ethan, he called her back in. When I heard the footsteps
stop, I triggered the change.

A moment later, I heard a gasp. Then Ellen said, "You weren't kidding!"

Ethan replied, "No, I wasn't."

Ten minutes later, Ethan and Ellen approached. "Ellen, I would like
you to meet my other good friend, Maverick."

{{Separator|stars}}

Ethan and Ellen had a beautiful wedding. They followed it with a ten
day honeymoon. I assured Ethan I would be fine until he returned,
though I might be a bit dirty and in need of a good bath. And no, I
did not want someone else groom me while he was gone. Didn't wild
horses survive without grooming?

Two days later when I drove into the driveway, I found a horse by
the barn. The lead rope from the halter had been tied to the handle
of the barn door, though it was long enough to allow the horse to
graze. There was an envelope taped to the barn door. I opened it to
find a letter. It said:

::Dear sir,
:: I hope you can take care of my horse. I inherited it
::from my father, along with his farm. My father just died
::and now that the funeral is over, I must fly back to my
::home and job.

:: I have no place to care for a horse where I live and
::have no time nor money to keep up the farm. I have no time
::to sell the horse and don't think it would be worth much
::anyway.

:: While driving by last evening, I saw your horse. I
::figured you could take care of this horse until you could
::sell it. You are welcome to keep the horse or keep the
::proceeds of the sale for your troubles.
Sincerely,

The signature was a messy scrawl. I had no clue where it came from. The person's home town was also not given.

The horse appeared to be young and healthy. A quick glance showed
it to be female. The coat was sorrel with black on the legs, tail,
and mane. She had a white star on the forehead.

I took several photographs, which I would take to the local horse
dealer in the morning.

There wasn't much else I could do that evening, other than to be
sure she was fed and comfortable in a stall. I triggered the change
and stayed near her. She seemed to appreciate the company and
seemed disappointed when I changed the next morning.

On the way to work, I stopped by the horse dealer and showed him the
photos. He agreed she was young and healthy, but didn't think she
would fetch a great price as she was not a purebreed. He said it was
hard to determine what breeds were in her ancestry. Though he knew
most of the horses in the area, he didn't know this one or who had
owned her. He did agree to list her as being for sale.

That evening my new companion seemed to want extra attention. I
groomed her (following Ethan's many lessons on me), but that didn't
seem to be enough. Oddly, my curse seemed rather strong, though I
couldn't say how I knew that.

I finished my preparations for the night. The change started as soon
as I had gotten my clothes off, without my usual mental trigger.
About three quarters of the way through the change as my horse
senses kicked in, I noticed a thick, warm, enticing smell which I
didn't recognize.

A moment later when my penis slid out and demanded attention that I
realized what I was smelling. She was in heat!

I practically ran for the door, nudged it open, and stepped into the
fresh air. My companion complained loudly at my departure. Let her
yell, I thought. I want to keep my humanity. That means mating with
humans, not horses! I may look like a horse, bit I certainly didn't
think like one! I did not want my offspring to be a horse!

I tried to trigger the change back to human, knowing I had time
saved up. It wouldn't work! No matter how much I imagined human
hands and skin, the change would not start. The fur would not shrink
away.

I fled to the far side of the pasture and figured I had better spend
the night there. It didn't do much good. I tried another change to
human with no luck. My member still responded to faint whiffs in the
gentle breeze and she still called for my return.

I tried thinking of the project at the office, or anything else for
that matter. I tried pacing along the far fence, but found the
"fifth leg" got in the way and was a constant reminder. I would have
tried a cold shower if I could have turned on the hose and guided
the flow. It was a miserable night. I got little sleep.

It turned out to be a miserable morning too. I still couldn't shift
to human. That meant I couldn't call the boss.

Out of desperation, I nudged the gate open and headed down the road.
My desperation was greater than the embarrassment of being seen in
public with a prominent fifth leg. I had gone a mile before my
member began to shrink. Even after waiting more than an hour (not
that my sense of time is all that great) and getting 5 miles from
my farm, I still could not shift. I was stuck!

That I thought walking five miles back to the farm as a buck naked
human was an improvement over my situation showed my mental state.

I reviewed my options as I walked home. She was going to be in heat
for several days. It appeared that as long as she was in heat, I
couldn't shift to human. I couldn't call anyone to take her away. I
could run away from home myself, but she needed someone to feed her.
Besides, running away didn't allow me to return to human and kept me
at the mercy of anyone that found me. I could release her, but she
wasn't likely to run anywhere but to me. I didn't care to spend the
next few days fully charged and in need of release, much less stuck
as a horse. As much as I hated the idea, she would be my mate.

Within a mile of my barn, I could smell her again. My body quickly
responded.

I walked back to the barn and up to her stall. She was delighted to
see me. I manipulated the latch of her stall to let her out. I
headed outside for some room. I couldn't imagine having enough room
in the barn. She followed eagerly.

How does one court a horse?

It turned out not to be necessary. She was ready and so was I. I
can't imagine anything else providing so much physical pleasure
paired with so much mental anguish.

About 10 minutes after the deed I found myself shifting to human.

It was now close to noon. I called my boss and said I was sick. I
spent some time replenishing the feed bins and followed Ethan's
example of talking things over while I groomed her. Grooming proved
to be more interesting than yesterday as she was in a playful mood.
I'm sure I still had the smell of stallion about me.

My companion was possibly pregnant now. If she was, she was carrying
my offspring. Since it would be my offspring, my morality prevented
the option of abortion. I also couldn't sell her now, at least until
I knew she wasn't pregnant. She was my horse.

She needed a name. Though her red color suggested the name "Sunset",
I decided on "Star". It might be an common and obvious name for a
horse, but I didn't think I should use a name that would be confused
as human.

I thought back to my encounter with the gypsy. I certainly had
mated. It was not in a way I would have ever imagined. Was this what
she saw in that crystal ball?

When I was done grooming her, I called the horse dealer and told him
she would not be for sale.

I spent some time trying to find out how well she was trained. It
didn't work well, so I gave up. That would be a job for Ethan.

That evening when I changed, it was much to Star's delight. I had
let her into the pasture before I changed as I knew what was coming.
I guess since I had all day to think about it and her, the idea of
mating didn't seem so repulsive. I was able to enjoy the pleasure
without so much anguish. I was also able to find out what my
capacity was - it proved to be considerable in human terms.

I had no trouble shifting to human the next morning and heading off
to work. I must have had the idiot grin on my face as I got a couple
of comments about whether my luck in love had finally changed. I
replied with a, "No comment," which only encouraged the speculation.

Star and I had another romp in the hay that night -- more literally
than I had thought possible -- and another the night after. The
next morning, she was no longer in heat.

The day that Ethan returned from his honeymoon I remained human
until Ethan came by. We had lots to talk about, starting with
introducing him to Star. The big question I had was how to tell if a
mare is pregnant. He didn't know.

Life settled into yet another routine. I groomed Star, then became
her companion while Ethan groomed me.

As a horse, I tried to learn to communicate with Star. I tried to
"speak horse" even if it was with a heavy human accent. Other than
that, it was just a matter of keeping up with life while we waited
for Star to give some indication she was pregnant.

Things got a little strange 8 months after Star was in heat. There
were times that she looked noticeably pregnant and times that she
didn't. We even got out a tape measure and recorded the difference.
This remained a puzzle.

This was strange enough that Ethan called a vet to visit when I would
be in horse form so that I could be examined too. The vet confirmed
that Star was indeed pregnant -- she was noticeable at the time -- but
didn't know how we would get different measurements. He declared
both of us to be healthy.

Ethan, Ellen and I discussed whether my offspring would be human or
horse. We quickly abandoned that as unknowable and moved on to what
should we do to prepare. We decided to have stuff for both infant
human and foal on hand. If the offspring was human, my big concern
was what to do while I had to spend time as a horse. We eventually
agreed that Ethan and Ellen could move into my house and be
caretakers of my offspring.

When Star finally went into labor, I had already shifted to horse
for the night. I shifted back to human and called Ethan from
the house and then called the vet. I also left voice mail for my boss claiming vacation time. Once we were all assembled, it didn't take long for Star to deliver a healthy colt. The vet was alarmed that he was so small, but he did appear healthy and he did get onto wobbly legs by the time the vet left.

I hadn't figured out what I would have done if Star had given birth
to a human infant in front of the vet.

I was both elated and disappointed. My son was a beautiful creature
with fur that matched his mother. But he was not human.

I stayed human that night, having saved up the time. Ethan and Ellen
stayed with me.

When my little one was about 5 hours old, he seemed to abruptly
collapse, landing in the straw. I became alarmed and knelt down
beside him. His shape looked odd. A moment later I realized what I
was seeing -- my son was changing from horse to human! He would carry
the same curse. After ten minutes, a very human looking baby boy lay
in the straw in front of me. His flesh matched mine in pinkness, his
hair was the same color as the fur that had just disappeared.

We simply stared at the boy for a moment. We snapped out of it when
he started to fuss. I picked him up, wrapped him in a blanket and
held him close. Ellen warmed up a human size bottle and gave it to
me. Star looked anxious, wondering where her colt had gone.

Ethan and I guessed that Star didn't look so pregnant when the fetus
was in human form and did when he was in horse form. We also guessed
that his horse form was small to match his human form.

From my son's red hair coloring it was obvious to me that Star had
contributed genetic material. My family had never had hair that
color. I wondered what other pieces Star had contributed. From
his feathering over his hooves when in horse form, in addition
to his human features, it was also obvious that I was the father.

Ethan and I went to the hospital to register the birth. I chose the
name Jason. The administrator filling out the form seemed to take
joy in giving me a hard time. The mother's name is Star? Are you a
hippie too? Why didn't she accompany her child? Isn't she taking the
natural birth thing at home a bit too far? Finally, she was done.

The doctor declared Jason to be healthy. It took a bit of convincing
but the doctor finally agreed that Jason didn't need to spend the
night. I certainly didn't want my little boy to turn into a little
horse there in the nursery.

Jason in horse form was given the name Spike. I hoped we wouldn't
confuse the poor kid.

Though Jason/Spike did his papa proud, I decided one was quite
enough. I promptly had a vasectomy before Star could go into heat
again. I had been looking forward to Star being in heat -- in
contrast to my first encounter with her that way -- but I didn't want
to be the one to impregnate her.

We soon settled into another routine. Jason would spend 12 hours as
a very mobile horse and 24 as a human that didn't go anywhere. It
would be a while before he figured out the trigger. While he was a
horse, Star seemed to handle things well. While he was a human,
Star seemed lonely while Ellen and I took care of him.

{{Separator|stars}}

Now that Star was no longer pregnant, I had Ethan instruct me in how
to properly ride her. On days that Jason was a horse, I enjoyed
taking Star out for a ride with Spike walking along beside us. Well,
actually Spike romped and galloped more than he walked. On days that
Jason was human, I bundled him into a backpack for a ride. On
weekends when I could also be horse, Star, Spike and I could have a
nice outing together. Those were enjoyable days. I began to feel a
love for my strange family.

{{Separator|stars}}

The vet visited for a checkup when Jason was 6 months old. Ethan had
scheduled it for a day when Jason was Spike and I could be Maverick.
The vet declared us all healthy but he was concerned with the small
size of Spike. He expected the colt to be much larger. Spike had
grown, but was a lot smaller than the vet thought he should be.

When Jason was a year old Ellen or I started to read bedtime stories
to him, which he enjoyed. Ellen was a bit surprised one evening a
week later when Spike used his hooves to slide a book over to her.
It would look odd to outsiders, but Spike got bedtime stories too.

At the next checkup, the vet was alarmed at how small Spike was. He
expected to see a horse nearly mature. It was then I realized what
was going on. Spike was maturing at the same rate as Jason. In a
way, that was a relief. A five year old human wouldn't be able to
handle the sexual maturity of a horse. Later, I told the vet over
the phone that I didn't think Spike should be treated for being
small if he was otherwise healthy. The vet thought I was nuts.

Ellen soon announced she was pregnant. Compared to our concerns
while Star was pregnant, Ellen's pregnancy was a breeze. She
delivered a girl and named her Melanie.

{{Separator|stars}}

At age 3, Jason figured out how to trigger the change. He soon
aligned his changes with mine.

Jason and I went to the park for a picnic for a bit of father-son
time, as we had done on occasion. This time it was a month after
Jason figured out the trigger. Jason took two bites of his sandwich
then declared, "I don't want a sandwich. I want grass!" I noticed
his ears begin to twitch and lengthen as he started to take off his
shirt.

"Jason, no!" I hissed. "This is not the time to be Spike!" This was
not a conversation I wanted anyone to overhead.

"But the grass looks so good!" His shirt was off now and his fur
began to show on his skin. His ears were prominent and pointed. He
started taking off his pants.

I got up off the blanket and pulled it over the two of us. I then
held him close. His face had started to push out. His middle
fingernails had thickened, the other fingers had shrunk. "This grass
is not for eating. You have to change back to human. Come on Jason,
think skin. Think fingers. Think smiles. Think small ears." I kept
up my chant as his tail appeared over his shorts. His body language
suggested defeat as he triggered the change back to human. When I
had a human boy in my arms again, I asked, "Do you want to finish
your sandwich now, or should we go back to our barn?"

"I wanna go home." So we cancelled the picnic. It was a long time
before I dared have another.

That was when I realized that Jason would have to be home schooled.
Ellen agreed to the job. Melanie could be home schooled too. That
would probably be for the best as Melanie would likely say some
strange things to her teachers.

{{Separator|stars}}

After a few years of schooling, Jason began a rebellious streak.
Studying wasn't fun anymore, he said. He began spending as much time
as a horse as possible. That was when we discovered the flip side of
the curse.

I saw Spike galloping across the field when I cam home from work one
chilly October evening. I waved. He nodded his head. I went into the
barn to prepare for the evening.

A half hour later, a completely naked and quite chilled Jason walked
into the barn. I threw a blanket around him and pulled him over to
the furnace duct. I started making hot chocolate and asked, "So why
did you shed your fur on such a cold night?"

"I didn't do it Dad, it just happened." At my curious stare, he
continued. "I didn't trigger the shift, Dad. It happened all by
itself."

It took me a moment to piece it together. I had already learned that
if I spent too long as a human my change to horse would be
automatic. I almost always triggered it so that it would happen when
I wanted it to. Since Jason had been aligning his schedule with mine
since he was three and learned the trigger, it had been many years
since he had not triggered the shift. Now that he wanted to spend

all
his time as a horse, he found out the hard way that if he spent too
much time that way, his shift to human would also be automatic.

It didn't take him long to decide to sleep as a human and spend most
of his days as a horse.

Ellen was frustrated trying to teach him. It didn't work to try to
teach spelling and arithmetic when Spike wanted to gallop around the
pasture. I soon hit on a solution. If Ellen couldn't teach Jason on
human topics, Ethan would teach Spike on horse topics, which Spike
took to rather quickly.

I let the situation go for a while, but soon insisted Jason learn
how to be human as well as horse. I could confine him to the barn
and have Ellen teach him even while he was Spike. Spike soon found
the disadvantage of that. Melanie wanted to braid his tail or his
mane whenever she had the chance. It didn't take Spike long to
figure out he should attend class as Jason. He settled for a more
balanced schedule and continued his education on two fronts.

It wasn't all study. I made sure I spent human time with Jason both
doing human things and going for a ride on Star. I also made sure
that Spike, Star, and I as Maverick continued to cavort in the
evening. Spike liked to show off what he had learned from Ethan just
as Jason liked to display what he learned from Ellen.

Jason was soon taking riding lessons on Star and was pretty good at
it. I wanted to let Jason learn by riding me as Maverick, but Ethan
vetoed that idea. He said that Jason would either not learn how to
control the horse or would get into dominance games with me. Jason
riding Star wasn't so easy to deal with either. I had to swallow
jealousy when I saw another male sitting on my mate.

{{Separator|stars}}

When Jason reached middle school age I was certain he wouldn't shift
to Spike at inappropriate times. I enrolled him in the local middle
school. I did it as much for the social aspects as I did for the
educational. It took him a while to fit in, except in gym class,
where he was always picked first for a team, quite the opposite of
my middle school experience.

Jason was faithful in his studies. It didn't take long for him to
come up with a solution for studying while leading a dual life. He
bought a pressure sensitive pad, laid it out on the barn floor,
marked it with hoof size keys, and programmed his computer to treat
it as a keyboard. The sight of a horse typing out an English
composition was humorous to Ellen.

The barn -- at least around Jason's stall -- was beginning to look
like that of a middle-school student. He put up posters of an odd
mix. I guess I expected rock band posters. I expected the posters of
horses as well. It was the posters of centaurs that startled me.

Jason was starting to look and act like a teenager. I didn't want to
fight dominance battles with him when Star came into heat. I found
and bought a small cabin with a shed and pasture an hour farther out
from town. Since my fateful night in Budapest, I hadn't done any
traveling. The fear of shifting in an inappropriate place had
killed the wanderlust of my youth. Ethan, Ellen, and Melanie took
vacation time to be with Jason at the cabin when Star was in heat.
Jason liked the week off from school, but didn't like having to keep up with studies during that time.

I was relieved when Jason started to date, though I noticed it was
never just himself and a girl. He usually went out with other
couples. He rarely brought a girl home. He explained that the girls
that liked horses seemed too eager and the ones that didn't like
horses didn't want to come.

Jason came home from one date in a strange mood. When I asked him
about it, he told this story:

"When we got back to Diane's house after the movie, I was the last
one into the house and mistakenly left the door open. Diane's mother
said, 'Close the door! Did you grow up in a barn?' I replied, 'Yes.'
Everyone started laughing and I couldn't figure out why, which made
them laugh even harder. I practically ran out the open door. Dad,
what did I say that was so funny?"

By this time, much to my son's annoyance, I was chuckling myself.
By the end of my explanation, Jason did admit it was funny. Even so,
he didn't think he could date Diane again.

Jason led an active social life through high school and college. He
dated several women. But none of his dates were the one. I soon
realized Jason's interest in women was the same as mine -- they're
nice people and fun to be with, but there was no desire to mate with
them.

Jason worked at a nearby stable during his senior year in high
school. The owner thought Jason did wonders with the horses and said
great things about his future. That ended when Jason insisted he had
to take his vacation when a mare came into heat and the owner
insisted that was the time when everyone had to work. Jason quit,
and adjusted his plans for a college major.

Star died during Jason's freshman year at college. He took two days
off from class. His professors were not inclined to excuse the
absences, after all it was only a horse that died. He took the time
off anyway. Ethan, Ellen, Melanie, Jason, and I had a simple
memorial service for her and then buried her at the far side of the
pasture. She had lived a typical lifespan for a horse. I still miss
her.

Five months after graduation and now settled into a job Jason said,
"It's time, Dad." I knew what he meant and was somewhat prepared for
the idea. It was time to search for and buy a mare for Spike. Jason
had done his research. He knew all about the various breeds, which
ones he had the most interest in, the likely price of a mare in
each breed, and the likely availability.

Though a Clydesdale mare may look rather fetching, she would also be
beyond our resources. Jason and I also discussed that his mother was
not a purebreed and buying a mare with papers was probably not worth
the money. There certainly would be no offspring to sell to recoup
the purchase price! We would go for health and looks, not for
pedigree.

The solution came from an unexpected direction. The local horse
dealer handed Jason a notice of a government sale. The Bureau of
Land Management was making 200 horses for sale to reduce the wild
herd on government lands. The herd had gotten too big. Those horses
that weren't sold would be destroyed. Jason wished we had the money
to rescue more than one.

At the sale, Jason slowly inspected the mares. He looked at several
longingly, but chose one not yet mature. Though there would be no
offspring this year, she could be around for a long time. The one he
chose had tan fur with black socks and tail. He named her Lady.

It took a lot of training on the part of Jason and Ethan, but soon
we had a quite pleasant addition to the family.

When I sensed Lady was about to come into heat, I left for the
cabin. When I returned home, Jason had a particularly wide grin on
his face. In the next foaling season, Lady delivered twins, a colt
and a filly. A few hours after birth both shifted from horse to
human. The family curse lived on. Jason named them Justin/Storm
and Rose/Cloud.

I watched with interest as Jason dealt with his children. I was
frequently reminded of similar situations when he was young. I
also watched as Melanie took over many of the tasks her mother had
done for Jason and Spike.

Justin and Rose didn't make it easy. Their cycles were of slightly
different lengths. It was soon common that one was shifting to horse
as the other shifted to human. It was fascinating to watch a little
horse play with an infant human.

During the following spring Jason realize that while he wanted more
children, he wanted the twins to be a bit older. Having grown up
with the curse, he didn't feel as squeamish about propagating it
as I did. He joined me at the cabin, leaving the kids with
Ellen, Melanie, and Lady. The year after that, he decided that two
children really were enough and got a vasectomy.

The year after that, Melanie married and moved to a new home nearby.
She visited when she could, but I think Ron, her husband, was
uncomfortable around us, though he never did anything to endanger
us.

I retired from my job that year. Jason's salary and my pension was
more than enough. This allowed me to adjust my schedule so that
either Jason or I was in human form most of the time to care for the
twins, which would have overwhelmed Ellen.

During the "terrible twos" - a time before either of then figured
out the trigger - we had to watch them carefully. One human sibling
in human form frequently used the other in horse form for personal
transportation. They could get across the field in no time, but one
didn't always have a good hold when the other took off.

{{Separator|stars}}

The cabin got crowded the spring that the twins turned 15. Ethan met
me at the end of the driveway when I cam home from work. He said,
"Rose abruptly shifted to horse and has gone into heat. Justin is
with my parents. I suggest you go straight to the cabin if you don't
want to be involved in incest."

I said, "And Jason?"

Ethan said, "I haven't seen him yet. When I do, I'll have him meet
you at my parent's place."

We three men had a nice time at the cabin, though our happy mood was
spooled a bit when Cloud sent e-mail (thanks to her father's hoof
sized keyboard) lamenting she was stuck in horse form. We did the
parental fretting, but there wasn't a lot we could do about it. Even
going home wasn't a good idea, that would mean three stallions
fighting over her.

Rose sent e-mail a week later giving the all-clear. She had been
stuck as a horse the whole time she was in heat. She wasn't too
happy about the experience and grumbled about being stuck in horse
form for a week each spring.

Rose wasn't so sure of the idea of motherhood. She doubted she
wanted to buy a stallion and take care of it. She didn't think it
would work to send the stallion off to the cabin with the men during
years she didn't want children. She declared she would rather be a
career woman.

At Rose's urging, we bought a second cabin for the women. Rose
didn't want to be at the farm when Justin wanted to mate as he would
then mate with her too. The cabin for Rose was a good 20 minute
drive from the men's cabin.

Though Rose and Justin dated, human mates didn't appeal to them
any more than they had appealed to me or Jason. Once Justin
graduated and got a job, he asked about buying a mare. I was a
great-grandfather within a couple of years. The curse lived on.

Rose completed college and settled into a job. She even got a few
promotions and raises in short order.

It wasn't too many years before motherhood became the top item on
her agenda. She still didn't want the hassles of owning a stallion.
Besides, she would essentially be a single mother even with the
stallion around. She opted for a stud service. She decided she
could afford a good one, given her income and savings. She arranged
for a visit to a Clydesdale farm.

While the men waited at our cabin, Ethan took Cloud to the stud
farm. On their return Cloud reported through email that the trip
appeared to be a success. The note said little. What does a woman say
on that subject in a note to her father and grandfather?

A week later, Cloud reported shat she was no longer in heat, but
couldn't shift to human. We loaded the car and returned to the
farm.

Three days later, Cloud still couldn't shift. She was now quite
worried. Her vacation time would soon be over. We gathered around
Cloud to discuss the situation.

Ethan said, "Remember how we became so concerned when Star was
pregnant with Jason because some days she looked pregnant and some
days she didn't? Remember when Lady was pregnant and did that and
we commented it was just like Star?"

I nodded, "Go on."

Ethan said, "When Jason was born and shifted, we figured that Star
changed sizes because the fetus was shifting between human and
horse. I suspect that Cloud's baby will also shift before birth.
If so, what would happen to a human woman carrying a horse fetus? I
have some guesses, none of them pretty." I could tell from Cloud's
ears that she was paying very close attention to this. "I think
locking Cloud into horse form is the way that the curse protects her
from an oversized fetus. I think she won't be able to shift until
after the birth."

Cloud's reaction was immediate and noisy. It took all of us to calm
her down. The reason was clear. Birth was 11 months away!

After a day or two of sulking, Cloud e-mailed her boss. She asked
if she could work from home. That was turned down. She asked about a
leave of absence. She was told the company had no such policy.

Through the computer, she wondered "out loud" about an abortion,
then decided she couldn't do that, even if not doing that meant she
would live as a horse for nearly a year. She sent e-mail to her boss
submitting her resignation.

Those 11 months were long ones for Cloud. We all tried to be extra
nice to her, but her computer messages frequently reminded me how
much she hated the curse she inherited. She also had a few choice
words for the grandfather that did stupid things that caused him to
acquire the curse.

Michael/Buddy was born as a beautiful colt. His markings were of a
Clydesdale, but his fur was much lighter than the usual chocolate.
He shifted to human 2 hours later.

Once Michael was born Cloud could shift. Rose quickly arranged to
have her ovaries removed. She did not want to live through that
again. She didn't even want the hassles of going into heat! The
doctor was reluctant to remove healthy organs saying that it would
be better to just have her tubes tied, but Rose could be quite
persistent.

Today, I look back on a long and very unusual life. I have a son,
two grandchildren, and a great-grandson and have reached the age of
80. I had passed on a curse that I had acquired in my youth and seen
the ingenuity that allowed me and my progeny to live well in spite
of it. We prove again how adaptable humans are.

Rose may have detested the curse each spring, but even she enjoys a
good gallop across the field with her son. I may have a most unusual
family, but we wouldn't have it any other way.

[[Category:Story|A Most Unusual Family]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
[[Category:Equine]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Most Unusual Family, A}}

Category:Passing Fad

2011-05-31T17:40:55Z

Erastus: Restored category

[[Category:Stories by setting]]

User:Erastus/The Cart Before the Centaur

2011-05-31T17:38:22Z

Erastus: Restoring a story that was lost in the disk crash.

{{title|name=
The Cart Before the Centaur|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

Life is now different in a lot of ways than it was 18 months ago.
Since cars became horses, people don't travel as far. When we order
goods from a catalog, overnight shipment has became weeks. There
aren't planes anymore either. Even computers were eventually
replaced with something simpler.

Back before the telegraph, ideas could only move as fast as a horse.
Now that so much technology had become something else, the spread
of ideas had slowed a bit, though the still working radios and
phones allow ideas to spread faster than a horse. Long distance news
tends to be a bit old. But even old news can grab one's attention.

This is the article that did it:

::Scientists reported today that the milkmen, bovitaurs
::created by the EVENT, have proven to breed true. These
::milkmen were caught in their electric delivery carts
::when the EVENT happened and became creatures that are
::human from the waist up joined to cows from the shoulder
::down. Scientists theorize that since the carts were
::carrying milk, the men's bovine part became female.

::Their wives adapted to this problem by stepping into a
::nearly completed cart that held vials of bull semen and
::allowing someone else complete the cart and triggering
::the change. They remained female above and became male
::below.

::The couples were able to mate and conceive. The first
::of the babies was born yesterday to Phil and Marie at St.
::Catherine Hospital and proved to be a bovitaur like its
::parents. It is confusing to know what pronouns to use as
::the child appears to be human male and bovine female, just
::like the original milkman.

The story was short, but it was enough. I realized a childhood
dream was in my grasp. I talked to my wife, showing her the
article. She saw the twinkle in my eye. She said I could persue it
if I wanted, but she wasn't convinced yet.

What I've always wanted was to be a centaur, a graceful melding of
human and horse. I've collected dozens of images of centaurs, a
hobby I've indulged in over the years. If these carts can use the
EVENT magic to make their occupants into bovitaurs, it should also
be possible to make me into a centaur.

My wife Rose and I are still young. We have no children - yet. I
would love to have my children grow up as centaurs. I also love my
wife. I would not do this without her.

I heard of other people becoming centaurs because of the EVENT,
but that had looked to be a one-time artifact of the EVENT. But this
news article indicated that my dream was a possibility. The company
that made the carts was still around and at least producing the
parts. Or at least they were at the time the milkmen's wives made
the change.

I had to do a lot of digging to find the name of the company and
get their phone number. The name had been omitted from the news
article. With number in hand, I called.

"Centaur Industries. May I help you?" The voice was a sweet female.

"Uhh, I seem to have dialed the wrong number. I dialed
313-555-8723."

"Yes, you reached that number."

"Uhh, I was expecting to talk to someone from McKay Motor Company."

"That is our old name, sir. How may I help you?"

"I saw the newpaper article about the milkmen and their wives --"

"You'll want to speak to a representative," she interrupted. "I'll
connect you."

They didn't leave you in hold limbo here. A few clicks later and I
heard a rich male voice. "Jackson here. How may I help you?"

"Uhh." Why so hesitant? "I saw an article about milkmen --"

"And you want to do it too."

"Yeah! Well, not exactly. I want to be a centaur, not a bovitaur."

"We can help you with that too. We've worked with a variety of
'taurs."

"So what do I do?"

"Are you married or otherwise in a relationship?"

"Yes, I'm married"

"What does your wife think of centaurs?"

"She's uncertain, but willing to explore the idea."

"That's good. The first step is for me and my wife to pay you a
visit to present the whole procedure in detail. This isn't a
decision you want to take lightly. The earliest I can come is next
month. It will take a while to get there as I'll have to hoof it."

We worked out my location and travel time (no more jumping on a
plane), agreed to meet for lunch at my house with Jackson bringing
the food, then said goodbye. He assured me it would be easy to spot
him.

{{Separator|stars}}

Indeed it was easy to spot him. As the appointed hour approached, I
heard a commotion outside. I poked my head out the door to see what
was going on. I quickly called my wife to see too. What we saw was
a pair of centaurs, one male and one female, walking down the street
towards us. Hoofing it, indeed. Each was pulling a wagon covered by
a tarpulin. The cover on his wagon carefully covered its contents.
The cover on hers seemed to create a tent - well fastened, but
letting the breeze blow through. The pair had attracted a lot of
attention, most good, some not so friendly. Both endured the crowd
with quiet dignity.

The male was a huge creature. The lower part was a draft horse. I
saw that I would have to study breeds in more detail if I wanted
to choose one for myself. I wondered if I could choose. The coat
was a dark blond (were those the right words?) with shaggy pale
blond socks (definitely a ''lot'' to learn). The color of the fur
matched the thick, close cropped hair of his beard and on his head.
He wore a jacket that came down to the top the forelegs in front. I
could see the chest muscles bulging underneath. The cap on the top
of his head had a stylized centaur logo, as did the side of the
wagon.

The female appeared to be more of a racer, definitely built for
speed rather than power, and a little shorter. Her fur was blond
(tan?) with black stockings. Her coat matched the blond hair on her
head. She wore a jacket to match her partner, though the curves under it were obvious and ample.

Both of them were gorgeous creatures! I had lots of drawings and
composite photos of centaurs, but none matched the reality in front
of me. I glanced at my wife. She had a look of awe on her face. I
had the feeling she could be easily convinced to go through with it.

You would think that if I was so interested in centaurs, I would
know all the proper terms for horses. Amazingly, that is not true.
I guess I was fascinated with the centaur form, not the horse, and
since the centaur was unattainable, there wasn't much need to learn
all the details. That had now changed.

The centaurs stopped in front of our house. "Are you Nate and Rose
Greenslade?" We nodded, a bit too overwhelmed to say anything. "I'm
Jackson. We talked on the phone." I nodded again. "This is my wife
Jenny." By this point, we had walked down to the curb and shook
their hands. Jackson went on, "We have a lot to talk about so
perhaps we should get started. I doubt we would fit comfortably in
your house, perhaps we can meet in your back yard?"

Jackson and Jenny maneuvered their wagons into my little used
driveway. Rose moved to help Jenny unpack the lunch and guide her to
the back yard. That left me to encounter the crowd on my own. I
surely didn't have the intimidation factor of the centaurs. Many
voices expressed their awe, but one stuck out. "What are you doing
welcoming those demons into our town!" Jackson came over just then
and the voice's owner fled.

The less timid took a moment to talk to Jackson, asking him where he
was born (Toledo, Ohio), was he born that way (no), how did he get
that way (the EVENT), does he like being a centaur (yes). Some even
ventured to touch his flanks, then began to pet him. He apparently
had been in crowds before and let them get used to him. I admired
his public relations skills.

After several minutes, we did move to the back yard. Jenny and Rose
had the lunch set up in the middle of the yard, avoiding the awning
we usually favored. It was just too low.

Jackson spoke. "Before you go through with becoming a centaur, there
are a lot of things for you to think about. It will be a major
disruption to your life and in good conscience, we can't let you go
through with it before you know what you are getting into, not to
mention the possibility of lawsuits."

The meal happened to be vegetarian, and delicious, though I like
meat with my meal. While we ate, Jackson told his story.

"Before the EVENT, I was an all-around handyman at McKay Motors. I
was primarily a junior salesman, but I helped out in any way I was
needed." That explained his PR skills. "I happened to be helping out
on the assembly line, about to finish the night shift when the
EVENT happened. My job that night was to drive the completed
three wheeled electric delivery carts from the last station of the
assembly line out to the shipping lot.

{{Separator|stars}}

Jackson's story.

"This one is done!" Dave shouted. I hopped in and turned the key.
The electric motor started right up. I had been doing this for
several hours now. Drive the cart out to the lot, park it, and walk
back in time to get the next one. The operation wasn't like an
automobile assembly line that had a car completed every thirty
seconds. This was more like one every 10 minutes. The demand for
electric carts isn't quite the same as for cars.

I got as far as the big doors when I suddenly felt dizzy and blacked
out. When I awoke, I found I had done a face plant on the cement
floor. I later felt grateful I hadn't gotten out to the gravel of
the lot. My face had a few scratches, especially my nose, which
stung a bit and felt bruised. The rest of me just didn't feel right.

I noticed the room was quiet. Someone must have hit the emergency
shutoff for the line. I lay there and tried to sort out the
sensations. My dizziness had passed, so that wasn't it. I pushed up
with my hands and tried to draw my knee, which didn't seem to
provide the right sensations. As strong as I was, doing a pushup
should have been a piece of cake. I was rather confused when it
wasn't.

About then Dave said, "Uh, Jackson, just stay still for a moment.
This is really weird. We have to unhook this wagon to get you
untangled." What wagon? I wondered. From my face down position, I
couldn't see much and didn't want to move much if Dave thought it
was a bad idea. "Jackson, uhh, it seems you somehow got blended with
a horse."

"Dave, I can do without the nonsense right now," I said.

"It isn't nonsense," he protested.

Eric McKay, the owner's son came up. Eric was finishing up his
schooling in engineering and working in the plant to get a feel for
the engineering problems. We didn't think he would take over from
his father. More likely, he would end up running the engineering
department. This might be a lot to say for someone who was still in
school, but in Eric's case it looked likely. Eric's said, "Cool! A
centaur! I've always thought they were so neat!" Centaur?

The factory had gotten so quiet that I could hear some faint noises
of perhaps cloth against cloth. I felt something like a big belt
being loosened from around me, but it didn't seem to be in right
place to be me. It certainly didn't feel like the right place for my
waist and seemed to be more than a simple belt. Then I heard
squeaking wheels moving a short distance away.

Dave again, "Jackson, why don't we roll you onto your side. At least
you can see a bit more clearly what is going on around here." My
first attempt didn't seem to work right, something kept getting in
the way. Dave and Eric and some other guys helped by moving my legs
out of the way (though they didn't quite feel like my legs) and a
second attempt worked. I ended up with my right shoulder against the
floor.

Dave was right. I seemed to have been blended with a horse! My work
jacket was where it should be as I glanced down at my chest, but my
pants were not. Instead, there was what appeared to be horse forlegs.
"I wish I had a camera for that expresson," said Dave. I looked at
one leg and thought of moving it. It moved! I reached down and
touched it. My hand felt fur and the skin below the fur felt
fingers! I craned my neck around. There was a huge horse body
attached! My brain was having a hard time dealing with this.

"I now know exactly what 'hung like a horse' means," said Dave. To
have all that on display (if indeed it was me) was mighty
embarrassing! Dave and Eric checked for anything broken by rubbing
their hands along each leg. The back legs and tail (I had a tail!)
had moved so the backbone must be OK. My mind had trouble sorting
out what the sensations of hands on ''my'' fur meant.

Dave and Eric helped me to stand. It was a slow process. Eric
directed the operation by indicating which leg had to bend in which
manner. He and Dave then touched and guided that leg to give my poor
brain and idea of what muscles needed to be moved. I rarely got it
right the first time. Fold up left rear. Fold up right rear. Do the
same for the front. Roll so the legs are under the body. Straighten
and push up with front legs. Do the same with the rear. I was now
breathing heavily, more from the concentration than the exertion. I
didn't dare take a step with any leg for fear of collapsing in a
heap.

I was now in the center of a rather large crowd. Workers will always
take advantage of a stopped line and most people are curious. There
was a noticable gasp as I got onto my hooves. I glanced at the crowd
-- and realized I could see way over everyone's head! The tallest one
came up to my chest, most of the rest came up to a lot lower than
that. I was a ''lot'' taller than I had been!

"Thanks guys," I said, "but I feel OK now." Well, not exactly OK.
In fact, definitely not! But I didn't feel sick, and I didn't hurt.
Well, except for the nose. "Shouldn't you get back to work?"

"No," said Dave. "Take a look." I turned to look down the assembly
line. There were nine horses standing there, each harnessed to a
wagon. I realized that each cart that had been complete enough to
move under its own power had been replaced by a horse and wagon. The
rest of the line still had unfinished electric carts.

Dave said, "Just after you drove that last one away, I turned my
attention to the next one. It started shimmering and rippling, and
soon reformed into a horse and wagon. I looked down the line and
saw a few more horses and the last few carts shimmering. I turned
to see the cart you were in do the same. Whatever changed our
carts into horses also changed you. You just had the disadvantage
of doing it at ten miles an hour. That sent you sprawling."

I looked at the wagon near me, the one apparently created when I was
transformed. It was a little two wheeled thing made of an aluminum
frame and a fiberglass box - quite similar to the cart it came from.
There were two aluminum poles extending forward from the sides.
Draped over the side of the box was the harness that had evidently
been around me. The harness looked to be made out of nylon, similar
to the straps of a backpack.

Mr. McKay came in through the big doors with Snyder, the parking lot
security guard, and Jennifer, his "Administrative Assistant", behind
him. You could hear the capitals when she used the title. He saw me
and his eyes bugged out. "Jackson?"

"Yep, that's me," I said. He stared. I continued, "I was
inside one of our carts when it suddenly decided to be a horse
instead."

That brought him back to his task. "Snyder tells me that all the
cars and trucks in our employee parking lot have also decided to be
horses."

He was interrupted with a shout, "My Corvette!" A man dashed for the
door. On factory pay, that Corvette must have cost him dearly.

Mr. McKay continued once the man had left. "On the way here, I
passed the shipping lot. All of our product has made the same
decision, though each of those horses was harnessed to a wagon. I
have no idea what we are going to do with all those horses. And here
are more at the end of the line." Mr. McKay scratched his chin for a
moment and studied the horses in front of him.

The boss turned back to me and looked me over. "Well, Jackson, all
this happened in the line of duty. I'll get insurance to help you
out with whatever you need to help you live."

He thinks this is permanent? I hope not!

Mr. McKay, with Eric in tow, walked down the assembly line past the
horses to the last almost-working cart. "Sam, let's see if I'm
ruined. Let's make this cart operational." Sam made the last few
connections to the motor. Just as he finished, I saw Eric jump into
the cart. I yelled at him, as did his father and others, but he just
grinned through the windshield at me as the cart started to shimmer
and ripple. No one dared stick an arm into the shimmer to attempt to
pull Eric out. Moments later, there stood a second centaur. His
one-piece overalls abruptly ended with a neat seam at the waist.
The fur below was a riotous mix of white and red patches.

Eric awoke to Mr. McKay berating him for being so stupid. Eric
looked down and grinned. I realized what he had done. Eric ''wanted''
to be a centaur and took advantage of the opportunity. The whole
time Mr. McKay ranted (and very little of it is repeatable in polite
company), Eric just grinned and moved his hands over the fur just
below his overalls.

I'm sure the grin infuriated the father as it took a while for the
ranting to end. Mr. McKay turned to stomp off. Eric said, "But
Father, this will save your company!"

Mr. McKay stopped. He turned not to his son, but to the surrounding
crowd of workers. He paused for a moment before speaking. "I'm not
sure what happened here this morning. I have no idea if it is
temporary or permanent. All I know is that completed carts become
horses or turn an occupant into a freak. At the moment, I don't dare
restart the assembly line. I don't know what that will do to the
company, surely nothing good. As of this moment, you are all on
sabbatical. I don't know how long I can pay you. I will announce a
plant reopening if it ever becomes possible. Good luck with the
horses that have replaced your cars. Foremen, please begin vacation
shutdown."

Mr. McKay turned around and stood there. I could see a tear building
in his eye. The old man had shown many times how much he cared for
us and I'm sure the tears were because a couple hundred families would
soon lose paychecks.

The workers took that as a sign to leave. I got some "interesting"
expresseions cast in my direction as the men passed me, which they
did at respectful distance. I'm sure Eric received some too. I don't think
Eric paid any attention to them. He had an exasperated expression on
his face as he stared at his father's back. I saw a few tears
finally escape the father's eyes. Most of the footsteps faded after
five minutes as did the sound of timecards being punched. The foreman
began to secure things and to unfasten the wagons and lead the
horses away.

I didn't go anywhere as I wasn't sure I had anywhere to go, not to
mention feeling unsure about walking. I had serious doubts about
fitting in the stairs up to my tiny second floor apartment.

Finally Eric spoke to his father's back. "Dad, we can reopen, even
if the world doesn't come back to normal. I doubt Jackson and I are
the only casualties of whatever it is that happened. We can retool
to make things that centaurs would need. I'm just the person to help
design such things! I also think there are lots of people that would
jump at the chance to become centaurs. We could have them step into
a cart as we finished it."

"NO!" shouted Mr. McKay, wheeling around. "I will not be responsible
for turning people into freaks!" He took a deep breath. "I know you
have had a fascination with centaurs since you were a small boy. The
decorations in your room show that clearly as do the hours you spend
talking to your Internet friends. Well, you have your wish." He most
certainly did. "But it isn't my wish for you. I would not have
wished for you to be a freak. I won't be responsible for any others
becoming freaks."

"But Dad, just let me ask those Internet friends if they think
centaurs are freaks and if they would buy a cart to become one."

"I said no. And you are not contacting your friends. Your computer
will stay in your room and I'm sure you won't fit up the stairs
and around the landing to get to it." This time he did stomp off.

Eric had an expression of defeat and steely resolve. This could get
interesting.

In the short term, now what? I was feeling tired and very hungry.
Food and sleep were rising pretty high on my personal agenda. Come
to think of it, even if I could get to my apartment, the keys had
been in my pants pocket. I didn't have those pants anymore. Perhaps
I should rephrase that. I am those pants. I'm also that electric
cart and now half horse. This was getting to be too much to think
about while tired and hungry.

The food problem was solved for the moment when Jennifer returned.
She was carrying several boxes of instant oatmeal and a couple bags
of carrots. She went into the break room and came back with the hot
water urn. As she made oatmeal she said, "This may not seem like a
great meal before sleep. I'm guessing that you digestive system may
be more horse than human, so I brought food that a horse might eat.
Just to be on the safe side, you probably should eat vegetarian for
a while before reintroducing meats and non 'horse' foods."

ERic and I ate -- nearly all Jennifer brought -- while she studied us. Her
expression was totally unreadable.

It might have been time for the rest of the world to come to work,
but we had been working all night. Jennifer got some blankets from
Mr. McKay's office where he kept a cot. Eric introduced me to
walking on four feet instead of two. It turned out to be easier than
I expected. Some adaptation of the brain must have come along with
the change. Eric guided me to the grassy field behind the plant
where we bedded down on the ground. We were able to use our caps as
eyeshades from the morning sun. We slept soundly.

{{Separator|stars}}

I woke up to a sore right shoulder. I tried rolling over to relieve
the ache. That didn't work at all! I was suddenly wide awake. I
wasn't in my bed or my apartment. I was lying under a blanket on the
lawn with my hat pulled down to keep what was now mid afternoon sun
out of my eyes. It all came back now. I couldn't roll over as I
didn't have the simple human shape anymore. Time to start in on the
life of a freak.

I must have made a face as Eric said, "I see you're awake and
feeling grumpy. Welcome back to the real world. After some food, I
have some ideas to help with that mood."

With Eric's guidance, I got onto my hooves, then rubbed my sore
shoulder.

Eric said, "I only woke up about 15 minutes ago. Jennifer was just
arriving with our food. I asked her to get some things from my office
and leave us alone for a while. She'll be back later."

Jennifer had provided more oatmeal and carrots for our "breakfast".
I could get real tired of that, even with a variety of oatmeal
flavors.

In between mouthfuls, Eric said, "I have no idea if our current
shape is permanent. We might as well assume that it is." He had a
bit of a smile that said he would prefer that permanence. "We'll
have to get used to our new selves so we can deal with permanence if
that is the case." My grumpy mood continued and we ate in silence
until the oatmeal was gone.

"Come with me," Eric said. He led me into the main office lobby and
its mirrored wall. The desks and chairs looked a lot lower than they
used to. "It is time to introduce you to the new Jackson. We
approached the mirror, standing at an angle.

"Lets start at the top," he said. I took off my cap. And stared. I
didn't have a bald spot anymore! I'm not yet thirty, but I had
started serious balding at 22. The hair was now quite dense. The
color was no longer dark brown, but somewhere between dark blond and
red. The hair just above the center of my forehead was a pale blond,
almost white. I wondered about that. My eyebrows were the same new
color as my hair. I ran my fingers through it and tugged on it a
bit. It was definitely mine.

My eyes got as far as my cheeks before stopping again. That was
quite a five o'clock shadow! That was saying a lot since it was
slightly lighter as what was on the top of my head. I rubbed my
fingers over the stubble. It didn't seem any longer than it should
have for not shaving for 24 hours, but it was definitely more dense
and the bare area on the front of my chin had filled in. The rest of
my face looked the same as before.

I looked at Eric. The hair on his head had been blond, but was now
the same dark red of his fur. He definitely could use a shave too. I
had never before seen a hint of stubble on his chin, and I didn't
think that was because he shaved carefully. He rubbed fingers over
the stubble and with an amazed tone said, "I do believe I'll give up
shaving. I'm not interested in trying to work my way through this
every morning." I decided then to do the same.

"Onward," said Eric. He removed what had been the top half of his
overalls as well as the shirt underneath. I took off my company work
jacket and my shirt. The familiar muscular chest and arms had more
hair on them than before. That hair had also changed from brown to
dark blond. I ran my fingers through it. The hair was about the same
length as before, there was just a lot more of it. It also extended
all the way down my abdomen. My eyes and hands worked their way
down my torso, my fingers sliding through the hair. There was a
sudden change from skin with hair to fur.

I glanced at Eric to see he was watching me. He said, "There is a
question running through my brain. Would you please twist your
shoulders away from me?" I was puzzled, but did so. "That answers
it. You don't have a mane, just normal body hair." As I turned back,
he twisted his shouders. "Do I have one?"

His back appeared to be normal human skin. "Sorry, no mane," I said.

Eric said, "Though we may be the first centaurs, I've talked to
people that have tried to define centaur body parts. A favored term
for where the fur begins is the 'blend'. Above the blend is the
trunk. Behind it is the barrel."

I could feel that the line of the blend went from just above where
my human butt had been, around the sides above where my hips had
been, then down around and under my abdominal muscles. The bare skin
extended lower in front than at the sides or in back. The abdominal
muscles stood out as before, the skin just as firm.

I moved my eyes lower. It took a moment to reengage the brain. My
human legs were gone. What I saw was most definitely horse. I saw
horse fur, horse flanks, horse tail, horse legs, horse hooves. I
moved my hands around the blend, crossing from skin to fur and
back again, then moving my hands across the fur. I felt the fur
with my fingers. The skin under the fur felt the movement of my
fingers over it. I kept thinking, "This is me. This really is me.
Whether permanent or not, I now have fur. I have four legs. I have a
tail."

The fur over my barrel was the same shade as the hair on my head.
The long hairs that started below the knee and covered my hooves
were a pale blond. My tail was pale blond and hung nearly to the
ground. I twitched some muscles back there and it swished back and
forth. I would be slowly getting used to all the muscles that hadn't
existed before.

I've always wondered about the structure of horse legs. The hoof is
not directly under the leg. What held it all in position? With a
full set of my own now, I was all the more curious.

The muscle development of my horse part seemed to match those of my
chest and arms, bulging when I lifted a hoof. It all spoke of power.

I now looked over at Eric. He was doing the same close examination
that I had done on myself. His blend followed the same line as mine,
dipping under his abs, though his muscles were less defined. I
guessed they were about as well defined as they had been. His chest
was also quite hairy with red hair. His fur had large patches of red
and white. His tail was white.

Eric produced a tape measure and a ruler. "Everyone will want to
know how tall we are." I put the ruler on my head, then held the end
of the tape measure where the ruler touched the mirror. Eric bent
over from the waist and flexed his forelegs to pull the tape to the
floor. "Eight foot one," he said. He put the ruler along the back of
the blend and measured from there to the floor, "five foot two, or
just under sixteen hands."

He picked up a book of horses from the end table and paged through
it, glancing from me to the pictures. "Ah, here we are," he said,
holding up the book for me to see. "Your coloring is called
bay with flaxen feathers and tail. I think the breed is Jutland, a
type of draft horse, though your fur is light for a typical Jutland.
Under sixteen hands is a bit small for a Jutland. I guess your horse
part is chosen to be in proper proportion with your human part." He
eyed me critically. "Your height from the blend up is about the same
as the length of your legs, a pretty good balance. I think your hair
now features a star marking." My hand went to the spot of pale hair
as I studied it in the mirror.

I measured Eric. Seven foot five for total height, fourteen and a
half hands at the blend. Eric paged through the book again, then
held it up. "It appears I am a pinto modeled on the Arabian breed."
He was a lot sleeker looking than me. He also looked well
proportioned.

Before yesterday, I had been just a shade under 6 feet tall and,
thanks to high school and college sports and an active life since
then, I had well developed muscles. I guessed that had influenced
what breed I had become. Eric had been slim without much muscle
development, a rather short 5 foot six. His horse part reflected
his slimness.

"Stretch out your arms and let's see how far you reach," commanded
Eric. He did the same. "First the downward reach." Arms down, my
hands came to the top of my forelegs. I could roll my shoulders and
bend at the blend to reach most of the way down my forelegs.
Following Eric's example, I bent a foreleg up to feel all the way
down to the hoof. Feeling the hand through the fur was quite an
eerie experience as was feeling the hoof in the hand. Following
Eric's lead again, I reached between my forelegs. I didn't reach
very far. I twisted my torso (not very far), leaned back (actually
quite far), and reached. I could just wrap my hand around the base
of my tail. I pulled my hand up, feeling my tail move with it, then
let my tail slide through my grip as I raised my hand. I could feel
where the skin and bones of my tail ended, leaving just hair. I ran
my hand down my back and saw how far I could reach along my flanks.

"A human can touch every part of his body with one hand or the
other," said Eric. "That isn't true for us. There are things we will
need someone else to do for us -- like wipe our butts." My eyes
widened. "Yeah, I know a horse doesn't do it, but a horse also
smells like a horse and isn't usually permitted into polite company.
We may be stuck with each other for a while." Eric was a nice guy,
but there were some things a guy would rather do for himself and
would rather not do for others.

Eric said, "I think it's important we know how we're put together,
at the very least so we don't tell a doctor there is something wrong
'back there'. I'll turn around so you can use me as an example of
how you are put together. I'll do the same with you." I almost
refused, but he was being so practical. I certainly couldn't see
back there and couldn't touch much either. Eric turned around and
came alongside me, but stayed forward enough that I could bend at the
waist with a hand on his back and still see underneath his barrel.
I could feel Eric's hand on my own back.

It was ''huge''! Since Eric was smaller than me, it implied mine was
even bigger! And Eric was getting a good look at mine. I felt the
embarassment rise.

A thought struck me -- about knocked me over -- unless I found a
female centaur or wanted to get friendly with a mare (a very
distasteful idea), I was about to become a monk in certain aspects
of life. Women may like a well endowed man, but not ''this'' well
endowed!

I also gazed at Eric's hindquarters, hooves, and tail. I even ran my
hand over it's base and through the long hairs. I was likely to
become very familar with this part of Eric. Bah!

I straightened up and turned my head. Soon Eric did too. "Now that
we know what we look like, there is one more measurement to make."
We went through the factory to the shipping scales. I topped out at
a good 1950 pounds, Eric at a modest 1125.

Now it is time to see what these bodies can do," said Eric. We went
outside and back to the field. We seemed to have the walk down, so
he took me through a trot and canter, describing the pattern of leg
movements. We did a couple laps around the field with each gait.
Then Eric described the gallop and we took off. Wow! The field
suddenly became a lot smaller! Such power! Such speed! So what if my
draft horse form was slower than Eric's racer. It was still much
faster than ''any'' human. Such stamina! We went several times around
the field before I felt tired.

When I did stop, Eric noticed the grin on my face. "I knew that
would make you appreciate your new form!" he said, with a grin of
his own.

"One more exercise," he said. "We need to work on sitting down and
lying down and getting up again. It should take no more thought than
getting out of bed used to be." He guided me into folding my legs
under me so that my barrel was on the ground but my trunk remained
upright. It was easier than it was last night but we still practiced
getting into that position then getting back on our feet. We also
lay down so that our feet stuck out to one side and one shoulder was
against the ground and rose from that position. That took more
concentrated effort. Then Eric demonstrated the complete roll. This
included bending at the blend so that the back of his trunk and the
top of his barrel were both on the ground as he rolled from his
right shoulder to his left. "Once all this is automatic, you should
be able to go from a lying position to your feet in one smooth
rolling motion," Eric said. I got the hang of it faster than I
thought I should.

"All right," he said, "it is time for an assessment. There are some
advantages to being a centaur." He held up one hand to count off his
points with the other. "Things like a powerful body and an imposing
and noble image." He touched two fingers. "You now have a big
intimidation factor." He touched another finger. "If vehicles have
been replaced with horses, we can get from place to place more
easily than others." A fourth finger. "If we find mates, I would bet
we're in for a fabulous experience." He tapped his thumb. "And
though it may not count, I think we simply look cool."

He switched what his hands were doing "As for the disadvantages...
We won't fit well inside many buildings." One finger. "We may be
vegetarian -- which some think is a good thing." I grimaced. He
ignored it. A second finger. "There are some things we can't do for
ourselves." A third finger. "And at the moment, I don't know of any
possible mates. We could be stuck as bachelors." He touched his
little finger. "Finally, many humans -- like my dad -- will consider
us freaks." He touched his thumb.

An even count, though some of those disadvantages were large in
size. I wasn't convinced.

"I know you didn't choose this form, but I did. I've always thought
of centaurs as wonderful and noble. I don't think of centaurs as a
piece of human stuck on a piece of horse, but a blend of the best
parts of each. I've always felt I should have been a centaur and
jumped at the chance when I could. Even if this is temporary, I'm
glad I took that chance. I know you felt like a freak after you
woke up. I hope I've been able to change your mind at least a little
bit and you will change it more over the days to come. Whatever
happens at this point, I want to help you out as much as possible."

As I pondered what Eric said, Jennifer returned with dinner. It
wasn't oatmeal this time. She had stopped at the best vegetarian
restaurant in town and brought a large selection. Eric and I set up
a stack of boards on sawhorses to get a table at a more comfortable
height, though it was near Jennifer's armpits. We laid the meal out
on that. The supplies were complete with tablecloth and real dishes.
As the three of us ate, Jennifer gazed at us -- well, mostly at me.

She told us of the news outside the factory compound. There was now
a battalion of thirty centaurs at the army base. They were out in
the tracks during the EVENT. It affected them the same way being in
a milk cart affected me. Eric paid close attention to that item. I
suspected we would be paying a visit soon.

Jennifer also told us about the chaos that resulted when all
vehicles had become horses. Anyone that lived through it already
knows about it so I won't repeat it.

Eric handed his book to me. It was open to a diagram of a horse with
all tha parts labeled. "I suggest you spend some time studying this
to the the proper names of things," he said.

After we finished eating, Jennifer, still gazing at me, said, "You
have such an incredibly hot bod!" Then she winked. I was suddenly
very aware that we hadn't put our shirts back on. "And I don't mean
just your hairy chest." I was even more aware that I don't have
pants to put on. My maleness was on display for anyone that wanted
to look and I would have been surprise if Jennifer hadn't looked.
I'm sure my face turned a bright red. Eric quietly chuckled and gave
me a thumbs up and a wink.

Jennifer said, "Eric, it looks like the two of you need someone to
groom you. I know you could groom each other, but I'd like to learn
how." Eric nodded.

{{Separator|stars}}

Though Jennifer had cautioned patience, I wanted to try some meat by
the second day. Jennifer protested, but brought a hamburger. Not
long after eating a few bites, my stomach began to hurt and I lost
my appetite. A few moments later and I thought it wise to try to
induce vomiting, and was surprised when it didn't work. Eric clued
me in - horses can't vomit.

Jennifer called a doctor. Eric called a veterenarian. Both made
house calls as that was easier than bringing a patient to the clinic
on horseback (especially me!), though the doctor hadn't had time to
develop good riding skills yet. Both were quite surprised when they
saw their patient.

The human doctor found his stomach pump didn't go far enough, though
I was most uncomfortable during his attempt to learn that. The vet
had a stomach pump that reached far enough, but its diameter was
a bit too big for my throat. It took the rest of the night and half
the next day to recover. You can be sure that was the end of my
desire for meat.

{{Separator|stars}}

Jennifer couldn't convince my landlord to give her a key to my
apartment, so she brought him to the factory. His eyes bugged when
he saw me and bugged some more when I explained what happened to my
key. He began to rant about not letting me into my apartment as the
floors would not support my weight, but I stopped him by saying I
didn't think I would fit up the stairway and considered this as
giving notice that I was moving out. I wasn't particularly attached
to the place. I got him to waive the requirement of giving 30 days
notice.

Over the next few days, Eric rigged a tent for us. Jennifer brought
shirts and jackets from my apartment and from Eric's parents. She
also put a crew together to empty and clean out my apartment. The
stuff she didn't bring to the factory grounds went into a storage
unit. I'd have to decide whether to keep the furniture (and the
pants -- I still had hopes this was all temporary), but it was cheaper
to pay for a storage unit than for an apartment.

We discovered that normal human clothing didn't work very well. The
clothing was still the right size, but as my mother would say, it
didn't quite cover the situation. Dress shirts -- what few I had --
just don't look right without pants. Casual shirts tended up bunch
up at the back of the blend and not cover the bottom part of the
abdominal skin. I tried on my parka and found it had the same
problem. Things could get chilly on the exposed parts in winter. It
was time for new clothes, and they would have to be hand tailored --
and expensive for my dwindling bank account.

A tailor soon arrived on his horse. Eric thought he had better have
the works -- suit jacket and all -- while I settled for casual shirts,
sweaters, and jacket. The tailor measured us -- or at least our
trunks for now -- and made some drawings proposing what he would do.
He drew a parka that would cover both the trunk and barrel. I
suggested he keep that idea on file until the weather got cold and
the bank account recovered. With no job I wasn't sure how it would
recover. His drawings for shirts looked more like
long tunics than what I wore before, with a pouched belt at the
blend - one had to do something instead of pockets. We talked a bit
about style before he went off to work. Eric's family may have
money, but my savings just took a big hit.

{{Separator|stars}}

We trotted over to the Army base to visit the centaur battalion. The
guard at the gate to the army base was reluctant to let us in, but
he did call the captain of the battalion. Once the captain heard
there were two centaurs at the gate, he ordered the guard to let us
in.

It didn't take long for a private to escort us to the proper
barracks. It was obvious that he didn't particularly enjoy the task.
Once inside, Eric and I stopped and stared at what was before us. We
didn't feel bad about that as they were staring right back.

There were thirty centaurs in front of us, twenty-seven men and
three women. They would have clustered around us if there had been
room. Instead they stood quietly beside their sleepng pallets down
the length of the room. What had been room for more than a hundred
men now seemed quite full with thirty centaurs.

The captain introduced himself, breaking the silence. His name was
Dan. Eric didn't have to open his book of breeds in Dan's case. Even
I could have figured it out. Dan's horse part was Clydesdale. The
hair on his head was a chocolate brown and featured a white star.

Captain Dan escorted us around the room, introducing us to the
members of the battalion.

Samuel had black skin - about as dark as possible - and white fur.
The hair on his head was also white and now quite straight.

Moses had skin just as dark with jet black fur and white socks. His
black hair was also straight and featured a star. The whole effect
was imposing.

Jerome appeared to be a true son of Africa. His horse part was
zebra. His skin almost matched his black stripes, making the white
stripes stand out. In contrast to Moses, Jerome's black hair was
still crinkly.

The rest of those of African descent had skin the color of coffee
with various amounts of cream. Ossie's horse part was also
Clydesdale. The brown of his fur was only a bit darker than his
skin, creating a handsome combination. The rest had brown or
chestnut fur with black socks, though the breed varied a lot.

John Chin of Chinese descent had fur of a yellowish cream that was
lightest across the underside of the barrel and darkest on the legs
and near the blend. There was a black stripe down his back and dark
bands across the legs. His fur color complemented his yellowish skin
quite well. The odd part was his hair and tail. Instead of being
the same color as the coat, his hair matched his tail. There were
three different colors of hairs - white, near black, and the darker
yellow-cream. The hair on his head also did a good job of sticking
up and out, not laying flat against his head.

John Chin's breed was not at all obvious. Eric paged through is book,
finally declared a match and held up the book to show the wild
Przewalski's horse from Asia.

The two other Asians had dark brown coats and black socks. The breed
of both of them was Thoroughbred.

Karl, a Caucasian, had white fur with dark red spots in a manner
similar to a Dalmatian. I guess I expected the hair on his head to
be spotted as well, but it was a solid dark red. Eric declared his
breed to be Knabstrup, one that is common in Denmark. Karl was
intrigued at the reasoning behind whatever process chose his horse
part as his parents were immigrants from Denmark. He also noted that
Jerome was part zebra and John was blended with a wild Asian horse.

I responded that there was no such obvious logic as the Jutland is
also a Danish breed and my ancestors are Irish and Swiss. Besides,
Ossie's breed was Clydesdale, which was not African, and the other
Asians were Thoroughbred, which was an American breed.

The rest of the Caucasians were rather standard looking centaurs, if
centaurs could by any stretch be called standard. They had coat
colors ranging from black through chestnut and bay on through cream,
flax, and white. There were even a few dapples and "fleabitten"
patterns, a couple more pintos, and an Appaloosa.

A few of the guys had thick four-day beards. The rest of them tried
-- with poor success -- to follow the Army's clean-shaven guidelines.

The three females in the group were Ann, Terry, and Calla. They were
stunningly beautiful. I felt some stirrings and quickly put a stop
to that line of thinking. If any of these women ever gave the
slightest encouragement, there would be stallions battling it out.
Their eyes suggested that they were strictly off limits for
everyone, at least for now.

We became a support group. The first topic was shoes. The Army,
being bureaucratic as only the Army can, was insisting the battalion
be shod by the base farrier. The battalion resisted as they felt the
standard steel shoe would not be good for indoors.

This got Eric asking whether the shoes should be permanent, what
they should be made out of, how they should be attached, and whether
covering just the hoof was enough. I could see his engineering mind
working.

Captain Dan shared the findings of the base doctor and veterenarian.
I was glad I had escaped the poking and prodding. The DNA test
showed that we were neither human nor horse, but a blend of the two.
That meant we were a new species and would breed true! I heard Eric
try out the phrase "Homo Equus Sapiens" a few times. Eric took a
copy of the report for us to study later.

Other topics ranged from reactions from others (everything from
hostile to staring to curious to friendly to attempts at anatomical
liberties) and how to deal with them, what the future might hold,
what problems result because of our size (height, length, and
weight), how we have to help each other, what we can and cannot do,
what was safe and good to eat, where to get vegetarian recipes and
how to get them into the hands of the Army cooks (and how to endure
taunts from other soldiers who implied that Real Soldiers Eat Meat),
and helpful hints on how to live. Eric kept his notebook out and
made careful notes. We talked of our tailor for a bit, but the
soldiers decided to wait until we could show them. Their camouflage
clothing which had changed with them would serve for now and the
Army could duplicate that for a spare set of clothes.

The important item was saved for the end -- the reactions of wives,
children, and girlfriends. The three females had been unattached and
essentially had their pick now. Some wives had already filed for
divorce. Some girlfriends had already broken off relationships. The
rest seemed to be committed, but puzzled about what they were
committing to. The reactions of the children -- when not whisked off
by departing wives -- was almost always, "Dad's a centaur? Cool!"
Various daughters had to be told in no uncertain terms that Dad's tail
was not for braiding nor for ribbons.

I suggested the wives and girlfriends also form a support group and
the two groups meet together on occasion.

On the way back to the factory, Eric commented, "I think we may be
able to get some men back to work. A few of these ideas have market
potential." One item to be considered was a stool to allow wives and
girlfriends to give a proper hug and kiss. He also had one of the
plant engineers talking to a farrier and a shoe manufacturer to work
out a design. The farrier welcomed a new source of shoes. He had
suddenly run out of supplies now that all the former cars needed
shoes. It was only a few days before Eric has a small part of the
plant humming again.

{{Separator|stars}}

Mr. McKay showed up the next day, looking much older and less well
and very much not pleased. Along with him came a man I didn't know.
Mr. McKay said, "Mr. Caldwell, this is Jackson." He indicated me.
"Jackson, this is Mr. Caldwell from our insurance company."

I held out my hand to Mr. Caldwell, who reluctantly reached up and
shook it. He then looked me over.

Mr. McKay said, "I have explained to Mr. Caldwell what happened to
you and why I think his insurance company should pay you. He asked
to speak to you directly." I nodded.

Mr. Caldwell said, "How are you feeling?"

I said, "I guess the best way to answer that is to say that I'm not
in pain. My body seems to be working well -- though I must avoid meat
now. I seem to be stronger than before. Even my nose has healed.
Other than that, I would say I feel less strange than when I was
first changed."

He asked, "Are there things you can't do now?"

I said, "Since I can barely reach my tail, I need help in the
bathroom and shower. There are places I can't go because of my
size."

He asked, "Would you consider yourself employable?"

"Well," I said, "I've been helping Eric around here, so I guess that
means I could hold a job. There are probably jobs I can't do because
of my size and the job location. There are probably jobs that I am
more suited to now." That didn't improve Mr. McKay's expression.

Another question, "What are reactions to you by people you meet."

I chuckled a bit. "Your own reaction was a mild one compared to
others. I haven't been attacked, mostly because I look so imposing,
but some responses have been hostile. Other reactions have been
staring, comments about the freak, and a few of interest and
delight."

"Hmm," was all he said for a long moment. He turned to Mr. McKay and
said, "I see the basis for your claim. I don't think I would call it
disablement, but rather disfigurement. The payout won't be as big,
but will still be substantial." He turned back to me. "A claims
check should be ready in a week."

I felt like I had been kicked in the gut -- with a much more
substantial gut and Moses from the battalion doing the kicking.
Under Eric's careful guidance, I had begun to feel pretty good about
the new me. Then comes this guy saying I'm disfigured! I'm a freak!
I'm only fit to be stared at or hidden away!

Eric whispered beside me, "We'll talk later. Shake his hand and say
'thank you'." Still in shock, I complied and began to wander away.

The voice of Mr. McKay brought me back to here and now. "Eric, Dave
thanked me for calling him back to work. Since it wasn't me, I think
you had better start explaining."

Eric said, "I've got a list of things the centaur Army battalion
thought would be useful."

"I don't want to deal with Army bureaucrats!" growled Mr. McKay.

"I'm not!" said Eric. "I'm selling only to the men. They are in the
same situation as Jackson." I noticed he carefully excluded himself.
His change was voluntary. "The Army seems to be a little too
inflexible and slow to deal with it."

This time, I did wander away, brooding as I went. It looked like
Eric and his dad had lots to talk about.

Eric found me about an hour later with Jennifer in tow. "I asked
Jennifer to test out the prototype of our new hugging stools," said
Eric. "I want to be sure they are the right height." I shrugged.

Jennifer planted the stool in front of me and climbed onto it. Her
head was about even with mine. She put her arms around me and gave
me a kiss, which proved to be quite passionate. Within a brief
moment, I was responding. We remained in a serious lip-lock for
several minutes.

When we finally parted, she said, "Good. For a couple days now, I've
been wondering if you had been gelded. It is good to know you
aren't. I'm sure Mr. Caldwell didn't help matters with his verdict.
She put her arms around me again. "I think you are pretty special
just the way you are. I love you from the bottom of your hooves to
the the tip of your sweeping tail and all that fur in between. I
love your thick beard and broad shoulders. I love your kind manner
and your concern for others. If the rest of the world considers you
a disfigurement, that's their problem. They don't see your nobility
and sexiness." The way she said that word left no doubts to the
meaning. "Perhaps it is just as well. It means I'll have less
competition." She winked, hugged and kissed again, then climbed off
the stool. "Eric, this one is mine. Just perfect." Eric nodded. Did
she mean the stool or me?

Eric may be a few years younger than me, but he had proven to be
very wise in a lot of ways. I felt a whole lot better.

I began to court her, even with my qualms that I was simply too big
for her. She responded by helping me (well Eric too) with bathing
as well as the grooming chores.

{{Separator|stars}}

Our first real date was to the local drive-in movies. This was the
last one in the area, having escaped being turned into a shopping
center. The large screen was still there, but since there were no
more cars, a few things had changed. A patron rode a horse onto the
grounds, then tethered it to the post that held the sound system. To
avoid spooking the horses, the window mounted speakers had been
replaced with headphones. The concession stand sold bags of oats in
addition to popcorn. A patron usually dismounted and sat in a lawn
chair (available for rent) to enjoy the show. The next morning, the
grounds crew had a lot more than popcorn boxes to get rid of.

Jennifer rode me bareback. Once we chose a spot, I folded my legs
under me so that I was at a bit of an angle to the screen. Jennifer
could sit on my barrel without having to peer over my shoulder and
could nestle against it. My neck was a bit sore by the end of the
night, but it was a small price to pay.

I doubt either one of us could tell you which movie we saw or what
it was about. I'm sure only some of that was because we had our
headphones partway off so that we could talk. I only remember it was
a pre-EVENT movie as it had cars in it.

{{Separator|stars}}

The insurance check came a week later. I was astonished at the size,
though Eric wasn't. I thought this made me rich, but apparently not.

I decided the first need was a house -- centaur sized. I offered to
let Eric live with me -- at least for a while. He accepted and put me
in contact with a real estate agent and the corporate architect.

I would have liked to have kept the whole 500 acre farm that was for
sale. I settled for building on one very large lot and dividing the
rest up for sale to others that needed big lots. I figured we would
have eventual buyers from the Army battalion. It wasn't far from the
Army base.

I didn't want narrow halls or tiny rooms that would be tough for me
to turn around in. The design was of a house on one floor with high
ceilings, one large room for the kitchen-dining-living area, high
counters in the kitchen, three large bedrooms (who knows?) and one
special bathroom.

The ever resourceful Eric pulled out a small pamphlet that he had
printed off the Internet before the EVENT. It described what a
centaur house would be like and considered many aspects I wouldn't
have thought about. It also got a few details wrong since it was
based on a hypothetical centaur that didn't quite match the real
thing. Thankfully, it recommended a style that did ''not'' mimic a
stable!

Eric got an engineer working on a design for a centaur toilet, one
that we could straddle and take care of both parts of business. The
bathroom would contain a huge shower with multiple nozzles. Since
cleaning required an assistant, two might as well shower together
and each help the other.

I selected for my house the part of the farm that was most wooded.
In addition to just liking woods, I wanted privacy, even if my
neighbors were fellow centaurs. If I married, there were probably
activities that would not fit inside the house.

I was amazed at the amount of things that needed to be done before
the house could be built and how long it all took. I had to get a
zoning variance as the house wouldn't meet some standards - and
considering my size, these were standards that didn't make sense.
I had to spend time finding a builder that was willing to follow
the plans even if those plans didn't match the standards he was
used to. All of it was such a bother.

As the shell began to take shape, I felt the bother was worth it. I
began to envision a community of centaurs with centaur sized
buildings, such as offices and stores, growing up from the acerage I
had for sale and other nearby farms. I went back the realtor to lay
out a town instead of just a subdivision.

{{Separator|stars}}

Jennifer began attending the wives and girlfriends support group.
She was definitely my girlfriend. The next time all the centaurs met
with the wives and girlfriends as one big group, the women had a few
things to say. "I love my husband dearly, but something has to
change. He is living in the barracks, I'm at our house. Even when we
are together, his anatomy is too big for mine. If he can't change
back, can I be changed to match him? If Eric changed voluntarily
after the EVENT changed everyone else, can that same technique be
used again?" There was a lot of discussion about this one.

The battalion captain declared he would work out new housing
arrangements so that families would be together again. He also
suggested that wives and girlfriends take over the grooming chores
the men had been doing for each other. If they wanted to be
centaurs, they needed to be more familiar with what was involved.
A few of the women said it was about time!

As we left the meeting, Jennifer said, "I'll volunteer to be first."
I was about to object until I saw the look of determination in her
eye and the grin on Eric's face. I'm sure they noticed my frown.

In the shower the next morning, Jennifer didn't hide behind me to
clean herself. She even asked me to help with her hair. When she
shampooed my fur, she didn't stick to business. She paused to tickle
and stroke. I could feel the stimulation start to have an effect.
"Please," I said, "I don't think you should do that. We aren't
married." I have a strong sense of morals. "And it wouldn't work
anyway. Without that option, I don't want to get stirred up."

She stopped. Her eye kept the twinkle. "A big healthy male like you
has to deal with it sometime. And I think the best way to deal with
it is to help me to be a full mate to you. I have been with you long
enough to know what is good and bad about being a centaur. I want it
for myself. I want you to desire it for me too."

Her hugging stool wasn't in easy reach, so with shower water still
spraying over us I folded my legs under me so we could share a
proper hug and kiss. I sighed. "If you're sure about going through
the change, I would want you as my mate."

{{Separator|stars}}

Eric led us to the most complete cart on the assembly line. We were
away from the part of the factory in use and there was only Eric,
Jennifer, and myself. Eric looked over the cart, then around the
nearby area. He soon gathered tools and parts, then folded his legs,
lowering himself beside the cart. "Jennifer, would you please step
into the cart?" She did. "It won't take me long to make it
operational and trigger the change". He muttered under his breath
while he attached a few things and made a few connections. She
waited patiently. Eric said, "This should do it." I started my
camcorder. Eric made the final connection and leaned back. The cart
began to ripple and shimmer. When it subsided, she stood there in
all her centaur glory! It worked! A moment later, she awoke and
looked down, a big smile spreading across her face.

Eric opened the book of horse breeds. After turning a few pages, he
held it out. "Definitely Thoroughbred lines," he said. "A cream coat
with black stockings." He led her into the front office to get a
good look in the mirrors. He pulled out the tape measure to get all
the measurements he had done for me. She was now seven foot two and
fourteen hands.

She was gorgeous! There was most definitely an attraction. When Eric
was done with her, she came over to me and gave me a kiss and a hug.
"Eric," she said, "It is time to give my hugging stool to someone
else."

"Eric," I said, "It is time to clean out my storage unit. All the
old clothing -- especially the pants -- should be given to someone
that needs them. It is also time to decide what furniture we should
keep for humans that happen to visit our home."

Jennifer -- well, Jenny now -- and I were married the next week. The
ceremony was held in the woods beside the shell of our new house.
Eric was best man. Calla from the Army Battalion was maid of honor.

We didn't have elegant clothes to wear. There just wasn't time to
have our tailor make a tux for me, never mind making any type of
elaborate dress for Jenny. We didn't want to postpone our wedding
just for fancy clothes. Our tailor was able to create a tux shirt
for me and a simple elegant white blouse for Jenny. She bought a
headpiece to serve as a veil.

Eric never did move in with me. After the wedding, he started
building his own house in the lot mext to mine.

The video of Jenny's change showed nothing. The shimmer obscured all
hints of what happened during the change.

{{Separator|stars}}

Interlude.

"Th next part of the story would naturally be our wedding night,"
said Jackson. "But there are some things we don't want spread all
over the neighborhood. I will tell you it was wonderful! Later, we
can talk man-to-man and woman-to-woman about centaur sex. I will
tell you now that our sexuality is more human than horse, in spite
the size of the equipment. We are fertile all year round."

Jackson turned the pages of his scrapbook to photos of the wedding.
We had already seen photos of himself, Eric, Jenny, and most members
of the Army battalion. As we studied them for a moment, Jackson held
his fingers to his lips. We could hear voices belonging to two women
on the other side of the high wooden fence.

"Rats! They aren't going to tell the good parts!"

"Shame on you! You shouldn't be listening to a private conversation!"

"How else can I find out about them?"

"I'm surprised at you! You know what your father would say!"

"Yes, I do. But he is sooooo dreamy!" Jenny nudged Jackson. They
both grinned. "She's not too bad looking either." Jackson winked at
Jenny. "It sounds like the Greenslades invited the centaurs for a
visit because they want to be centaurs too!"

"How horrible! People should be happy with what they are and not
try to be what they aren't. To disfigure yourself so! I certainly
hope you have no intention of doing the same."

"Oh, I don't know."

"Alright! Inside with you! Another word and it will be time to wash
that mouth with soap!"

Jackson paused until he heard a door slam and then close a second
time more gently.

I was about to apologize for my neighbors, but Jackson waved his
hand. "I got over the disfigurement issue a long time ago. You can't
be responsible for your neighbor's feelings. But as usually happens,
I'm likely to make more than one sale." He winked.

{{Separator|stars}}

Jackson's story resumes.

In the week after the wedding, several things seemed to happen all
at once. The battalion wives saw Jenny and clamored for the same.
Eric's father heard about Jenny's change and was most irate. And
Eric's Internet friends found him, though he swears computer and
modem problems prevented him from contacting them. The Internet
seemed to be slowly falling apart after the EVENT, so I felt Eric
was telling the truth.

Bob and Jack were the first to arrive, followed shortly by John and
a few others. The idea of centaurs, things equine, or just human
animal blending had been a passion of all of them. The story of the
milkmen had fired their imagination. They had emptied savings
accounts to make the journey and start a new life. Eric explained
that he hadn't actually met any of them before, they had only
communicated by e-mail. Even, so they seemed to know a lot about
each other. They all congratulated Eric on his good fortune and
admired both Jenny and me.

Eric brought his friends to a support meeting at the barracks. "I
have a proposal," he said, "that I think will interest all of you.
Once my father learned about Jenny's successful change, he made all
kinds of threats about what he would do if we ever did that again.
He is also brokenhearted that his company failed, throwing out of
work many of those that depended on him. My proposal is that we buy
the company from my father. We would then be free to use the
inventory and equipment of the factory to change as many of you as
would like to be changed. Those of you who become shareholders would
be entitled to a change at no additional cost. Everyone else,
including any future customers would be able to buy any of our
centaur products and services, including possible changes."

Almost as soon as Eric was done speaking, Bob said, "I'm in." The
rest of his friends were almost as quick. I glanced at Jenny. She
nodded. We had already been changed, we now had a chance to "pay"
for our changes. I still had a chunk of insurance money. I nodded
to Eric.

The battalion members were clearly interested, but such ventures
don't come easily on soldier's pay. I could see a few wives standing
on their stools leaning against their mates and talking in whispers.
We would make sales later, but no investors now.

Back at the boardroom of the factory, we -- the investors -- held a
meeting. It didn't take long to vote Eric to lead us as he had been
working with his father for many years, in spite of his age. Though
Eric would have preferred to head an engineering department, we
didn't have a big pool of talent to work from. We then pooled our
money. The total looked like a great deal, but was only a part of
what Eric said the company was worth and he didn't want to be a part
of a company that cheated on its purchase price.

John asked, "What about your money? Can you contribute your
inheritance to the pot? Can you borrow against your inheritance or
ask for it early?"

"Sorry, no," said Eric. "Once my dad heard that we had changed Jenny
he cut me out of his will. I have no money. Even the house being
built for me is owned by my father. He will provide for me, but he
won't allow me to own the factory."

I don't know enough about finance to understand how we did it, but
there was finally agreement from the group on how to come up with
the remaining money. I didn't become an investor to make a fortune.

Eric said that since his father did not approve of what we wanted to
do, he should not be on the team to make the proposal to Mr. McKay.
Bob and Jack agreed to do it. They would leave out their eventual
use and emphasize that Mr. McKay and his stockholders wouldn't be
facing worthless stock. The rest of us waited impatiently until they
reported success. It was another month before the papers were all
signed and Centaur Industries was born.

It was easy to convince Eric to pose for our logo. We worked from a
photo that showed Eric at about a 45 degree angle from the front. He
had a bare chest, his rear legs were stretched back, one foreleg
stretched forward, the other one raised up. He was holding a pennant
along his right arm with his left arm across his chest to support
it. On the pennant were the letters "CI" designed to look like they
were made out of old steel horseshoes. It looked a bit Old English,
but with a big difference. The embroidered patch for clothing came
out well, the decal for wagons looked even better.

During our wait, we talked strategy. Jack wondered if we needed
everything in the cart for the change to happen. He used the example
of the speedometer. We could offer a cheaper change if we could put
less into each cart. Jack dubbed the almost completed vehicles as
"The Cart Before the Centaur". We all groaned. There was still the
question of how to determine what was needed and what wasn't. Bob
had ideas from the news of the milkmen and of the EVENT as a whole,
but nothing definite.

{{Separator|stars}}

At the next support group meeting, Bob said, "We have a guess that
the price of a change will be five thousand dollars. We understand
it is steep for many of you. In exchange for a free change, we would
like some volunteers to help with our trials. What we propose is to
make a stripped down cart operational to trigger a change to see
what happens. I will tell you now that we don't know what will
happen. It could be no change, a partial change, or a completely
different kind of change. If it is a partial change, we can try for
a complete change. If it is a different kind of change, you will
probably be stuck that way. Is there anyone interested?" Three wives
and both sons of one of them agreed. We made sure we got their
signatures on documents we explained in great detail.

Back in the factory, there was a whole assembly line full of carts
in various stages of assembly. We went to one near the beginning of
the process that had a complete frame and not much else. Jack and
John added the electric engine and drivetrain to it. They asked
Cheryl to stand in it as they finished. Nothing happened.

We moved down the line a ways and tried again. Still nothing. We
then had a discussion about what might and might not be needed to
create a "complete" cart. Jack added an old battery with little
charge left. Cheryl shimmered and her feet became hooves. She also
had a tail. She decided that was enough experimenting, so we took
her to the end of the line and initiated a change. She became a
brown furred centaur with a blend noticeably higher on the trunk
than what was normal for the rest of us. She certainly didn't
quarrel over such a small detail. After we unhooked the wagon, her
husband carefully guided her as she learned how to walk on four
hooves. They went to the main office where she could get a good look
at herself.

The next attempt was with Janice. We tried a cart similar to the
previous one but with a fully charged battery. Janice awoke to
having rear legs and tail of a horse, the equivalent of a satyr. She
decided she wanted a more complete change but was willing to try
another experiment to get it. We took her about 3/4 of the way down
the line and triggered a change. When the shimmering stopped, we saw
a female centaur covered in cream colored fur to her neck and with
horse ears. This was definitely overdoing it, but after calming down
with the help of her husband, she decided it was better than no
change or the first change. At least se could mate with her husband
again. That was good as we couldn't change her back. We couldn't
afford a lawsuit either.

After watching procedures with Cheryl and Janice, Hannah looked a
bit like someone had whacked her between the eyes with a club. She
was determined to try, especially after some reassurance from her
husband Hank. We again discussed what should be included and what
could be left out. We decided to try the fully charged battery, the
whole engine and drivetrain, four wheels, complete frame, and the
steering mechanism. We took out the seats, all the dashboard
indicators, the lights, and windows. Hannah stepped in and we made
the final connections. When the shimmering stopped, Hannah was a
classic female centaur, a beautifl sorrel color and a strong racing
physique. We decided this was close enough. We had our recipe.

Hannah's son Peter was next. He was thirteen and hadn't hit his
growth spurt yet. He very much wanted to be like his dad. He
couldn't be very far into puberty if he still thought dad was a
hero. We configured a cart like the one for his mother and triggered
the change.

Apparently age or size was a factor in the outcome. Peter also had
fur to his neck and nearly to his fingertips along with horse ears.
His face seemed to be a bit long. His horse part had the appearance
of a short colt, so he would likely grow to standard size. His coat
was a bright bay with black tail and stockings. The fur on his arms
changed from bay to black at his elbows. In contrast to most of the
centaurs I had seen so far, the hair on Peter's head matched his
socks and tail instead of the color of his coat. Once his beard grew
in the only bare skin would be around his nose, and eyes, on his
forehead and on the palms of his hands. I was relieved when he saw
his furry arms and said, "Cool!" I'll never understand teenagers. I
hope he feels the same way when he starts dating.

Before Peter's younger brother Nathaniel took a turn, we huddled
again. Bob proposed a cart with a proportionally smaller body. This
would take some extra shop work, so it was a couple days later
before we tried it. The smaller cart didn't look all that great as
we didn't bother with carefully rounded corners and properly molded
sides. We only wanted the proper size and weight. Nathaniel stepped
in and Bob made the final connections. We got it right! Nathaniel
was a beautiful colt centaur, brown with black stockings and tail.
Nathaniel was a bit disappointed that he didn't have furry arms like
his brother. I told him that his arms would grow hair like his
father when he grew up. He decided that was good enough.

Each person that was changed kept the wagon and harness created with
the change. All of them wanted the company logo on the side.

{{Separator|stars}}

It took a bit of work to plan the assembly line around what we
needed for a cart that would trigger a change. We also planned for
the possibility that some of the crew would be centaurs and would
need extra space. I didn't think many would work here without making
the change themselves. The shorter assembly line freed up floor
space to make other centaur products. We positioned the end of the
line to be near a pair of change rooms. These rooms were large
enough for several centaurs to move easily around a cart. We filled
them with a lot of light and put big mirrors on the walls. We added
two sets of large doors, big enough to wheel in a cart on one side
and for a centaur and wagon to walk out on the other side.

We hired back a large part of the old crew. A few had left the area
and a few others didn't want to be involved in changing humans to
centaurs. The rest liked the idea or didn't care and were happy for
the work.

It was during the last part of the line configuration that Jenny
came to me with some news. "Honey, I'm pregnant."

"That's great!" I said. "Wow! Our child have the chance to grow up
a centaur!" Jenny didn't look quite so pleased. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure what it is I'm going to give birth to." I knew it was
time to enfold her in a hug as she talked. "We don't know anything
about it, how long it takes, whether I get morning sickness -- which
could be nasty if you can't vomit, and whether the result will be
centaur, horse, human, or some weird thing."

I said about the only thing I could say. "Whatever happens, I'll be
with you. We will deal with it together."

{{Separator|stars}}

With a complete assembly line, we started it up and offered changes
to battalion wives, employees, and the general public. When the
first general public customer walked through the door, Jack realized
that we had better not shove them into the next available cart
without giving him clue as what he was in for. Jenny and the Army
wives knew what was involved in dealing with a centaur. The general
public did not. Jack was afraid that a lawsuit might result.

Eric and Jack decided that with my sales experience, I should take
the job of counseling our customers. Jenny agreed to be the female
counterpart. We weren't pleased with the idea that the task required
our bodies to be on display. Some people wanted to put their hands
in the most annoying places. Others could come up with the rudest
jokes.

Our experiences with our first public customer helped us to map out
what our counseling sessions should cover. I was pleased with his
willingness to take whatever came his way and to offer suggestions
about how to make it easier for the next guy.

{{Separator|stars}}

In addition to carts, Centaur Industries launched into production
of things that only Centaurs need. Some of the products we made in
the factory, some of it we contracted out. Our products included
horseshoes, toilets, and home furnishings scaled to centaurs. Eric
even contracted our tailor to make patterns for centaur clothing of
a variety of styles and then contracted a garment maker to make the
stuff.

Unfortunately, while all these products was necessary, they could
not be made with any economy of scale, at least not yet. Our
fledgling company became very close to not surviving.

{{Separator|stars}}

A week later, Eric got a call from Marie, the wife of one of the
Milkmen. Her husband, Phil, had become the combination of human male
and bovine female. She wanted to become the reverse. That got Eric a
bit flustered, and Eric doesn't fluster easily. He told her he had
no idea how to make that happen. She assured him that she did. All
she needed from him were the pieces to a cart that would trigger a
change. She would do the rest. Eric isn't one to turn down hard
cash, especially considering how he got to be what he is.

That was how I got my first assignment in the field. I loaded the
pieces of a cart into my personal wagon as well as a huge tent.
Jenny reminded me that I shouldn't travel alone if I wanted to avoid
smelling like a barnyard. I was pleased to have her along, even with
the potential problems of her pregnancy. With complete directions in
hand, we went to visit Marie. The only way to get there was by
hoofing it. It took 4 days. We spent nights in the tent. No hotel
could hold us.

Marie had directed me to the house of her friend Janet, who led me
into a spacious garage. Janet even thought about having a full
length mirror available. Marie came soon after I did.

Both women exclaimed over Jenny and were soon talking womnen stuff
from the point of view of a centaur. Jenny said that they should be
asking me questions since Marie wanted to be a functioning male. I
only said that many aspects were like being a human male and for
that, Marie should ask her husband. For any other aspects, her
husband already knew about them.

With my assistance, the two women assembled the cart up to just
before the trigger. Janet went into the house and soon came out with
a box that obviously just came out of the freezer. "Bull semen," she
said. She set the box in the bed of the cart.

Janet looked at Marie. "Are you really sure you want to do this?"
her friend asked. "There's no way back."

"Do it," Marie said, taking a deep breath.

Marie stepped into the cart. Janet made the final connections. The
cart shimmered. When the shimmering stopped, Marie was the same from
the waist up, but bovine below. Janet ducked her head underneath
about the time Marie woke up. "Yes!" Janet said. "You are definitely
male down there!"

Marie looked down at herself in satisfaction tinged with fright, and
stepped forward. "Well, at least we can have kids now, although I
don't think this was they way either of us expected to do it when we
married." She giggled, and hugged Janet, who hesitantly hugged her
back and wished her luck.

I suggested Marie do the same close exam that Eric had used with me
several months ago. The final inspection would need to be done by
Phil.

Marie said, "I want to thank you Jackson. You have provided the way
to save our marriage. If this is as good as I think it will be, you
and Centaur Industries will have a lot of customers."

We went to find Phil. When he saw Marie, it was obvious she had done
it without telling him. When all the yelling died down, he gave her
a hug. It was then obvious they wanted to be alone.

{{Separator|stars}}

"Bull semen, eh?" said Bob.

Bob, Jack, and John had not taken advantage of the shareholder
rights yet. From their initial enthusiasm, I had wondered why they
waited.

"We'll have to tell Eric to install freezers in the change rooms,"
said Jack. "There are lots of items we'll need to stock there."

"Oh?" I said. Some days I'm slow on the uptake.

"Yeah," said John. "With well stocked freezers full of semen, we can
offer a change into a particular breed of horse. Well, at least the
males. We'll have to experiment to see if the same effect holds true
for mare's milk." I finally understood.

"And it might not have to be a horse," said Jack. "Marie managed to
become part bull. I was thinking for myself something more on the
lines of a mule."

"Careful," said Bob. "Unlike your Internet stories, mules in real
life are sterile." He winked.

Bob chose Shire. Jack decided on donkey. John wouldn't tell us what
he was thinking.

{{Separator|stars}}

It was two weeks -- two very busy weeks as orders began pouring in
from milkmen wives -- before John claimed a spot in the production
line. When his turn came, he wanted Bob, Jack, Eric, and myself in
the change room with him. One or two assistants are normally enough.

He muttered something about demonstrating new product development as
he closed the door. John walked over to the waiting cart and opened
a satchel. He pulled out a big piece of fur. "Whitetail," he said.
He laid it across the bed of the cart. Next was a large vial.
"Whitetail deer semen. I got it from a local deer processor who also
does taxidermy. I usually avoid such places. Gives me the creeps."
The vial was slid under the hide. One more item from the satchel.
"Whitetail antlers. Also from the taxidermist. He helped me rig them
in the way I suggested." John seemed to be untangling the pair of
antlers - from what, I couldn't tell - then slipped the whole thing
on his head. That's when I realized the antlers had been entangled
in wire and the wire now held the antlers upright.

"Let's do it!" John said, and stepped into the cart. Eric completed
the connections. When the shimmering stopped, John was a deertaur,
complete with antlers. Wow! He was majestic! It made me jealous that
horses didn't have antlers.

Saying that John was pleased with the outcome only hinted at his
joy. He ran his hands over the antlers as he stepped up to the
mirrors.

{{Separator|stars}}

A bit of experimentation showed that mare's milk from various breeds
did determine the breed of the resulting female centaur. I didn't
think there was any DNA in the milk, but Eric concluded we were
dealing with magic which followed its own rules.

Jack's change showed that only one vial of semen was needed to guide
a change for a male. The full case that Marie had used wasn't
necessary. We found that one quart of milk was enough to get the
desired breed or species for females. All later male deer changes
visited the taxidermist for antlers. No one wanted to be the test
case that would find out that one needed antlers to end up with
antlers. They didn't want to take the risk of being without them.

It wasn't long before we had several freezers in a room between the
two change rooms. We had milk and semen from 60 horse breeds; a
dozen cow breeds; whitetail, mule, and three other deer species;
various elk and moose species; and African species such as zebra,
gnu, wildebeest, and giraffe. I don't want to know how they made
such acquisitions.

The guy that prompted us to acquire giraffe ended up a bit
disappointed with his change. His human torso was longer than
before, but his giraffe part was scaled accordingly. He was ten feet
tall, but not the eighteen he had hoped. He was pleased with
everything but the height.

I added a new session to my orientation class. I now had to discuss
breeds and species.

It was in the month after John's change that I began making regular
sales calls around the country, sometimes with Jenny, sometimes
with John or Bob. We found we were the best possible advertizement.
I never made just one sale.

{{Separator|stars}}

During one of my periods of counseling at the factory, two men came
in for a session. It didn't take much to realize they were lovers.

They marvelled over my form, checking me over with respectful
dignity, as I told them about life as a centaur. They paid close
attention when I explained what was in the freezers and how it
guided the change. They took careful notes during my sessions on
having to deal with a much larger body and on the need for centaur
interdependence. They offered menu suggestions for the factory cook
book during my session on diet. They seemed bored during my session
on dealing with the public. They had already been there. They took
delight in my descriptions of centaur houses and seemed resigned
when I talked about restrictions to jobs.

I had their full attention when I talked about anatomy and
sexuality. When Jenny came into the room to discuss the feminine
side, they didn't do the usual male snickering or leering. They were
quite respectful of her and showed a great deal of interest, enough
so that I was puzzled.

The two studied the scrapbooks of prior changes and the photos in
the freezer catalogs with great care. They quietly discussed their
choices. The interest in Jenny became clear when they told me what
to pull from the freezer. "We both want a vial of semen and a quart
of milk in the cart when we change," said Adam, the taller one.

He continued, "We want to be hermaphrodite, both male and female. We
heard of the milkmen and their wives and thought it would work for
us. Neither of us wants to give up the male to take on the female,
though we could live with being female if this doesn't work. We
decided we both want to try adding the female to the male and both
be happy."

"We have done cross sex changes before," I said, "but we haven't
tried what you suggest. We don't know what the result will be."

"We understand," said Jesse, the shorter one, though not shorter by
much. "We are prepared to sign a legal release saying that we
understand the results are not known. We will accept the outcome,
whatever it is."

It didn't take long to draw up such a paper. I was reluctant, but
Eric and Jack said that we should know what the results might be
and using volunteer test subjects, especially enthusiastic ones,
was the best way to find out.

Adam and Jesse wanted to be a matched pair, so they both chose
Quarterhorse, even to the same bay color. I offered the vials and
milk containers for their inspection, as I always do. They confirmed
the labels and loaded the beds of the carts thmselves and climbed
in. I made the connections on one while Eric worked on the other.

We were soon rewarded with the sight of two handsome centaurs. As
each awoke, he turned to his partner and admired him. "Lookin'
good!" said Jesse, once he saw Adam was awake. "Time for the real
test." Jesse turned around carefully so that he could peer
underneath Adam. "Nipples and cock! Female and male!"

"You have both too!" said Adam. "I like the size of that thing!"

While holding a handful of Adam's tail, Jesse said, "Then it worked!
Shall we find a secluded clearing for the night? I don't think we'll
bother with sleep!"

I took them through the basic exercises to help them get used to
their new bodies and guided them through a complete exam, each of
the other. Adam and Jesse then readily agreed to photos for our
scrapbook, even insisting we take closeup pictures for scientific
documentation.

I hoped they could wait until they got some privacy.

{{Separator|stars}}

Nine and a half months after the start of Jenny's pregnacy, we began
to be concerned when she hadn't delivered yet. At 10 months we
checked books on horses and consulted both a vet and a doctor. The
books said that horse gestation was 11 months. The vet and doctor
scanned the ultrasound images and declared the fetus to be healthy,
though small. It was a full year before Zander put in an appearance.

He was quite small! Much smaller than a newborn colt - perhaps twice
the size of a human infant and not any stronger. Zander certainly
wasn't going to be walking any time soon. We quickly acquired the
knack of holding him without his legs gettin in the way and putting
a diaper on around his tail.

Watching Zander develop reminded my of a comment by Isaac Asimov. He
had written an encyclopedia of mythical animals. As part of his
description of the centaur, he declared that it wouldn't work due to
the differences in maturity rates of human and horse. The rest of us
became centaurs after maturity, so it was up to Zander to answer Mr.
Asimov.

{{Separator|stars}}

Nate's story resumes.

I heard the cry of a small voice coming from the wagons. Jenny got
to her hooves and walked over to her wagon. She extracted a small,
noisy form from under the cover and returned. "This is Zander," she
said. "He likes sleeping in his tent. I'm pleased he was able to
sleep through our lunch."

Zander proved to be quite an armful, even though he didn't squirm
much. The head and trunk was that of a typical 5 month old human.
The barrel was a lot smaller than any horse body I had seen, not
that I've seen many, but was properly proportioned to his trunk. He
had his mother's coloring and many of her facial features. The
feathering around his tiny hooves showed he might have inherited his
father's physique. Zander smiled shyly, then turned his face towards
his mother. She soon draped Zander's blanket over her shoulder so
she could feed him.

Jackson's scrapbook was still open to the photos of Adam and Jesse.
He pointed to Adam and said, "I know it sounds strange saying it
this way but he's pregnant. He should deliver in two months. Jesse
didn't waste time either and should deliver in five months.

Jackson got up and walked over to the fence. A voice on the other
side whipered (though we could hear it clearly) "Hi." We could see
Jackson's head nod. The voice whispered again, "You're one of the
centaurs, aren't you." Never mind that two feet of a human would not
be visible above such a tall fence. Jackson nodded again. "If my mom
ever heard about Adam, I'd be locked in my room until you were gone.
I think he and Jesse are wonderful!" Jackson dug into his jacket
pocket. "Here is my card. Call me in a few years." He paused for a
moment before returning to the table and settling himself.

Jenny said, "We'll be camping nearby for a few more days." She
named the campground. "Just by being out in public, we do some
pretty effective advertizing. I'm sure we'll have the chance of
telling our story a few more times before we leave."

"In the meantime," said Jackson, "you have a lot to think about.
Many aspects of our story were included to warn you about life as a
centaur. It is quite different from being a human. Please consider
in what ways your life will change and whether you can live with
the changes. You will have to get used to a new body and a new way
of mating. You will be much larger. You will need a new diet. You
will have to help each other in more ways than you do now. You will
need a new house. You may need to get a new job. You will be an
object of public attention whether you want it or not." He stood
again and posed, showing off his form to best advantage. "Then you
need to decide if all those tradeoffs are worth getting this." He
gestured as himself. "I think it is, but then I'm rather biased.
Just let us know if you want a spot in our production line."

Zander had finished eating. Jenny laid the blanket on the grass and
put Zander in the middle of it. Zander lay on his side, then rolled
onto his back, putting two arms and four legs into the air. Rose
moved around the table to sit beside the blanket to play with him.
It was clear that he didn't walk yet. Humans at five months didn't
walk either.

I paged through the scrapbook again while Jackson and I talked of
all kinds of things. Actually, we talked mostly about centaur sex
and I'm pretty sure Jenny and Rose were doing the same.

It was getting to be late afternoon. Jenny had packed up the wagons
and settled Zander into hers. I turned to Jackson and said, "I have
one final question. Why was it so hard to find your phone number?"

Jackson smiled. "We don't publish our number partly because we don't
need to -- we have more than enough business -- and partly to weed out
those that aren't really serious about wanting to be a centaur. By
finding our number you showed me it was worth my effort to come for
a visit."

I knew my answer. Rose and I would have a chance for a long talk
now that she had a chance to see a centaur baby up close.

{{Separator|stars}}

That evening, Rose sat beside me on the couch. "Yes," was all she
said. I smiled and we hugged. The long talk wasn't necessary.

The next morning, I called the factory. We were given a date five
weeks in the future.

{{Separator|stars}}

We spent the next month getting affairs in order. We put the house
up for sale. We changed our diet to mostly vegetarian, though we
ate one last meat meal, a farewell to steaks. We arranged to have
a new house built to centaur standards. I stopped shaving - no need
to continue a task I was going to give up anyway. Soon enough we
were off to the factory in our last ride in a horse-drawn carriage.

{{Separator|stars}}

Jackson met us in the reception area and soon introduced us to Eric.
We joined the current "class" and went through the full orientation
session. We spent plenty of time browsing the freezer catalog and
debating whether we wanted to let the magic make its own choice or
whether we wanted to choose the breed. If we chose, did we want to
be a matched pair?

We decided we wanted to keep some sense of individuality, not
immersing ourselves in being a pair. I also decided not to let the
magic choose. I was too interested in breeds with feathered fetlocks.
It also happens these breeds were big and strong, certainly not a
detraction. Rose commented about the male feeling the need to be the
stronger of a pair. She decided to let the magic take its course.

The cart before the centaur doesn't look like much. There is no
attempt to make it look nice. I understood why this was so, but it
made me wonder how something so ugly was a necessary piece in making
something so beautiful.

We loaded my cart first. Rose and I had agreed on Clydesdale for me,
so the proper vial was placed in the bed of the cart. I suddenly
felt nervous.

"Second thoughts?" said Jackson.

"Yeah," I said. I paused for a moment and said a mental goodbye to
my toes. "But I'm going to do it anyway." I stepped into the cart.
Jackson reached down to make the connections.

The world disappeared for a moment. I awoke to an eye level more
than a foot higher than what it had been. I glanced at Rose who now
seemed much shorter. She had a smile spreading across her face. I
glanced down.

The first view was most disorienting. My legs don't look right! What
happened? I felt panic rising. Jackson stepped beside me and put an
arm around my shoulders. "Easy," he said. "It's OK." I looked at
him. Hmmm. We were eye to eye now. I took a deep breath.

Bob and Jack stepped forward to undo the straps of my harness and
back the wagon away. Jackson said, "We'll talk about pulling a wagon
later. Believe it or not, you can walk on those legs. Let's give
Rose a turn now. Then we'll take you closer to the mirrors."

A second cart was wheeled forward. Rose stepped in, showing
confidence I had lacked. That bothered me as this was my wish we
were persuing, not hers. When she makes up her mind, she doesn't
waver. When the shimmering stopped, I saw before me the creature of
my dreams. I meant that quite literally -- I had been dreaming of a
female centaur since we made our decision. Letting the magic choose
her breed had been the right choice.

Rose was unhooked from her wagon. Wih guidance we both carefully
walked to the wall of mirrors, a bit amazed that we could walk at
all, that our brains really could properly control four hooves.

"Wow!" was all I could say when I saw our reflections. I had a
magnificent body -- strong muscles, chocolate fur on the body, white
fur on the legs, beautiful feathering covering the hooves, and
thick brown hair on my head with a prominent white star. I think
the muscles of my arms and chest were also improved.

Rose had become an Appaloosa, a patchwork of tan and white. While my
form emphasized strength, hers stressed sleek beauty. Her hair was
now a matching blond with a white star larger than mine.

Jackson led us through the inspections and exercises to acquaint us
with our new bodies and each other. We were both mighty pleased with
the results! It had been the right choice for us.

{{Separator|stars}}

It has now been five years since our change, seven since the EVENT.
Tom is now four years old and is a wonderful kid. He has my coloring
but will likely have his mother's build. Sandra is a year old. Her
Appaloosa coloring is darker than her mother's and she has white
feathering around her hooves to match mine.

My neighbor is the young woman who had been my neighbor before my
change. She became a beautiful bay Arabian centaur, much to her
parent's dismay. She is now married to a young centaur who had
chosen to be Thoroughbred. I have seen her parents around. They
seem to have decided that centaur grandchildren will be OK.

Adam and Jesse now have six children. Since the two decided to be a
matched pair, their children are all similar, only differing a bit
in the shape of the face and their current size. Since Adam and
Jesse tended to give birth at about the same time, even the sizes
are similar. The children are all hermaphrodites.

I've heard that Centaur Industries has been close to capacity since
it went into full cart production. They added a second shift within
a year of the EVENT. They turn out 60,000 carts in a year and they
still have a waiting list. The centaur equipment and clothing
business is also doing well, now that there are enough 'taurs for
good economy of scale.

Between the EVENT itself, changes by Centaur Industries, and births,
the population of centaurs is now over half million. The population
of bovitaurs is over a million, though a large percentage of them
were changed because of the EVENT itself. There's also a few
thousand other types, such as deertaurs, elktaurs, zebrataurs, and
giraffetaurs. John inspired a woman to become a deertaur and join
him. He and his family are doing fine.

The house we bought is in Kyron, the community that Jackson started
at the edge of the city. He named it after the ancient Greek
centaur known for wisdom, but he changed the spelling so people
would pronounce it right. There is a population of about 60,000
'taurs here.

Jackson and his consultants did a good job in designing the place.
It was expressly laid out as a "post automotive" town. There are
no paved streets. Instead, there are well maintained trails that
weave amongst the many trees that Jackson had planted. There are
lots of parks for playing and fields left open for galloping.

The schools are built, but don't have many children in them yet. Not
many parents want to put their children through the change. The
school situation is different in kindergarten and first grade with
the oldest of the natural born centaurs filling the rooms. There
aren't enough of the older students for full sports teams. We're not
sure who we would play anyway.

My job in construction -- I build centaur size buildings -- is going
well, though I have to hire humans to do the roof.

I met Peter when he was 15 years old, after his beard had grown
in. It is blond, matching the color of his coat and contrasting
sharply with the dark hair on his head. Peter is now 19. His furry
torso has not kept the girls away from him.

Peter is going through a punk phase, though as rebellions go, it is
rather mild. He made the dark hair of his head stand up between his
horse ears and trimmed the sides so that it looks like a mane. He
keeps the beard trimmed short to look like fur. When he doesn't wear
clothes, a quick glance will make you think a horse is there, a game
he relishes. He convinced Centaur Industries to create a line of
punk clothing, though they agreed no leather items. I heard
him talk enviously of tatoos, but he has no skin (except his
forehead) on which to put one. He even mentioned branding, but
decided that was too painful. He settled for using dye to put
designs in his fur, though the fur eventually sheds, making the
design fade. That only gives him a chance to create another one.

There are a few community sports leagues that pull in the young
adults along with the students. Football and basketball don't seem
to work. Centaurs are too hard to tackle and block and when your
arms are higher off the ground, dribbling is harder and sinking
baskets is easier. We may have to think about creating aa version of
baseball. Polo and soccer are popular and Peter excells at both.

Life is good.

[[Category:Story|The Cart Before the Centaur]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
[[Category:Mythical]]
[[Category:Passing Fad]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Cart Before the Centaur, The}}

User:Erastus/The Pastor

2011-05-31T17:25:39Z

Erastus: Restoring a story that was lost in the disk crash.

{{title|name=The Pastor|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

''Warning: adult situations''

"You must be pure before the Lord!" Pastor Danforth Symms was
hitting his stride as he brought his sermon to a close. "You must
not let any abomination hide within you! God will bring all such
vileness to the light of day! He will not let evil go unpunished!"
An intense itching began in the center of his back, in that spot
that is hard to reach in good circumstances and impossible to
relieve when wearing vestments and standing in front of the choir.
"He sees into your heart and knows when you defy him!" The itching
spread across his back. "He will cast you into the Abyss!" The
itching spread around to his abdomen. "He will brand you so your sin
is declared to everyone!" The itching spread up his chest and down
to his elbows. "Just look around you! SCABS is the mark of
condemnation from God!" The itching spread through his groin and
down his legs all the way to his toes ending with a hot pain under
each toenail.

It was too much! He quickly decided that he had made his point and
stepped out of the pulpit. So the message today was a bit short.
The hymn started and he fled to the vestry. By this time the itching
and pain had faded though he still felt uncomfortable.

Pastor Symms appeared in time for the benediction and took up his
post at the outer doors of the sanctuary to greet the parisioners on
their way out. Some of them thanked him for his fine message. Some
were glad to see him back in charge after the flu that had put him
into the hospital two weeks before.

Pastor Symms said goodbye to the last of his flock and retreated to
the vestry. He took off his vestments and stored them carefully. He
sat heavily into a chair to rest. Within a few moments, he felt
better. He reached down and pulled up his sagging socks. As he did
so, his hand brushed his leg, which seemed to brush back. He glanced
down and pulled up his pantleg. It appeared his leg was covered with
fur.

No. Couldn't be. Not to him.

Yep. There it was. His leg was covered in short, thick, chocolate
fur, which come to think of it, was probably the same shade as the
hair on his head. He pulled up the other pantleg. More fur. He was
starting to feel a bit of panic now.

He stood up and glanced out the vestry door. No one around. He
closed the door to avoid surprises. He unbuttoned his sleeve and
pulled it up. His forearm still showed pink skin. That was a relief.

He unzipped his pants and pulled them off. Both legs were covered
with fur, the fur disappearing into his socks and under his shorts.
He felt a hollowness in his gut. He sat down and pulled off a shoe
and sock. All but the sole of his foot was covered with fur and each
toe ended in a small claw. The foot appeared to remain human shaped.
He pulled off the other shoe and sock. The other foot matched the
first one. The pain in his gut increased.

He pulled off his shorts. If his gut had felt like it was sinking,
it now felt like it had fallen through the basement. Not only did
the fur extend up under his shirt, but it looked like his manhood
had disappeared. Closer inspection showed he did have balls - though
now quite fur covered - and he now had a sheath that kept his
manhood firmly in place.

Just to be sure, he reached behind himself. One good thing in this
mess - he had no tail. Even without a tail, he didn't like the feel
of all that fur.

Since the fur extended upward, he removed his shirt, carefully
undoing the clerical collar. The fur extended up to just short of
his collarbone, then continued over his shoulders and down his arms
to just short of his elbows. He reached around to his back and felt
fur there as well. He wanted to weep.

He checked his hands. The same pink skin as before. He checked his
head in the mirror he used to comb his hair. Pink human ears, pink
human nose, no fangs in his mouth.

Final result: Pastor Danforth Symms, SCABS victim! No!

Here was a man that had dedicated his life to getting rid of those
that God had marked only to find he had been marked as well. It was
enough to crush a man's soul.

He heard a knock at the door. "Honey, are you still in there?"

His wife, Muriel! "Just a minute dear. I just stopped a moment to
catch my breath."

He quickly got dressed. As he did so, he realized that all of his
SCABS manifestations could be hidden by his clothes. It was going
to stay hidden too! Perhaps he could shave it off.

He opened the door and stepped out. His wife's reaction was almost
immediate. "You don't look so good. Are you feeling OK?"

"No," he said, "I'm not. I think I may have a relapse of the flu."

"Goodness, gracious!" she said. "Perhaps we should take you to the
hospital right now."

"It's not that bad," he said. "Let's just go home. Would you drive?"

"Sure," she said. He got into the passenger side and leaned his head
back.

His reply to his wife may have been mild, but his thoughts carried
an edge to them. His flu had actually been Martian Flu! His doctors
had kept that from him! He didn't particularly want to go back to
someone that would lie. Besides, he didn't want any doctor poking
around into the SCABS manifestations of Pastor Danforth Symms. No
chance of publicity for him!

Once at home, Danforth went straight to the bedroom and shut the
door. Muriel knocked on the door ten minutes later holding a tray
with his lunch. On hearing him grunt, she pushed the door open to
find him lying on the bed, but still fully clothed.

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable with your clothes off and under
the blankets?" she said.

Yeah, he would. Slacks over fur meant the fur was all being pulled
in the wrong directions. "I'm fine," he said. "Just set it down and
please leave me alone."

She gave him a strange look, but set the tray down and left.

Danforth slipped into the bathroom, pulled off his shirt, and
grabbed his shaver. That was going to take forever! Surely Muriel
would wonder why the shaver was running so long. He set it down.

Danforth appeared in the kitchen an hour later with the lunch tray
and a suitcase. He said, "I need some time alone to recuperate. I
talked to Sam Kelly about borrowing his cabin for a couple of weeks.
I may not stay the whole time. I also called Janice at the church
about getting someone to preach for me the next couple of weeks."
He saw she was about to protest. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. Two
weeks with nothing to worry about should work wonders." He handed
her the tray and walked out to the car, hoping his tiny lie was
sufficient.

Muriel saw the expression on his face and knew there was no use in
saying anything, even though what she heard didn't quite have the
ring of truth. She might as well start planning on two weeks alone.

Throughout the drive, Danforth tried not to think about his problem.
He didn't get far in that attempt. Once at the cabin, he made a
sandwich for his supper.

He took the shaver into the bathroom and stripped, ready to shave it
all off, no matter how long it took. He surveyed the situation and
set the shaver down. It wasn't going to work. As part of his recent
physical, he had done a heart stress test on a treadmill to check for
heart problems that ran in the family. He had passed the test with
flying colors but they had shaved his chest in patches so the
electrodes could be attached. He had hated the way the stubble had
gotten pulled around by his clothing for three weeks after the test.
He decided dealing with fur beneath his clothing would be simple
compared to dealing with fur stubble for the rest of his life.

One more thought settled the shaving matter for good. Muriel had
enjoyed running her fingers through his chest hair. She would notice
if it was shaved off. Even if he did shave it, Muriel would notice
the claws on his toes and would definitely notice the sheath. The
thought of shaving the sheath made him cringe.

After a few confusing moments at the toilet, Danforth went to bed.

The next morning, he couldn't bear to wear much other than his
shorts and even those weren't comfortable. He opened his Bible and
kneeled to pray.

''God! Why have you so branded me with your mark of condemnation? Why?
I have followed you my entire life. I have followed all your laws. I
turned my life over to your church. I have been faithful to my wife.
I have been a servent to the flock you have given me. I have avoided
all dens of iniquity. What few minor sins I have committed, I have
readily confessed and have worked to make amends. I have done all
that you and your church has required of me. So why have I been
marked as one under your wrath? Why do you cast me into the abyss
and turn your back on me? Please name my sin! Please name it so I
may confess the blot on my soul and be washed clean!''

There was no response to his hours of praying on Monday. There was
none on Tuesday to his hours of praying and Bible reading. None on
Wednesday, either. It wasn't until Thursday that Danforth felt a
whisper in his mind.

''You didn't sin'', whispered the voice. ''There is no sin to confess.
I did not brand you, nor did I cast you into the abyss and turn
from you. I am still with you. I am only giving you a new task, that
of fighting for the justice of my children with SCABS. You will soon
learn how much my children need justice.''

''But they're nothing but animals!'' shouted Danforth. ''They have lost
their humanity! They threaten to pull the rest of humanity down with
them! We need to be protected from them!''

Danforth quivered in anger at God for not understanding the depths
of the problem. How could God not see!

The voice whispered again. ''Be careful about who is we and who is
they. Do you not have more fur than is normal for a human? Have you
lost your own humanity? Has your soul been taken from you? Since you
can still pray and that I am speaking to you means your soul,
bruised as it is, is still intact. Your humanity is still within
you. All that live with SCABS are still my children, even you. They
are still human, no matter their form. They still have souls. They
do not carry my curse. I have not abandoned them.''

Danforth felt like his purpose in life had been knocked out from
under him.

The voice continued. ''I won't explain my purposes because you won't
understand them. Just understand that those with SCABS are not evil.
They simply are. There is evil to battle against, however. That is
the evil that declares that my children have no place in my family
of believers. That is the evil who decides for me which of my
children deserves my compassion. That evil has taken ahold of you
too long. I have banished it from you. I ask that you help me banish
it from my flock.''

It wasn't until Tuesday of the second week that Danforth realized he
was progressing through the steps of grief.

There was denial of the voice, of what it said, that it was from God
and not a demon.

There was anger at what the voice had done to him, what the
consequences would do to him, and what the voice was asking him to
do.

There was despair at the way of life he would be leaving behind.

Finally, by the second Friday, there was a calm acceptance. Despite
the jolt and the coming difficulties, he could go on, and even
prosper in a new life.

That didn't mean he wanted to hurry into that new life, especially
with such a nice cabin available for his use for a few more days.
One doesn't idly throw away little pleasures. He stayed until
Wednesday, two and a half weeks since he arrived.

Once back home, he gave his wife a long hug, fearing it might be his
last. After a moment, she sensed all was not right. "What's wrong?"
she said.

He started to unbutton his shirt as he spoke, "The flu a month ago
that put me into the hospital was Martian flu." He pulled the shirt
open enough to reveal his furry chest.

Her reaction was all quiet venom. "After all that preaching about
a pure life and God marks you as impure! I don't need to know what
vile thing you tried to hide, though my guess is adultery. You only
compound your punishment by heaping hipocrisy upon it!" As she
stormed off, she added, "I'm off to see a divorce lawyer."

"Wait! We've had it all wrong! SCABS does not mean God has marked
us!"

She barely let him finish. She turned to face him. "An now you
compound it even more by claiming your sin is not a sin at all! I
didn't think you of all people would sink so low!" She left. He
wasn't surprised at all.

On his arrival at the church the next Sunday - with fur carefully
hidden - he was greeted warmly with comments about hoping he was
feeling better. He assured everone that he was. He said Muriel was
visiting her sister, which was likely true.

Danforth preached a sermon on compassion. It had considerably less
fire than his last sermon and a lot more empathy. It was only close
to the end that he slipped in a single sentence indicating that
compassion should extend to those living with SCABS. That single
sentence was enough.

After shaking the hands of his flock, with very few words about what
a great sermon it was, the chairman of the administrative board
approached, along with many of the board members. "Come with us." He
said, and led the way into the vestry.

Once the door was closed, the chairman said, "I got a strange call
from Muriel during the service. She only said that if your sermon
had lost its fire, I should ask you to take your shirt off. I
listened to her because I trust her even though the request is
bizarre. Your sermon was the wimpiest I have ever heard. Strip."

Danforth only needed to get four buttons undone before the chairman
said, "You're fired. Please move out of the parish house by the end
of the week." Again, Danforth wasn't surprised. He had already
started to pack.

Danforth wrote a letter to the city newspaper declaring that he was
no longer waging an anti-SCABS campaign and that he was apologizing
for his attacks on SCABS. He ended the letter with some of the same
biblical references from his last sermon. It appeared in the paper
a week later. A week after that were several responses. Some were
from his former congregation essentially flaming him for being a
traitor. The others thanked him for his apology, but doubted his
sincerety in light of his previous sermons and writings.

He got a job at his denomination's publishing company. Though his
own congregation was quite firm in their beliefs, the denomination
as a whole was quite vocal as it battled over the issue. An upcoming
church conference seemed destined to discuss that and nothing else.
A job working with the faction that worked to treat SCABS survivors
as humans and full members of the church seemed an ideal way to pay
for his previous treatment of them.

Along with the job came a new apartment in a new town. Danforth
decided that though he sympathized with the plight of SCABS, he
didn't particularly want to be seen as one. He didn't relish the
possible beating that SCABS victims frequently encountered. As
uncomfortable as it was, he didn't venture out of his apartment
without wearing a long-sleeve shirt, long pants, and high top
shoes - even in hot weather.

It was amazing how long he could be a SCABS victim while at home and
be a normal human in public. His viewpoint changed, but that was
all. He didn't even dare go into a SCABS bar. He may work with SCABS
issues, but he didn't want to be identified as being one. He
maintained a double life.

He was assigned the task of editing a book by a woman named Rose.
The book wasn't much to engage him - the title was "Loyalty and
Opposition: Speaking Out Against Religious Persecution of those
with SCABS" - but Rose was. She was quite the change from his
ex-wife, having all the joy of life that Muriel lacked.

As much as his self-protection thoughts shouted that he shouldn't,
he took Rose to dinner -- several times. It was also against that
mental shouting that he realized he was falling in love with her.
And he dreaded the outcome. Rejection by her would mean a lot more
than rejection by the church and by Muriel.

"As much as I love you and admire you," she said one evening over
dinner, "you are about the most uptight person I've had to deal
with." He squirmed in his clothes. "I'm gonna have to do something
about that." She winked.

"Why is it," he said, "women feel they need to reform the men around
them? Why can't they just enjoy their men?"

She stroked his cheek. "We don't always. In your case, something is
making you uptight and that amount of stress can damage your health.
I actually do like you the way you are. I don't want illness to take
you from me too soon. Lets start by going somewhere not in the
public eye. You might relax a bit more there."

Actually, in the public eye is where he wanted to stay. Less chance
of revealing himself. He said, "I want to be clear that I do not
approve of sex outside of marriage."

"I understand and completely agree," she said. "But you do need to
relax. Your living room or mine?"

As any male living alone knows, such a male is reluctant to take a
female into his apartment without advance notice so that he has a
chance to do some cleaning. "Let's go to your place," he said. He
paid the bill and followed her car with his.

Once settled into chairs in her apartment, she tried again, a bit
indirectly. "Danforth, within our denomination nothing brings out
tempers faster than the SCABS issue. I'm sure, given your current
job, I'm only stating the obvious. I'm also sure on which side of
the SCABS debate you stand, or you wouldn't be in that job.
Danforth, I am a person with SCABS." His eyebrows went up. "I won't
think less of you if that is what makes you uptight. Unless you
murdered someone, our church doesn't think there is anything
worse than SCABS, and I'm inclined to think the church would
forgive the murderer."

This was cutting just a little bit too close to his shell. He
mumbled an apology, which he knew she wouldn't believe, and as
politely as he could, fled.

Rose didn't give up so easily. She brought his favorite cookies the
next day and set them on his desk. Danforth felt trapped. He
couldn't gracefully flee from his own desk. He took a cookie so he
wouldn't have to speak for a while.

Rose said, "I'm still concerned about you. My place for dinner. Six
o'clock." He glared at her as he chewed.

He went. Not just for the promise of avoiding single male food, but
he did understand the wisdom of what she said, even if he didn't
like the way she barged in on his comfortable life.

The meal was delicious and Rose carefully steered the conversation
around the "problem", but still managed to learn a lot of his past
life.

It wasn't until they settled in the living room that Rose brought up
the subject. "I said yesterday that I live with SCABS. Looking at me
you wouldn't know it. It is not something I intend to show a guy
until I am married. Even so, I find a women's locker room to be a
dangerous place."

She paused for a moment. "From the way you disappeared yesterday, I
would guess that you also deal with SCABS. If so, it is a case that
can be hidden.

"Danforth, please don't fear me. I know you have created defense
mechanisms for yourself. I have done the same. Be assured that I
will not betray you. But I can tell that you suffer and in a great
need of a friend. Please let me be that friend."

Almost near tears, Danforth undid the buttons on his shirt, then
pulled it open to reveal the short chocolate fur beneath.

Rose was beside him in an instant, holding him in a soothing
embrace. He clung to her as the feeling of loss over his cracked
protective shell surged through him, followed shortly be a feeling
of relief. He didn't have to face life alone anymore.

"I happen to like fur," she said.

They were married six months later.

As the wedding night approached, Danforth wondered what his bride
would only show her husband about her case of SCABS. He didn't pry
and the only hint she gave out was that she was a woman waiting
calmly to be joined to her man. He had nothing to fear. Beyond that,
he realized he didn't particularly care what she had hidden.

They had evaded the chasing guests, checked into the hotel, had a
chance to settle into their room, and took a long moment for a kiss.
Danforth realized his bride hadn't seen much more of him than he had
of her. He drew the blinds and began to undress. It wasn't yet a
passionate tugging at clothes. It was more methodical than that. His
wife needed to see the details along the way.

The easy part was the tux jacket, the shoes, the tie, the cummerbund.
He removed his shirt and let her hand trace the boundary of the fur
at his collarbone, across the back, and around the elbows. She
pushed her fingers through the fur on his chest to feel its softness
and how well it would lie in one direction. Next were the socks. She
felt the carefully clipped claws on his toes and saw how the fur
stopped at the sole of his foot. The slacks came off to show the
short fur completely covered his legs. Finally, the shorts. She
marvelled how tidy he looked, but within a few moments, it peeked
above its sheath.

She started with the easy stuff as well - hair clips, earrings,
necklace, shoes. The elaborate gown came off next, revealing an
ordinary body - one that appeared unaffected by SCABS - though quite
beautiful. It wasn't until the pantyhose came off that Danforth saw
what SCABS had done. The patch of pubic hair was much larger than
he had seen on Muriel (his only other point of comparison) even
extending onto her thighs.

"That's it? That's the only change?" he said.

She smiled. "I'm a virgin, remember?"

He hadn't explored his own for that matter. The only thing that
really reminded him of his manhood since his change had been the
occasional wet dream. He had been carefully avoiding confronting how
much he had changed.

A few minutes later he was surprised to feel himself expand with
each thrust. The fit seemed tighter and the friction increased. He
had never felt this intense with Muriel. He experienced a sudden
strong tightening during a thrust and felt himself burst within her.
Once he subsided, he collapsed against her for a few moments and
felt her relax against him. They both rested to catch their breath.
Each exclaimed their delight.

It was only then that he found he could not withdraw. He nearly
panicked, but decided to enjoy it, at least for a while. He simply
held her.

It was about 20 minutes later that he felt the tightening relax
allowing him to withdraw. It was only then that she spoke.

"I consulted a doctor after the onset of SCABS. He thought that I
had a touch of dog or wolf. He said that it was possible that I
would clamp onto a man at climax. We also talked about the matching
male anatomy. It seems that since you couldn't withdraw at all,
your changes must also be be based on wolf or dog and that you have
a knot. That would mean you have dog fur. It is too short and fine
for wolf. That means we are made for each other."

The next morning it didn't take Danforth very long to find out what
a knot was.

They settled into a rewarding life. The bigots were still out
there. So were those that would twist the scriptures to fit a
narrow personal agenda. By day, Danforth and Rose worked to battle
that, now even making public appearances in addition to wielding a
pen. By night, they were quite literally locked in each other's
embrace.

[[Category:Story|The Pastor]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
[[Category:Tales from the Blind Pig]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:The Pastor}}

User:Erastus/Like Father, Like Son

2011-05-19T17:30:30Z

Erastus: Restoring a story that was lost in the disk crash.

{{title|name=Like Father, Like Son|author=Erastus

Centaur|user=Erastus}}

Jesse's story

It had been a long time since I had been inside this particular
house. It was a rather moderate size house, not too different from
its neighbors on a typical street in a small town. It was a pleasant
and safe place to raise a family.

I had left it 18 years ago. I didn't like to remember why.

Moments after I rang the bell, my wife Malena opened the door. She
held it open just enough that she filled the opening, leaning her
right shoulder against the frame and holding the door against her
left shoulder with her left hand still on the inside knob. I
remembered fondly that she had done this while we had dated. She
only said, "Hi," but in a way that said, "It's been too long and I
don't know what to do with the years in between."

All I could say in response was, "Hi." I'm sure my tone was just as
full of meaning, saying about the same thing.

We just stood there for a moment. She didn't open the door any
wider. I didn't ask her to. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, but
I didn't move. She didn't move either. I wasn't sure if it would be
appropriate, considering what had happened, though I longed to hold
her. We were still very much in love when I left.

She finally said, "I'm so glad you came. It is almost time and I
don't know how I would have told him. You would be able to say it so
much better."

"Is Ja--"

"Jacob took Annie to the opera tonight," she said, getting right to
the point. It would be safe for me to visit for the evening but I
had better be gone before daybreak.

"How is he?"

Her eyes took on a weary look. She knew I wasn't referring to Jacob.
"He's a teenager."

"That bad, huh?"

She smiled ruefully.

We were interrupted a moment later by a male voice. "Mom? Who is
it?" She hadn't told him I was coming.

The door was gently pulled away from her. She let go of it. Once it
was all the way open, I stared briefly into a pair of green eyes. I
saw the flash of recognition, then the face flared in anger. He
slammed the door.

Fortunately, Malena had guessed what would happen and had stepped
out of the way. I hadn't been close enough to be hit, but I did feel
the wind, quite strongly too, and heard the sound echo up and down
the street. No doubt the neighbors would check out the guy on
Malena's doorstep.

I just waited while listening to the voices through the door.

"Tyler! That was rude!"

"Mom, I can't see how you would even consider letting him into our
house!"

The voices paused then resumed much more softly, though still
audible. While I waited, I thought about the face I had seen. He was
the same height, had the same red hair and green eyes, the same
sharp-featured face, the same strong build. He hadn't yet decided
that shaving was a violation of the universe, but that was the only
difference.

"He's your father!" she said.

He looked exactly like I did when I was that age.

"Well, duh! After the way he abandoned us, you would let him in the
house? Have some respect!"

A pause. I could almost hear her sigh. "That's not what happened.
Let him in and we will explain."

The door opened slowly a moment later. When I could see his face, I
could see the blend of sullen and I'd-like-to-rip-your-face-off that
only teenage boys can achieve. Malena said, "Please come in." She
then turned to glare at our son with an expression that said, you
''will'' behave!

I followed them on into the living room. The furnishings hadn't
changed in 18 years, some of it looking worn. Malena said, "Have a
seat," as she indicated the couch. She turned to Tyler. "Go up to my
room and get the two photos off the dresser."

They both disappeared for a moment. Tyler returned first, holding
two picture frames. I couldn't see what they held, but I had a very
good idea which photos they were. He stood there a moment, glaring
at me, then plopped into an armchair. He set the photos on the table
beside him so he could see them and I couldn't.

I noticed Tyler's hair was pulled back in a short ponytail. It may
be the era in which I grew up, but I didn't think ponytails looked
good on guys. I hoped he wasn't trying to make a statement with it.

Malena returned with glasses of the lemonade I loved so much and
gave one to each of us. Tyler took his and set it carefully on a
coaster by the photos, then ignored it.

Tyler continued to glare at me.

I took a sip from my own glass, then said, "Tyler, please tell me
about your Uncle Jacob."

"What does he have to do with you?" came the young buck challenge.

"Please, Tyler," said Malena. She took a chair that was close to me
but so we didn't have to turn our heads too far to speak to one
another.

He scowled, then his expression softened. "He's great! He's been the
father you should have been!" His voice took on an edge. The glare
and the scowl were back.

"Tyler!" said Malena.

He turned the glare and scowl towards her, then turned back to me.
"He taught me to play baseball and basketball. He took me camping
along with Andy." That was Jacob's son, about five months older than
my own. "He taught me how to swim, took me on bike trips, and came
to all my high school baseball and basketball games."

Malena said, "Jake has indeed been wonderful about the whole thing,
including Tyler in just about everything he and Andrew did." The
hardness in her eyes let me know that while her son thought highly
of her brother, her opinion of him hadn't changed.

Tyler's description was not going to make things easy. Jake had
stepped in to be a surrogate father. My estimation of the man went
up a notch, in spite what he had done.

Malena turned to her son. "Your father did not abandon us. Uncle
Jacob chased him away."

I saw Tyler's look of shock. "Uncle Jake wouldn't do that!"

"He actually had a good reason," said Malena.

"So this guy," he jerked a thumb in my direction, "must have
deserved it!" There was a heavy dose of contempt as only a teenager
can dish out.

"No, he didn't. Your father didn't deserve it at all."

"Actually," I interrupted, "if our roles had been reversed, I might
have done the same thing."

She glanced at me. "I think you would have been even-handed enough
to understand the situation before acting that rashly."

Tyler looked mighty confused now. "Could you guys explain all this?"

"While your father didn't deserve it, I understood Uncle Jacob's
reasons. I also understood Uncle Jacob would take over the role of
your father. I couldn't poison that relationship. Having Uncle Jacob
do for you all the things a father would do was much better than not
having any man in your life at all. I am pleased he did all he did,
in spite of chasing your father away."

Tyler still looked confused. "But if this guy didn't deserve it,

what
reasons could Uncle Jake have?"

"I'm a werewolf," I said.

Tyler looked stunned for a moment, then broke out into loud
laughter. "Mom, you didn't tell me my father was crazy! It sounds
like Uncle Jacob had a very good reason." He put on an expression of
mock horror, complete with the back of one hand against his
forehead. "My fate is sealed." He gave out a dramatic sigh. "You're
here to tell me it is hereditary and I'll go crazy by the time I'm
thirty."

"Alright. Fine. I'll nominate you for an Oscar," said Malena.
"Sheesh." It had the sound of a long-running joke.

I ignored the barb, even though he wasn't that far off.

"Let me guess," I said, "that one of the photos now beside you is of
your mother with her hand on a wolf's head and the other is of a
wolf posing for the camera in the moonlight."

"So Mom likes wolves. So do I."

"That wolf is me."

"That's no proof!" The teenage contempt and sarcasm was ladled on
thick.

"There is a more important reason why I am here," I said. "Since I
am a werewolf, you are too. Your 18th birthday is in three weeks and
the first full moon is two weeks after that. That will be the first
time you will change."

"Mom, it's time to get this crazy man outta here," he said jerking
his thumb at the door.

"He's completely serious," she said.

"Hold out your hand," I said. I demonstrated by holding my own out
with the palm down. He did so, but kept a smirk on his face--sure,
I'll play along with the crazy man. "I would bet you are good in gym
class and excell in both baseball and basketball." He nodded. "But
no one else in the locker room has as much body hair as you do." The
smirk wavered a bit. "The only other person you've seen with that
much hair on their ''fingers'' is me."

I had Tyler's attention now. But not his respect. "That only proves
you're my biological father." I caught the distinction he was
making--a crazy man like me could never claim the role of father.

I continued. "You've also had times when you have heard or smelled
something that no one around you could hear or smell. Those are your
wolf senses."

Tyler wasn't smirking now, though he wasn't convinced. "It could
also mean that I have a good sense of smell and hearing."

"I bet that you more than like wolves. I bet your bedroom walls are
covered with posters of them, much to the annoyance of Uncle Jake."

"Yeah," he said, quietly now, "Uncle Jake had a fit when he saw
them. I couldn't figure out why and he wouldn't explain." But Tyler
wasn't about to give in.

Malena took over. "While I dated your father I didn't know he was a
werewolf. I only knew he was out of town on business a lot. I didn't
realize those trips corresponded with the full moon. I found out he
was a werewolf only when the full moon fell on Christmas Eve the
first year we were married. A business trip then sounded like an
excuse for something else. I was surprised when I found out what
that something else was." She smiled warmly at me. "It wasn't what I
expected."

"No kidding," said Tyler with a smirk.

"I surprised him by saying I loved him as a werewolf and I wanted to
be one too." Tyler looked sharply at his mother. "Your father
assured me that if he bit me while in wolf form, I would become a
werewolf. Someday he can tell you how he learned that. He didn't
want to chance it at the time since I was already pregnant with you.
But before you were born, Uncle Jacob found out. Your father barely
escaped alive."

She came and sat beside me and held my hand, then went on. "He and I
had planned a life together, and even thought about contingencies in
case my family found out. But in the heat of the moment, I failed
him." I hugged her. When I pulled back, she gazed into my eyes. "I
was torn between a life on the run with the man I loved, trying to
raise a child, and a secure life with my family around me. Sad to
say that security won out over love." She dropped her gaze, then
face our son. "I've regretted that decision ever since."

"Couldn't you change your mind?" asked Tyler. Good. The kid still
had thoughts of love winning out. I didn't want to destroy that,
though it seldom worked out like that in real life.

"No, I couldn't. Uncle Jacob had vowed to track your father down, so
his occasional letters rarely included a return address. Your father
sent as much money as he could, but it was never enough to uproot us
and settle somewhere else."

"Couldn't you sell the house?"

"No. Uncle Jake owns it. He took over payments when your father
left. I had to add his name to the deed."

Tyler was getting a queasy expression. We were taking something
preposterous and treating it with utmost seriousness, like it could
have actually happened.

I took up the tale. "I don't know a lot about my family's history. I
never knew my father and my mother died before my first change. She
never said whether she knew whether I and my father were werewolves.
I suspect she didn't know. She did remark about how much I resembled
him. Needless to say, my first change was a big surprise." I paused
for a sip of lemonade.

"From the little I have learned from fellow werewolves--yes, they
can be found if you know where to look--producing offspring is a bit
different from normal. If your mother had been a werewolf, my body
would have sensed that and produced sperm as expected and your
genetic makeup would have been a blend of both of ours. But since
she wasn't, my sperm contained a full set of DNA, which replaced all
of her DNA contribution. The result is that you are essentially a
younger version of me."

It was now obvious that Tyler was scrambling to remain upright after
the rug had been pulled out from under him. He was also desperately
trying to keep his teenage cool.

"Um," he said, trying to stop the flood of information, "this is all
pretty incredible. Can you prove it?" Before I could say anything,
he stammered, "I mean, think of it from my point of view. I've never
seen you before. You waltz in here and say that the reason why you
missed my childhood wasn't because you couldn't stand the
responsibility, but you are a werewolf. I would think you could come
up with a better story than that. Sheesh!"

I ignored his frustration and went to the actual question. "No, I
can't prove it, at least not now. We could each get a DNA test to
show our identical makeup." I let him ponder that for a moment. "And
during the full moon next week, you can watch me change."

"No, no, no, that won't be necessary." There was a look of panic in
his eyes.

"Oh, come on, Tyler!" said his mother. "There's nothing to be afraid
of."

"But he'll be a werewolf!"

"And you're being an idiot. Wolves don't blindly attack humans. And
even werewolves are gentle. Just think about that picture beside
you. Your father in wolf form was only dangerous to squirrels."

His face puckered up. "You eat squirrels?"

"And several other kinds of small animals." I smiled broadly,
showing my teeth. He didn't get the joke. "To put your mind at ease,
I don't become a ravening beast, free from civilization. I keep my
human mind and can still recognize friends. And though I enjoy a
night or two of freedom each month, I think that touch of wildness
makes me better able to cope with the demands of being a civilized
person."

He pondered that a while. I knew it was a lot to digest. I wished he
could have learned about it while growing up so that it all felt
natural, but even a five week warning was better than it had been
for me. Discovering you are a werewolf in the midst of your first
change was not something I would recommend.

"Does it hurt?" asked Tyler.

"Does what hurt?" asked Malena.

"The change! Does it hurt?"

I felt a very happy smile spread across my face. "It is a wonderful
experience! I daresay, it is even better than sex."

Tyler smirked at that. To a healthy teenage boy, nothing is better
than sex.

"So." I pulled out my palm-calendar. I had learned long ago to keep
careful track of when the moon was full and an astronomy program
connected to a date planner made sure the proper time was always
blocked off. "The next full moon is May fifth, which is Thursday of
next week. I would strongly suggest you visit me then to get used to
the idea." I glanced at Tyler.

He grimaced. "I had better get my own calendar." He dashed out of
the room and was back a moment later, poking at his own palm-gadget
with the stylus. "School night, with a test in my English class on
Friday."

"You almost sound relieved," I said in a mock-accusing voice. "One
might think you are trying to get out of it. This is not something
to take lightly. You will have to deal with this for the rest of
your life."

"No, no. I really do have a test in English next week." He turned
the palm around so I could see the screen--not that I could read it
from where I sat.

"Can't you skip studying for one little test?"

He became defensive. "It's not a little test. And I have to ace it
if I want to stay class valedictorian."

I nodded, "Congratulations! Well then. The first full moon after

your
birthday is Friday, June third."

He poked at the palm for a second, then looked stricken. "That's the
night of the Senior Prom!" He looked at me and said with a straight
face. "Sorry. I can't join you then. I'm taking Lily to the Prom.
We've been planning this for months."

"I don't think you quite understand yet." I held my gaze steady.
"You are a werewolf. That is the first full moon after your
eighteenth birthday. You will become a wolf that night as soon as
the moon is above the horizon. It will happen whether you are at the
Prom or not. There is nothing neither you nor I you can do about it.
If it happens while you are at the Prom, the results will be
disastrous. People will not treat you well. I'm sorry. I'll make
sure you and Lily get another elegant evening. It just can't be that
one."

Tyler looked like he was about to cry. "Mom?" If dad said no, try to
appeal to a higher authority.

She spoke in a gentle voice. "I'm sorry, Tyler. He's right."

I watched as his crushing disappointment gave way to anger. "All
right! That's it! I've had enough of your silly games. You talked
about it so naturally, you almost had me convinced." He stood.
"Well, I don't believe you. I'm outta here." He headed out of the
room, muttering, "Werewolves! Ha! That's a good one!"

"Tyler!" Malena called out. He didn't slow down. Moments later I
heard an upstairs bedroom door slam.

{{Separator|stars}}

Tyler's story

Uncle Jake was a pretty cool dude for an adult. He seemed to
remember what being a teenager was like and didn't hassle me on a
lot of things--things he said really didn't matter. Strange haircut?
Didn't matter. Getting good grades? Did matter. A lot. I could also
talk to him about anything without getting preached at. He didn't
even flinch when Gordy, my friend at the time, showed up wearing
lipstick.

So the day after my dad showed up--a Saturday--I went over to see
him. I saw he was trimming the hedges, so stepped into the garage to
get the second set of clippers before joining him.

"Hi, Tyler," he said, as I made the clippers snap. "You missed a
good opera last night."

I chuckled as I worked. It was good to get the muscles going after
the strange conversation yesterday and the restless night.
"According to my definition of opera, there is no such thing as a
good one."

"Your loss."

"I bet you couldn't convince Andy to go either."

"Bingo. He was off with Joanne to some rock concert. I dunno." He
waived a hand around before resuming his work. It had been obvious
for a long time that he paid no more attention to our music than we
did to his. But he had long assured us it was one of those things
that didn't matter.

"So were you out with Lily last night?" he asked as he stepped back
to check his work.

"Nah. She went with some friends to a chick-flick."

"One of those movies with a sign saying, "Men not Allowed," hmm?

"Bingo."

"Don't tell me you stayed home and," he paused dramatically,
"Studied?" I could hear the capital letter. "And on a Friday
night. Aren't you taking this Valedictorian thing too far."

I took my time answering him, pretending to study my own work. "We
had a visitor last night."

"Oh?"

"My dad showed up."

There was just the sound of the clippers for long enough that I
glanced at Uncle Jake. He was watching me. "Sure it was him?"

"Oooh yeah. Except for the beard and short hair, it was like staring
at my face in the mirror."

I glanced at Uncle Jake. He had given up on working the clippers. He
said, "What did he say?"

"He told me this goofy story about how you chased him away because
he's a werewolf. Of all the reasons to give for skipping out on
being a father, this has got to be the stupidest."

"Did he say anything else?" Uncle Jake set his clippers down.
"Perhaps about you?"

There was a chill in his voice I had not heard before. I set my own
clippers down. "He spouted off this nonsense that I'm his genetic
double and that I'm a werewolf too." Uncle Jake was frowning. "He
even said I can't take Lily to the Prom as that's the night of the
first full moon after I turn 18. I mean, he hadn't even met Lily and
out of the blue he tells me I can't go to the Prom with her.

His next action was a total surprise. He stepped forward and
embraced me in a hug, something he hadn't done since I was 10. He
then reached up and gave my ponytail a playful tug, an action that
didn't make sense. "I've dreaded this moment," he muttered. Then he
said. "You've been a son to me, a brother to Andy. I'm sorry I have
to do this." He sighed heavily.

"Do what?"

He backed away. "I'm sorry Tyler. I have to protect the rest of my
family. You must leave now and you can't come back."

"Huh?"

"Your father wasn't dreaming up wild stories; he really is a
werewolf. And if he says you're one too, then for the safety of my
family I must assume he is right. I won't allow you to harm Andy or,
through some blood brother pact, turn him into a werewolf. Please
leave now. Don't make it any harder on yourself or on me."

"But Uncle Jake, that's crazy!"

"No, it's not. If you can show me your ponytail at the end of
summer, I'll let you return."

I hesitated, first wondering what my ponytail had to do with it,
then thinking that if I left now, my love for him would be gone
and I wouldn't want to come back at the end of summer, even if I
wasn't a werewolf.

"Get out of here, Tyler, before I get the gun I wanted to use on your
father!"

I turned and ran.

Along the way, I heard Uncle Jake shout. "I think I still have those
silver bullets."

I got into my car, slammed the door, and collapsed, crying, against
the steering wheel. It was several minutes before I could see
clearly enough to attempt to drive the two miles home. Uncle Jake
ignored me.

{{Separator|stars}}

News travels fast in a small town. Uncle Jake wouldn't have said
much, but he had to tell Andy. And that was enough.

Andy had been more than a friend and surrogate brother while I was
growing up; he had been my best friend. We were evenly matched in
many ways -- same height, same strength, same ability in sports
(which made us a formidable pair in basketball) -- but quite
different in appearance. Looking at his roundish face, brown hair
and eyes, and minimal body hair, one would not know we were cousins.
Since we were both about to graduate, our basketball coach was
lamenting next year's chances.

"Hey, Andy," I greeted him when I saw him near the high school on
Monday morning.

"Go away." Andy said it in such a way that I knew he was hurting
from his father's decision as much as I was. I suspected he
understood it even less. I didn't attempt to try to explain the
situation; logic wasn't involved.

The other members of the basketball hanging around Andy snapped
their heads in Andy's direction at that comment. Hearing Andy say
that to me was going to draw questions.

By my third hour class, the desks around me would stay empty as the
other students sat as far from me as they could. Students even sat
in the front row rather than next to me.

After fourth hour, I seemed to have this force-shield bubble around
me as I walked down the hall. The other students gave me ''plenty'' of
space while trying to act cool in the face of the threat my mere
existence conjured in their minds. Thankfully, no one tried to beat
me or even say nasty things. I guess they were afraid I would come
back for revenge during my first change.

After fifth hour, I found a note in my locker from Lily saying she
was canceling our date to the Prom and ending our relationship. The
note assured me that she would find someone to take her and the
dress I had selected for her would not be wasted.

By Tuesday noon, I was considered to be such a disruption to the
rest of the school that I was given a desk in the Assistant
Principal's office where I could listen in on my classes through the
PA system. Of course, the Assistant Principle avoided his office
while I was there except to lock the system to the proper room each
hour.

On Wednesday, I was encouraged to keep my grades up, even though
there was no way I would be allowed to be the Valedictorian Speaker
at Commencement. I guess my personal honor was the only thing that

prompted me to actually
complete my classes rather than chuck the whole thing.

The fact that I hadn't done anything to deserve all that nasty
treatment was ignored by everyone.

It was going to be a long seven weeks to graduation.

{{Separator|stars}}

Jesse's story

On the afternoon of June third, I stopped at Malena's house late in
the afternoon shortly after Tyler would have gotten home from
school. I was there to take my son out to my cabin in the woods for
his first change. When I walked into the kitchen of Malena's house,
he waived around the sandwich he was about to take another bite out
of and practically shouted, "You've ruined my life!"

"What would ruin your life would be to be seen turning into a
werewolf in public," I countered, "Because you would likely not
survive the experience. As long as it is rumor, they won't kill
you."

Tyler resumed eating. Between bites, he said, "Uncle Jake banished
me." A bite. "Lily dumped me." A bite. "I now sit in the Assistant
Principal's office because I"m considered a disruption." A bite. "My
life is over and it is all your fault."

That sandwich was reminding me of my own hunger, but I had other
things to do right then. "I see you haven't killed yourself from the
depths of your despair." He glared at me between bites. "Your high
school life is over in two weeks anyway. It is time to step into the
adult world. You're just going to do it a bit differently than the
rest of your classmates. Since you are free tonight, you have no
excuse not to join me. I can be with you during your first change."

"Yeah, I do have an excuse." He took a chug of milk. "I don't trust
you."

"How many sandwiches have you eaten since lunch?"

He looked confused at the change of topic. "Uh." He glanced at the
nearly empty packages of ham and of cheese, the decimated loaf of
bread, the smudges of mayonnaise all around the plate. "Five."

"And how many do you usually eat between lunch and dinner?"

"Maybe one."

"Are you still hungry?"

"Uh, yeah." He looked surprised at the realization that he could eat
so much and still want more.

"Then we had better hurry. You're hungry because your body is
gathering fuel for the change. If we leave within a half hour, we
can get to my cabin before nightfall. It will be safe to be a
werewolf there."

From his expression I could see he finally accepted what I was
telling him. He finally saw it in his own body. "I had better make
some more sandwiches," he said. 'What else do I need?"

"Forget the food. I've got plenty in my truck for both of us. Just
grab your toothbrush and some clothes for tomorrow."

Tyler was ready in only six minutes.

After we had gone several miles in silence, Tyler asked, "So, what's
it like?"

How I had longed to tell my son about me! Releasing all that longing
at once would surely overwhelm the kid, so I worked to keep it all
in check and answer what he asked. There would be time for the rest.
There would finally be time.

I smiled--a huge grin--as I shifted my thoughts to the question at
hand. "It is ''wonderful!''" First, the change itself is a powerful
experience, then it is followed by a night in which I feel connected
with nature in ways that aren't possible in my human body."

"Does the change hurt?"

"Not that you'd notice." He gave me a quizzical look. "Your body is
first filled with endorphins and that makes pain irrelevant."

"Then what happens?"

"Over the course of about ten minutes you turn into a wolf."

"Like the wolfman?"

"No, no. Like a real wolf. Four paws on the ground. Indistinguishable from the original model."

"That means there is a whole lot that has to change."

"That's right," I said, nodding.

"Which is why I'm so hungry." He reached into the cooler for more
sandwiches and handed one to me.

The talking continued from there. I talked about how I found out I
was a werewolf (the hard way), how I met his mother, what I've been
doing since I was chased away. He talked about his childhood, what
Uncle Jake had done for him, what he thought of the situation now.

After driving for a few hours and consuming a great deal of food, we
arrived at my cabin. It was in a secluded area on land that bordered
a state park. I felt lucky to have such a getaway that could shield
me from a world that didn't understand me.

"Here we are," I announced as I turned off the key.

It was a tiny place. A bedroom and bathroom filled the north half
and a common room took up the rest. The cabinets and table were now
showing their age. Water came from a well and the stove, furnace,
and lights used the canister of propane outside. A five foot wide
porch with a railing extended out the south end. It allowed a view
of the sunset on one side and moonrise on the other.

Tyler checked it out--which didn't take long--as I put my cooler on
the conter (no need to start the refrigerator) and our minimal
stuff in the bedroom. After Tyler was conceived, I had bought a cot,
thinking my child would eventually share my cabin with me. I didn't
think so much would happen in between. I set up the cot, even though
we wouldn't sleep until morning. It barely fit between the bed and
the closet.

Tyler returned from his quick tour. "Now what?"

"We wait for the change." I glanced at my watch. "Sunset in twenty
minutes."

He looked surprised. 'That's it? There isn't anything we need to do
to prepare?"

"Take your clothes off." I got an expression that said that I must
be joking. "Once the change comes and the endorphins kick in, you
will take your clothes off. The clothes will look nicer if you hang
them up while you can think about it rather than leave them in a
heap on the floor or in the mud." He smiled at that. "And don't
forget to remove all jewelry, including studs in piercings. The
change isn't kind to them."

He followed my lead, taking everything off but the briefs and
hanging everything up on hangers or hooks.

The stud in his right ear was small enough that I hadn't noticed it
before. As he took it out, I said, "In the morning, your ear won't
be pierced anymore. I know they are fashionable, but you'll probably
get tired of re-piercing your ears every month."

"Lily gave this to me as a Christmas present. What am I going to
tell her when she sees I'm not wearing it?"

"Sorry," I said, trying to be as gentle as possible. "I didn't make
the rules." I didn't dare remind him that Lily had dumped him.

He then followed my out to the deck to watch the sunset. We sat in
the two towel-covered chairs I kept for this purpose.

As soon as the last bit of the sun dipped below the horizon, I
slipped off my briefs, dropped them inside the door, and turned my
attention to the east. Tyler did the same.

Tyler asked, "So what happens next?"

"Enough questions," I commanded. "Just enjoy it."

A tip of the moon peeked above the horizon. My body responded to the
light with a flood of endorphins. I felt like I could float away as
I heard Tyler giggle in delight.

"Put your hands on the rail," I said. "It makes the transition from
biped to quadruped easier." He followed my lead.

I watched the change proceed through my son as I felt it in myself--
the emerging rhinarium and muzzle, the relocating ears, the growing
fur, the shrinking fingers and reshaped limbs, the sprouting tail.
It was so wonderful to finally have him beside me, able to share in
the experience.

The moon stood well above the horizon now, big and fat and bright.
If I didn't have wolf eyes, I would have marveled at the orange
color. I greeted the moon with a howl as I always did once the
change was complete. Tyler blended his howl with mine and soon
figured out how to harmonize his with mine for the best song.

We pulled our forelegs off the rail and gazed into each other's eyes
for a moment. No words were necessary to get across what we were
both thinking--race ya!

The race didn't last long.

I darted from the porch, but instead of hearing Tyler's paws hit the
ground behind me, I heard a thunk against the boards of the porch. I
stopped and looked back to see him sprawled close to the steps and
staring at me. He barked at me a couple times.

Oops. I had forgotten an important part of his first change. He
didn't know how to walk as a wolf yet. I hurried back onto the porch
and licked his muzzle to show I wasn't going to abandon him.

I couldn't exactly teach him how to walk as a wolf, but if he was
the athlete his high school records indicated he was, it wouldn't
take him long to figure it out. What I could do was walk the length
of the porch as an example.

Tyler rose clumsily to his paws, then took a moment to watch my
gait. He was soon trying it himself, first consciously moving one
leg at a time, then mastering it well enough to negotiate turning
around. I imitated his movements until he got the idea that perhaps
he could imitate mine. I then led him through a variety of maneuvers
to show him what his body was capable of. He was soon pacing me up
and down the length of the porch and keeping up as I increased my
speed.

Now it was time for that race.

I darted from the porch with my son right behind me and we ran into
the woods. I led for a while, but soon my son passed me and chose
the trail. We played. We followed scents. We marked trees and howled
at the moon. We chased squirrels and rabbits and caught a few for a
midnight snack. We had the kind of night in which whatever we did
gave us a feeling of connection to each other, to the woods, to all
of nature, and to the universe. We were a part of nature, accepting
it on its own terms, not trying to force our will on it and subdue
it.

As with all such nights, it was over too soon. I could see the moon
was getting close to the western horizon and set my path back to the
cabin. Tyler, of course, tried to divert me a few times, but soon
gave in to the inevitable. We jumped onto the porch as I felt the
second rush of endorphins.

With one final howl at the western moon, I stood on hind legs and
rested paws on the porch's railing. Tyler did the same. I watched
him as the change ran in reverse. As soon as I had hands and enough
balance for two feet, I took up the brushes that hung beneath the
rail and handed one to Tyler. We both began to brush away the fur
that was now loose. It created quite a mess at our feet, as it
always does. What the wind didn't blow away, the birds would gather
up for nests.

"Wow!" said Tyler once he got his voice back, "That was incredible!
We get to do this every month?"

"Yeah, we do." It felt like my grin matched his.

Tyler brushed the hair out of his forehead, but was puzzled that
none came off his cheeks and chin. He then ran the brush over his
scalp, "My ponytail is gone! What happened to it?"

"Your human hair has essentially been replaced with fur." The
puzzled expression remained. "Come on, lest go inside. I'm sure
you'll want a big breakfast before you go to bed. I can explain
while I cook."

"I'm not sleepy," he protested.

"It will all catch up with you in about 30 minutes when the
endorphins wear off. Then you won't be able to keep your eyes open."

We went inside, putting on our briefs by the door and not bothering
with anything else. I pulled eggs and other supplies out of the
cooler and set to work. "Scrambled?"

"Yeah. How'd you guess?"

"I like my eggs scrambled, too."

He saw that I would be busy with beating and cooking a dozen eggs so
he manned the toaster.

I resumed my explanation. "Each hair follicle grows hair for a
while, then lets the strand fall out as it rests before starting the
cycle over. They all rest at different times so you don't go bald
with each cycle. On the human head, the cycle is long enough that
individual strands can get several feet long. The hair elsewhere on
your body has a much shorter cycle, so only manages to grow an inch
or so. That same short cycle is what keeps an animal from getting
long fur and makes them shed a lot."

I stirred the pan of eggs. He popped bread in the toaster and set to
buttering what had just come out. "Your body knows how much hair to
grow to be appropriate for a wolf and how much to shed the next day
so that you can pass for human. But the hair on your head--both
scalp and beard--is another matter. The first change pushes out all
the long hair inappropriate for a wolf and replaces it with fur. But
now that it has done that once, it keeps that fur around while in
human form."

"Why does it do it that way? My body knows how to grow hair
quickly.""

"But it doesn't know how long to grow it so that it was the same as
before." I could see he understood.

During a break in his buttering, Tyler looked in the cooler to see
what else is there. He pulled out a bottle. "White grape juice?
I've never tried that."

"I suspect this will become your new favorite."

After buttering more toast, he set out two place settings. He said,
"I have two more weeks of school. Growing a beard overnight will
just get me into more trouble than I'm in already."

"You're right. You'll have to shave until graduation. It means that
until it grows out again, you'll have a naked face as a wolf." Tyler
grimaced at that comment. "But two weeks to the next change should
give you a fair beard in time." I paused to stir the pan.

"There are both good and bad aspects," I went on. Tyler eyed me.
"The good is you will never go bald and never need a shaver or
barber again. Shaving the morning of graduation will be the last
time you ever shave."

He chuckled. "That sounds pretty good. And the bad?"

"It can be a hassle to brush it so that it doesn't look wild."

"I can handle that."

"One more disadvantage--no more experimenting with your looks. This
is your hairstyle until you die."

He gave me a pained expression, then cracked a smile. "Hairstyle
isn't all that important. I learned that from Uncle Jake."

"So why the radical ponytail?"

"I hate getting my hair cut. I only shaved because the school
insisted on it."

"Then being a werewolf is an advantage," I said. He smiled.

The eggs were done, so I served them and Tyler and I set to eating.
"You're right," he said after a moment, "I'll be asking Mom to get
white grape juice from now on. How'd you know?"

"The same way I know a lot of your likes and dislikes--We have the
same DNA."

"Oh." His grin was tinged with embarrassment.

I could tell when the endorphins wore off. We lapsed into silence
an concentrated on eating. Tyler suddenly yelled, "My ponytail!"
as one hand grabbed the air at the base of his neck. His face
crumpled just before he buried it in his hands. A second later I
could see his shoulders shake.

I was around the table in a flash gathering him in my arms. His hug
was tight as he sobbed quietly against my neck. "Uncle Jake?" I
asked.

I felt him nod against my shoulder. He didn't need to tell me
anymore.

My son had just realized his known world had collapsed. His missing
ponytail, I surmised, was a way for Jake to confirm that Tyler was
a werewolf. Tyler could no longer see the man who had been his
father and the boy who had been his brother. He had been yanked from
childhood into adulthood too suddenly and needed to mourn what had
been lost before embracing what he had gained. I felt the tears drip
off my bare shoulder.

When the sobs subsided I said, "I'm sure you remember the story of
Moses." I felt his head nod again. Of course, he would. Uncle Jake
would have made sure of that. "Most people don't think much about
Moses and his childhood, how he was raised in the family that would
eventually be his enemies. It was quite a shock for him to find out
he couldn't be both Egyptian and Hebrew, both a part of the family
he had known and the family of his heritage. It's the same shock to
find out you can't be both Uncle Jake's nephew and a werewolf."

His sobbing subsided, but I continued to hold him. "Uncle Jake is a
fine man. I'm sure he and Andy are hurting as much as you are. It
is too bad that fear makes humans do stupid things.

"You may have lost some people very dear to you today. But you have
also gained me. I won't leave you, Tyler. I will guide you into the
life of the werewolf. It isn't an easy life, but world needs our
perspective. We can act like a regular member of society yet know
what it's like to be a persecuted minority."

I felt a shuddering sigh and heard a sniffle. "Come now. To bed.
We've been up all night. Your problems will look more manageable
after some sleep." He raised his head. I handed him a tissue from
the table. He blew his nose as I grabbed a second one to wipe my
shoulder. He allowed a grin to pull at the corners of his mouth.
Ii guided him to the bed and let him collapse onto it. He was asleep
within moments. I made it onto the cot before sleep overtook me.

{{Separator|stars}}

It was midafternoon when I awoke. I had more eggs prepared by the
time Tyler stumbled from the bedroom in response to his hunger and
the cooking smells. "I don't cook anything fancy on werewolf
weekends," I said. He was soon helping with toast. I didn't talk
much as he seemed too sleepy.

We were soon packed and on our way. The exertion of packing must
have cleared Tyler's brain a bit, as he was willing to talk.

"Did you always spend your change alone at this cabin?"

"Hardly. I frequently join a pack about an hour from here."

His eyes got big. "A whole pack of werewolves?"

"You were thinking we were the only werewolves around?" I grinned at
him. "Actually, there are thirty packs around the country with two
right here in the state."

"How large is your pack?"

"About fifteen."

"Any girls?"

I grinned again. "Silly boy." He grinned in response. "Yeah, there
are unattached females." His smile spread in response. "And you can
meet them all the month after next after your beard grows in."

"Sounds good," he said.

He sat there for a while, deep in thought, then said, "Mom said she
wanted to join you as werewolf, didn't she?"

"Um, yeah, she did."

"Don't you think it's about time she did?" I glanced at him. "I
mean, with Uncle Jake not wanting to see me again, there's no reason
not to do it, is there?"

The more I thought of it, the more I liked the idea. I nodded to Tyler.
"Including her in our next trip sounds very good. Though I think you
had better leave the biting to me."

[[Category:Story|Like Father, Like Son]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
[[Category:Mythical]]
[[Category:Lycanthrope]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Like Father, Like Son}}

User:Erastus/Power Play

2011-05-19T17:19:50Z

Erastus: Corrected title in category designations

{{title|name=Power Play|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

Please don't start with all that morality junk. As a member of the Oldest Profession I've heard it all before. So just … don't. I know my business card uses the phrase Male Escort, but nobody is fooled. My duties rarely include accompanying someone as they go somewhere. What I do is provide companionship. Intimate companionship.

That same business card says my name is Colt. Nobody is fooled by that either.

It's a job. One might think a job that involves a lot of sex would be fantastic. Sometimes it is. Sometimes, when my client is a toad, it can be hard work. Not all gay men are fabulous. And sometimes when I'm in the arms of a client I'm lonely.

I'm relieved that it has been a good long time since I've been sent to a female client. Those just never worked and the staff knows it.

As is everyone else in the profession I'm quite aware of client fetishes. I've participated in several where it is obvious no one will sustain injury. I even have a few of my own. They are well catalogued by the staff so that the client's fetishes are matched with those of the escort whenever possible.

Our dispatcher Jeanette called me about a certain job after checking that catalog. One of my fetishes is rich male voices. My preference is for the low ones, but a strong tenor, which Jeanette has, is still a turn-on. Don't give me that look, transgender people don't hide anymore. Since her surgery you wouldn't mistake Jeanette for a man. But they didn't touch her voice. She's good at keeping it soft, but it is still rich and full.

"Got a job for a guy with a horse fetish," said Jeanette when I answered. "The client wants someone who has seen the Old Spice centaur commercials and is turned on by them."

"It sounds like a job I would enjoy," I replied." I'd be happy to take it."

"Good," she said. "That's a relief. I had no idea who else I might be able to call. The client is willing to pay for five hours, hints at a large bonus and repeat business. I would certainly want this one to be a regular." We may be a high-class service, but we can't afford to turn down money.

"I think I may even know how to make this one very happy."

She gave me the name -- Rocky -- along with the address and appointment time for later that day. It was quite a ways out of the city.

My method to get a large bonus from clients with a horse fetish was easy, though with a sizeable initial investment. There really are enough clients out there with such a fetish to make the investment worthwhile, especially once word-of-mouth has a chance to work. I show up at the door wearing my horse pants. The garment began as leggings for a male dancer, those wondrously tight things that show off every muscle. On top of that is short brown fur from the waistband to below the knee and long white fur below that. This isn't the cheap stuff from a neighborhood fabric store, nor the kind of covering one sees on stuffed animal toys. Nope, this is the high quality fake fur used by Hollywood. The waistband is carefully turned under so that it looks like bare skin blends into fur. To the back is attached a bushy white horse tail and the front enhances the family jewels. The ensemble is completed with pony shoes, that look like a horse's hooves. When I wear them I look like I have the legs of a stallion Clydesdale.

I drove out to the house late on a Friday afternoon. The driveway to Rocky's house was a narrow gap in the trees. Even though leaves were just budding that time of spring I could not see the house from the road. Once through the grove I entered a field that was surrounded by equally thick woods. The house was well sheltered from prying eyes. With the amount of land I expected a grand manse, but that's not what I saw. The house was modest. Rocky clearly valued land and privacy but wasn't rich.

But on driving up to the house I saw the scale seemed off. It had only one storey, but was tall enough for a storey and a half. It was low to the ground with a ramp to the main door instead of steps. The door seemed exceptionally tall and wide. When I got to that door the handle was much higher that I expected.

It didn't take Rocky long to answer the bell. He opened the door, appraised me wearing those pants and nothing else, and flung himself at me in a passionate kiss.

When he came up for air, his arms still holding me tight, he said, "You've definitely earned the first part of your tip."

"Only the first part?"

"With this beginning you should have no trouble earning the rest. This should be a fun day."

I expected Rocky to drag me to the bedroom (or stable) for the opening round of action, but he didn't. He released me and said, "I've got something to show you before we tire ourselves out. Come over here." He took my hand, turned, and started across the room. I could see the glint in his eye when he turned back to smile at me.

One does what the client wants. Tips depend on it. The whisper of his sock covered feet contrasted with soft clop of my pony shoes on the floor. It took me a moment to realize the floor covering was cork. I looked around the interior. A large part of it was one room with the kitchen on one side and the living area on the other. I looked at the kitchen and got the sense the scale was for someone quite a bit larger than Rocky. I assumed the large doors led to bedroom and bath.

The place was a typical man-space, neutral walls, heavy wood furniture in dark colors, filing cabinets, and shelves of books and DVDs, but not many places to sit. All of the furniture was along the walls, leaving most of the room open. Along one side was a prominent desk with a computer and monitor on it. Both seemed to be recent models and I could see a camera perched on top of the monitor.

I was puzzled by two things in the room. The first was a horizontal bar hung from the ceiling in the center of the room. It looked to be low enough that Rocky could reach up to grab it while standing on the floor. His shoulder muscles didn't seem to bulge enough for him to be doing chin-ups while waiting for his computer to boot. The second was a floor to ceiling mirror on the wall beside the desk. Men rarely wanted mirrors that large unless they fancied themselves expert lovers and the mirror was in the bedroom.

Rocky bumped the mouse and turned on the monitor. He sat and indicated the second chair was for me. The screen came to life showing a nude Rocky on the left and a white stallion on the right. Rocky was definitely not a toad. He had a pleasant face and a reasonably in-shape body, not muscular but also far from fat. His hair was a pleasant dark blond. At least it will be enjoyable for me as well as him.

"Ever hear of morphing programs?" The question caught me off guard, so I only looked at him. "These are programs that combine two images by producing a blend of the two or they show a series of images of how one image is transformed into the other. This kind of thing gets used in commercials all the time -- like the one that shows the stallion being transformed into a Ford Mustang."

I smiled. "Yeah, that's a cool commercial. But I don't think you're paying my rates to watch a morphing program do its thing."

"Ah, but this is a special morphing program!" He clicked the mouse and the monitor bumped his image to full screen then slowly morphed it into the horse I had just seen. Pretty cool and the sight tickled my groin. "That's what a normal program would do. But its power is that it works on actual objects, not just their images."

I just looked at him. But he ignored me and went on.

"I was able to morph myself into a horse." He displayed an image of the mighty fine stallion which I first saw, this time it appeared to be in this room -- which proved nothing. "But that didn't seem to be quite right, so I created an image of a human-horse hybrid -- human torso and arms, horse legs, head, and tail with all of it covered in fur." He displayed such a creature and the photo looked amazingly realistic. Again, my groin took notice.

"That doesn't prove it is you."

"I'm well aware of that." He smiled. "I wouldn't believe it either with this evidence. You'll get your definitive proof soon. My favorite, though, is the centaur." With a flourish he displayed another photo. It was again amazingly realistic and the human part was clearly Rocky.

"Great Photoshopping --"

"-- but not proof. Yeah, I know. This will take a moment to set up."

He returned to the original image of the white stallion on the right. He quickly added a mask over the body, legs, and tail and deleted the head and neck. He then stripped off all his clothes and had the camera to take his picture. "Gotta use a fresh human image every time," he said. His image appeared on the left. He sat in the chair, duplicated his image, masked it from the abs upward, and deleted the legs. Another couple clicks put his torso where the horse's neck had been. A couple more clicks and the joint was smoothed out.

"Compared to Photoshop," I said, "that was amazingly fast. But --"

"-- now the real fun begins." He smiled broadly. "I find a five minute transformation to be best. Push your chair back and watch."

I did so. He did one final click, stood, and reached up to grab the hanging bar. "It helps to have something to hang onto while the forelegs grow."

I noticed changes almost immediately. His legs began to lighten in color in what I realized was fur beginning to form. Those legs and feet began to stretch in strange directions. His toes clumped together.

The area around his hips stretched and two bulges appeared below his abs. I could see Rocky was now pulling himself upward on the bar. The bulges grew outward. The stretching in various directions continued. A tail appeared. The new forelegs were recognizable as such as joints appeared. Rocky lifted one foot at a time to take a big step back and settle each one properly on the hoof. The barrel filled out.

At the end of the five minutes the front hooves had touched the floor and Rocky the centaur stood before me. He released the bar, which was now at his eye level. He said, "How do I look?"

I was so stunned that it took a moment to say something, which was, of course, inane. "You'd look so much better if you matched hair and fur color."

He laughed. "This is only one of the forms I like. The others have better color coordination." He motioned for me to step close. "Come on over here and touch me. That's the only way you'll really believe."

I approached tentatively, first touching the blend, the line where human meets horse. But once my hand rubbed over the line I couldn't touch enough. This was much better than that Old Spice centaur and one of my fantasies was right under my fingers. I worked my hands along his flanks, down his tail, and reached between his hind legs.

"Not yet," he said.

"What?" I said. "Isn't that what you're paying me for?"

"I've got something better in mind."

"Better?" was all I could get out.

"See that stack of bills on the shelf?" He pointed and I walked over to it. "If you'll allow me to turn you into a centaur too I'll give you all of it as a tip."

I rifled through the stack, set it down and stepped back. I felt stunned. The amount of money was ten times the standard fee for my hours with him. To offer me my other great fantasy and to pay me to do it took a moment to absorb. I was ready to jump at the opportunity but didn't want to be too eager and jeopardize the tip.

While I stood there with my back to Rocky a comment I made as a teen, only a few years before, came to mind. I had said, "I'd give anything to be a centaur."

My grandfather overheard me. He knew about my interest in centaurs -- one look at my bedroom walls at the time would have told him that -- so he didn't tell me how ridiculous my wish was. I was thankful for such a kindness. Instead, he said, "Open ended wishes like that can be dangerous. Be very careful of the strings attached. At my age I've wished many times for a younger body, one that didn't creak and hurt so much. I'd love to have a young body like yours, but I wouldn't give just anything for it, even if it were possible. I wouldn't want it if it separated me from my wife, your father, or even you. I wouldn't want it if it meant I had to relearn all of the life lessons I learned in the last fifty years. I'm rather fond of who I am now." He chuckled and winked. "However, if a young body was possible and the only string was money I'd consider giving up a great deal of my retirement savings."

Point taken, Granddad. Hmm. If this morphing program could change Rocky from human to horse, could it change Granddad into a young man?

I turned to face Rocky. "How does the program work?"

"I appreciate that you're a careful customer, but I have no idea." I'm sure he saw the determination in my face. "Does the operating manual of your car explain how an internal combustion engine works? Yet, I saw you drive up in one."

"How did you get this program?"

"Friend of a friend, who said it was in beta testing. I found its ability to morph real objects by accident and it was mighty hard to get it to undo once I became a horse that first time. It's tricky to use a mouse with only a mouth."

I started walking towards to the computer. "Let's see what the Help-About says."

"Careful!" he shouted as he stepped in front of me. "Let me do it. I haven't saved my human data yet."

I raised my arm indicating after you. Rocky stepped over to the computer, moved the chair aside, and folded his legs under him. A moment later the About box was displayed and I came close to look. It gave an author name, but no company and no contact information. Rocky said, "I've done a websearch on that name and came up empty."

I pointed to the author's name. "If it is in beta the author would want feedback. Don't you find that mighty curious?"

"I sure do, but that hasn't stopped me from using the program."

I had lots of questions, so found my chair and sat. Rocky stayed in his position in front of the computer. He looked comfortable. I asked, "How long have you been using it?"

"Perhaps nine months. Once I figured out I could reliably shift from human to centaur and back again with no ill effects I sold my home, bought this secluded land, and had this centaur scale house built. That's why it's so small. It was finished only a month ago. I now come home from work and immediately shift to centaur until it is time to get ready for work the next day."

"Have you ever encountered glitches in the program?"

"Never. This has been the most trouble free program I've ever encountered. The interface is amazingly easy to use. It's capabilities weren't originally apparent -- that bit about being surprised when it turned me into a horse -- but I'm not sure it's the program's fault."

"Why do you need to have it take a fresh image of you every time?"

"The program was designed with some important preventions. If the destination image is to include anything human it must be me as I exist now. Believe me, I tried. Once I thought about it I understood why. The program won't let you masquerade as me and commit crimes using my face and fingerprints. It won't even allow me to become my younger self. I'm sure the underlying technology can do those things, but not with this program.

"That said I'm sure I'll age more slowly than you. When I shift to human on Monday morning it is to the state my body was in Friday evening. I took a ball in the thigh during a company softball game and the bruise seemed to take forever to heal. It hurt so much I spent as much time in centaur form as possible, not realizing at the time I was only postponing the pain. The next week I took a business trip and stayed human all week. I limped for two days of that trip, but then the healing was noticeable."

"What happens to your brain while you're in another body?"

"As far as I can tell, other than being able to control the new body, nothing. I'm sure that's another important program prevention. When I was a horse I could still think my name, could still read, and could still think about how to operate the computer. I can remember all my experiences once back in human form. Just as important, controlling the six limbs and tail as a centaur requires no more thought than managing the arms and legs as a human." He flicked his tail to demonstrate.

"What happens to your brain when you shift to a small animal like a cat or mouse?"

"Don't know. I've never tried. I've only shifted to horses and horse-human blends. I guess you could say I'm a species bigot." He smiled at his lame joke.

"In centaur form what do you eat?"

"I'm now vegan. I ate meat once in centaur form and had a very upset system overnight. I suppose I could eat meat in human form, but I haven't."

When I had been quiet for several moment, unable to think of more questions, Rocky said, "Are you in?"

I paused so as not to appear too eager, then said, "Yeah. Let's do it."

"Cool!" He looked me over, still wearing my horse pants. "Let me guess… Clydesdale."

"No mind reading necessary for that one," I said.

He laughed, then began working the mouse. A moment later a marvelous Clydesdale stallion with chocolate and white fur filled the right half of the screen. " I think the fur color of this one will match your hair." He winked. "Will it do?"

I laughed. "Oh, yeah."

"We need to get you in front of the camera, and as much as I like those pants, it is time to strip." He got to his hooves and stepped aside. I took off the shoes and peeled the pants off then stood where he had been, arms at my side and facing the camera. He touched the mouse and a moment later my image was on the left side of the screen.

"May I?" he said. I quickly stepped aside and he folded himself in front of the computer again. "I've done this on myself so many times I have a standard template. But for you we'll start fresh."

He clicked again and my image began to rotate. When the back was visible I was surprised to see a mole below my left shoulder blade. "What's that doing there?"

"Because you have a mole there?"

"I do?"

"Turn around and let me look." I did. "Yes, you do." He touched it with his finger.

"But my back was to the camera." I faced him again. "What kind of camera is it?"

"Standard." He saw my expression. "As I said, I don't know how any of this stuff works."

I shrugged.

He copied my image as he had done for himself. "As you see with me I think it looks best to run the blend over the buttocks in back yet low under the abs in front." He traced the route with the cursor and a line showed up on one image. "That work for you?"

"Sure."

A few clicks later he made my legs disappear. It was quite disconcerting to see that image. A few more clicks and the horse's head and neck were likewise gone. Moments later the image showed my torso well blended to the horse's body. Rocky slowly rotated the image for my inspection. "This look good?" I nodded. "Ready for your new body?"

The reality of the moment washed over me. I swallowed. "Yes," I said with confidence I suddenly didn't feel.

Rocky rose to his hooves and moved to the side. "Reach up and grab the bar. You don't need any tension in your arms. The bar is there to keep you from falling over."

"Did you ever not use the bar?"

"Oh sure," he said. "The first time I fell flat on my face when my balance shifted and I had a hard time getting onto my hooves. I've also tried transforming while laying on the floor, and though I was better at getting up I found it much easier to not have to do that."

I grasped the bar. He clicked the mouse. "Here we go!" he said.

I looked down. I watched my legs darken as chocolate fur began to grow. I became fascinated in watching my balls fur over and enlarge, my little soldier grow, then slide back into the sheath that grew around it. Then all that was obscured by growing forelegs, which kept my attention. My feet felt all bunched up until Rocky told me to step backward and I could stand on new hooves. My balance seemed to go all wrong and I was glad I had the bar to hold onto. Things steadied when new forelegs with beautiful feathering touched the floor.

I waited a moment after the clock on the computer said the change was complete. I was a bit fearful of letting go of the bar. Then Rocky said, "Let go and step over here so you can see yourself in the mirror." He was right -- though I was afraid of trying, I did know how to move four legs.

Then I caught my reflection.

I felt the universe realign. I was shocked by what I saw, not because it was horrible or disgusting, but because it looked so completely ''right''. I lifted one leg at a time, noticing how natural it felt. I ran my hands down my torso and onto my barrel, front and back, to feel again and again the lovely sensation of going from skin to fur. I enjoyed the sensation of the fur bending in its follicles as my hand went over it. I swished my lovely tail to revel in that I could do it. I was grinning as wide as I could. ''This'' is me, who I really am.

"Welcome to the world of the centaur," said Rocky. He clicked the mouse and a photo of me as a centaur started printing. "A little souvenir. Now the fun begins. The house is too small for the games I have in mind." Of course, I knew what kind of games he meant. I am an escort, after all.

As we reached the door the handle now looked to be in the right position. I saw the whole house was indeed scaled for a centaur. The design, from high ceilings to kitchen counters to cork flooring, seemed to be well thought out from my new vantage point.

Rocky led me down the ramp, allowed me to catch up, and said, "I always start off with a good gallop. But with you along we better go through the various gaits. You've already been using the walk, lets speed it up to a trot, moving diagonal legs together."

And off we went, from the trot to the canter to a full gallop. It was exhilarating!

But we did only once circuit of the yard. Rock stopped along the trees that provided some shade. "Stop here." I did. He stepped forward a bit, turned around and drew up beside me facing the other way. He then bent over, reached under me, and started stroking. My body responded and I knew that whatever a client does to an escort is usually what the client wants done in return. I was impressed with the size of the equipment that appeared and felt my own was as big. We spent a fantastic couple of hours in which I found my capacity was impressive and the sensations were off the charts.

We went in the house where Rocky created a delicious and ample vegan dinner. After the dishes were done he showed me the bedroom with its huge bi-level futons. They allowed a centaur to rest the barrel on the lower level and the torso on the upper. From there he showed me the bathroom with a human toilet and a huge multi-head shower, including one head on the end of a wand.

"I haven't designed a centaur toilet yet, so I relieve myself in what I call the garden," said Rocky. "And in the shower I had to compensate for not being able to touch all areas of my body. The nozzle on the wand has a soap setting. But with two of us it should be pretty easy."

It was easy. The shower was great, the futons were comfortable, and we had more action under the stars. I was well satisfied, exultant even -- until Rocky returned me to human the next morning. Then a gray funk settled over me.

{{Separator|stars}}

On the way home I stopped in the office to talk to Jeanette. While I kept the whole tip Jeanette made sure we filled out the proper forms so the tax man was satisfied and proper withholding would be done. Her eyebrows went up when she saw the size of the tip. I was still wearing my horse pants, though I had put on a shirt. The pants seemed to mock me now.

Jeanette has worked hard to take advantage of the physical assets she has to highlight her femininity. One would no longer mistake her for a man. She had told me before that one mental difference of her transition is that she has become much better reading facial expressions. Which she did in short order on seeing my face.

"Oh, honey! It looks like the world has shifted under your feet and left you gasping. Come, sit down. I'll make you some tea." One does not want to refuse Jeanette's tea. "Tell me about it. Was Rocky mean to you?" She easily remembered who our recent clients were.

I sat as she got up to prepare her herbal concoction. "Rocky was fine. I'll definitely tell you about it, but I want to hear about your life before and after your transition."

She turned and looked at me for a moment. "Oh, honey, this is serious! I didn't take you for a transgender." She turned on her pot and glanced my way again. "No, that's not it. Being gay and male isn't the issue." She sighed. "Your story, when we get to it, will definitely be a doozy." She filled a pair of infuser balls and set them in matching mugs, then leaned against the counter.

"So you want to hear my story. Throughout my childhood I had battles with my parents, especially my dad, because I liked girl stuff and not boy stuff. All their attempts to interest me in what was appropriate didn't work. I had a hard time getting potty trained because the equipment seemed all wrong." She poured the steaming water and set the mugs on the table between us, then sat. "We remember the strangest stuff. I frequently got my willie caught in my zipper because it didn't seem like it should be there. I went into full crisis mode when my chest grew hair and not boobs. I felt like I was in the wrong body. Mom hauled me off to a therapist who referred me to a transgender counselor. He talked to me about the difference between body and body image and the conflict that happens when the mental map of a body doesn't match the physical body. He then suggested I try living as a woman and prescribed hormone treatments. Though I had to switch schools I felt so much better. That change in mood was obvious to everyone who knew me. Three years later my dad, bless his heart, paid for the reconstruction surgery. When I first saw my chest and groin after surgery I finally felt at home in my body. This is me, who I really am."

She pulled the infuser ball from her mug, a sign that I should do the same with mine. She said, "I can't wait to hear what my story has to do with your latest client."

"Rocky fulfilled my wildest fantasies by turning me into a centaur for the evening." I showed her the photo Rocky had printed.

She glanced from me to the photo. "Great Photoshop work." I was about to protest when she looked at me again. "Oh, honey. You wouldn't have that expression if this was only Photoshop. You actually became a centaur! How?"

"I don't know. Even ''he'' doesn't know how it works. He has a morphing program on his computer and he just knows how to use it. He says he turns himself into a centaur every night after work and stays that way until he gets ready for work the next morning. He used the system on me, paying me that huge tip to take part."

"And…" she prompted.

"And I ''loved'' it. I'm sure I used the same words as you did -- this is who I am. Is it possible to feel my human body is the wrong body when the right one is a mythical creature?"

"I wouldn't worry about what's possible. It obviously happened. And the question now is what you do about it. You're obviously disappointed to be back in human form and wondering how you might live if you stayed a centaur."

"You can read all that from my face?"

"Like a book."

"But it is so much easier for you to pass as female than for me to live as a centaur in a human world."

"Prejudice is such a bitch." She thought for a moment and tapped the photo. "This has me wondering. Could this technology make the transition between genders easier? My surgery was a bitch and it has left me sterile. Allowing my fellow transgenders to avoid the pain would be a blessing."

"I would imagine the technology would allow such a change. Alas, this particular program has locks to prevent transformations from one human form to another."

"Bummer," was all she said.

"So, back to centaurs. What do I do?"

"Oh, honey, I have no idea. You'll have to think about that one over time. If you ever decide to stay a centaur I'm sure Sam and his horse trailer could come get you and board you in his barn. In the meantime, don't fall in love with your client."

She always said that.

{{Separator|stars}}

I was with another client when Rocky called again four days later. That was long enough for me to shake off my funk and get on with life. But his call brought back a sweet anticipation.

Jeanette said Rocky was miffed when he heard I wasn't available. She scheduled me for the next evening and I waited eagerly for more time in my centaur form.

When I arrived at the door Rocky was already a centaur, this time with body fur that closely matched his blond hair. I didn't know the breed, which seems an odd thing coming from a guy fascinated with centaurs.

He hurried me to the area in front of the camera. "I have it all set up, we only need to capture your image to get the evening underway."

I stripped off my horse pants, which he had scarcely noticed, and faced the camera. My image appeared onscreen and he quickly masked my torso and deleted my legs. Only then did he bring up the destination image. "Zebra?" I asked.

"Something exotic this time," he replied. "Besides, you weren't available yesterday so I get to choose."

One of ''those'' clients, the kind that like power plays. Fine. I've been in the business long enough to know that one simply acquiesces to the client. A zebra centaur didn't sound quite as good as one based on a Clydesdale, but it sounded much better than human.

Rocky said, "Ready?" I nodded and grabbed the bar. Five minutes later I was admiring my stripes.

Though my image in the mirror wasn't quite as pleasing as it had been the first time I still enjoyed the sensations of the body. Our fun and games were as thrilling. My funk on being returned to human was as bad.

Since Rocky knew I was a willing participant my tip was never as large as the first visit, though it was still a generous double of the standard fee.

When I was able to meet Rocky the day he called -- and he seemed to call at the last moment and never on any kind of schedule -- I was rewarded with the Clydesdale body. Those days were the best. If I already had a client I was subject to Rocky's whims. One time I might be part thoroughbred and could easily outrun Rocky on laps around the field. Another time I would have the smaller frame of a mustang. The Appaloosa was pretty good. The donkey, like the zebra, was merely OK. The Shetland was too small, even if Rocky matched me.

Occasionally a client paid me to escort him on a business trip and I would be gone for a week The first time that happened Rocky was mighty pissed when I next visited him. "This body has needs!" he growled. I was given horse ears, that stood up from the crown of my head. I endured it with good grace -- mustn't jeopardize the tip or repeat business -- though I had a hard time telling which direction sounds came from.

After the second such business trip Rocky gave me the body of a mule deer, complete with antlers atop my head. Though that lent a peculiar wild sexiness to my visage, I was glad when the night was over.

After the third business trip Rocky got creative with the paint program on the destination image, giving me fur with swirling rainbow patterns. It would have been hideous if Rocky didn't have an artistic flair. Instead, it was merely ugly. Green and blue fur just doesn't work. I avoided looking in the mirror and concentrated on doing my job to make Rocky happy. At least he tipped beyond his usual amount.

My funk, especially after Clydesdale nights deepened. I hadn't fallen in love with my client, but I had fallen in love with what he could do for me. Jeanette noticed and sometimes gave me a stern pep-talk before sending me out with a client. At least my bank account grew. After six months I began to consider a way out of my torment of living most of my life as a human with only occasional evenings in what I considered my real body. I now had enough of a down payment for property of my own and began to look for a place that was secluded and might be adapted to my centaur size.

{{Separator|stars}}

One evening I brought it up with Rocky. I was free when he called so had been rewarded with the Clydesdale form, which made me feel relaxed and serene, able to think beyond the end of the job. I had satisfied Rocky, which made him look as serene as I felt. He had returned to human, and was getting the computer ready for my turn. I asked my big question.

"I was wondering if perhaps I might get a copy of your morphing program so I could spend all of my free time as a centaur as you do."

"No!" he shouted. "It's mine!" The venom in his response made me flinch.

"I will still be happy to visit you any time you wanted."

"It's mine!" he repeated.

That's when I realized this was a major power play, even if his reaction was so quick that he wasn't quite conscious of his motivation. He knew I dearly loved my centaur form and that I had to come to him to get it. He had control over me, like a dealer and a junkie, and he wouldn't give it up without punishing me.

"I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to ask." Apologizing to the client even when it's the client who is behaving badly is an important business tactic.

"Oh, my," he said. "I'm ''so sorry''." I could hear the sarcasm drip from each word. "I don't know how that could have happened. My fingers can be so klutzy." OK, out with it! I wanted to shout. "I seem to have deleted your human data."

My stomach lurched. "You saved it to disk didn't you?"

"Oh, yes. I wouldn't want a power outage to trap us as centaurs. But that file is gone now."

"How about an older data file?"

"Ah, no. That won't work. The program doesn't allow returning you to a previous human image. It can't be used to make you younger. I tried that once. Didn't work. So I don't keep old files."

I was beginning to panic. Yeah, I loved my centaur form, but there were things I could only do as a human -- like go out in public and tend to the rest of my clients and get paid. "There's nothing you can do?"

"I'm ''so'' sorry," he said again. "I'm afraid you're stuck."

Client etiquette be damned, my anger boiled over. He wasn't sorry at all. "You idiot!"

"Sorry." He mumbled, throwing his hands up.

I was now thoroughly fed up with his power plays, fed up with stripes, horse ears, and antlers. My life had been ruined. And I knew what to do.

I slowly stepped towards where he sat at the computer. Both the expression on my face and the way I towered over him had the intended effect. He pushed his chair away from the desk and rolled across the room.

"I hope you backed up your little morphing program," I taunted. I put one foreleg on the desk, pushed myself up, and used the other to give a swift kick to the computer box. My big Clydesdale hoof put a big dent in the side and it's collision with the wall finished it off. The monitor, now a bit askew, went blank and I could hear a fan spinning to a stop.

I looked over to where Rocky sat. His face registered such complete shock that I knew I was right. He hadn't backed up the program and was now stuck as human.

I gathered up my horse pants, which I no longer needed, and let myself out.

My little red car wasn't going to get me very far. I opened it up, dumped my pants, and grabbed my phone.

"Jeanette, this is Colt. A decision was forced on me. You'll have to send Sam and his horse trailer and a second person to drive my car."

{{Separator|stars}}

I admired the fall color of the surrounding trees, ambling around the house, while I waited. I had perhaps an hour before Sam would arrive. I was sure Rocky would want nothing more of me and wouldn't show his face. He may be into power, but he wasn't violent.

I think better while in motion so I circled the field. I would hear Sam arrive. I was able to sort through my thoughts as I walked. My dad had taught me that when I'm angry it is useful to determine exactly what I was angry about. I concluded I was angry at Rocky for being a prick, for taking some of the control I had over my life, and for forcing me to find a new home and job. But for being stuck as a centaur I was actually pleased. Life was about to become more difficult, but I would be facing it in the body I had longed for and the funk of being caught between human and centaur was now gone. That did not mean I was going to knock on Rocky's door and thank him.

I had shown Sam a picture of myself as centaur. He, of course, thought it fake in spite of my protestations, not being nearly so good at reading expressions. So he wasn't startled -- much -- when he drove up with his horse trailer and saw me. Cameron, who stepped out of the passenger seat, was another matter. He just stared open-mouthed, even as I pressed the car keys into his hand and asked him to follow us.

I reluctantly walked up the ramp into the trailer. This way of traveling didn't offer a lot of dignity. I would have a view out the side, but the wall in front of me was pretty solid. We'd have to change that if I wanted to go anywhere, though I wasn't sure I did.

Sam's barn was roomy but boring. Bedding was improvised from straw with sheets and blankets thrown over it. Sam brought meals from The New Leaf, a local vegetarian restaurant, which were delicious. Dobby and Maddy, Sam's horses, were some company, though Dobby didn't know what to make of me and Maddy was a bit too friendly for my liking. I enjoyed being included every time Sam took either one out for a ride.

Sam and Cameron and a couple other escorts emptied my apartment and brought my stuff to the barn for storage. I sorted through it and realized I no longer had any use for most of it, though the sweaters and coats were becoming important as the weather cooled. Sam held a yard sale while I stayed in the barn.

I used the money to pay Sam to buy a laptop with a wi-fi card which could access his house network. Without that I'm sure I would have gone crazy.

While Sam was glad to groom me when he groomed Dobby and Maddy, I really needed a shower. A bit of web browsing and I bought a solar-heated shower, which I connected to the barn's spigot. This late in the year it never did get all that warm. Even so, it felt good.

A week later Jeanette told me Rocky's house was for sale. So I ''had'' crushed the hard drive beyond the ability to extract data and he hadn't backed up the morphing program. Since the house's fixtures were centaur-size I doubted it would sell quickly, not that I felt bad at Rocky's plight. I considered buying the place. However, it didn't solve the problem of how I would earn money. I had enough for a generous down payment, but not for the whole thing. I also didn't want to live the life of a hermit.

{{Separator|stars}}

I lived in Sam's barn for a month, pondering what to make of my future and then making plans. As a gay man I knew what crazies did with those that were too different. I decided the best strategy was to hide in plain sight. That meant a setting known for its illusions where I would seem to be part of the make-believe. I joined the circus. It had the advantage that circus people were themselves freakish and quite tolerant and accepting of other unusual souls. It took a couple weeks to find an outfit that could use my talents. I had a very strange internet chat with Mr. Pelletier, the manager.

It was a surreal cross country trip to join my new employer on the road. Sam helped me buy a used van and get it fitted with hand controls and to remove all the seats except the one for the front passenger. I filled the back with a bi-level futon so I could avoid hotels. I could fold my legs under me and look like a human driver. Even so, I frequently left the freeways to stretch my legs in a field adjacent to the road.

Yep, my new job is to say, "Ladeeees and Gentlemen!" I'm the Master of Ceremonies. I'm not on display much and the lighting guys are great at making people a bit unsure of what they are seeing. However, I greet a few devoted centaur fans after each show.

The costume department was startled by me -- and not much startles them -- but they created a ruffled white shirt and red tuxedo style jacket that came to just below my blend. A (thankfully) standard black top hat and white gloves completed my work ensemble. I vetoed holding a riding crop and a cane looked way too small so we settled on a walking staff with a cross of African and Mongolian decorations.

The stable boys were another matter. They were spooked by a charge that talked back and told them when their ministrations were painful rather than helpful. We settled into an uneasy truce.

{{Separator|stars}}

I had been working with the circus perhaps six months when after a late spring show a young man tentatively approached me. He had an expression that was both dazed and in awe. I may not be as good with expressions as Jeanette, but I knew this one. I'm sure it was on my face the first day I spent with Rocky a year before. It was a look that said, "You're the fulfillment of my wildest fantasies."

I had my legs folded under me so I wasn't so imposing to the handful in the audience who wanted to meet me. I finished signing my autograph on a program for a girl who I judged to be about 11 years old, one of those girls who was horse crazy and proclaimed such on her t-shirt. She left, but the young man held back until she was out of earshot and no one else was around. Seated as I was I had to look up to his eyes.

"You really are a centaur," he finally said.

"Oh, yes."

He was rather plain looking with a face that full of character.

"May I touch you?"

I unbuttoned my jacket and shirt and held them open. He knelt to put himself at eye level and reached out, then hesitated. "It's OK," I said. He touched my side just above the blend and ran his fingers from there into my fur. His touch tickled a bit and I flinched.

"Sorry," he said.

"Don't be so tentative and it won't tickle."

He laid his whole palm against my fur then firmly moved it from fur to skin and back again several times. "This isn't an illusion, then." He glanced at my eyes.

"No. I'm as much centaur as you are human. The real deal."

"Were you born that way?"

One might be insulted by such a question, but I understood what he wanted to know. "No, I wasn't. I was born as human as you are. I'm happy with the way I am now. And, no, I have no way to make you into a centaur."

He looked crushed. His eyes wandered around the arena for perhaps a minute. I waited while he digested the news.

He stood and jammed his hands in his pockets, then glanced at me. "Could I …" He glanced away, then back and I could see him draw on his resolve. "Could I be your groom?" He glanced at his shoes and back up. "Or whatever you call the person who takes care of you." The words rushed out now and he glanced away. "I've always wanted to be a centaur or be around centaurs, so I've thought a lot about how one might live and know a centaur couldn't wash every part of himself." His gaze on me steadied. "I'd like to do that for you."

Someone willing to take ''that'' on? There would be no power plays from this one. "I'm sure that's not all you want to do."

His face lit up with a smile, though he glanced to the side. "It would be so cool for a centaur to lie on his back and let me crawl between his legs." He looked at me again with an enthusiastic expression. "Especially if his …" His face flushed red and he inspected his shoes again.

Actually, that sounded pretty good to me too. I hadn't lost my appreciation for the male human form and his was pretty good. But I made the mistake of staying quiet a moment too long.

He cleared his throat, "Sorry. I had hoped you might be gay too, in spite of the odds. I'll go now." He took a step.

I laid a hand on his shoulder. "Please stay. As it happens, I am gay. Your suggestion may have been a bit forward, but not unwelcome. What's your name?"

"Logan." I could see him relax.

"Pleased to meet you Logan. I'm known as Colt." He grinned at the name as we formally shook hands. "And what do you do?"

"Uh, I'm a student here in town. I graduate in a couple weeks. My roommate and I came tonight as a last break before we settle in to study for finals."

"What's your major?"

"English, with a minor in accounting. My dad said he didn't think I was all that cut out to be an English teacher and it might take a while for a writing career to get started, so he suggested a backup plan and that's why I added accounting."

"I like sensible," I said. "When do you have to be back on campus."

He caught my meaning and his smile returned. I was beginning to like that smile. "Oh, not until tomorrow afternoon."

"Well, tomorrow morning will be soon enough to talk to Mr. Pelletier about a job. He may need an accountant soon and the stable boys would be glad to turn me over to someone else. I'll tell you now Pelletier will want you to graduate and join us about a month from now in Omaha. Between now and tomorrow morning let's see what we can do about that fantasy of yours."

I ''really'' liked that smile.

[[Category:Story|Power Play]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
[[Category:Mythical]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Power Play}}

User:Erastus/Power Play

2011-05-19T15:30:25Z

Erastus: Restoring a story that was lost in the disk crash.

{{title|name=Power Play|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

Please don't start with all that morality junk. As a member of the Oldest Profession I've heard it all before. So just … don't. I know my business card uses the phrase Male Escort, but nobody is fooled. My duties rarely include accompanying someone as they go somewhere. What I do is provide companionship. Intimate companionship.

That same business card says my name is Colt. Nobody is fooled by that either.

It's a job. One might think a job that involves a lot of sex would be fantastic. Sometimes it is. Sometimes, when my client is a toad, it can be hard work. Not all gay men are fabulous. And sometimes when I'm in the arms of a client I'm lonely.

I'm relieved that it has been a good long time since I've been sent to a female client. Those just never worked and the staff knows it.

As is everyone else in the profession I'm quite aware of client fetishes. I've participated in several where it is obvious no one will sustain injury. I even have a few of my own. They are well catalogued by the staff so that the client's fetishes are matched with those of the escort whenever possible.

Our dispatcher Jeanette called me about a certain job after checking that catalog. One of my fetishes is rich male voices. My preference is for the low ones, but a strong tenor, which Jeanette has, is still a turn-on. Don't give me that look, transgender people don't hide anymore. Since her surgery you wouldn't mistake Jeanette for a man. But they didn't touch her voice. She's good at keeping it soft, but it is still rich and full.

"Got a job for a guy with a horse fetish," said Jeanette when I answered. "The client wants someone who has seen the Old Spice centaur commercials and is turned on by them."

"It sounds like a job I would enjoy," I replied." I'd be happy to take it."

"Good," she said. "That's a relief. I had no idea who else I might be able to call. The client is willing to pay for five hours, hints at a large bonus and repeat business. I would certainly want this one to be a regular." We may be a high-class service, but we can't afford to turn down money.

"I think I may even know how to make this one very happy."

She gave me the name -- Rocky -- along with the address and appointment time for later that day. It was quite a ways out of the city.

My method to get a large bonus from clients with a horse fetish was easy, though with a sizeable initial investment. There really are enough clients out there with such a fetish to make the investment worthwhile, especially once word-of-mouth has a chance to work. I show up at the door wearing my horse pants. The garment began as leggings for a male dancer, those wondrously tight things that show off every muscle. On top of that is short brown fur from the waistband to below the knee and long white fur below that. This isn't the cheap stuff from a neighborhood fabric store, nor the kind of covering one sees on stuffed animal toys. Nope, this is the high quality fake fur used by Hollywood. The waistband is carefully turned under so that it looks like bare skin blends into fur. To the back is attached a bushy white horse tail and the front enhances the family jewels. The ensemble is completed with pony shoes, that look like a horse's hooves. When I wear them I look like I have the legs of a stallion Clydesdale.

I drove out to the house late on a Friday afternoon. The driveway to Rocky's house was a narrow gap in the trees. Even though leaves were just budding that time of spring I could not see the house from the road. Once through the grove I entered a field that was surrounded by equally thick woods. The house was well sheltered from prying eyes. With the amount of land I expected a grand manse, but that's not what I saw. The house was modest. Rocky clearly valued land and privacy but wasn't rich.

But on driving up to the house I saw the scale seemed off. It had only one storey, but was tall enough for a storey and a half. It was low to the ground with a ramp to the main door instead of steps. The door seemed exceptionally tall and wide. When I got to that door the handle was much higher that I expected.

It didn't take Rocky long to answer the bell. He opened the door, appraised me wearing those pants and nothing else, and flung himself at me in a passionate kiss.

When he came up for air, his arms still holding me tight, he said, "You've definitely earned the first part of your tip."

"Only the first part?"

"With this beginning you should have no trouble earning the rest. This should be a fun day."

I expected Rocky to drag me to the bedroom (or stable) for the opening round of action, but he didn't. He released me and said, "I've got something to show you before we tire ourselves out. Come over here." He took my hand, turned, and started across the room. I could see the glint in his eye when he turned back to smile at me.

One does what the client wants. Tips depend on it. The whisper of his sock covered feet contrasted with soft clop of my pony shoes on the floor. It took me a moment to realize the floor covering was cork. I looked around the interior. A large part of it was one room with the kitchen on one side and the living area on the other. I looked at the kitchen and got the sense the scale was for someone quite a bit larger than Rocky. I assumed the large doors led to bedroom and bath.

The place was a typical man-space, neutral walls, heavy wood furniture in dark colors, filing cabinets, and shelves of books and DVDs, but not many places to sit. All of the furniture was along the walls, leaving most of the room open. Along one side was a prominent desk with a computer and monitor on it. Both seemed to be recent models and I could see a camera perched on top of the monitor.

I was puzzled by two things in the room. The first was a horizontal bar hung from the ceiling in the center of the room. It looked to be low enough that Rocky could reach up to grab it while standing on the floor. His shoulder muscles didn't seem to bulge enough for him to be doing chin-ups while waiting for his computer to boot. The second was a floor to ceiling mirror on the wall beside the desk. Men rarely wanted mirrors that large unless they fancied themselves expert lovers and the mirror was in the bedroom.

Rocky bumped the mouse and turned on the monitor. He sat and indicated the second chair was for me. The screen came to life showing a nude Rocky on the left and a white stallion on the right. Rocky was definitely not a toad. He had a pleasant face and a reasonably in-shape body, not muscular but also far from fat. His hair was a pleasant dark blond. At least it will be enjoyable for me as well as him.

"Ever hear of morphing programs?" The question caught me off guard, so I only looked at him. "These are programs that combine two images by producing a blend of the two or they show a series of images of how one image is transformed into the other. This kind of thing gets used in commercials all the time -- like the one that shows the stallion being transformed into a Ford Mustang."

I smiled. "Yeah, that's a cool commercial. But I don't think you're paying my rates to watch a morphing program do its thing."

"Ah, but this is a special morphing program!" He clicked the mouse and the monitor bumped his image to full screen then slowly morphed it into the horse I had just seen. Pretty cool and the sight tickled my groin. "That's what a normal program would do. But its power is that it works on actual objects, not just their images."

I just looked at him. But he ignored me and went on.

"I was able to morph myself into a horse." He displayed an image of the mighty fine stallion which I first saw, this time it appeared to be in this room -- which proved nothing. "But that didn't seem to be quite right, so I created an image of a human-horse hybrid -- human torso and arms, horse legs, head, and tail with all of it covered in fur." He displayed such a creature and the photo looked amazingly realistic. Again, my groin took notice.

"That doesn't prove it is you."

"I'm well aware of that." He smiled. "I wouldn't believe it either with this evidence. You'll get your definitive proof soon. My favorite, though, is the centaur." With a flourish he displayed another photo. It was again amazingly realistic and the human part was clearly Rocky.

"Great Photoshopping --"

"-- but not proof. Yeah, I know. This will take a moment to set up."

He returned to the original image of the white stallion on the right. He quickly added a mask over the body, legs, and tail and deleted the head and neck. He then stripped off all his clothes and had the camera to take his picture. "Gotta use a fresh human image every time," he said. His image appeared on the left. He sat in the chair, duplicated his image, masked it from the abs upward, and deleted the legs. Another couple clicks put his torso where the horse's neck had been. A couple more clicks and the joint was smoothed out.

"Compared to Photoshop," I said, "that was amazingly fast. But --"

"-- now the real fun begins." He smiled broadly. "I find a five minute transformation to be best. Push your chair back and watch."

I did so. He did one final click, stood, and reached up to grab the hanging bar. "It helps to have something to hang onto while the forelegs grow."

I noticed changes almost immediately. His legs began to lighten in color in what I realized was fur beginning to form. Those legs and feet began to stretch in strange directions. His toes clumped together.

The area around his hips stretched and two bulges appeared below his abs. I could see Rocky was now pulling himself upward on the bar. The bulges grew outward. The stretching in various directions continued. A tail appeared. The new forelegs were recognizable as such as joints appeared. Rocky lifted one foot at a time to take a big step back and settle each one properly on the hoof. The barrel filled out.

At the end of the five minutes the front hooves had touched the floor and Rocky the centaur stood before me. He released the bar, which was now at his eye level. He said, "How do I look?"

I was so stunned that it took a moment to say something, which was, of course, inane. "You'd look so much better if you matched hair and fur color."

He laughed. "This is only one of the forms I like. The others have better color coordination." He motioned for me to step close. "Come on over here and touch me. That's the only way you'll really believe."

I approached tentatively, first touching the blend, the line where human meets horse. But once my hand rubbed over the line I couldn't touch enough. This was much better than that Old Spice centaur and one of my fantasies was right under my fingers. I worked my hands along his flanks, down his tail, and reached between his hind legs.

"Not yet," he said.

"What?" I said. "Isn't that what you're paying me for?"

"I've got something better in mind."

"Better?" was all I could get out.

"See that stack of bills on the shelf?" He pointed and I walked over to it. "If you'll allow me to turn you into a centaur too I'll give you all of it as a tip."

I rifled through the stack, set it down and stepped back. I felt stunned. The amount of money was ten times the standard fee for my hours with him. To offer me my other great fantasy and to pay me to do it took a moment to absorb. I was ready to jump at the opportunity but didn't want to be too eager and jeopardize the tip.

While I stood there with my back to Rocky a comment I made as a teen, only a few years before, came to mind. I had said, "I'd give anything to be a centaur."

My grandfather overheard me. He knew about my interest in centaurs -- one look at my bedroom walls at the time would have told him that -- so he didn't tell me how ridiculous my wish was. I was thankful for such a kindness. Instead, he said, "Open ended wishes like that can be dangerous. Be very careful of the strings attached. At my age I've wished many times for a younger body, one that didn't creak and hurt so much. I'd love to have a young body like yours, but I wouldn't give just anything for it, even if it were possible. I wouldn't want it if it separated me from my wife, your father, or even you. I wouldn't want it if it meant I had to relearn all of the life lessons I learned in the last fifty years. I'm rather fond of who I am now." He chuckled and winked. "However, if a young body was possible and the only string was money I'd consider giving up a great deal of my retirement savings."

Point taken, Granddad. Hmm. If this morphing program could change Rocky from human to horse, could it change Granddad into a young man?

I turned to face Rocky. "How does the program work?"

"I appreciate that you're a careful customer, but I have no idea." I'm sure he saw the determination in my face. "Does the operating manual of your car explain how an internal combustion engine works? Yet, I saw you drive up in one."

"How did you get this program?"

"Friend of a friend, who said it was in beta testing. I found its ability to morph real objects by accident and it was mighty hard to get it to undo once I became a horse that first time. It's tricky to use a mouse with only a mouth."

I started walking towards to the computer. "Let's see what the Help-About says."

"Careful!" he shouted as he stepped in front of me. "Let me do it. I haven't saved my human data yet."

I raised my arm indicating after you. Rocky stepped over to the computer, moved the chair aside, and folded his legs under him. A moment later the About box was displayed and I came close to look. It gave an author name, but no company and no contact information. Rocky said, "I've done a websearch on that name and came up empty."

I pointed to the author's name. "If it is in beta the author would want feedback. Don't you find that mighty curious?"

"I sure do, but that hasn't stopped me from using the program."

I had lots of questions, so found my chair and sat. Rocky stayed in his position in front of the computer. He looked comfortable. I asked, "How long have you been using it?"

"Perhaps nine months. Once I figured out I could reliably shift from human to centaur and back again with no ill effects I sold my home, bought this secluded land, and had this centaur scale house built. That's why it's so small. It was finished only a month ago. I now come home from work and immediately shift to centaur until it is time to get ready for work the next day."

"Have you ever encountered glitches in the program?"

"Never. This has been the most trouble free program I've ever encountered. The interface is amazingly easy to use. It's capabilities weren't originally apparent -- that bit about being surprised when it turned me into a horse -- but I'm not sure it's the program's fault."

"Why do you need to have it take a fresh image of you every time?"

"The program was designed with some important preventions. If the destination image is to include anything human it must be me as I exist now. Believe me, I tried. Once I thought about it I understood why. The program won't let you masquerade as me and commit crimes using my face and fingerprints. It won't even allow me to become my younger self. I'm sure the underlying technology can do those things, but not with this program.

"That said I'm sure I'll age more slowly than you. When I shift to human on Monday morning it is to the state my body was in Friday evening. I took a ball in the thigh during a company softball game and the bruise seemed to take forever to heal. It hurt so much I spent as much time in centaur form as possible, not realizing at the time I was only postponing the pain. The next week I took a business trip and stayed human all week. I limped for two days of that trip, but then the healing was noticeable."

"What happens to your brain while you're in another body?"

"As far as I can tell, other than being able to control the new body, nothing. I'm sure that's another important program prevention. When I was a horse I could still think my name, could still read, and could still think about how to operate the computer. I can remember all my experiences once back in human form. Just as important, controlling the six limbs and tail as a centaur requires no more thought than managing the arms and legs as a human." He flicked his tail to demonstrate.

"What happens to your brain when you shift to a small animal like a cat or mouse?"

"Don't know. I've never tried. I've only shifted to horses and horse-human blends. I guess you could say I'm a species bigot." He smiled at his lame joke.

"In centaur form what do you eat?"

"I'm now vegan. I ate meat once in centaur form and had a very upset system overnight. I suppose I could eat meat in human form, but I haven't."

When I had been quiet for several moment, unable to think of more questions, Rocky said, "Are you in?"

I paused so as not to appear too eager, then said, "Yeah. Let's do it."

"Cool!" He looked me over, still wearing my horse pants. "Let me guess… Clydesdale."

"No mind reading necessary for that one," I said.

He laughed, then began working the mouse. A moment later a marvelous Clydesdale stallion with chocolate and white fur filled the right half of the screen. " I think the fur color of this one will match your hair." He winked. "Will it do?"

I laughed. "Oh, yeah."

"We need to get you in front of the camera, and as much as I like those pants, it is time to strip." He got to his hooves and stepped aside. I took off the shoes and peeled the pants off then stood where he had been, arms at my side and facing the camera. He touched the mouse and a moment later my image was on the left side of the screen.

"May I?" he said. I quickly stepped aside and he folded himself in front of the computer again. "I've done this on myself so many times I have a standard template. But for you we'll start fresh."

He clicked again and my image began to rotate. When the back was visible I was surprised to see a mole below my left shoulder blade. "What's that doing there?"

"Because you have a mole there?"

"I do?"

"Turn around and let me look." I did. "Yes, you do." He touched it with his finger.

"But my back was to the camera." I faced him again. "What kind of camera is it?"

"Standard." He saw my expression. "As I said, I don't know how any of this stuff works."

I shrugged.

He copied my image as he had done for himself. "As you see with me I think it looks best to run the blend over the buttocks in back yet low under the abs in front." He traced the route with the cursor and a line showed up on one image. "That work for you?"

"Sure."

A few clicks later he made my legs disappear. It was quite disconcerting to see that image. A few more clicks and the horse's head and neck were likewise gone. Moments later the image showed my torso well blended to the horse's body. Rocky slowly rotated the image for my inspection. "This look good?" I nodded. "Ready for your new body?"

The reality of the moment washed over me. I swallowed. "Yes," I said with confidence I suddenly didn't feel.

Rocky rose to his hooves and moved to the side. "Reach up and grab the bar. You don't need any tension in your arms. The bar is there to keep you from falling over."

"Did you ever not use the bar?"

"Oh sure," he said. "The first time I fell flat on my face when my balance shifted and I had a hard time getting onto my hooves. I've also tried transforming while laying on the floor, and though I was better at getting up I found it much easier to not have to do that."

I grasped the bar. He clicked the mouse. "Here we go!" he said.

I looked down. I watched my legs darken as chocolate fur began to grow. I became fascinated in watching my balls fur over and enlarge, my little soldier grow, then slide back into the sheath that grew around it. Then all that was obscured by growing forelegs, which kept my attention. My feet felt all bunched up until Rocky told me to step backward and I could stand on new hooves. My balance seemed to go all wrong and I was glad I had the bar to hold onto. Things steadied when new forelegs with beautiful feathering touched the floor.

I waited a moment after the clock on the computer said the change was complete. I was a bit fearful of letting go of the bar. Then Rocky said, "Let go and step over here so you can see yourself in the mirror." He was right -- though I was afraid of trying, I did know how to move four legs.

Then I caught my reflection.

I felt the universe realign. I was shocked by what I saw, not because it was horrible or disgusting, but because it looked so completely ''right''. I lifted one leg at a time, noticing how natural it felt. I ran my hands down my torso and onto my barrel, front and back, to feel again and again the lovely sensation of going from skin to fur. I enjoyed the sensation of the fur bending in its follicles as my hand went over it. I swished my lovely tail to revel in that I could do it. I was grinning as wide as I could. ''This'' is me, who I really am.

"Welcome to the world of the centaur," said Rocky. He clicked the mouse and a photo of me as a centaur started printing. "A little souvenir. Now the fun begins. The house is too small for the games I have in mind." Of course, I knew what kind of games he meant. I am an escort, after all.

As we reached the door the handle now looked to be in the right position. I saw the whole house was indeed scaled for a centaur. The design, from high ceilings to kitchen counters to cork flooring, seemed to be well thought out from my new vantage point.

Rocky led me down the ramp, allowed me to catch up, and said, "I always start off with a good gallop. But with you along we better go through the various gaits. You've already been using the walk, lets speed it up to a trot, moving diagonal legs together."

And off we went, from the trot to the canter to a full gallop. It was exhilarating!

But we did only once circuit of the yard. Rock stopped along the trees that provided some shade. "Stop here." I did. He stepped forward a bit, turned around and drew up beside me facing the other way. He then bent over, reached under me, and started stroking. My body responded and I knew that whatever a client does to an escort is usually what the client wants done in return. I was impressed with the size of the equipment that appeared and felt my own was as big. We spent a fantastic couple of hours in which I found my capacity was impressive and the sensations were off the charts.

We went in the house where Rocky created a delicious and ample vegan dinner. After the dishes were done he showed me the bedroom with its huge bi-level futons. They allowed a centaur to rest the barrel on the lower level and the torso on the upper. From there he showed me the bathroom with a human toilet and a huge multi-head shower, including one head on the end of a wand.

"I haven't designed a centaur toilet yet, so I relieve myself in what I call the garden," said Rocky. "And in the shower I had to compensate for not being able to touch all areas of my body. The nozzle on the wand has a soap setting. But with two of us it should be pretty easy."

It was easy. The shower was great, the futons were comfortable, and we had more action under the stars. I was well satisfied, exultant even -- until Rocky returned me to human the next morning. Then a gray funk settled over me.

{{Separator|stars}}

On the way home I stopped in the office to talk to Jeanette. While I kept the whole tip Jeanette made sure we filled out the proper forms so the tax man was satisfied and proper withholding would be done. Her eyebrows went up when she saw the size of the tip. I was still wearing my horse pants, though I had put on a shirt. The pants seemed to mock me now.

Jeanette has worked hard to take advantage of the physical assets she has to highlight her femininity. One would no longer mistake her for a man. She had told me before that one mental difference of her transition is that she has become much better reading facial expressions. Which she did in short order on seeing my face.

"Oh, honey! It looks like the world has shifted under your feet and left you gasping. Come, sit down. I'll make you some tea." One does not want to refuse Jeanette's tea. "Tell me about it. Was Rocky mean to you?" She easily remembered who our recent clients were.

I sat as she got up to prepare her herbal concoction. "Rocky was fine. I'll definitely tell you about it, but I want to hear about your life before and after your transition."

She turned and looked at me for a moment. "Oh, honey, this is serious! I didn't take you for a transgender." She turned on her pot and glanced my way again. "No, that's not it. Being gay and male isn't the issue." She sighed. "Your story, when we get to it, will definitely be a doozy." She filled a pair of infuser balls and set them in matching mugs, then leaned against the counter.

"So you want to hear my story. Throughout my childhood I had battles with my parents, especially my dad, because I liked girl stuff and not boy stuff. All their attempts to interest me in what was appropriate didn't work. I had a hard time getting potty trained because the equipment seemed all wrong." She poured the steaming water and set the mugs on the table between us, then sat. "We remember the strangest stuff. I frequently got my willie caught in my zipper because it didn't seem like it should be there. I went into full crisis mode when my chest grew hair and not boobs. I felt like I was in the wrong body. Mom hauled me off to a therapist who referred me to a transgender counselor. He talked to me about the difference between body and body image and the conflict that happens when the mental map of a body doesn't match the physical body. He then suggested I try living as a woman and prescribed hormone treatments. Though I had to switch schools I felt so much better. That change in mood was obvious to everyone who knew me. Three years later my dad, bless his heart, paid for the reconstruction surgery. When I first saw my chest and groin after surgery I finally felt at home in my body. This is me, who I really am."

She pulled the infuser ball from her mug, a sign that I should do the same with mine. She said, "I can't wait to hear what my story has to do with your latest client."

"Rocky fulfilled my wildest fantasies by turning me into a centaur for the evening." I showed her the photo Rocky had printed.

She glanced from me to the photo. "Great Photoshop work." I was about to protest when she looked at me again. "Oh, honey. You wouldn't have that expression if this was only Photoshop. You actually became a centaur! How?"

"I don't know. Even ''he'' doesn't know how it works. He has a morphing program on his computer and he just knows how to use it. He says he turns himself into a centaur every night after work and stays that way until he gets ready for work the next morning. He used the system on me, paying me that huge tip to take part."

"And…" she prompted.

"And I ''loved'' it. I'm sure I used the same words as you did -- this is who I am. Is it possible to feel my human body is the wrong body when the right one is a mythical creature?"

"I wouldn't worry about what's possible. It obviously happened. And the question now is what you do about it. You're obviously disappointed to be back in human form and wondering how you might live if you stayed a centaur."

"You can read all that from my face?"

"Like a book."

"But it is so much easier for you to pass as female than for me to live as a centaur in a human world."

"Prejudice is such a bitch." She thought for a moment and tapped the photo. "This has me wondering. Could this technology make the transition between genders easier? My surgery was a bitch and it has left me sterile. Allowing my fellow transgenders to avoid the pain would be a blessing."

"I would imagine the technology would allow such a change. Alas, this particular program has locks to prevent transformations from one human form to another."

"Bummer," was all she said.

"So, back to centaurs. What do I do?"

"Oh, honey, I have no idea. You'll have to think about that one over time. If you ever decide to stay a centaur I'm sure Sam and his horse trailer could come get you and board you in his barn. In the meantime, don't fall in love with your client."

She always said that.

{{Separator|stars}}

I was with another client when Rocky called again four days later. That was long enough for me to shake off my funk and get on with life. But his call brought back a sweet anticipation.

Jeanette said Rocky was miffed when he heard I wasn't available. She scheduled me for the next evening and I waited eagerly for more time in my centaur form.

When I arrived at the door Rocky was already a centaur, this time with body fur that closely matched his blond hair. I didn't know the breed, which seems an odd thing coming from a guy fascinated with centaurs.

He hurried me to the area in front of the camera. "I have it all set up, we only need to capture your image to get the evening underway."

I stripped off my horse pants, which he had scarcely noticed, and faced the camera. My image appeared onscreen and he quickly masked my torso and deleted my legs. Only then did he bring up the destination image. "Zebra?" I asked.

"Something exotic this time," he replied. "Besides, you weren't available yesterday so I get to choose."

One of ''those'' clients, the kind that like power plays. Fine. I've been in the business long enough to know that one simply acquiesces to the client. A zebra centaur didn't sound quite as good as one based on a Clydesdale, but it sounded much better than human.

Rocky said, "Ready?" I nodded and grabbed the bar. Five minutes later I was admiring my stripes.

Though my image in the mirror wasn't quite as pleasing as it had been the first time I still enjoyed the sensations of the body. Our fun and games were as thrilling. My funk on being returned to human was as bad.

Since Rocky knew I was a willing participant my tip was never as large as the first visit, though it was still a generous double of the standard fee.

When I was able to meet Rocky the day he called -- and he seemed to call at the last moment and never on any kind of schedule -- I was rewarded with the Clydesdale body. Those days were the best. If I already had a client I was subject to Rocky's whims. One time I might be part thoroughbred and could easily outrun Rocky on laps around the field. Another time I would have the smaller frame of a mustang. The Appaloosa was pretty good. The donkey, like the zebra, was merely OK. The Shetland was too small, even if Rocky matched me.

Occasionally a client paid me to escort him on a business trip and I would be gone for a week The first time that happened Rocky was mighty pissed when I next visited him. "This body has needs!" he growled. I was given horse ears, that stood up from the crown of my head. I endured it with good grace -- mustn't jeopardize the tip or repeat business -- though I had a hard time telling which direction sounds came from.

After the second such business trip Rocky gave me the body of a mule deer, complete with antlers atop my head. Though that lent a peculiar wild sexiness to my visage, I was glad when the night was over.

After the third business trip Rocky got creative with the paint program on the destination image, giving me fur with swirling rainbow patterns. It would have been hideous if Rocky didn't have an artistic flair. Instead, it was merely ugly. Green and blue fur just doesn't work. I avoided looking in the mirror and concentrated on doing my job to make Rocky happy. At least he tipped beyond his usual amount.

My funk, especially after Clydesdale nights deepened. I hadn't fallen in love with my client, but I had fallen in love with what he could do for me. Jeanette noticed and sometimes gave me a stern pep-talk before sending me out with a client. At least my bank account grew. After six months I began to consider a way out of my torment of living most of my life as a human with only occasional evenings in what I considered my real body. I now had enough of a down payment for property of my own and began to look for a place that was secluded and might be adapted to my centaur size.

{{Separator|stars}}

One evening I brought it up with Rocky. I was free when he called so had been rewarded with the Clydesdale form, which made me feel relaxed and serene, able to think beyond the end of the job. I had satisfied Rocky, which made him look as serene as I felt. He had returned to human, and was getting the computer ready for my turn. I asked my big question.

"I was wondering if perhaps I might get a copy of your morphing program so I could spend all of my free time as a centaur as you do."

"No!" he shouted. "It's mine!" The venom in his response made me flinch.

"I will still be happy to visit you any time you wanted."

"It's mine!" he repeated.

That's when I realized this was a major power play, even if his reaction was so quick that he wasn't quite conscious of his motivation. He knew I dearly loved my centaur form and that I had to come to him to get it. He had control over me, like a dealer and a junkie, and he wouldn't give it up without punishing me.

"I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to ask." Apologizing to the client even when it's the client who is behaving badly is an important business tactic.

"Oh, my," he said. "I'm ''so sorry''." I could hear the sarcasm drip from each word. "I don't know how that could have happened. My fingers can be so klutzy." OK, out with it! I wanted to shout. "I seem to have deleted your human data."

My stomach lurched. "You saved it to disk didn't you?"

"Oh, yes. I wouldn't want a power outage to trap us as centaurs. But that file is gone now."

"How about an older data file?"

"Ah, no. That won't work. The program doesn't allow returning you to a previous human image. It can't be used to make you younger. I tried that once. Didn't work. So I don't keep old files."

I was beginning to panic. Yeah, I loved my centaur form, but there were things I could only do as a human -- like go out in public and tend to the rest of my clients and get paid. "There's nothing you can do?"

"I'm ''so'' sorry," he said again. "I'm afraid you're stuck."

Client etiquette be damned, my anger boiled over. He wasn't sorry at all. "You idiot!"

"Sorry." He mumbled, throwing his hands up.

I was now thoroughly fed up with his power plays, fed up with stripes, horse ears, and antlers. My life had been ruined. And I knew what to do.

I slowly stepped towards where he sat at the computer. Both the expression on my face and the way I towered over him had the intended effect. He pushed his chair away from the desk and rolled across the room.

"I hope you backed up your little morphing program," I taunted. I put one foreleg on the desk, pushed myself up, and used the other to give a swift kick to the computer box. My big Clydesdale hoof put a big dent in the side and it's collision with the wall finished it off. The monitor, now a bit askew, went blank and I could hear a fan spinning to a stop.

I looked over to where Rocky sat. His face registered such complete shock that I knew I was right. He hadn't backed up the program and was now stuck as human.

I gathered up my horse pants, which I no longer needed, and let myself out.

My little red car wasn't going to get me very far. I opened it up, dumped my pants, and grabbed my phone.

"Jeanette, this is Colt. A decision was forced on me. You'll have to send Sam and his horse trailer and a second person to drive my car."

{{Separator|stars}}

I admired the fall color of the surrounding trees, ambling around the house, while I waited. I had perhaps an hour before Sam would arrive. I was sure Rocky would want nothing more of me and wouldn't show his face. He may be into power, but he wasn't violent.

I think better while in motion so I circled the field. I would hear Sam arrive. I was able to sort through my thoughts as I walked. My dad had taught me that when I'm angry it is useful to determine exactly what I was angry about. I concluded I was angry at Rocky for being a prick, for taking some of the control I had over my life, and for forcing me to find a new home and job. But for being stuck as a centaur I was actually pleased. Life was about to become more difficult, but I would be facing it in the body I had longed for and the funk of being caught between human and centaur was now gone. That did not mean I was going to knock on Rocky's door and thank him.

I had shown Sam a picture of myself as centaur. He, of course, thought it fake in spite of my protestations, not being nearly so good at reading expressions. So he wasn't startled -- much -- when he drove up with his horse trailer and saw me. Cameron, who stepped out of the passenger seat, was another matter. He just stared open-mouthed, even as I pressed the car keys into his hand and asked him to follow us.

I reluctantly walked up the ramp into the trailer. This way of traveling didn't offer a lot of dignity. I would have a view out the side, but the wall in front of me was pretty solid. We'd have to change that if I wanted to go anywhere, though I wasn't sure I did.

Sam's barn was roomy but boring. Bedding was improvised from straw with sheets and blankets thrown over it. Sam brought meals from The New Leaf, a local vegetarian restaurant, which were delicious. Dobby and Maddy, Sam's horses, were some company, though Dobby didn't know what to make of me and Maddy was a bit too friendly for my liking. I enjoyed being included every time Sam took either one out for a ride.

Sam and Cameron and a couple other escorts emptied my apartment and brought my stuff to the barn for storage. I sorted through it and realized I no longer had any use for most of it, though the sweaters and coats were becoming important as the weather cooled. Sam held a yard sale while I stayed in the barn.

I used the money to pay Sam to buy a laptop with a wi-fi card which could access his house network. Without that I'm sure I would have gone crazy.

While Sam was glad to groom me when he groomed Dobby and Maddy, I really needed a shower. A bit of web browsing and I bought a solar-heated shower, which I connected to the barn's spigot. This late in the year it never did get all that warm. Even so, it felt good.

A week later Jeanette told me Rocky's house was for sale. So I ''had'' crushed the hard drive beyond the ability to extract data and he hadn't backed up the morphing program. Since the house's fixtures were centaur-size I doubted it would sell quickly, not that I felt bad at Rocky's plight. I considered buying the place. However, it didn't solve the problem of how I would earn money. I had enough for a generous down payment, but not for the whole thing. I also didn't want to live the life of a hermit.

{{Separator|stars}}

I lived in Sam's barn for a month, pondering what to make of my future and then making plans. As a gay man I knew what crazies did with those that were too different. I decided the best strategy was to hide in plain sight. That meant a setting known for its illusions where I would seem to be part of the make-believe. I joined the circus. It had the advantage that circus people were themselves freakish and quite tolerant and accepting of other unusual souls. It took a couple weeks to find an outfit that could use my talents. I had a very strange internet chat with Mr. Pelletier, the manager.

It was a surreal cross country trip to join my new employer on the road. Sam helped me buy a used van and get it fitted with hand controls and to remove all the seats except the one for the front passenger. I filled the back with a bi-level futon so I could avoid hotels. I could fold my legs under me and look like a human driver. Even so, I frequently left the freeways to stretch my legs in a field adjacent to the road.

Yep, my new job is to say, "Ladeeees and Gentlemen!" I'm the Master of Ceremonies. I'm not on display much and the lighting guys are great at making people a bit unsure of what they are seeing. However, I greet a few devoted centaur fans after each show.

The costume department was startled by me -- and not much startles them -- but they created a ruffled white shirt and red tuxedo style jacket that came to just below my blend. A (thankfully) standard black top hat and white gloves completed my work ensemble. I vetoed holding a riding crop and a cane looked way too small so we settled on a walking staff with a cross of African and Mongolian decorations.

The stable boys were another matter. They were spooked by a charge that talked back and told them when their ministrations were painful rather than helpful. We settled into an uneasy truce.

{{Separator|stars}}

I had been working with the circus perhaps six months when after a late spring show a young man tentatively approached me. He had an expression that was both dazed and in awe. I may not be as good with expressions as Jeanette, but I knew this one. I'm sure it was on my face the first day I spent with Rocky a year before. It was a look that said, "You're the fulfillment of my wildest fantasies."

I had my legs folded under me so I wasn't so imposing to the handful in the audience who wanted to meet me. I finished signing my autograph on a program for a girl who I judged to be about 11 years old, one of those girls who was horse crazy and proclaimed such on her t-shirt. She left, but the young man held back until she was out of earshot and no one else was around. Seated as I was I had to look up to his eyes.

"You really are a centaur," he finally said.

"Oh, yes."

He was rather plain looking with a face that full of character.

"May I touch you?"

I unbuttoned my jacket and shirt and held them open. He knelt to put himself at eye level and reached out, then hesitated. "It's OK," I said. He touched my side just above the blend and ran his fingers from there into my fur. His touch tickled a bit and I flinched.

"Sorry," he said.

"Don't be so tentative and it won't tickle."

He laid his whole palm against my fur then firmly moved it from fur to skin and back again several times. "This isn't an illusion, then." He glanced at my eyes.

"No. I'm as much centaur as you are human. The real deal."

"Were you born that way?"

One might be insulted by such a question, but I understood what he wanted to know. "No, I wasn't. I was born as human as you are. I'm happy with the way I am now. And, no, I have no way to make you into a centaur."

He looked crushed. His eyes wandered around the arena for perhaps a minute. I waited while he digested the news.

He stood and jammed his hands in his pockets, then glanced at me. "Could I …" He glanced away, then back and I could see him draw on his resolve. "Could I be your groom?" He glanced at his shoes and back up. "Or whatever you call the person who takes care of you." The words rushed out now and he glanced away. "I've always wanted to be a centaur or be around centaurs, so I've thought a lot about how one might live and know a centaur couldn't wash every part of himself." His gaze on me steadied. "I'd like to do that for you."

Someone willing to take ''that'' on? There would be no power plays from this one. "I'm sure that's not all you want to do."

His face lit up with a smile, though he glanced to the side. "It would be so cool for a centaur to lie on his back and let me crawl between his legs." He looked at me again with an enthusiastic expression. "Especially if his …" His face flushed red and he inspected his shoes again.

Actually, that sounded pretty good to me too. I hadn't lost my appreciation for the male human form and his was pretty good. But I made the mistake of staying quiet a moment too long.

He cleared his throat, "Sorry. I had hoped you might be gay too, in spite of the odds. I'll go now." He took a step.

I laid a hand on his shoulder. "Please stay. As it happens, I am gay. Your suggestion may have been a bit forward, but not unwelcome. What's your name?"

"Logan." I could see him relax.

"Pleased to meet you Logan. I'm known as Colt." He grinned at the name as we formally shook hands. "And what do you do?"

"Uh, I'm a student here in town. I graduate in a couple weeks. My roommate and I came tonight as a last break before we settle in to study for finals."

"What's your major?"

"English, with a minor in accounting. My dad said he didn't think I was all that cut out to be an English teacher and it might take a while for a writing career to get started, so he suggested a backup plan and that's why I added accounting."

"I like sensible," I said. "When do you have to be back on campus."

He caught my meaning and his smile returned. I was beginning to like that smile. "Oh, not until tomorrow afternoon."

"Well, tomorrow morning will be soon enough to talk to Mr. Pelletier about a job. He may need an accountant soon and the stable boys would be glad to turn me over to someone else. I'll tell you now Pelletier will want you to graduate and join us about a month from now in Omaha. Between now and tomorrow morning let's see what we can do about that fantasy of yours."

I ''really'' liked that smile.

[[Category:Story|Title]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
[[Category:Mythical]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Title}}

User:Erastus/The One True Bob

2011-05-18T18:47:07Z

Erastus: Restoring a story that was lost in the disk crash.

{{title|The One True Bob|name=The One True Bob|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

Bob sat listening to Bob drone on. The speaker at least looked
interesting, even if his voice didn't stray much from a monotone.
He was a humanoid tiger. As Bob sat there, he wondered why he
couldn't be so lucky. He was a dog. Again. The breed may vary,
but every night the fur appeared, the tail grew, the muzzle
lengthened, the bones twisted. It was getting to be boring. Which
was better than terrifying as it had been at the start.

Bob was glad to be able to attend this convention of Bobs. At least
he might learn to be able to live with being a dog while some hack
author liked to fantasize about being a dog and used him as the
surrogate.

Up at the microphone, Bob was talking about self-actualization, or
some nonsense like that. Bob twisted in the metal folding chair,
trying to get comfortable, and let out a sigh. It had been a long
battle. Should he try to sit up as a human would, or should he give
in and lay down on the seat. As he wiggled, he realized there was
now someone new sitting next to him. Bob glanced over and was
surprised at what he saw.

The guy was wearing a maroon vest over a maroon and white striped
shirt with a cute little pink bowtie, slacks of a material that
didn't quite look like corduroy, shiny black shoes with spats, and
a black porkpie hat complete with a feather and worn at a rakish
angle. The blend of colors, the interplay of materials, the cut of
the clothes produced an ensemble that wasn't anything like what Bob
had seen before. The effect was of pronounced individuality. "What a
character!" thought Bob.

Bob noticed one more thing. The guy was human. Completely human.
Regular human face, regular human hair (what could be seen under the
hat), regular ears, fingers, legs, and feet. No tail, no fur, no
muzzle, and no claws. Why would such a guy be at this convention?

"What are you doing here?" exclaimed Bob. Bob had almost asked the
very stupid question of, "Who are you?" He was Bob, of course.

The other guy responded, "I'm known as The One True Bob." The guy
extended his hand. Bob stuck his paw into it and they shook. "I
was wandering by, enjoying the sunset, when I saw the sign for "The
Bob Convention" and decided to see what's going on. It didn't take
me long to realize that though you all look different, this is a
rather bland group."

Though The One True Bob wasn't talking very loudly there were a lot
of faces now turned in his direction. It didn't take much to draw
interest away from Bob at the microphone.

Bob said, "But how did you avoid being changed?"

"Changed?" said TOTBob.

"Yeah," said Bob. "It seems everyone here is cursed to be a stooge
for a bunch of hack authors that meet through the Internet to share
stories. This particular bunch of authors seems to have a fetish for
transformations. Somehow all of us Bobs have to serve as stand-ins
for their uninspired little fantasies. Every night we change into
what our assigned author is fantasizing about at the moment."

Bob sighed. "My author fantasizes about being a dog. He can't seem
to decide on a breed. I've been a Great Dane, German shepherd,
English sheepdog, collie, shar-pei, Lab, poodle, whippet, bulldog,
dachshund, rottweiler, greyhound, St. Bernard, spaniel, chihuahua,
basset hound, and dozens of others I can't remember. There were
even a few mutts.

"Bob, over there," Bob pointed, "always becomes an otter, sometimes
a full otter, sometimes humanoid. That Bob," he pointed again,
"becomes a horse or donkey. And Bob over by the wall is something
different each night. His author has got to be one strange dude.

"So why don't ''you'' change?" Bob said again.

By this time, even Bob at the microphone had stopped talking. Most
of the Bobs had gathered closer, though Bob still leaned up against
the wall holding his lion tail in one hand and stroking it with the
other while staring at Bob the otter with an expression that made the
otter nervous.

TOTBob pondered this for a long moment. "Tell me," he finally said.
"What do you do with your life?"

The question caught Bob off guard. "I'm not sure how to answer that.
I guess I do typical life. I work. I have a family. I watch TV.
You know. Stuff."

TOTBob looked around the room. "Did he just describe you?" Everyone
in the room was soon nodding, though a few looked a little guilty
or ashamed while they nodded.

"I think I know why I'm not affected by your curse," said TOTBob.
Everyone leaned in closer to catch every word. "I have a life,"
he sneered. There was a roomful of puzzled expressions.

TOTBob went on. "As I said a few moments ago, I was out enjoying the
sunset. I volunteer at a soup kitchen and wonder why poverty is so
persistent. I go to plays and concerts and ponder what makes
Shakespeare and Beethoven great. I go to art galleries and try to
understand why the modern artist does what he does. I attempt to
do some writing, painting, and composing of my own even though the
results aren't worth anything. I go sit on mountaintops. I
photograph waterfalls. I make sure those I love have memories of fun
times we have together, even if it is just a silly game after
dinner. I write to my senator. I write letters to the editor. I give
money to charities, and not just a token dollar. I try to understand
what it means to be human and what it means to be me."

The room fell quiet. The only face that didn't have a puzzled
expression was The One True Bob's.

TOTBob studied the faces around him. Though the faces looked like
dogs, cats, deer, horses, sheep, raccoons, lizards, bears, birds,
otters, and kangaroos -- and an occasional female human -- it was
still possible to see the human emotions in them. The only emotions
TOTBob found were confusion and apathy.

"None of you do any of those things, do you," he sneered. "The whole
lot of you are so lazy you only do what you must. You only want to
get through the day, not get what you can out of it. You are only
waiting to die.

"It's no wonder those Internet authors have latched on to you.
You're only cardboard. None of you has any personality," he sneered
again. "The bunch of you are so one dimensional that it's a piece
of cake to pull you into their stories when they want a cardboard
character, when they are being as lazy as you are." TOTBob shook his
head.

Bob the dog said, "So what do we do about it?"

TOTBob said, "Get a life!"

A few moments later outside the building The One True Bob turned his
face skyward and said, "How'd I do?"

The voice of his author came out of the air around him. "Very good,
though you overdid the sneer."

Clouds had covered over the moon and stars. Rain started to fall.
"You better hurry up and get in your car," the author's voice said
again. "You wouldn't want that cardboard hat to fall apart. I do
need to protect my props."

[[Category:Story|The One True Bob]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:One True Bob, The}}

User:Erastus/The Writing Lesson

2011-05-10T16:49:08Z

Erastus: Replacing a lost story

{{title|name=The Writing Lesson|author=Erastus Centaur|user=Erastus}}

Bill sat typing away at his latest chapter in the 2x4 universe when
he sensed someone nearby. He was supposed to be the only one in the
house. It wasn't a sound that alerted him, but Bill was unsure what
had. Perhaps the light was subtly different.

In this neighborhood, intruders were not a good thing. Bill spun his
chair around to face an oddly dressed man less than two feet behind
his chair.

Bill reacted quickly. He launched himself at the man to tackle him.
Better to be on top of the guy before he had a chance to pull a gun
or knife. Questions could come later.

The expected contact with the visitor never happened. Bill ended
up in a heap in the overstuffed chair. He was sure the man had not
stepped aside. So why no collision? Bill pondered that as he pulled
himself out of the chair.

By the time he was standing upright, Bill thought better of another
attempt to attack the guy. If this guy could sidestep a tackle
another attempt won't do any good. If the tackle didn't happen
because Bill simply missed... Well, another attempt wouldn't do any
good in that case, either. He turned to face the man. The man had
turned to face him.

The man wore an emerald porkpie hat with a black band and feather.
He had a bow-tie and suspenders of the same brilliant hue over a
black shirt. There were black slacks and shoes with a bit of emerald
socks peeking out between the two. He was tall, amazingly slim,
and had red hair, beard, and mustache. And Bill realized he could
see the glow of his computer monitor ''through'' the slim waist.

About the time Bill came to that realization, the man said, "Oh!
Pardon me." The man seemed to solidify. "There. That's better. Not
so annoying to your brain." He stuck out his hand. "Hi. I'm your
Faerie Godfather."

Bill shook the hand dumbly. "My what?"

"Well, I suppose I should say I'm a fairy Faerie, if you catch my
drift." He took off the hat and stroked the feather. "I doubt a
straight faerie would be caught dead in an outfit like this. Way too
much ''style''." That last word was said with a certain gusto. He put
the hat back on his head with a flourish and winked.

Bill said, "Since my ugly stepsisters aren't keeping me from
attending a ball with the prince tonight, I'm sure I didn't summon
you. Why are you here?"

"I'm here to give you a writing lesson."

"Me?"

"Your name is Bill Kieffer?"

"Yeah. So?"

"I'm here to give you a writing lesson."

"Why give me a lesson? There are lots of people that say I write
very well. There are lots of other people that need writing lessons.
Why pick on me? Beside, I don't have time for that."

The Faerie reached into a pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He
unfolded it and cleared his throat. He read from it.

::I just simply can not write the transformations I
::REALLY want to see... like, for example, I could
::NEVER have written the story Cody did recently...
::I just can't write a TF about a man or teen into
::a car, either.

::If you read Jockeying for Position you notice I
::even skipped over my own Transformation... in my
::TBP story I even skipped describing my TF into a
::horse morph except to say it really, really hurt.

The Faerie glanced up. "Did you write this?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then this writing lesson is for you. I guarantee you ''will'' enjoy
it." He winked again.

Bill let out a sigh. He had never enjoyed a lesson and doubted this
would be any different.

Come to think of it, there was that time when his Goat had said, "I
need to teach you a lesson." That had turned out to be ''very''
enjoyable. Bill got a warm feeling just remembering it. But this
joker couldn't possibly be talking about the same thing. Could he?

Nah, Bill decided.

A glance at the face of the Faerie convinced Bill that the writing
lesson was going to happen sometime. There was a look of
determination in those eyes. If he convinced the Faerie to go away,
there was no doubt there would be repeated visits.

Bill sighed again. "All right, let's get it over with. We can do
this today, can't we."

"Oh, yes," said the Faerie, "we can get started right now. Please
save whatever it is your working on. I'll have to install my
teaching program."

Bill groaned inwardly. Having to use teaching software did not sound
like he was going to have a good time. But, he complied. He saved
his story and exited the editor. Then he closed down the mailer, the
browser, the MP3 player. He got out of the chair and motioned for
the Faerie to sit.

The Faerie reached into another pocket and pulled out a little gold
colored tube wrapped with a string. He slid the string off and let
the tube unroll, then shook it as one might shake a sheet. It
stiffened into a CD-ROM. He plopped it into the reader tray and
pushed the button. He then sat in the chair and theatrically flexed
his fingers and cracked his knuckles.

By then the computer had put up an install window. The Faerie merely
touched the screen with his finger over the "Do it!" button and
leaned back with a satisfied air.

Bill hated fingerprints on his screen and was about to complain when
he realized he couldn't see a fingerprint.

As the computer whirred, the Faerie stood again, yielding the seat
back to Bill. The Faerie said, "Please take off you shoes and socks
and roll up your pant legs."

"A writing lesson that requires me to be barefoot? What is this? Are
you going to flood the floor while I type?"

The Faerie let out a braying laugh, tossing his head back as he did
so. Bill wasn't sure what was so funny. The Faerie took a moment to
recover his breath then said, "You said you couldn't write about a
transformation. This lesson is to prove that you can and to teach
you how to do it. And the best way to learn is by doing. So we are
going to spend the afternoon doing. Besides, I'd hate for you to
ruin a perfectly good pair of shoes."

The computer stopped whirring. The Faerie poked at the CD-ROM
button, lifted the disc out of the tray, shook it, rolled it up,
slipped the string around it, and slipped it back into his pocket.

The Faerie relaxed into a sitting position in the space beside Bill,
though Bill saw no evidence of anything the Faerie might actually
be sitting ''on''. Bill was even more puzzled when the Faerie leaned
back, put his left foot on his right knee and began to tap the right
foot against the carpet, causing the Faerie to move as if in a
rocking chair. Bill couldn't watch.

The screen now showed an outline of a man as one might see at the
doctor's office that would identify the parts of the body--or the
chalk outline of a body at a murder scene. Beside it was a large
area that looked like it was set up like a word processing program.
In a box above the outline were a list of animals with "horse"
already highlighted. Above that was a button with "Part I". Just
below the feet of the outline were three buttons with the words
"Go!" "Evaluate," and "Reset."

"What I want you to do now is pull your right foot up onto your left
knee and then to write about what you see. Ready?" The Faerie
touched the right foot of the outline with his finger, which lit up.

This was getting weirder by the second. Bill pulled up his left
foot, removed the shoe and sock, and put it down. He then brought up
the right foot, stripped it bare, and left it to rest on his knee.
"Ready," grumbled Bill.

The Faerie touched "Go!"

Bill watched with a mix of surprise, dread, and elation as his foot
transformed into a horse's hoof.

"Now write what you saw," commanded the Faerie.

Bill sat in shock, staring at his appendage.

"Bill?"

Bill's hands hovered above his lap. He wanted to touch the fur, but
was afraid of what might happen to his brain if he did.

"Bill!" The Faerie grabbed Bill's hand and brushed it through the
fur. "Yes, it is real. Now write about it." The Faerie reached with
the other hand to touch the text window. Its cursor began to blink.

"Uh... Write about it. Yeah. OK." Bill reached to the keyboard and
let his hands hover for a moment. Then he typed.

::Bill looked at his former foot--now a hoof--and
::thought: This is incredible!

Bill glanced at the Faerie, who shook his head. The Faerie touched
the screen over the "Evaluate" button.

A message window popped up. The word "Lame!" in large red letters
filled the top half. Underneath was the message, "The description
contains nothing of the actual transformation."

"Like I said," said Bill throwing up his hands, "I don't know how to
write about transformations."

"Come, come, Bill. Writing about transformations is like writing
about anything else. You describe what you see or describe what you
imagine you might see. Let's do it again."

The Faerie touched "Reset". Within moments Bill's foot was restored
to its former shape.

"This time, watch carefully. You won't be caught off guard." The
Faerie touched "Go!"

Though Bill was ready for it, the change from foot to hoof still
filled him with dread and elation. In a few moments, the hoof was
complete.

Bill's recovery was quicker. He was about to touch the screen with
his finger but remembered his fingers left prints. He moved the
mouse into the text window, highlighted his previous efforts, and
tapped the backspace. The text vanished.

Bill wrote.

::Bill watched in fascination as his foot slowly
::transformed into a hoof.

He stared at it a moment, then clicked on "Evaluate."

The message window appeared almost immediately. "Lame!" it
said, and underneath, "No Detail."

"So what am I supposed to write?" Bill said in exasperation.
He sighed as he clicked on "Reset."

The Faerie said, "If it wants detail, supply detail. You supply
details when writing about other things, such as when your character
is working in a car repair shop. Use your descriptive powers to do
the same thing here."

"In a repair shop, I've seen everything done a million times. It is
all right there when I think of it."

"That is the goal of the first part of this lesson," said the
Faerie. "You can watch a transformation in action so you merely need
to describe it when the time comes to include it in your writing.
Are you ready to try again?"

Bill said, "Sure," then clicked on "Go!"

Since he knew what to expect, Bill was able to watch the
transformation carefully. When the changes ended, he began to type.

::As Bill watched, the outer toes shrank and the
::middle one enlarged. The nail thickened into a
::hoof. The foot reshaped into the pastern and the
::ankle became the fetlock. Short gray fur grew
::over the new pastern and fetlock.

Bill studied it a moment then slid the cursor over to click on
"Evaluate".

The program paused a moment longer than before. It popped up the
message window. Bill was pleased that it started differently than
before. The top now said, "Grade: C." The bottom part was a full
text window that now said: "Descriptive content is merely adequate.
Sentence variety is low--too many sentences with the same structure.
Personal involvement is low."

Bill groaned.

The Faerie said, "Just keep in mind that you are making improvement.
You can't expect to go from avoiding such scenes to writing a
perfect one in your first try." The Faerie reached for "Reset."

Bill put his hand in the way and moved his new hoof off his knee and
dropped it to the floor. "That leg is starting to fall asleep. Let's
use the other one for the next attempt."

"You're going to leave it as a hoof?" asked the Faerie.

"For now," said Bill. The Faerie saw the corners of Bills mouth turn
up just a bit. Perhaps the leg was falling asleep. Perhaps not.

"Well, OK," said the Faerie. He touched the left foot of the
outline. Bill brought his left foot to his right knee, then clicked
on "Go!"

Again, Bill watched carefully as his left foot became a match for
his right. He then typed.

::As Bill watched, the four outer toes shrank. It
::took only a minute for the baby toe to be
::absorbed, nail and all, into the reshaping foot.
::The big toe took three times as long. The middle
::toe seemed to pull in the mass from those
::vanishing toes, becoming rounder and longer. The
::nail of that toe thickened, soon covering the
::whole of the tip, then spreading outward into a
::proper hoof.

::Bill thought of life ahead as the hoof formed. He
::couldn't easily buy shoes for his small, wide
::feet, so having hooves instead would simplify
::that.

::The toes hadn't changed much before soft fur
::began growing over what had been the foot and
::ankle. The gray color was appropriate for the
::creator of Grayflank. Bill smiled at that
::thought.

::The foot rounded out to form the proper shape of
::a pastern. The change ended with a little bit of
::reshaping from ankle into fetlock.

::The blend from human leg to horse fetlock didn't
::cover much distance, but was as graceful as Bill
::thought possible.

::As much as the outside world frowned on his
::obsessions, Bill decided to enjoy his new feet
::and not hide them from the world.

Bill looked over what he had written. He nodded in satisfaction.

A quick poke at the "Evaluate" button produced a much longer wait.
After a half-minute, Bill began to stew. Finally, another popup
window appeared. It said, "Grade: A-" The text below stated "The
basic objectives have been achieved. Refer to style guides for
additional improvement."

"Congratulations!" said the Faerie. "You have successfully completed
part one."

Bill snapped his head around to face the Faerie. "Part one! You mean
there is more? I gotta sit through more of this?" The Faerie nodded.
"In that case, I need a break."

"Of course," said the Faerie. "But don't be so grumpy. Part two will
be much more fun. I guarantee it!"

Bill put both hooves on the floor and stood up. A smile spread
across his face. He took a few tentative steps, decided he had
things under control and walked into the kitchen. He called back
over his shoulder, "Do you want something?"

"Nothing for me," the Faerie called back. "I don't need to eat."

A few minutes later, Bill was back with a sandwich and juice. "Do
you think I can keep these feet?"

"We might be able to work something out."

In between bites, Bill looked down at his hooves. "I got to thinking
that the ankle doesn't actually correspond to the fetlock. It really
matches the hock and the cannon matches the foot. The fetlock and
pastern corresponds to the toe."

"Perhaps we can do something about that in part two,' said the
Faerie.

"So can you tell me about part two?"

"Since you are almost done eating, why don't we just get started?
It will only take a moment to set it up."

"You like keeping secrets, don't you."

The Faerie just grinned. He touched "Part I" which became "Part II".
The animal names and outline disappeared, leaving more space for
the text window.

"You probably want to take off all your clothes before you start
this part," said the Faerie.

"You pervert!" said Bill. "You're a fairy Faerie and you want me to
strip. I sit here and type and you sit there and ogle me. I don't
think so, Tim."

The Faerie noticed that Bill didn't put much energy into his
objection and had a trace of a smile at the corner of his lips.
Bill's objection was all show, the Faerie concluded. He'll be no
problem. Besides, it looks like he is subconsciously posing right
now.

"I will admit the thought did cross my mind," the Faerie looked Bill
over critically, "but there is a very good reason for typing nude."

"Sure there is," sneered Bill.

"Unless you think busting through the seams is an integral part of a
transformation scene, I think you would rather save the clothes
intact for another day. Besides, clothes tend not to pop open where
you expect and the confinement before the clothes give way tends to
hurt. But there is a more important reason--you want to be able to
watch over your body as you type."

Bill mentally scratched his head over that one.

"I've got something to make body inspections easier," said the
Faerie.

The Faerie reached into a pocket and pulled out a thin rectangle. He
opened it like a book, though to Bill it didn't look thick enough to
be more than one layer. Once the two pieces were bent back far
enough, they snapped together to form one smooth surface twice as
large as before. The Faerie turned the slab and repeated the
operation several more times until it was as large as he was. One
final operation revealed a three panel mirror suitable for use in a
tailor shop. "There we go," said the Faerie as he set it on the
floor behind Bill's chair.

"You can close your mouth now," the Faerie said when he saw Bill's
stunned expression. Bill complied.

"Come, now, you need to get out of those clothes. I'll explain part
two as you strip.

Bill glared at the Faerie but started to unbutton his shirt.

"In part two, all you have to do is write the transformation scene
of your choice. Don't worry about setting, background, or trigger.
Here's the fun part. If the program decides you have described a
particular part of the transformation adequately, it will make your
body conform to whatever you just wrote about. Write about furry
ears and you will have furry ears. Write about a tail, you get a
tail."

Bill grinned.

"If you want to return to your original shape, just click on reset.
There is just one warning. You have to be the one to click on reset.
I won't be able to do it for you. If you transform your fingers and
can't type, you will be stuck in that shape. So if you do want to be
stuck in a form, write about your fingers last."

Bill had worked his pants and shorts over his hooves and found it to
be similar to taking off pants while keeping shoes on. If he kept
the hooves, he would have to consider pants with zippers up the
side. Could he start a new fashion trend?

Sometimes it takes his brain a moment to catch up. Didn't the Faerie
just talk about creating a complete form? We'll deal with clothing
later.

Now naked, Bill sat down in his chair, thankful that it was wood and
not metal as he felt the coolness against his skin. He glanced at
the Faerie.

"Go ahead," said the Faerie, "It is all set up and waiting for you."
The Faerie noticed the hooves. "Oops. One moment. We need to start
from your original shape." He touched "Reset". Bill's hooves
reverted to plain pink human feet. The Faerie could see the frown.
"It is up to you to get them back. Everything is ready now."

Bill stretched out his fingers and wiggled them above the keys, then
stopped. He stared at the screen for several moments. How does one
go about doing this?

The moments stretched into minutes.

He turned to the Faerie. "Where do I start?"

"Wherever you want."

Bill sat for a while longer.

The Faerie prompted, "Don't you have a favorite form you've always
wanted for yourself?"

"Yes, of course."

"So you know what you are to look like when you are done typing."

"Well, maybe not exactly. But I do have a good general idea."

"That's why I set out the mirror. You can make adjustments along
the way."

Bill was silent.

"So," said the Faerie, "the problem isn't in the final form but in
how to get there."

"That about sums it up."

"Are you afraid you will do something wrong?" A nod from Bill. "No
need to worry. You can't harm yourself. If the description is
incomplete, you simply won't transform. If the transformation would
cause a crippling condition or death, you won't transform and you'll
get an error window. If you provide a bad description and you decide
it looks ugly, you simply treat it as a halfway point and go on from
there or hit reset and try again. You can even erase part of the
text and the corresponding transformations will be undone. If you
want, we can save the good parts for another try."

Bill continued to just sit.

"So now what?" prompted the Faerie.

Bill sat for a moment, then said, "In part one, it happened and I
described what I saw. Now I have to figure out all the parts in
between."

"Are you admitting to a failure of imagination?" The Faerie glared
at Bill for a moment. "If you were writing about actual events in
your story 'The Goat", you are one sick dude."

The Faerie hesitated for a moment as Bill returned the glare.

"Uh... I'm sorry. I can see from your expression that I shouldn't
have said it that way. You have admitted in your writings you indeed
have mental wobbles. And..." he hesitated again, studying Bill,
"that story is not autobiographical."

The Faeries sighed and gazed off into the distance for a moment. "I
suppose I should also call myself a sick dude. I actually read that
story front to back, even though the tone of the story was obvious
from chapter one." He paused for a moment. "By the way, great
ending. I didn't see that one coming."

"Thanks," said Bill.

They both sat quietly for a moment. The Faerie said, "Where was I?
Oh, yeah. So you didn't live through that story, but you could
imagine it enough to write about it. Writing about transformations
merely requires the same imagination."

Bill continued to just sit.

"So," said the Faerie, "what do you do when you are writing a part
of the story that isn't about the transformation and you get stuck?
Do you have a way to get past it?"

Bill roused himself. "I try the scene various ways to see if one
works. Other times I just write whatever comes to mind in hopes
of generating ideas."

"It is the same for transformation scenes," said the Faerie. "Just
write. Pick an obvious feature and write to transform it. Then pick
another. If you don't like what comes out, erase it. You don't have
to get it right the first time. That delete button was created for
a reason."

Bill decided to start with the obvious, first checking the chair to
make sure there would be no problems. He began to type.

::A little nub at the base of Bill's spine began to
::grow, pushing the skin out around it. As the bulge
::in the skin became visible, it was covered with
::small white hairs. The bones of the spine split
::to form new vertebrae as the nub lengthened into
::a tail. The hairs also grew long with more hairs
::sprouting as the tail grew. It grew at a steady
::rate until the vertebrae had extended it another
::foot. Muscles formed around the bones.

::Humans lost their tails in the early stages of
::evolution from chimps, thought Bill. Perhaps I
::can correct that little problem. Of course, a
::tail like that of a horse looks much better than
::that of a monkey.

::The soft, while hairs grew until they reached to
::Bill's ankle.

Bill looked at what he had written. He decided it was at least as
good as his last effort in part one.

It felt as if something touched Bill's butt, prompting him to jump
up and glare at the Faerie.

"Don't look at me," said the Faerie. "You're the one that did the
typing."

Bill reached behind him as he glanced in the mirror. Sure enough, he
had a tail. It took several minutes to grow in, just exactly as he
had written. By the time those silky what hairs had reached his
knees, he had figured out how to control it. He watched it as he
swished it all around. A horse tail did look pretty good on a human,
Bill decided, even if this opinion was from a guy that was biased
towards horses.

Bill was about to sit when he looked back at the chair. Even though
he had checked that it did have space for a tail, now that he had
one, a stool looked to be much more comfortable. It took but a
moment to get the stool from the kitchen and settle himself on it.

Energized from his first success, Bill eagerly sat down to type.

::Bill's ears began to lengthen, first by forming a
::point along the upper edge, then by actually
::growing. Fine black hairs sprouted over his ears.
::The myriad human curls to his ears flattened as
::the ears curved into equine tubes. Muscles grew
::in each base to enable turning the ears as the
::bases themselves migrated up the sides of his
::head, where they soon perched on top. Bill's
::sense of hearing seemed to broaden and deepen,
::allowing him to hear his surroundings in wonderful
::detail. The black hairs filled in to cover the
::ears in a soft fur.

::Humans shouldn't have to put up with the puny,
::insensitive ears they were born with, Bill mused.

Bill leaned to the left side so he could see that ear clearly in the
mirror. He put his hand gently over the right ear. He had to wait
only a moment.

Yep, there it was. He felt the change under his fingers before he
saw it in the mirror.

Again, it all happened as he had written. The long ears were halfway
to the top of his head when he realized he could hear in a lot more
detail. It startled him to notice he could ''not'' hear the Faerie
breathe!

Bill bent over and twitched an ear near the Faerie's chest. No
heartbeat either!

"No, I'm not alive in the same sense you are," said the Faerie. I
don't eat, I don't breathe, I don't sleep."

"Yet you say you are gay," said Bill.

"I do have a sense of touch," said the Faerie, "and that sense of
touch apparently stimulates me the same way it does you. Why? I have
no idea. I just take advantage of it. If you like, I could
demonstrate."

"Uh... no thanks. I have a body I want to create."

Bill sat at the computer again eager to make his desire come true..

::Bill watched in fascination as a dapple gray fur
::covered his body.

Bill jumped to his feet and scanned his image in the mirror for the
first signs of growing fur. He was sure his ears and tail had
started growing with much less elapsed time. Had the powers of the
program worn out? After a minute, he glanced at the Faerie.

The Faerie answered the gaze. "That description was pretty lame,
don't you think? The program only acts on complete descriptions."

With a defeated air, Bill sat down again. He deleted the last
sentence and began again. Tails and ears were easy. This one was
more of a struggle. Where should it start? Should it appear
everywhere all at once or start somewhere and spread? What about the
goatee? What about the hair on top of his head? Should there be
variations in color? What to do with eyebrows and chest hair?

"I should remind you," said the Faerie, "that whatever you type does
not need to be your final answer."

Bill thought for a few more moments, sighed, and began to type.

::Bill's sparse chest hair turned from brown to
::gray. New hairs sprouted in between the existing
::hairs. When they were long enough, the variation
::in color revealed a dapple pattern.

::Once his chest was completely covered with thick,
::short fur, the boundary of the fur spread slowly
::downward to cover his abdomen. Hairs sprouted as
::the boundary passed over a spot of skin and
::reached full length a couple minutes later.

::Why is it, Bill mused, that humans have no fur?
::Such a covering would be so much more practical
::than clothing.

::The boundary of fur spread outward. It spread
::down his arms, past his elbows, across the back
::of his hands and down to his fingernails, leaving
::only his palms exposed. It spread around his
::back, meeting along the spine. It spread across
::his butt and around the base of his tail and into
::his crotch, covering over his balls. The fur at
::the base of his member became extra thick and
::twice as long as elsewhere. It spread down his
::legs and across the tops of his feet to his
::toenails.

::Only when the fur on the rest of his body grew to
::full length did it sprout on his head. It began
::as a small spot in the middle of his forehead.
::The boundary of the spot moved up to his hairline
::and into the balding corners of his forehead. It
::then moved down to his eyebrows, which thickened
::and changed color. The boundary moved down his
::nose, across his cheeks, under his chin, and
::around his neck, joining with the fur on his
::body. Bill's goatee changed color from brown to
::fit into the dapple pattern, the hairs adjusting
::in length to match. The final touch was the
::appearance of very short hairs on his eyelids.

Bill studied it a moment, smiling in satisfaction. He stood and
stepped into the angles of the mirror. In a moment, the hair began
to sprout on his chest. He watched in fascination as it spread down
his abdomen. He lifted his arm so he could watch the fur spread
along it, smiling in satisfaction as it reached the fingernails. He
watched in the mirror as fur covered his back and butt. He put a
foot on the stool so he could see it cover his balls, then legs and
feet. He straightened up to stare at his forehead and soon saw the
fur sprout and spread across his face and neck.

When his eyelids were covered, he closed one, then the other, to see
the effect. He then studied the overall effect for several minutes.
"It's close, but not quite right," he said.

He sat and placed his hands on the keyboard.

::The fur in the center of Bill's forehead faded in
::color until a white star appeared. It was a star
::with four points. The vertical points reached
::from just above his nose to just below his
::hairline. The horizontal points extended out to
::the middle of each eye. The edges had just enough
::waver to keep the star from looking artificial.

::The hair on the sides of his head up to his ears
::became shorter and changed from grayish brown to
::dappled gray to fit into the pattern of his fur.
::The hair on the top and back of his head faded to
::white and stiffened into a thick, upright mane.

A couple moments after it began, the change was complete. His star
looked quite nice and he couldn't keep his hands out of his mane.

What's next?, Bill thought.

He looked down across his furry chest and abdomen. All of his
characters--or at least the ones he wanted to personify--were all
muscle-bound. This body most definitely was not. Could he...?

Lots of transformations produced big muscles, why not this one?
Besides, the Faerie didn't say there were any limits.

::Bill thought of how he avoided sports as he was
::always picked last. Horses never have that
::problem. They are always strong.

::The wiggly fat in Bill's arms shrank away as the
::muscles grew. Soon the fur tightened around the
::bulging muscles. They couldn't be described as
::being like a branch from an oak tree, but they
::were imposing enough to get someone's attention.
::The change followed through to his hands, which
::took on a tough firmness.

::Bill's legs were next. The fat shrank as muscles
::thickened, resulting in good definition. They
::weren't quite the same as trunks of oak trees,
::but they looked like they could carry their owner
::a long distance, allowing him to jump easily over
::any obstacle.

::Bill's large abdomen shrank away which allowed
::him to notice expanding chest muscles. The thirty
::nine inch chest and forty two inch waist became a
::forty four inch chest and a thirty inch waist.
::There was enough definition that Bill could see
::individual abdominal muscles.

::The extra fat in Bill's cheeks and chin melted
::away, so that even his face looked athletic.

Bill stood and stepped into the angles of the mirror. In all his
sporadic attempts at dieting had he ever seen something like this.
In just a few minutes he had gone from looking like a pushover to
looking intimidating. It was a lovely, heady feeling. No longer
would he get the sideways glance from another man that said, "You?
Yeah, right."

"That passage seemed to bring out the poet in you," said the Faerie
near Bill's shoulder. A hand reached out to stroke Bill's chest.
"What's more, you're looking ''fine''!"

Bill looked down at the hand on his chest. It was doing things only
his wife had done before. That thought jolted him enough that it was
a moment before he realized the hand didn't have the pink skin he
expected, but was covered in dappled gray fur like his own. He
shifted his eyes to the Faerie--and saw a creature that looked like
his double, down to the lack of clothes. Well, the hat remained,
its emerald color interrupted by two gray ears.

"Shall we head to the bedroom now, or perhaps you would like to make
one more change?" The Faerie's eyes scanned down Bill's chest, and
stopped a bit below the waist.

What happens if you refuse a Faerie, especially one that claims to
be your godfather? Do you get some type of wonderful award if you
satisfy him? Does he take his toys and go home or turn you into a
toad if you refuse? Calling him a pervert because he asks you to
take your clothes off is one thing. This was a whole 'nother league!
What happened if he did nothing? Bill stood there frozen, almost not
daring to breathe.

The Faerie turned his head for a moment as if listening to something
in the distance. He withdrew his hand, picked up the mirror and
started folding it. Bill let out his breath. The Faerie turned to
Bill and said, "I'm afraid I have to go. I'll leave the program
installed on your computer so you can practice your writing with it
whenever you want. A side benefit,"--he paused in his mirror folding
long enough to touch on "File" and pointed to "Save"--"you can save what
you have written. When you open that file, the program will recreate
the changes. You can also shut the program down to keep a form then
hit reset the next time you run it. You don't even have to keep the
computer running" He slipped the folded mirror into his pocket.

Bill liked dilemmas that simply evaporated.

"I gotta go," the Faerie said, glancing at the window. As Bill
watched, the Faerie faded from view. Before disappearing completely,
the Faerie pointed to the screen and said, "Keep practicing. You'll
do well!"

Just then Bill heard his wife's car. Melanie was back from a full
day of shopping. He was glad she hadn't dragged him along.

A thought occurred to Bill, causing him to smile as he rolled it
around in this brain. Why not? He scrolled back through his
transformation scene, found the section that transformed his ears,
highlighted and copied it, scrolled back to the end and pasted it
in. He substituted her name in place of his own. Would it work?

Melanie had parked the car in view of the big window, shut off the
engine, and grabbed her purse by the time Bill was done with the
name substitution. He watched as she got out of the car and started
hauling bags out of the back seat.

Normally when Bill saw so much stuff he would get annoyed with his
wife's extravagance. This time, he barely noticed. He was watching
her ears.

In a moment, they started to grow and darken with black fur. Bill
whispered, "Yesss!" and pumped his fist.

A few more packages came out of the back seat, then Melanie walked
around to the trunk, fumbled with the keys, and opened it. About the
time the ears reached full size, she leaned into the trunk--brushing
her new ears against the trunk lid.

Her reaction was immediate and swift. Her hands flew to her ears
and felt their strange shape. She faced the window and bellowed,
"Bill, you get rid of these things ''RIGHT NOW''!"

How did she know it was me? he thought. That tone of voice was
immediately identified as She Who Must Be Obeyed on Pain of Death!

So he did. It was almost an automatic, knee-jerk kind of reaction.
He reached to the screen and touched "Reset".

He felt his new shape relax. Aaargh! He searched the screen
frantically for an "Undo" button, but found none. He could almost
weep! Bulging muscles gone! Tail and ears gone! Fur gone! By the
time he sagged back on the stool, he was back to human--cold, fat,
and half deaf.

That position left him facing the window, where he watched his wife
pat her human ears. She decided they were just right and turned back
to the trunk.

A moment later Melanie was in the house, through the kitchen, and
standing in the doorway. "Why are you sitting buck naked in front of
your computer?" She held out a hand to stop a reply. "Never mind. I
don't want to know." She gathered up her bundles and headed to the
bedroom. She passed the doorway a few more times retrieving more
bundles from the yard. Bill hardly noticed.

Bill sat there for a long time.

He and the Faerie had saved the scene, hadn't they? He couldn't bear
to check just now. If he hadn't, he decided he could recreate it
someday. The form wasn't quite what he had in mind anyway. When he
tried again, he would have time to consider the new form carefully.

If only he could convince his wife that a blend of horse and human
was really a good idea.

He pondered that for several moments.

Hmm. Perhaps he could make some small changes, get her used to the
idea.

He thought a moment about his wife's desire for romantic evenings
after a day of hard shopping, from what he had seen in the yard, it
had been a lot of hard shopping. A trip to the mall seemed to be an
aphrodisiac for her. She probably won't need a match to light the
candles at dinner, a touch from her finger would probably be enough.

Got it! There were ways to physically enhance the passion. For her
that could include a bit of tightening here and there, especially
there. For him that would mean a bit of thickening and lengthening,
well, a bit of thickening and a ''lot'' of lengthening. Perhaps, Bill
thought, there were ways to improve this human form even while
exploring the ideal human-horse blend. He turned to the keyboard and
began to type.

[[Category:Story|The Writing Lesson]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
[[Category:Equine]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Writing Lesson, The}}

User:Erastus

2011-05-09T17:49:12Z

Erastus: Provide stub links for the stories lost in the disk crash.

Welcome to my story page. I'm a gay man and some of these stories contain gay characters.

Many of these stories were lost in the Shift disk crash. I'm slowly recreating them from personal copies. Until that happens some of these links will remain stubs.

Stories on this site:

[[User:Erastus/The Cart Before the Centaur|The Cart Before the Centaur]]

This was the first story I wrote, back in 2001, as part of the Passing Fad universe. A desire to be a centaur combined with industrial processes.

[[User:Erastus/Midair Turbulence|Midair Turbulence]]

Another story in the Passing Fad universe, written in 2001. What if you were in an ultralight plane when the Event happened?

[[User:Erastus/The Pastor|The Pastor]]

This is a story in the Blind Pig universe. It was written in 2001 shortly after my church renewed its prohibitions against homosexuality, though the tale doesn't have gay characters.

[[User:Erastus/A Most Unusual Family|A Most Unusual Family]]

A curse not completely undone affects later generations. This one was written in 2001.

[[User:Erastus/The One True Bob|The One True Bob]]

In 2001 there was a silly discussion on TSA Talk about stray side characters who get transformed in the course of a story. These characters became collectively known as Bob. About the same time I heard from a colleague, whose name is Bob, that when he was young there were several in his circle of friends named Bob. To avoid confusion each was given a number. The guy known as Bob-One called himself The One True Bob.

[[User:Erastus/The Writing Lesson|The Writing Lesson]]

Over the summer of 2001 Bill Kieffer held a couple writing contests. Alas, I haven't seen any contributions on the web from Bill lately. As part of the contest Bill said he couldn't write a transformation scene he really wanted to see. My muse suggested that Bill needed a writing lesson. This story came in second place in Bill's second contest.

[[User:Erastus/Summer Job|Summer Job]]

This is the original story in the Professional Animals universe. I wrote one other story (which needs extensive rewriting before posting) and a handful of authors tried their hand as well. This story was written in 2002.

[[User:Erastus/Just the Right Shoes for This Life|Just the Right Shoes for This Life]]

What if you could become someone else? How much of a change are you willing to make? This is set in Posti's "Walk-a-Mile" universe. Written in 2002.

[[User:Erastus/The Effect of Spotted Clothes|The Effect of Spotted Clothes]]

A gay couple meet in college. One of them is from Barken, Texas and intends to return there when he graduates. Written in 2003.

[[User:Erastus/Like Father, Like Son|Like Father, Like Son]]

A young man discovers his father is a werewolf. I'm not sure this is the last chapter in the story of the father or the first chapter in the story of the son. Alas, this is all that has been written and that was back in 2003.

[[User:Erastus/Serving the Sentence|Serving the Sentence]]

This is my novel, completed in 2004. Becoming a man is hard enough but this lad had to do it while serving out a curse.

[[User:Erastus/Implementing the Cure|Implementing the Cure]]

If gender dysphoria is cured with a transgender transition what does one do with a bad case of species dysphoria, especially if the species is mythical? Written in 2005.

[[User:Erastus/On the Outside Looking|On the Outside, Looking...]]

One half of a gay couple becomes an anthropomorphic horse and the other half doesn't. This is set in Jon Buck's [[Paradise_(Setting)|Paradise]] universe and written 2008.

[[User:Erastus/Power Play|Power Play]]

A male escort meets a male client who gives him his heart's desire but then becomes stingy in how the gift is used. Written in 2010.

----

I also have stories on TSAT, the transformation ezine. Here are links to those stories.

'''Deepest Dreams''' was a winner in a contest to create a story that defied transformation story conventions. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/deepest.dreams.html here].

'''The Harness of Society''' tells the story of three juvenile delinquents taken to a reform camp when their other options fail. The camp has an unusual way to motivate its inmates. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/harness.of.society.html here].

'''A Conversation''' was recorded by a barfly about a man who gets what he wishes for and a lot more. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/conversation.html here].

'''Paint''' explains why most mages are childless. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/paint.html here].

{{author page}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Erastus}}

User:Erastus

2011-03-01T03:36:06Z

Erastus: Will rebuild eventually

Stories on this site:

[[User:Erastus/Summer Job|Summer Job]]

This is the original story in the Professional Animals universe. I wrote one other story (which needs extensive rewriting before posting) and a handful of authors tried their hand as well.

[[User:Erastus/Implementing the Cure|Implementing the Cure]]

If gender dysphoria is cured with a transgender transition what does one do with a bad case of species dysphoria, especially if the species is mythical?

[[User:Erastus/Just the Right Shoes for This Life|Just the Right Shoes for This Life]]

What if you could become someone else? How much of a change are you willing to make? This is set in Posti's "Walk-a-Mile" universe.

[[User:Erastus/The Effect of Spotted Clothes|The Effect of Spotted Clothes]]

A gay couple meet in college. One of them is from Barken, Texas and intends to return there when he graduates.

[[User:Erastus/On the Outside Looking|On the Outside, Looking...]]

One half of a gay couple becomes an anthropomorphic horse and the other half doesn't. This is set in Jon Buck's [[Paradise_(Setting)|Paradise]] universe.

----

Alas, several stories were lost in the Shifti disk crash. I have copies on my own computer but it will be a while before I can get them rebuilt on this site. Eventually look for:

The Cart Before the Centaur

Midair Turbulence

The Pastor

A Most Unusual Famliy

The One True Bob

The Writing Lesson

Summer Job

Serving the Sentence

Power Play

Like Father, Like Son

----

I also have stories on TSAT, the transformation ezine. Here are links to those stories.

'''Deepest Dreams''' was a winner in a contest to create a story that defied transformation story conventions. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/deepest.dreams.html here].

'''The Harness of Society''' tells the story of three juvenile delinquents taken to a reform camp when their other options fail. The camp has an unusual way to motivate its inmates. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/harness.of.society.html here].

'''A Conversation''' was recorded by a barfly about a man who gets what he wishes for and a lot more. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/conversation.html here].

'''Paint''' explains why most mages are childless. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/paint.html here].

'''Serving the Sentence''' is my longest work. Alas, I won't provide a link to it because the version on TSAT is no longer the definitive version.

{{author page}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Erastus}}

User talk:Erastus/On the Outside Looking

2008-03-14T02:36:41Z

Erastus: Added timestamp

Just so you know, that nobody knows that the population is doubling as of 2000. That won't be learned until 2003. Read my story, Not Quite Alone to see the backstory to that discovery. --[[User:MatthiasRat|MatthiasRat]] 05:21, 10 March 2008 (EDT)

Yes, I read the story (or at least enough of the others) to know that in 2000 the true growth rate of the changed was not known. I had hoped I gave that impression by saying "As far as anyone could tell the number appeared to double every August." I guess I didn't use enough weasel words.

With this method of talk how does one tell the previous commenter that I have replied?
--[[User:Erastus|Erastus]] 22:36, 13 March 2008 (EDT)

User talk:Erastus/On the Outside Looking

2008-03-14T02:34:54Z

Erastus:

User:Erastus/On the Outside Looking

2008-03-10T01:35:37Z

Erastus: Added proper title

{{Universe|[[:Category:Paradise|Paradise]]}}
{{title|name=On the Outside, Looking...|user=Erastus|author=Erastus Centaur}}
'''Toby's Story'''

A life-changing moment may be small, but it may be the case that it only looks small in the moment. I'm sure Mark would dispute how small the moment was since he was in the center of it and I was standing outside. But the changes included me soon enough.

I would like to introduce Mark as my husband because for all practical purposes he is. But while there are a couple states that allow gay marriage in 2010 there were none in 2000. Besides, we live in Michigan, which wrote its gay marriage ban into its constitution. As much as I like to rant about this injustice, I have a different of story to tell.

By August of 2000 I had known Mark for five years and it had been three years since our private commitment ceremony. I knew that when something bothered him he usually took off in his car and it would do no good to go after him. He would return in time, rarely more than two hours, and sometimes he would even tell me about it. So, when he headed out the door one morning in the middle of the month with a brief, "Need some air," I figured it was one of those times. He had just recovered from a rare summer bout of flu and I'm sure he was also feeing a hefty dose of cabin fever. I didn't worry.

Until he didn't come home that evening. I was to the point of wondering about the procedures of filing a missing person report when he called. "Hi dear." Before I could respond to his greeting he went on. "I'm in Chicago. I'm OK. Be home in a couple days. Can't talk more now. Sorry for being abrupt. Love, you." And he hung up.

That was strange.

I had no idea why he would drive all the way to Chicago on a whim since the trip was five hours from Ann Arbor where we lived. He wasn't known for bizarre behavior. Even so, I trusted him. I knew the best thing to do was simply wait for him to return.

But when he did return a few days later I could only describe his story as bizarre.

I was in the front yard when he drove up in the late afternoon. He got out of his car with a rather sheepish expression, came over and hugged me, and said, "Toby, my love, this is going to sound really crazy. Especially since what I'm about to say won't match with what you see. Let's get some lemonade and sit on the deck."

"Not beer?" I asked.

There was a faint glimmer of a smile. "Though it is a good day for that I don't want you to blame my story on drunkenness. Lemonade will do."

He was silent while I mixed concentrate and water and he readied glasses and ice. Once we were seated in the back yard, icy glasses in hand and the pitcher within reach, he continued his story. "I debated all they way home whether to tell you any of this since it will appear to you that nothing has changed. But you will notice little things and you need to understand them."

Mark was being his usually analytical self, which allowed him to avoid talking about whatever he wanted to say. For a brief moment I thought he had found another lover and was leaving me. I dismissed that when he said it would be little things. I merely waited for him to continue.

He sighed and said, "I've become part Clydesdale."

I reached over and patted his abs. "You've always been my Clydesdale, dear. You're such a stud."

He kissed me, rather carefully I thought, trying to make sure our noses didn't bump, something he hadn't worried about since our fourth date. He then said, "I don't mean the slang term. I mean the horse. By some strange process I've acquired the fur, head, tail, and hooves of a Clydesdale horse." He held up a hand. "Yeah, I know you can't see it. Whether it is a hallucination on my part or yours could be debated without resolution, though I am well aware I'm on the short end of the argument. You would have grounds to commit me to an institution and there were times in the last few days I would have agreed and gone willingly. But I decided life can go on pretty much as it has, though if my behavior, rather than just this story, gets crazy you have my permission to drag me off to the little padded room."

He took a moment to drain his glass and refill it. "Perhaps I should start with why I left a few days ago." I nodded, but otherwise stayed quiet. "I really did need some air that day. I was finally feeling good again, but the whole house had begun to stink." He patted my arm. "This is not a comment on your housekeeping skills -- or mine, for that matter -- but on the growing sensitivity of my nose. A sick person simply doesn't smell good." He took another sip and continued.

'''Mark's Story'''

When I left the house it was more of a desire to leave than actually go anywhere -- as it usually is -- so I suppose it was only by chance I was heading towards Dexter. The air conditioning smelled too mechanical, so in spite of the heat I put the windows down. Once I got out of town I was surprised how wonderful the countryside smelled, and I relaxed.

Once in Dexter I decided to head over to I-94 and just cruise for a while. I was heading west again when I glanced down and saw white fur on my hands and brown fur on my arms. About then my head decided to reshape. I stopped -- being off the road anyway -- and got out and leaned against the car. My feet chose that time to become hooves. I pulled my shoes off and dropped them on the passenger seat through the open window. When the pain subsided enough for me to move I panicked. I jumped into the car and started speeding.

I don't know if it was better to have been in Michigan or Ohio at the time. I'm sure the Ohio police would have stopped me before I got to 75 miles per hour and I would have felt safer in retrospect, but I was up to 110 and had gone a good distance before flashing lights behind me got my attention.

I handed over my registration and license and the cop made a show of comparing me to my photo. I hadn't gotten a good look at myself yet but I knew from the way my nose stuck out there was no way I looked like that picture, no matter how bad it was. But the cop seemed satisfied. "You don't see anything wrong?" I asked.

"Other than going 40 miles per hour over the speed limit and not wearing shoes? No. Put your shoes back on and stop trying to kill yourself." He gave me a hefty ticket and was gone. I looked like a freak and he saw nothing?

As I approached the Indiana border -- like I said I had gone a good distance -- at a safer speed I passed the Michigan Welcome Center in the rest area for the traffic coming into Michigan. I clearly saw standing close to the parking area a human sheep, a guy with curving horns.

I doubted what I saw, of course, but just had to investigate. I got off at the next exit, joined the eastbound traffic, and rolled into the rest area. I practically ran over Mister Sheep and I'm sure I looked ridiculous gaping at him. "You're a … a … sheep!" I stammered.

"Hello, Clyde. Good to meet you. I'm Don. Why don't you park your car and join me for lunch. I'm here to help the newly changed, such as yourself."

"Clyde? My name's Mark. And how did you know I had just been changed?"

"Mark, then. Forgive me. The name was an easy handle for someone who looks like a Clydesdale horse. The clues to your recent change are actually quite visible, such as shoes and the speeding ticket on the seat beside you. Panic is a frequent reaction."

"Oh," was all I could manage. I felt like I was blushing. I wondered if he could see it.

Don said, "There is a trick with shoes once you've changed. Though it looks like your hooves won't fit in them they will go on and then disappear." I looked at him. "Even stranger," he continued, "pretend to pluck at the shoelaces and they reappear so you can take them off. I'll explain more later. But I suggest you put them on before using the men's room." I complied while giving Don a look to suggest he was crazy. He ignored it. Amazingly, the shoes went on.

I used the restroom and that's where I got a good look at myself. Brown fur, white feathering over hooves, horsey face, and … a tail.

Most of the men in and out of the restroom ignored me, except the guy at the next sink, who said, "You act like you've never seen your own face before." There was no way to explain that I hadn't.

It was only Don whispering "Easy now. You've got help," that kept me from going bonkers in public.

I followed Don to a picnic table a ways from the pavilion. He had a good vegetarian spread laid out. I was surprised how delicious it looked.

"It looks like you were expecting me," I said.

"Not exactly. though I was hoping someone like you would see me. Standing in a highway rest stop is a way of being visible to those newly changed like you who need help."

"So, what happened to me?" I asked.

"Other than the obvious -- that you are now part Clydesdale -- I have no idea." He held up his hand. "However, I will be glad to share with you what I do know."

He went on to tell me the earliest known change happened in 1987. As far as anyone could tell the number appeared to double every August. Don had changed back in 1995 which, if the doubling theory was correct, meant there were only 250 changed at that time and eight thousand now. Most of the changed appeared to be centered around Chicago. In another 20 years he figured the total worldwide population would be changed. In the meantime, those not affected would not be able to see the change. How that worked, he had no idea, though some were talking about the Matrix movie that came out last year that both of us decided to skip because it looked so weird.

He took me on into Chicago to meet The Club there. I'll say only that the visit kept me sane. Their practical approach to their situation and their network of support was refreshing, but it took a couple days before I was convinced of it. I didn't call home simply because there was nothing believable I could have said over the phone.

'''Toby's Story'''

"So what now?" I asked.

"We go on with our lives," said Mark. "I still love you and still want to be your life partner. Whatever happens we can deal with it together."

"You're not going to insist I believe this story, are you? You're not going to be in my face about it?"

Mark laughed. "You sound like your Uncle Simon." I stared at him. "He use the same phrase when we told him we were a couple. It seems my change is as invisible to you as your orientation is to your uncle. No, I'm not going to insist you believe me. That was something I learned from The Club in Chicago. But, I have changed. If you see differences in what I do, this is likely the reason."

Over the next days and weeks I did see differences.

The first was that evening when he said he was now vegetarian. This was Mark, the guy who loved his steak and the backyard grill. He said meat no longer looked appetizing and the bit he had eaten over the previous few days had caused considerable abdominal distress. So Mark prepared dinner and agreed to be the head chef until I learned how to create healthy and tasty vegetarian meals.

That night I found that I tended to roll up against Mark as we slept and I felt more secure when I did. He was a very comforting presence. The next night Mark felt ready for sex, though he was afraid he might hurt me. I can't say I felt anything different, but I found the experience to be much more satisfying than before.

The next weekend he went through his half of the closet. He said that he needed to create tail holes in his jeans and shorts even though once they were on I couldn't see the hole. He couldn't just rip the back seam because that would look like a ripped seam. He turned all his t-shirts and pullover sweaters over to me because they were not going to make it over his head. Much to his dismay (and mine) he would have to get a supply of clothing with some type of fastener down the front. No more wet t-shirts at the pool.

Whenever he thought he could get away with it he went barefoot. I never again saw him wearing socks, shoes, or slippers in the house no matter how cold the floor got. He started keeping socks and shoes by the door to remind him to put them on when he went out.

The clincher happened on a day we went to the park. I carefully lathered on sunscreen, then handed the bottle to Mark.

"Don't need it," he said.

"Don't you remember what happened to your fair skin the last time we forgot to pack sunscreen? I don't want you to get skin cancer the way your mother did."

"I have fur now. Sunscreen would only make a mess of it." I wiggled the bottle in front of him. "Really," he insisted. "I don't need it anymore."

I sighed heavily and put the bottle away. I then made a big show of reapplying it four hours later.

But at the end of the day he was just as pale as when he stepped out of the car that morning. I was convinced he had fur I couldn't detect. But no matter how much he had changed it was still clear that he loved me and I loved him. He didn't demand I acknowledge what I could not see and I loved even his eccentricities.

By the time I noticed Mark never trimmed his beard, which never seemed to grow, I understood why that was. About the same time he changed his hair style. He trimmed the hair on his forehead -- his forelocks, he said -- and let the rest grow down to his shoulders. He would brush it carefully to hang over the right side.

That September Mark took me to what he called a furry convention in St. Louis. A large number of the participants wore elaborate animal costumes or had their faces intricately painted to represent their totems. A small number, maybe forty-five of those who didn't wear a costume were changed like himself. He introduced me to Don the sheep, then pointed out to me (not that I could confirm it) a bear, deer, otter, raccoon, cougar, coyote, bison, and mustang. And those were the ones I remember. Most were members of The Club. Mark said the convention was a way for the long-term members of the community to help the newly changed come to terms with their new forms and do it under a publicly acknowledged cover.

Not being changed myself, I was strongly discouraged from attending a few of their sessions. I wandered the booths that sold costumes and costume pieces, that had artists who specialized in "anthro" images, and booksellers who featured anthro novels and comics.

Mark found me just as I was fastening a horse tail under my shirt. He tugged it playfully and said in a soft husky voice, "Nice choice!" I pulled him over to one of the artists and pointed to a painting on the side of his booth that showed a zebra that stood on two legs wearing skimpy shorts with a spear in his hands and an African cap on his head. "Is that what you look like?" I asked.

"Yeah, pretty much, other than I'm Clydesdale, not zebra," Mark responded. "Would you like to me to commission a portrait?"

"That's the general idea." We had already tried to take a photo of Mark. I saw in the photo what I saw with my eyes. The same was true for him. Having a photo that showed different things to each person didn't make any more sense than what we saw directly.

So Mark stepped over to the desk at the front of the booth to talk to the artist. The man was just old enough to no longer be called a kid yet he had already acquired a low tolerance for the youthful exuberance that paid his bills. "Chet Yaldara?" asked Mark.

"Yeah?"

"What would it cost me to for an image like that zebra except of a Clydesdale horse?"

Chet pulled a loose-leaf binder between them, turned a few pages, then flipped it around to show Mark. "Like that? As is, let's see…" He named a price.

"Close, but not quite," said Mark. "I'd want you to leave off the hat, make him a little taller and slimmer, a bit more muscular, and a narrower blaze."

"Wouldn't you like to draw it yourself?" said Chet with a bit of tartness.

Mark shrugged. "Drawing is one thing I'm not good at. And I want this to be an accurate portrait."

"Are you one of those people who thinks he's been changed into some animal?"

I saw Mark about to get defensive then realize it would do no good. "Yeah, I want to show my friend," he gestured in my direction, "the new me."

"Then you want an original work." Chet named a price considerably higher than for the image in the book. Mark choked on a rebuttal but nodded. I suspected Chet had this thing against the changed and was scamming Mark. I thought that to be odd since the guy made his living selling artwork to people in animal costumes.

"Then we need to get the description into the contract and get it signed. I've had too many people conveniently forget to pay me after I send the artwork, so payment is in advance. Credit cards strongly encouraged so if I default you have some leverage."

When the painting came a month later, Mark studied it closely. "Yep, this is me," he finally said as he showed it to me. He had an expectant smile on his face.

It was my turn to study it in detail, glancing between it and him. The artist was quite good and I got a good sense of the figure it showed. This is my love? Could I make love to that? As strong and handsome as the image was, I had my doubts.

Mark picked up on my thoughts. His smile faded and an eyebrow arched.

I set the painting on the table and gave him a loving look from head to toe and back again. "I like what I see right here."

"But it's no longer me."

"We could argue that for a long time, my love. Let's enjoy what we've got."

Mark hung it in a prominent position in the family room.

In mid September two years after Mark's change he got a long phone call. He came into the back yard carrying a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses. I gratefully took a break from pruning the wisteria vine.

"That was The Club in Chicago. They have an important request for us," Mark said.

"Us? Not you?"

"Yes, us. A ten-year-old boy showed up at The Club two days ago saying his parents kicked him out." I winced. "Don suspects the boy ran away from home, but at this point the distinction is moot. The boy knew about The Club from his change last month. He's now part cougar. It seems the boy insisted his parents acknowledge his new form and his parents just as firmly insisted such a strange imagination had no place in their home. They couldn't even bring themselves to say, 'Fine, you're part cougar. Now eat your dinner.' It all came to a boil when his mother found he had cut a hole in his school slacks for his tail. The boy said he had cut the hole before the last time he wore them and neither parent had seen the hole while he was wearing them. They hauled the kid off to a shrink who didn't have any more tolerance for delusions than the parents and the proposed course of treatment scared the hell out of the boy. It sounded a lot like homosexual reparative therapy and we've heard what that does to a guy. Don said the situation could have been a lot worse. Though the parents could not see the claws on their boy's fingers, those claws could have done real damage if he had used them on someone."

I winced again. "And how do we fit into this story?"

"The Club wants to know if we're willing to adopt the boy."

"Why us? Most people, hell, most states, have a problem with kids being adopted by a gay couple."

"First of all, with only 32 thousand changed in the world it is rare for both couples to be changed. In couples where only one has changed the human partner seems to have a hard time with having a changed partner or the one who is changed leaves for another similarly changed. Many relationships don't survive and those that do would have a hard time with a changed child. We seem to be one of the few bright exceptions.

"We've met the committee that runs The Club. They know how stable we are and know you would be able to handle something you can't see. We know what it's like to be on the wrong end of bigotry and know how to not be bigots to someone else, especially to a kid."

"It is good to hear they put so much trust in us," I said. "It's been a while since we talked about adopting a family. This sounds like it is time to actually do it."

Mark smiled. We hugged. "I'll call them back," he said.

Two days later we went to Chicago to pick up Dylan. He was a sullen kid. I could understand his mood, having been ejected from a loving home and not knowing if this guy and horse would work out. "Hi, Dylan. I'm Toby and this horsie guy is Mark. We'd like to be your fathers. Having a cougar for a son sounds like a fine idea to me."

At that he gave a glimmer of a smile. He asked, "You understand things you can't see?"

"You bet," I replied. "There's things about me that other people can't see. For instance, some people just can't see how much I love Daddy Mark. My love is somehow invisible to them. So what if you have a tail. A cougar is strong and fearless and I can see that even if I can't see the fur." The smile grew.

Once back in Ann Arbor Mark told Dylan, "Daddy Toby can't see your claws in the same way your first parents couldn't see your tail. Since I know you don't want to hurt him, even by accident, I think we need to slide some protectors over them. The other option is to cut off the claws and I don't think a cougar would want that." Dylan gave an "I suppose" shrug and allowed Mark to install the protectors. The little black triangles appeared to me to be at the tips of his fingers.

The following Monday I took Dylan to school. We had sufficient paperwork from The Club to make registration go smoothly and I was soon on my way to work.

Two hours later the principal called and I hurried back to the school, arriving just before Mark. Kids always tease the newcomer to find, I'm sure, what kind of stuff he's made of, to see where he fits in the 10-year-old-boy social pecking order. Dylan's claw protectors were the obvious target. Dylan didn't help matters any by claiming to be part cougar and needing them to protect the other boys from his claws. I was pleased the kid was level-headed enough not to demonstrate the claws on some boy's face, but he did pull out a piece of paper and proceed to slash it with an unprotected claw. I could guess the other boys' expressions in seeing a rip in the paper grow as Dylan ran a bare fingertip along it.

That got the teacher's attention real fast. She hauled Dylan to the principal's office and he called us. We were told, with Dylan present, that while the principal couldn't see the claws, he could see the protectors and figured they were there for a reason. He didn't know how Dylan managed it, but he didn't need to know. The protectors had to come off and the claws clipped, at least until Dylan graduated from his school system.

Mark called The Club about how to trim claws, then dashed off to the pet store down the street while the rest of us waited. He soon was back with claw clippers for dogs, though he didn't tell Dylan that. Mark said, "Sorry, sport, we must do it." He then one-by-one pulled off the protector and clipped the claw under it, carefully collecting the pieces. He gave Dylan a hug and laid the ten claws on the principal's desk. I was astonished that I could see them and raised eyebrows in Mark's direction, who only shrugged. Mark held up a piece of paper and asked Dylan to scratch it. There was no rip.

The principal thanked us for being so understanding and sent Dylan back to class and us back to our jobs.

On the way out I asked Mark, "What species is that principal?"

"Human. Why ask?"

"That means he saw Dylan as a human." Mark nodded. "So why didn't he freak out when you put ten feline claw tips on his desk?"

"I have no idea," said Mark as he stopped to look at me. "Though I suspect an elementary school teacher has seen stuff even weirder than that and as long as the students are safe he's happy."

The teasing stopped and Dylan actually rose fairly high in the pecking order. The other boys granted him the nickname -- a positive name is a sure sign of peer approval -- of "Coog."

Mark and I didn't worry about the legal matters or Dylan's former family. A year later we showed up in the proper courtroom in Chicago with Dylan to make the adoption final. According to Dylan our lawyer was a moose and the judge was a bison.

That same trip we took home Ruben, a raccoon, newly changed and in need of a new home. The kid was only seven.

One of the first things Ruben said to me was, "Why do you look over my head when you talk to me?" I thought I was looking him in the eye.

I knew enough about being around the changed that when I turned to Mark I placed my hand at the same level as Ruben's head, but not on it. "I take it Ruben isn't this tall?"

Mark said, "Nope, he's shorter," and held his hand five inches directly below mine.

"Ah," I said. It took me a while to get the knack of looking at Ruben's chin when I talked to him.

Mark worried about predator-prey issues between the two boys but Dylan quickly decided that Ruben was more fun as a brother than as something to chase.

The following year, 2004, we collected another boy, Austin, a sullen 13 year old otter, and two girls, Zoe, a 9 year old brown bear, and Melanie, an 8 year old Dalmatian.

This time it was clear to both Mark and myself as well as to The Club where this was headed. They built a large house with ten bedrooms for us and made both of us employees of The Club. We gladly left our day jobs to be full-time parents.

I took cooking lessons sponsored through The Club and a good deal of my day was spent in the kitchen. I had to be the cook because Mark was no longer able, due to the stench, he said, of cooking the mostly meat diet Coog and Melanie needed. Mark and Ruben were vegetarian while Austin and Zoe liked seafood with their fruits and vegetables. Menus had to be carefully planned.

Our annual vacations to "furry" conventions, both regional and national had already become family traditions. That year they began to be major undertakings. That was also the year when we first found a changed artist to create portraits of the family so I could see how they appeared to themselves. The series of paintings were hung surrounding the original one of Mark to document how our family grew.

We added to our family every year. Diego, a coyote, and Rose, an antelope, just in 2005. That same year I started teaching each child how to cook for themselves and teach Austin how to cook for everyone.

Every August around the middle of the month Mark watched me for any signs of illness. He knew I tried to bluff may way through any illness to keep going, to keep my home in order and my children fed. But two weeks of persistent "How you feeling?" could annoy joust about everyone. He was almost delighted when I caught a summer cold in 2006 that was severe enough to send me to bed. I appreciated the way he doted on me though it got to be unnerving when he would stand beside me and study my face. He was quite disappointed when I stayed stubbornly human once I was well.

In 2008, our twelfth child Terry, a ferret, was given to us and proved to be the most challenging. The first challenge was the poor child was only 18 months old, several years younger than what we had dealt with before.

The second challenge was that though Mark and Don continued to use female pronouns when I changed the diaper I found Terry was a little boy. There was no mistake when that little fountain went off and I had a mess to clean up.

"Didn't anyone bother to check before deciding that Terry was a girl?" I said, pointing to the evidence before closing up another fresh diaper.

"Oh, we checked, all right," said Don. "Terry is definitely female now." I caught that word but before I could do more than stare at Don he continued, "But she changed genders when she became part ferret. Sometimes it happens." He shrugged. "I guess we're fortunate she has one of those genderless names."

Mark responded before I could. "So while I see Terry as a girl, Toby sees her as a boy?"

"Yup, that's it," said Don. "It also means the unchanged world will see her as a boy. You will have to dress her in boy clothes, or at least asexual clothes, or deal with the world that has a hard time with gender misfits."

"Is this going to be a problem?" asked Mark, looking at me.

"Honey, You and I are already gender misfits. Terry needs a home. We can provide one. We'll just have to teach everyone how to be careful with pronouns."

Don said, "This may only be a short term problem. According to our research, with the way the number of changed appears to double every year the entire world population will be changed by 2020, about the time Terry becomes a teenager. Until then it may be possible to raise a tomboy. Whatever is preventing you from seeing us as we are may end a few years before then."

Mark was looking at me strange smile. "What?" I said.

"It means," he said, "at least by 2020 and perhaps even before you will cease being the holdout in the family."

My next summer illness wasn't until 2010. This one was a doozy and there was no way I was going to bluff through it. Care of our fourteen children fell to Mark and our oldest two, Coog, then 18, and Austin, then 19 and no longer sullen. Mark, damn him, was almost gleeful at my misfortune.

I awoke one morning a few days later feeling much better, but assaulted by odors. Mark had been right all those years ago -- sick people don't smell good. I rolled over to give my lover a kiss before getting out of bed and got quite a shock. There was a horse in my bed!

Mark awoke to the sound of the sheets rustling with my reaction. "Ah," he said, "you can see the real me!"

After a few deep breaths to calm myself I could tell the figure beside me did look a lot like the portraits in the family room. "Mark?" was all I could manage.

"Yes, my love. It's me." The voice didn't sound like him. "Welcome to the furry side."

That prompted me to look at myself. I still had toes and bare skin, so I gave him a questioning look.

"It will come soon." He got up and stuck his head out the door, keeping most of his naked body behind it, and called softly, "Coog?" I heard a reply from the room across the hall and soon another door opened. "He saw me."

I heard a voice respond, "Cool!" That was Coog?

"No, you can't watch," Mark said. "Please get Austin to start breakfast for the other kids and bring something up here for us."

"Meat? No meat?" asked Coog.

"Don't know yet. Bring a variety."

Mark shut the door and turned around. I took a good look at him, which he allowed with a smile. Wow, he looked hot! Especially that tail! I had never had this kind of reaction to the portraits.

He saw my reaction and said, "We should wait until your change is complete. I wouldn't want you to become disoriented in the middle of it." But he did come over and wrap his furry arms around me.

I felt a strong something, not quite pain, on top of my head between my ears. I reached up to touch the spot and brushed ears that stuck out by several inches. I paused to feel them in wonder for a moment, but soon another sensation on top of my head urged my fingers higher. I felt two large bumps protruding through the scalp.

"I can't say I'm an expert on these things," said Mark, "but it looks like you are becoming some kind of deer. A good thing because I think antlers are hot!"

I grinned and kissed him. "Happy to oblige."

There was a knock at our door and a voice called out, "Breakfast."

Mark retrieved the tray and set it on the dresser. The eggs and sausage didn't smell appetizing but the oatmeal smelled wonderful. However, I only got a few bites before things began to happen quickly. I felt my jaw pull out and I sat abruptly as my toes cramped. My skin tingled all over as fur began to grow.

I felt a moment of panic and Mark's arms were around me again. He pulled me to my feet saying, "It's actually better to be walking as your feet change." He kept talking while my body continued to shift and tingle. "I'm so pleased you are joining the rest of the family, that you will be able to see us as we really are. A blended body is actually quite wonderful and you'll be able to adapt in no time. Besides, you'll have me with you." He glanced at the top of my head and at the head of the bed. "Though it looks like we'll have to pull the bed away from the wall."

The strange sensations subsided. "Come on, let's see the new you." He guided me to the bathroom and its full-length mirror. I stepped gingerly on new hooves. What I saw astonished and pleased me. A buck stood there with a six-point rack, big ears, an impressive muzzle, soft brown fur with a white muzzle and throat, lighter fur on the back of slender hands that had thick nails, a strong body, legs that tapered to dainty hooves, and a small tail.

I was again overwhelmed by odors, many of which were not pleasant. Mark saw my expression and said, "I suspect you smell your own sickness. Let's go meet the family and I'll send Coog up to clean."

At Mark's suggestion I put on shorts but left off the shirt. I held tight to Mark as we descended the stairs. I could hear the blur of voices from around our huge kitchen table, though none of the voices sounded quite familiar. As we entered the room a cheer went up and I sagged against Mark.

As I suspect happens in any family, especially large ones, each person tends to sit at the same place for every meal. It is a way for the parents to tell which child is missing and a way to make sure the older ones are well positioned to help the younger ones. Having Coog and Austin take the middle position on each side and the other kids filling in as they always do helped me a great deal right then. While I knew the species of all of my kids from the family portraits it took great mental effort to associate names with the live bodies before me.

Breakfast could wait. I circled the table slowly hugging each child, getting a good look at them, and breathing in their scent. Halfway around the table I passed my seat and glanced to the opposite end where Mark sat. He had a contented smile on his face. His family -- our family -- was now whole. I completed my circuit with all of them watching and gave Mark a kiss and a hug.

A couple months later at the fall furry convention I could finally attend the sessions for the newly changed. And, of course, we had to document the current state of the family again for the family room wall. This time we could do it with a photograph.
[[Category:Story|On the Outside, Looking...]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
[[Category:Anthropomorphic]]
[[Category:Paradise]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:On the Outside, Looking...}}

Paradise (Setting)

2008-03-10T01:31:48Z

Erastus: /* {{separator|f|Stories in Chronological Order}} */ Added On the Outside

{{Universe|[[:Category:Paradise|Paradise]]}}

{{byline|author=Jon Buck
|user=JonBuck}}

A direct link '''[[User:JonBuck/A Kind of Paradise|To the original story.]]'''

={{separator|f|Basics}}=
*The setting is basically indistinguishable from the Real World up until 1987, the year when people first begin to spontaneously transform into furries.
*Exactly one person transformed in Year One ''(i.e.,'' 1987), and the number of furries doubles in late August each year. The initial story in this setting, [[User:JonBuck/A Kind of Paradise|A Kind of Paradise]], is set in Year 21 ''(i.e.,'' 2007), when there are just over one million furries. The next year (2008) will add a million, for a total of two megafurries, and so forth.
*The first furry in 1987 was a vixen, with a tod the next year. Some stereotypes do have a basis in "reality". :)
**The entire world will be furry in 2020.
*Every year it's possible that an already-changed person could change ''again''. With increasing rarity, all less than one percent:
**A species change. ("What the..? I'm a ''wolf'' now? What am I supposed to do with all these hoof picks?")
**A gender change. ("Well, I guess the fawns have two moms.")
**A combination of both. ("Don't ''even'' call me a bitch! Just show me how to put on this stupid bra!")
**The next year there is about a 25% chance that the person will revert to their original gender/first species. If that doesn't happen, it's fixed. If they change back... there's another 25% chance that you'll bounce back ''again'' the next year. So there's some potential for characters who spend years alternating between species/gender.
*Also distinctive from Winds of Change: ''No superpowers''. Just whatever natural abilities (things like augmented senses, physical strength, ''etc)'' come from being half animal.
*{{add|'''Added 3/10. The Role Reversal Paradox.'''}}
**''IF'' the couple has children, pre- or post-Change, no matter what age...
**''IF'' one of the couple has been transgendered...
**''THEN'' it is essentially a sure thing that the partner will TG as well.
**The reason for this is simple. ROB hates paradoxes. If they have children, there ''must'' be a father and a mother. And it ''must'' be the same two people. It doesn't matter if that person divorced and remarried someone else. Or if they're unmarried. One father, one mother. Otherwise, the kids will logically not have come into existence.
**Conversely, if they are married/going out/living together/etc., the same TG 1% dice roll applies to them as everyone else.

'''Important.''' Please ''do not'' write stories that are father ahead in the timeline than those I have written. There will be Major Events in Open Secrets that will affect all future stories. Thank you.''

'''Note on Politics'''. As a request, I ask authors not to use major political figures from Real Life. I don't want any political bashing going on here. Characters like Congressman Sandrick are perfectly fine, so feel free to create fictional members of Congress or Members of Parliament. Remember this world is different from ours from 1987 onwards. There are still details I haven't filled in between then and now, and the Butterfly Effect means that there will be some small, some major differences.

==Physiology==

*Furries can still interbreed with one another as if they were all still human. Children get a 50/50 chance of which of the parents' species they follow.
*Conversely, humans '''cannot''' interbreed with furries, probably due to the RDF.
*There are some physical variations, but not the wide "Degrees" that Winds of Change has. The most obvious differences are hair, feet, and hands. Otherwise, most everyone is about as morphic as seen in common furry art.
**Females most often have hair the same color and similar texture as their fur. Though you do still get the occasional blond.
**Males retain their hair less frequently.
*'''Size Limitations.''' On the suggestion from the Talk page. I'm not going to limit species. However, I will have a minimum/maximum size range:
**7 feet (or 2.1m), max. About 400 lb (180 kg), max.
**4 feet (1.2m). I'll leave the small side open.
*Species are native to a particular continent. So most people in North America will end up whitetail deer, elk, bears, foxes, wolves, etc. Recent immigrants will more likely end up native species to wherever they came from.
**However, this means that someone from Seattle could ''still'' end up a leopard, or a llama, or what-have-you from other continents. I just want to make that clear.
**No mythicals like dragons, griffins, satyrs, vampires, mages, what-have-you. Just furries.
**No birds unless the laws of physics get bent a bit so they can actually fly... Which still may happen.
*'''No Extinct Species.''' No dinosaurs. Sadly, I can't include them. There are so many species that are just too big.
*Mammals only until I figure a reasonable way others can be included.
*'''Note on Transsexuals'''. This setting is intended as a mix of wish fulfillment and darker, more realistic consequences. That said, all TS folks get their bodies "corrected". Keep in mind that this won't necessarily make life easier for said character. Conflict generates Plot. And since most of the folks who get their gender switched ''won't'' be TS, there's still plenty of that around.
*Results of major surgeries are translated. Artificial hips, knees and pacemakers still work as needed. Transplant patients will not reject their organs. However, lost limbs will not regenerate and major chronic diseases will not be cured, but may go into a lengthy remission.
*One of the major benefits is a major improvement in health and fitness. ROB can't stop the change, but at least he can give the victims a sort of consolation prize. You may not end up in perfect shape, but it'll be close. A flood of positive endorphins to make the victim feel good about their new bodies doesn't hurt, either (optional). Now, what happens to that state of fitness ''after'' is entirely up to your characters.

==Psychology==
*At this point I'm inclined to have some mitigating effects on the "victims". It's still going to be very, very hard to deal with. This is a major life disruption. And there are no doubt a lot of secluded furs. But suicides aren't as common as you'd think.
*The transgendered furs do have an even rougher time. The double-whammy of species and gender would likely make serious post-change Issues a reality.
**Transgendered furs typically refer to themselves by their initials: BD, DL, etc..
**Some might end up going a little crazy and think they had ''always been'' their new gender, especially after the effects of Tall Tales Con.
*The more adjusted furs have figured out how to find these troubled souls and bring them back into the real world.

={{separator|f|The Reality Distortion Field}}=
*Humans can't see furries for what they are. They still see whatever the person looked like before, even if that person was the opposite gender.
*Some things aren't filtered correctly. Consequently...
**If a TGed man gets pregnant, the filter will change that person's ghost image to female. But she will still appear human to other humans.
**Things like hoof/paw prints, shed fur, shed antlers, clawmarks, animal odors, etc., are not filtered. So if a cougar morph gets in a fight with a normal human and lashes out with his claws, he could cause a hell of a lot of damage.
**Some humans think that there is something up (referred to as "Known" or "Friends"). And some have figured out that the friends who claim to be furry actually ''are'' what they claim to be.
*The RDF sometimes breaks down a little during large gatherings of furries (like at conventions). "Hey, that's the best costume I've ever seen! Is that a prosthetic muzzle?" Memories afterwards will probably remember some really good costumes, and photos will be perceived as such.
**In more extreme cases it will break down entirely. But it would take repeated exposures, or perhaps having a number of furry friends while remaining humans oneself. Like in [[User:Nikon/Changing_Perspectives|Changing Perspectives]].
**Transgendered furs may be perceived by humans as their new gender out of the corner of their eye. And there are likely other circumstances where the human RDF image will realign also. Specific circumstances (such as pregnancy) will be the decisive factor.
**As of 2007, TGed TallTales Con attendees have had a major RDF alteration. Everyone except family, friends, or people who have seen them often enough to really know, will perceive them as their new physical sex. Which is essentially the vast majority of people. This effect will spread to all the other TGed until 2008, when it becomes the norm.
*Do animals perceive the RDF? Probably not. But the odor of a fur is neither quite human or animal. There are still some common human pheromones, for example. Which is what makes romance between wolf and deer possible. This is a ''good'' thing, since it means that a doe-woman in heat won't be chased down by a normal buck.
*It may start to break down as there grow to be millions of furries in the world (see below).
*Another storytelling idea: The RDF is an ''antiviral measure'' (see The Cause below). When the RDF breaks down, people ''may'' change out-of-phase, since they no longer have that protection. This will make it harder to track down people who change and get them the help they need. This is ''not'' a hard-and-fast rule, but the storytelling device is available. But I '''don't''' want it to become commonplace.

={{separator|f|The Numbers}}=

Total sequence as follows (all figures approximate):
Year AD Total Furries Total Populace Furries, as %age of total populace
1 1987 1 5,184,212,887 0.000 000 02%
2 1988 2 5,247,179,035 0.000 000 04%
3 1989 4 5,310,909,955 0.000 000 05%
4 1990 8 5,375,414,934 0.000 000 15%
5 1991 16 5,440,703,374 0.000 000 3%
6 1992 32 5,506,784,792 0.000 000 6%
7 1993 64 5,573,668,818 0.000 001 1%
8 1994 128 5,641,365,200 0.000 002%
9 1995 256 5,709,883,806 0.000 004%
10 1996 512 5,779,234,621 0.000 009%
11 1997 1,028 5,849,427,754 0.000 018%
12 1998 2,056 5,920,473,436 0.000 03%
13 1999 4,112 5,992,382,020 0.000 07%
14 2000 8,224 6,065,163,988 0.000 14%
15 2001 16,448 6,138,829,947 0.000 3%
16 2002 32,896 6,213,390,635 0.000 5%
17 2003 65,792 6,288,856,918 0.001 0%
18 2004 131,584 6,365,239,795 0.002%
19 2005 263,168 6,442,550,400 0.004%
20 2006 526,336 6,520,800,000 0.008%
21 2007 1,052,672 6,600,000,000 0.016%
22 2008 2,105,344 6,680,161,943 0.032%
23 2009 4,210,688 6,761,297,514 0.062%
24 2010 8,421,376 6,843,418,536 0.123%
25 2011 16,842,752 6,926,536,980 0.24%
26 2012 33,685,504 7,010,664,959 0.48%
27 2013 67,371,008 7,095,814,736 0.95%
28 2014 134,742,016 7,181,998,721 1.88%
29 2015 269,484,032 7,269,229,474 3.71%
30 2016 538,968,064 7,357,519,711 7.33%
31 2017 1,077,936,128 7,446,882,298 14.47%
32 2018 2,155,872,256 7,537,330,262 28.60%
33 2019 4,311,744,512 7,628,876,783 56.52%
34 2020 8,623,489,024 7,721,535,206 >100%

At this point stories should take place in '''2001 at the earliest''', up to the current story-time year (2007). The community gets really, really small before then. If you have a story that takes place in this era, submit it to me first. Thank you.

Things should start to get really interesting around 2010. There's enough furs in the world then that niche markets would start to open up. More clothing and products specifically designed for furries start popping up. Also, it will become harder and harder to induct new furs into the group in a healthy manner. Society may start to break down in places.

It will take a concerted effort by those previously changed to keep everything under control...

'''Distribution.''' It's not random, or even. It's an expanding fractal centered on the Chicago area. As far as visualization, I'll leave that vague. But the majority of the first furs were in North America.

From the way these stories are playing out, I'd say that events are unfolding like this:

*'''1987-2002''': "Alone" period. Isolation between furries, with only a few very small groups, most of them thinking they're all alone. Best exemplified by [[User:MatthiasRat|MatthiasRat's]] stories. Nobody knows what's going on.
*'''2002-2008''': Forming Communities. There's now enough furs to start encountering each other regularly. Conventions start up. Anthro imagery (in movies, TV shows, and other media) start to show up more frequently. Information getting put together indicates an ominous trend. The whole world will eventually go furry.
*'''2008-?''': Events unfolding in [[User:JonBuck/Open Secrets|Open Secrets]] will nail down this theme. {{add|From here for the next few years, a third to nearly a half of the new Changed will be Known/Friends or family members. People who can see through the Veil easily.}}

==Important Events==
This section will be for events of note that will be important to the overall storytelling. Authors feel free to note important events in your works that could impact the setting as a whole here.

'''2007'''
*First instances of total, permanent [[User:Nikon/Changing Perspectives|RDF breakdown]]. Incidents isolated.
*First appearance of anthro dolphins. The RDF with these people is a very strained affair. The longer they stay around humans, the more likely it'll fail. Perhaps it realigns the image as a normal dolphin in the water, and a human on land.
*'''Added 2/24.''' Transgendered furs at [[User:JonBuck/Tall Tales|Tall Tales Con]] now appear as their new physical gender to anyone but close friends and family. The RDF is even actively changing identification. Active records like passports and driver's licenses, medical records are all altered to reflect this. Even a pre-Change photo ID will show the new human face, which will be a shock to the TGed fur. This effect is slowly spreading to other TGed furs, see [[User:Jetfire/Doing Hard Time|Doing Hard Time]].
*A number of pressing environmental problems relax slightly. While these solutions will solve some problems, they will cause others, especially in the short term.
**The recovery of the major world fisheries detected in the mid-90s continues apace.
**Major discoveries in energy include massive oilfields in various stable First World nations: US, Canada, UK, Norway, etc..
**Scientists observe CO2 levels stabilizing for currently unknown reasons.
**Third World experiences boosts in food production from improved farming practices and soil conditions.
**New renewable energy discoveries, new batteries, a bacterial process for making gasoline and diesel from municipal wastewater.
*With all these new furs, there are now enough singles to start pairing up. The lingering worries about fertility and children will be answered next year...

'''2008'''
*Fallout from Tall Tales Con continues. All newbie and furry gatherings the next year will be much, much smaller, informal.
*Although there were a few before this year, this is the first year a large number of furry babies will be born.

={{separator|f|The Cause}}=

So, why is this happening? What's causing it? A nanotech virus? Microscopic magic pixies? The return of magic? The wrath of God? What?

The answer is contained in '''[[User:JonBuck/Tall Tales|Tall Tales]]'''.

However, the idea is this. Ever since I read [http://www.accelerando.org/ ''Accelerando''] By Charles Stross, I've been enamored with the idea of the [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Technological_singularity technological Singularity]. So I've been looking for a way to use it in my fiction at one point. This setting provides the answer to that desire. ''Accelerando'' is available for free on the web.

Our universe--or perhaps just our planet, I haven't decided yet--and all the people in it, are basically a simulation. This doesn't make the characters in these stories any less real than you our I. Mathematics forms the basis of the universe, after all. The people are as sentient as you or I. This makes the setting rather Matrix-like, without the human bodies being used as "batteries". We're all more like Agent Smith.

I refer to this as a "furry virus". It comes from outside the post-Singularity brain, and is slightly more advanced than "ours". What's happening is this bit of malicious code (sentient, no less, but on a level far beyond our ability to comprehend it) is messing up the simulated world we reside in. Why? I dunno. One of those inscrutable things. The RDF is an antiviral measure to contain the damage and allow the society within to adapt. This is also why so far, furry species are limited to mammals. As the numbers of furs increase, that ''will'' change. I have yet to decide just when.

Why not just scrap the whole thing and restore from backup? There are no backups because the simulated people are nevertheless living beings. And they can't just be wiped out.

I hope that explanation isn't too confusing. Please let me know on the '''[[Talk:Paradise (Setting)|Talk Page]]''' if you have questions.

={{separator|f|Notes on Avatars}}=
So far, the convention for avatars in this setting is for writers to use the first initials of first and last names. However, I wanted to note that my intent here is to give the writer more freedom than to base these characters on yourself. I've changed a lot of details about Jerome, for instance. If you want to put your avatar--if you decide to use one--into this setting, go crazy. Give them a challenge (worse job, emotional trouble). Or make them better off and have the change cause a lot of trouble with work/family/whatever. What I'm trying to say here is, don't feel you have to be directly limited by your present or past self. ''Have fun.''

={{separator|f|Important Cast}}=

'''[[Paradise Cast List]]'''

Since this is a wiki, that means everyone can edit it. Authors who want to put names and short bios of the characters in their stories, just in case someone else wants to use them for a cameo. With the characters, please list the stories that they appear in. Please put your cast members on the linked cast page. Thank you.

={{separator|f|Stories in Chronological Order}}=

Authors may add links to their stories as they happen in chronological order in story time. For a complete listing of all Paradise stories, since this list may be updated sporadically, see [[:Category:Paradise|the Paradise Category]].

'''2000'''
*[[User:Erastus/On the Outside Looking|On the Outside, Looking...]] ''(Through 2010)''

'''2002'''
*[[User:MatthiasRat/Made Alone|Made Alone]]
*[[User:MatthiasRat/Bathing Alone|Bathing Alone]]
*[[User:MatthiasRat/Not Quite Alone|Not Quite Alone]]
*[[User:MatthiasRat/Suspected Alone|Suspected Alone]]
*[[User:MatthiasRat/Revealing Alone|Revealing Alone]]

'''2005'''
*[[User:Jetfire/Holes in the Veil| Holes in the Veil]]
*[[User:Jetfire/Lifting The Veil| Lifting The Veil]]
*[[User:Jetfire/Poking the Veil| Poking the Veil]]
*[[User:Eirik/Stages|Stages]] ''(Through October 2006)''

'''2006'''
*[[User:Jetfire/Film at 2011| Film at 2011]]
*[[User:Jetfire/GM'O'Fur| GM'O'Fur]]
*[[User:Jetfire/Twisting the Veil| Twisting the Veil]]
*[[User:Jetfire/Silver Fox Tracks|Silver Fox Tracks]]
*[[User:Jetfire/Generations| Generations]]
*[[User:Jetfire/A Rolling Stone Gathers No Veil|A Rolling Stone Gathers No Veil]]
*[[User:Eirik/Bare Hands|Bare Hands]]

'''2007'''
*[[User:Eirik/Treatment|Treatment]]
*[[User:JonBuck/A Kind of Paradise|A Kind of Paradise]]
*[[User:JonBuck/Tall Tales|Tall Tales]]
*[[User:Jetfire/Doing Hard Time|Doing Hard Time]]

'''2008'''
*[[User:JonBuck/Open Secrets|Open Secrets]] (In Progress)
*[[User:Eirik/Centers of Power|Centers of Power]]

[[Category:Paradise]]

User:Erastus/On the Outside Looking

2008-03-10T01:21:28Z

Erastus: New Story

{{Universe|[[:Category:Paradise|Paradise]]}}
'''Toby's Story'''

A life-changing moment may be small, but it may be the case that it only looks small in the moment. I'm sure Mark would dispute how small the moment was since he was in the center of it and I was standing outside. But the changes included me soon enough.

I would like to introduce Mark as my husband because for all practical purposes he is. But while there are a couple states that allow gay marriage in 2010 there were none in 2000. Besides, we live in Michigan, which wrote its gay marriage ban into its constitution. As much as I like to rant about this injustice, I have a different of story to tell.

By August of 2000 I had known Mark for five years and it had been three years since our private commitment ceremony. I knew that when something bothered him he usually took off in his car and it would do no good to go after him. He would return in time, rarely more than two hours, and sometimes he would even tell me about it. So, when he headed out the door one morning in the middle of the month with a brief, "Need some air," I figured it was one of those times. He had just recovered from a rare summer bout of flu and I'm sure he was also feeing a hefty dose of cabin fever. I didn't worry.

Until he didn't come home that evening. I was to the point of wondering about the procedures of filing a missing person report when he called. "Hi dear." Before I could respond to his greeting he went on. "I'm in Chicago. I'm OK. Be home in a couple days. Can't talk more now. Sorry for being abrupt. Love, you." And he hung up.

That was strange.

I had no idea why he would drive all the way to Chicago on a whim since the trip was five hours from Ann Arbor where we lived. He wasn't known for bizarre behavior. Even so, I trusted him. I knew the best thing to do was simply wait for him to return.

But when he did return a few days later I could only describe his story as bizarre.

I was in the front yard when he drove up in the late afternoon. He got out of his car with a rather sheepish expression, came over and hugged me, and said, "Toby, my love, this is going to sound really crazy. Especially since what I'm about to say won't match with what you see. Let's get some lemonade and sit on the deck."

"Not beer?" I asked.

There was a faint glimmer of a smile. "Though it is a good day for that I don't want you to blame my story on drunkenness. Lemonade will do."

He was silent while I mixed concentrate and water and he readied glasses and ice. Once we were seated in the back yard, icy glasses in hand and the pitcher within reach, he continued his story. "I debated all they way home whether to tell you any of this since it will appear to you that nothing has changed. But you will notice little things and you need to understand them."

Mark was being his usually analytical self, which allowed him to avoid talking about whatever he wanted to say. For a brief moment I thought he had found another lover and was leaving me. I dismissed that when he said it would be little things. I merely waited for him to continue.

He sighed and said, "I've become part Clydesdale."

I reached over and patted his abs. "You've always been my Clydesdale, dear. You're such a stud."

He kissed me, rather carefully I thought, trying to make sure our noses didn't bump, something he hadn't worried about since our fourth date. He then said, "I don't mean the slang term. I mean the horse. By some strange process I've acquired the fur, head, tail, and hooves of a Clydesdale horse." He held up a hand. "Yeah, I know you can't see it. Whether it is a hallucination on my part or yours could be debated without resolution, though I am well aware I'm on the short end of the argument. You would have grounds to commit me to an institution and there were times in the last few days I would have agreed and gone willingly. But I decided life can go on pretty much as it has, though if my behavior, rather than just this story, gets crazy you have my permission to drag me off to the little padded room."

He took a moment to drain his glass and refill it. "Perhaps I should start with why I left a few days ago." I nodded, but otherwise stayed quiet. "I really did need some air that day. I was finally feeling good again, but the whole house had begun to stink." He patted my arm. "This is not a comment on your housekeeping skills -- or mine, for that matter -- but on the growing sensitivity of my nose. A sick person simply doesn't smell good." He took another sip and continued.

'''Mark's Story'''

When I left the house it was more of a desire to leave than actually go anywhere -- as it usually is -- so I suppose it was only by chance I was heading towards Dexter. The air conditioning smelled too mechanical, so in spite of the heat I put the windows down. Once I got out of town I was surprised how wonderful the countryside smelled, and I relaxed.

Once in Dexter I decided to head over to I-94 and just cruise for a while. I was heading west again when I glanced down and saw white fur on my hands and brown fur on my arms. About then my head decided to reshape. I stopped -- being off the road anyway -- and got out and leaned against the car. My feet chose that time to become hooves. I pulled my shoes off and dropped them on the passenger seat through the open window. When the pain subsided enough for me to move I panicked. I jumped into the car and started speeding.

I don't know if it was better to have been in Michigan or Ohio at the time. I'm sure the Ohio police would have stopped me before I got to 75 miles per hour and I would have felt safer in retrospect, but I was up to 110 and had gone a good distance before flashing lights behind me got my attention.

I handed over my registration and license and the cop made a show of comparing me to my photo. I hadn't gotten a good look at myself yet but I knew from the way my nose stuck out there was no way I looked like that picture, no matter how bad it was. But the cop seemed satisfied. "You don't see anything wrong?" I asked.

"Other than going 40 miles per hour over the speed limit and not wearing shoes? No. Put your shoes back on and stop trying to kill yourself." He gave me a hefty ticket and was gone. I looked like a freak and he saw nothing?

As I approached the Indiana border -- like I said I had gone a good distance -- at a safer speed I passed the Michigan Welcome Center in the rest area for the traffic coming into Michigan. I clearly saw standing close to the parking area a human sheep, a guy with curving horns.

I doubted what I saw, of course, but just had to investigate. I got off at the next exit, joined the eastbound traffic, and rolled into the rest area. I practically ran over Mister Sheep and I'm sure I looked ridiculous gaping at him. "You're a … a … sheep!" I stammered.

"Hello, Clyde. Good to meet you. I'm Don. Why don't you park your car and join me for lunch. I'm here to help the newly changed, such as yourself."

"Clyde? My name's Mark. And how did you know I had just been changed?"

"Mark, then. Forgive me. The name was an easy handle for someone who looks like a Clydesdale horse. The clues to your recent change are actually quite visible, such as shoes and the speeding ticket on the seat beside you. Panic is a frequent reaction."

"Oh," was all I could manage. I felt like I was blushing. I wondered if he could see it.

Don said, "There is a trick with shoes once you've changed. Though it looks like your hooves won't fit in them they will go on and then disappear." I looked at him. "Even stranger," he continued, "pretend to pluck at the shoelaces and they reappear so you can take them off. I'll explain more later. But I suggest you put them on before using the men's room." I complied while giving Don a look to suggest he was crazy. He ignored it. Amazingly, the shoes went on.

I used the restroom and that's where I got a good look at myself. Brown fur, white feathering over hooves, horsey face, and … a tail.

Most of the men in and out of the restroom ignored me, except the guy at the next sink, who said, "You act like you've never seen your own face before." There was no way to explain that I hadn't.

It was only Don whispering "Easy now. You've got help," that kept me from going bonkers in public.

I followed Don to a picnic table a ways from the pavilion. He had a good vegetarian spread laid out. I was surprised how delicious it looked.

"It looks like you were expecting me," I said.

"Not exactly. though I was hoping someone like you would see me. Standing in a highway rest stop is a way of being visible to those newly changed like you who need help."

"So, what happened to me?" I asked.

"Other than the obvious -- that you are now part Clydesdale -- I have no idea." He held up his hand. "However, I will be glad to share with you what I do know."

He went on to tell me the earliest known change happened in 1987. As far as anyone could tell the number appeared to double every August. Don had changed back in 1995 which, if the doubling theory was correct, meant there were only 250 changed at that time and eight thousand now. Most of the changed appeared to be centered around Chicago. In another 20 years he figured the total worldwide population would be changed. In the meantime, those not affected would not be able to see the change. How that worked, he had no idea, though some were talking about the Matrix movie that came out last year that both of us decided to skip because it looked so weird.

He took me on into Chicago to meet The Club there. I'll say only that the visit kept me sane. Their practical approach to their situation and their network of support was refreshing, but it took a couple days before I was convinced of it. I didn't call home simply because there was nothing believable I could have said over the phone.

'''Toby's Story'''

"So what now?" I asked.

"We go on with our lives," said Mark. "I still love you and still want to be your life partner. Whatever happens we can deal with it together."

"You're not going to insist I believe this story, are you? You're not going to be in my face about it?"

Mark laughed. "You sound like your Uncle Simon." I stared at him. "He use the same phrase when we told him we were a couple. It seems my change is as invisible to you as your orientation is to your uncle. No, I'm not going to insist you believe me. That was something I learned from The Club in Chicago. But, I have changed. If you see differences in what I do, this is likely the reason."

Over the next days and weeks I did see differences.

The first was that evening when he said he was now vegetarian. This was Mark, the guy who loved his steak and the backyard grill. He said meat no longer looked appetizing and the bit he had eaten over the previous few days had caused considerable abdominal distress. So Mark prepared dinner and agreed to be the head chef until I learned how to create healthy and tasty vegetarian meals.

That night I found that I tended to roll up against Mark as we slept and I felt more secure when I did. He was a very comforting presence. The next night Mark felt ready for sex, though he was afraid he might hurt me. I can't say I felt anything different, but I found the experience to be much more satisfying than before.

The next weekend he went through his half of the closet. He said that he needed to create tail holes in his jeans and shorts even though once they were on I couldn't see the hole. He couldn't just rip the back seam because that would look like a ripped seam. He turned all his t-shirts and pullover sweaters over to me because they were not going to make it over his head. Much to his dismay (and mine) he would have to get a supply of clothing with some type of fastener down the front. No more wet t-shirts at the pool.

Whenever he thought he could get away with it he went barefoot. I never again saw him wearing socks, shoes, or slippers in the house no matter how cold the floor got. He started keeping socks and shoes by the door to remind him to put them on when he went out.

The clincher happened on a day we went to the park. I carefully lathered on sunscreen, then handed the bottle to Mark.

"Don't need it," he said.

"Don't you remember what happened to your fair skin the last time we forgot to pack sunscreen? I don't want you to get skin cancer the way your mother did."

"I have fur now. Sunscreen would only make a mess of it." I wiggled the bottle in front of him. "Really," he insisted. "I don't need it anymore."

I sighed heavily and put the bottle away. I then made a big show of reapplying it four hours later.

But at the end of the day he was just as pale as when he stepped out of the car that morning. I was convinced he had fur I couldn't detect. But no matter how much he had changed it was still clear that he loved me and I loved him. He didn't demand I acknowledge what I could not see and I loved even his eccentricities.

By the time I noticed Mark never trimmed his beard, which never seemed to grow, I understood why that was. About the same time he changed his hair style. He trimmed the hair on his forehead -- his forelocks, he said -- and let the rest grow down to his shoulders. He would brush it carefully to hang over the right side.

That September Mark took me to what he called a furry convention in St. Louis. A large number of the participants wore elaborate animal costumes or had their faces intricately painted to represent their totems. A small number, maybe forty-five of those who didn't wear a costume were changed like himself. He introduced me to Don the sheep, then pointed out to me (not that I could confirm it) a bear, deer, otter, raccoon, cougar, coyote, bison, and mustang. And those were the ones I remember. Most were members of The Club. Mark said the convention was a way for the long-term members of the community to help the newly changed come to terms with their new forms and do it under a publicly acknowledged cover.

Not being changed myself, I was strongly discouraged from attending a few of their sessions. I wandered the booths that sold costumes and costume pieces, that had artists who specialized in "anthro" images, and booksellers who featured anthro novels and comics.

Mark found me just as I was fastening a horse tail under my shirt. He tugged it playfully and said in a soft husky voice, "Nice choice!" I pulled him over to one of the artists and pointed to a painting on the side of his booth that showed a zebra that stood on two legs wearing skimpy shorts with a spear in his hands and an African cap on his head. "Is that what you look like?" I asked.

"Yeah, pretty much, other than I'm Clydesdale, not zebra," Mark responded. "Would you like to me to commission a portrait?"

"That's the general idea." We had already tried to take a photo of Mark. I saw in the photo what I saw with my eyes. The same was true for him. Having a photo that showed different things to each person didn't make any more sense than what we saw directly.

So Mark stepped over to the desk at the front of the booth to talk to the artist. The man was just old enough to no longer be called a kid yet he had already acquired a low tolerance for the youthful exuberance that paid his bills. "Chet Yaldara?" asked Mark.

"Yeah?"

"What would it cost me to for an image like that zebra except of a Clydesdale horse?"

Chet pulled a loose-leaf binder between them, turned a few pages, then flipped it around to show Mark. "Like that? As is, let's see…" He named a price.

"Close, but not quite," said Mark. "I'd want you to leave off the hat, make him a little taller and slimmer, a bit more muscular, and a narrower blaze."

"Wouldn't you like to draw it yourself?" said Chet with a bit of tartness.

Mark shrugged. "Drawing is one thing I'm not good at. And I want this to be an accurate portrait."

"Are you one of those people who thinks he's been changed into some animal?"

I saw Mark about to get defensive then realize it would do no good. "Yeah, I want to show my friend," he gestured in my direction, "the new me."

"Then you want an original work." Chet named a price considerably higher than for the image in the book. Mark choked on a rebuttal but nodded. I suspected Chet had this thing against the changed and was scamming Mark. I thought that to be odd since the guy made his living selling artwork to people in animal costumes.

"Then we need to get the description into the contract and get it signed. I've had too many people conveniently forget to pay me after I send the artwork, so payment is in advance. Credit cards strongly encouraged so if I default you have some leverage."

When the painting came a month later, Mark studied it closely. "Yep, this is me," he finally said as he showed it to me. He had an expectant smile on his face.

It was my turn to study it in detail, glancing between it and him. The artist was quite good and I got a good sense of the figure it showed. This is my love? Could I make love to that? As strong and handsome as the image was, I had my doubts.

Mark picked up on my thoughts. His smile faded and an eyebrow arched.

I set the painting on the table and gave him a loving look from head to toe and back again. "I like what I see right here."

"But it's no longer me."

"We could argue that for a long time, my love. Let's enjoy what we've got."

Mark hung it in a prominent position in the family room.

In mid September two years after Mark's change he got a long phone call. He came into the back yard carrying a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses. I gratefully took a break from pruning the wisteria vine.

"That was The Club in Chicago. They have an important request for us," Mark said.

"Us? Not you?"

"Yes, us. A ten-year-old boy showed up at The Club two days ago saying his parents kicked him out." I winced. "Don suspects the boy ran away from home, but at this point the distinction is moot. The boy knew about The Club from his change last month. He's now part cougar. It seems the boy insisted his parents acknowledge his new form and his parents just as firmly insisted such a strange imagination had no place in their home. They couldn't even bring themselves to say, 'Fine, you're part cougar. Now eat your dinner.' It all came to a boil when his mother found he had cut a hole in his school slacks for his tail. The boy said he had cut the hole before the last time he wore them and neither parent had seen the hole while he was wearing them. They hauled the kid off to a shrink who didn't have any more tolerance for delusions than the parents and the proposed course of treatment scared the hell out of the boy. It sounded a lot like homosexual reparative therapy and we've heard what that does to a guy. Don said the situation could have been a lot worse. Though the parents could not see the claws on their boy's fingers, those claws could have done real damage if he had used them on someone."

I winced again. "And how do we fit into this story?"

"The Club wants to know if we're willing to adopt the boy."

"Why us? Most people, hell, most states, have a problem with kids being adopted by a gay couple."

"First of all, with only 32 thousand changed in the world it is rare for both couples to be changed. In couples where only one has changed the human partner seems to have a hard time with having a changed partner or the one who is changed leaves for another similarly changed. Many relationships don't survive and those that do would have a hard time with a changed child. We seem to be one of the few bright exceptions.

"We've met the committee that runs The Club. They know how stable we are and know you would be able to handle something you can't see. We know what it's like to be on the wrong end of bigotry and know how to not be bigots to someone else, especially to a kid."

"It is good to hear they put so much trust in us," I said. "It's been a while since we talked about adopting a family. This sounds like it is time to actually do it."

Mark smiled. We hugged. "I'll call them back," he said.

Two days later we went to Chicago to pick up Dylan. He was a sullen kid. I could understand his mood, having been ejected from a loving home and not knowing if this guy and horse would work out. "Hi, Dylan. I'm Toby and this horsie guy is Mark. We'd like to be your fathers. Having a cougar for a son sounds like a fine idea to me."

At that he gave a glimmer of a smile. He asked, "You understand things you can't see?"

"You bet," I replied. "There's things about me that other people can't see. For instance, some people just can't see how much I love Daddy Mark. My love is somehow invisible to them. So what if you have a tail. A cougar is strong and fearless and I can see that even if I can't see the fur." The smile grew.

Once back in Ann Arbor Mark told Dylan, "Daddy Toby can't see your claws in the same way your first parents couldn't see your tail. Since I know you don't want to hurt him, even by accident, I think we need to slide some protectors over them. The other option is to cut off the claws and I don't think a cougar would want that." Dylan gave an "I suppose" shrug and allowed Mark to install the protectors. The little black triangles appeared to me to be at the tips of his fingers.

The following Monday I took Dylan to school. We had sufficient paperwork from The Club to make registration go smoothly and I was soon on my way to work.

Two hours later the principal called and I hurried back to the school, arriving just before Mark. Kids always tease the newcomer to find, I'm sure, what kind of stuff he's made of, to see where he fits in the 10-year-old-boy social pecking order. Dylan's claw protectors were the obvious target. Dylan didn't help matters any by claiming to be part cougar and needing them to protect the other boys from his claws. I was pleased the kid was level-headed enough not to demonstrate the claws on some boy's face, but he did pull out a piece of paper and proceed to slash it with an unprotected claw. I could guess the other boys' expressions in seeing a rip in the paper grow as Dylan ran a bare fingertip along it.

That got the teacher's attention real fast. She hauled Dylan to the principal's office and he called us. We were told, with Dylan present, that while the principal couldn't see the claws, he could see the protectors and figured they were there for a reason. He didn't know how Dylan managed it, but he didn't need to know. The protectors had to come off and the claws clipped, at least until Dylan graduated from his school system.

Mark called The Club about how to trim claws, then dashed off to the pet store down the street while the rest of us waited. He soon was back with claw clippers for dogs, though he didn't tell Dylan that. Mark said, "Sorry, sport, we must do it." He then one-by-one pulled off the protector and clipped the claw under it, carefully collecting the pieces. He gave Dylan a hug and laid the ten claws on the principal's desk. I was astonished that I could see them and raised eyebrows in Mark's direction, who only shrugged. Mark held up a piece of paper and asked Dylan to scratch it. There was no rip.

The principal thanked us for being so understanding and sent Dylan back to class and us back to our jobs.

On the way out I asked Mark, "What species is that principal?"

"Human. Why ask?"

"That means he saw Dylan as a human." Mark nodded. "So why didn't he freak out when you put ten feline claw tips on his desk?"

"I have no idea," said Mark as he stopped to look at me. "Though I suspect an elementary school teacher has seen stuff even weirder than that and as long as the students are safe he's happy."

The teasing stopped and Dylan actually rose fairly high in the pecking order. The other boys granted him the nickname -- a positive name is a sure sign of peer approval -- of "Coog."

Mark and I didn't worry about the legal matters or Dylan's former family. A year later we showed up in the proper courtroom in Chicago with Dylan to make the adoption final. According to Dylan our lawyer was a moose and the judge was a bison.

That same trip we took home Ruben, a raccoon, newly changed and in need of a new home. The kid was only seven.

One of the first things Ruben said to me was, "Why do you look over my head when you talk to me?" I thought I was looking him in the eye.

I knew enough about being around the changed that when I turned to Mark I placed my hand at the same level as Ruben's head, but not on it. "I take it Ruben isn't this tall?"

Mark said, "Nope, he's shorter," and held his hand five inches directly below mine.

"Ah," I said. It took me a while to get the knack of looking at Ruben's chin when I talked to him.

Mark worried about predator-prey issues between the two boys but Dylan quickly decided that Ruben was more fun as a brother than as something to chase.

The following year, 2004, we collected another boy, Austin, a sullen 13 year old otter, and two girls, Zoe, a 9 year old brown bear, and Melanie, an 8 year old Dalmatian.

This time it was clear to both Mark and myself as well as to The Club where this was headed. They built a large house with ten bedrooms for us and made both of us employees of The Club. We gladly left our day jobs to be full-time parents.

I took cooking lessons sponsored through The Club and a good deal of my day was spent in the kitchen. I had to be the cook because Mark was no longer able, due to the stench, he said, of cooking the mostly meat diet Coog and Melanie needed. Mark and Ruben were vegetarian while Austin and Zoe liked seafood with their fruits and vegetables. Menus had to be carefully planned.

Our annual vacations to "furry" conventions, both regional and national had already become family traditions. That year they began to be major undertakings. That was also the year when we first found a changed artist to create portraits of the family so I could see how they appeared to themselves. The series of paintings were hung surrounding the original one of Mark to document how our family grew.

We added to our family every year. Diego, a coyote, and Rose, an antelope, just in 2005. That same year I started teaching each child how to cook for themselves and teach Austin how to cook for everyone.

Every August around the middle of the month Mark watched me for any signs of illness. He knew I tried to bluff may way through any illness to keep going, to keep my home in order and my children fed. But two weeks of persistent "How you feeling?" could annoy joust about everyone. He was almost delighted when I caught a summer cold in 2006 that was severe enough to send me to bed. I appreciated the way he doted on me though it got to be unnerving when he would stand beside me and study my face. He was quite disappointed when I stayed stubbornly human once I was well.

In 2008, our twelfth child Terry, a ferret, was given to us and proved to be the most challenging. The first challenge was the poor child was only 18 months old, several years younger than what we had dealt with before.

The second challenge was that though Mark and Don continued to use female pronouns when I changed the diaper I found Terry was a little boy. There was no mistake when that little fountain went off and I had a mess to clean up.

"Didn't anyone bother to check before deciding that Terry was a girl?" I said, pointing to the evidence before closing up another fresh diaper.

"Oh, we checked, all right," said Don. "Terry is definitely female now." I caught that word but before I could do more than stare at Don he continued, "But she changed genders when she became part ferret. Sometimes it happens." He shrugged. "I guess we're fortunate she has one of those genderless names."

Mark responded before I could. "So while I see Terry as a girl, Toby sees her as a boy?"

"Yup, that's it," said Don. "It also means the unchanged world will see her as a boy. You will have to dress her in boy clothes, or at least asexual clothes, or deal with the world that has a hard time with gender misfits."

"Is this going to be a problem?" asked Mark, looking at me.

"Honey, You and I are already gender misfits. Terry needs a home. We can provide one. We'll just have to teach everyone how to be careful with pronouns."

Don said, "This may only be a short term problem. According to our research, with the way the number of changed appears to double every year the entire world population will be changed by 2020, about the time Terry becomes a teenager. Until then it may be possible to raise a tomboy. Whatever is preventing you from seeing us as we are may end a few years before then."

Mark was looking at me strange smile. "What?" I said.

"It means," he said, "at least by 2020 and perhaps even before you will cease being the holdout in the family."

My next summer illness wasn't until 2010. This one was a doozy and there was no way I was going to bluff through it. Care of our fourteen children fell to Mark and our oldest two, Coog, then 18, and Austin, then 19 and no longer sullen. Mark, damn him, was almost gleeful at my misfortune.

I awoke one morning a few days later feeling much better, but assaulted by odors. Mark had been right all those years ago -- sick people don't smell good. I rolled over to give my lover a kiss before getting out of bed and got quite a shock. There was a horse in my bed!

Mark awoke to the sound of the sheets rustling with my reaction. "Ah," he said, "you can see the real me!"

After a few deep breaths to calm myself I could tell the figure beside me did look a lot like the portraits in the family room. "Mark?" was all I could manage.

"Yes, my love. It's me." The voice didn't sound like him. "Welcome to the furry side."

That prompted me to look at myself. I still had toes and bare skin, so I gave him a questioning look.

"It will come soon." He got up and stuck his head out the door, keeping most of his naked body behind it, and called softly, "Coog?" I heard a reply from the room across the hall and soon another door opened. "He saw me."

I heard a voice respond, "Cool!" That was Coog?

"No, you can't watch," Mark said. "Please get Austin to start breakfast for the other kids and bring something up here for us."

"Meat? No meat?" asked Coog.

"Don't know yet. Bring a variety."

Mark shut the door and turned around. I took a good look at him, which he allowed with a smile. Wow, he looked hot! Especially that tail! I had never had this kind of reaction to the portraits.

He saw my reaction and said, "We should wait until your change is complete. I wouldn't want you to become disoriented in the middle of it." But he did come over and wrap his furry arms around me.

I felt a strong something, not quite pain, on top of my head between my ears. I reached up to touch the spot and brushed ears that stuck out by several inches. I paused to feel them in wonder for a moment, but soon another sensation on top of my head urged my fingers higher. I felt two large bumps protruding through the scalp.

"I can't say I'm an expert on these things," said Mark, "but it looks like you are becoming some kind of deer. A good thing because I think antlers are hot!"

I grinned and kissed him. "Happy to oblige."

There was a knock at our door and a voice called out, "Breakfast."

Mark retrieved the tray and set it on the dresser. The eggs and sausage didn't smell appetizing but the oatmeal smelled wonderful. However, I only got a few bites before things began to happen quickly. I felt my jaw pull out and I sat abruptly as my toes cramped. My skin tingled all over as fur began to grow.

I felt a moment of panic and Mark's arms were around me again. He pulled me to my feet saying, "It's actually better to be walking as your feet change." He kept talking while my body continued to shift and tingle. "I'm so pleased you are joining the rest of the family, that you will be able to see us as we really are. A blended body is actually quite wonderful and you'll be able to adapt in no time. Besides, you'll have me with you." He glanced at the top of my head and at the head of the bed. "Though it looks like we'll have to pull the bed away from the wall."

The strange sensations subsided. "Come on, let's see the new you." He guided me to the bathroom and its full-length mirror. I stepped gingerly on new hooves. What I saw astonished and pleased me. A buck stood there with a six-point rack, big ears, an impressive muzzle, soft brown fur with a white muzzle and throat, lighter fur on the back of slender hands that had thick nails, a strong body, legs that tapered to dainty hooves, and a small tail.

I was again overwhelmed by odors, many of which were not pleasant. Mark saw my expression and said, "I suspect you smell your own sickness. Let's go meet the family and I'll send Coog up to clean."

At Mark's suggestion I put on shorts but left off the shirt. I held tight to Mark as we descended the stairs. I could hear the blur of voices from around our huge kitchen table, though none of the voices sounded quite familiar. As we entered the room a cheer went up and I sagged against Mark.

As I suspect happens in any family, especially large ones, each person tends to sit at the same place for every meal. It is a way for the parents to tell which child is missing and a way to make sure the older ones are well positioned to help the younger ones. Having Coog and Austin take the middle position on each side and the other kids filling in as they always do helped me a great deal right then. While I knew the species of all of my kids from the family portraits it took great mental effort to associate names with the live bodies before me.

Breakfast could wait. I circled the table slowly hugging each child, getting a good look at them, and breathing in their scent. Halfway around the table I passed my seat and glanced to the opposite end where Mark sat. He had a contented smile on his face. His family -- our family -- was now whole. I completed my circuit with all of them watching and gave Mark a kiss and a hug.

A couple months later at the fall furry convention I could finally attend the sessions for the newly changed. And, of course, we had to document the current state of the family again for the family room wall. This time we could do it with a photograph.
[[Category:Story|On the Outside, Looking...]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
[[Category:Anthropomorphic]]
[[Category:Paradise]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:On the Outside, Looking...}}

User:Erastus

2008-03-10T00:58:33Z

Erastus: Added story On the Outside, Looking

Stories on this site:

[[User:Erastus/Summer Job|Summer Job]]

This is the original story in the Professional Animals universe. I wrote one other story (which needs extensive rewriting before posting) and a handful of authors tried their hand as well.

[[User:Erastus/Implementing the Cure|Implementing the Cure]]

If gender dysphoria is cured with a transgender transition what does one do with a bad case of species dysphoria, especially if the species is mythical?

[[User:Erastus/Just the Right Shoes for This Life|Just the Right Shoes for This Life]]

What if you could become someone else? How much of a change are you willing to make? This is set in Posti's "Walk-a-Mile" universe.

[[User:Erastus/The Effect of Spotted Clothes|The Effect of Spotted Clothes]]

A gay couple meet in college. One of them is from Barken, Texas and intends to return there when he graduates.

[[User:Erastus/On the Outside Looking|On the Outside, Looking...]]

One half of a gay couple becomes an anthropomorphic horse and the other half doesn't. This is set in Jon Buck's [[Paradise_(Setting)|Paradise]] universe.

----

I also have stories on TSAT, the transformation ezine. Here are links to those stories.

'''Deepest Dreams''' was a winner in a contest to create a story that defied transformation story conventions. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/deepest.dreams.html here].

'''The Harness of Society''' tells the story of three juvenile delinquents taken to a reform camp when their other options fail. The camp has an unusual way to motivate its inmates. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/harness.of.society.html here].

'''A Conversation''' was recorded by a barfly about a man who gets what he wishes for and a lot more. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/conversation.html here].

'''Paint''' explains why most mages are childless. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/paint.html here].

'''Serving the Sentence''' is my longest work. Alas, I won't provide a link to it because the version on TSAT is no longer the definitive version.

[[Category:Author]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Erastus}}

User talk:MatthiasRat/An Unexpected Stop

2007-08-28T02:41:20Z

Erastus: What "sow" means.

"Gazing lifelessly through windshield, he watched the farms pass him by, huge fields of corn, nearly ready to be sown, golden acres that spanned for miles in either direction."

I'm pretty sure the sentence should be "... nearly ready to be harvested, ..." or "... nearly ready to be reaped, ..."

To "sow" means to scatter or plant seed, what one does in the spring.

User:Erastus/The Effect of Spotted Clothes

2007-08-22T01:49:50Z

Erastus: Change sorting for master list

This story is set in the Barken, Texas universe. The Barken, Texas story archive can be found [http://www.dogpawz.com/barken here].

Warning: This story is based on a gay relationship and may not be of interest to all readers.

__NOTOC__

----

The Effect of Spotted Clothes

by Erastus Centaur

==Chapter 1==

I don't show up at the Gay-Straight Alliance at Wayne State
University in Detroit very often, though I do try to make it two to
three times at the start of the school year to check out the fresh
meat. I guess the rest of the time I don't worry much what the
straights think of me. Fortunately, there were many new faces--and
bods--to check out. I'm not into notching my belt, mind you, but
there are few places on campus where I can meet potential boyfriends
without straights getting nervous.

So there I sat in a circle of about 40 people, half of them men. I
was checking out potential boyfriend material and paying only enough
attention to the conversation to determine if a particular guy was
gay or just a friendly straight. With some guys it was obvious--a
touch of makeup, way too much fashion style for a college campus, or
a t-shirt slogan that left no doubt. Other guys were able to blend
into the straight world until they started complaining about being
misunderstood.

I had only checked out about half the circle when the conversation
rose in volume and I thought I should pay attention to it.

A chick was saying, "... can't argue against the Bible! I'm telling
ya it's right there in black and white! If you don't give you your
sinning ways, you all will burn in Hell!"

A dude--with perhaps more volume--shot back, "You don't know
what you're talking about! You preach love and all you do is hate!
Your piety is a sham and then you claim that we're the ones who will
burn!"

I could see the chick was steamed and about to storm out. The
moderator was making calming noises to no effect when another guy
rose to speak, one that I hadn't checked out yet. "Please," he said.
He had an air of confidence in conflict which caused the combatants
to yield the floor.

He turned to the man. "You're not helping. I can appreciate your
anger--I've felt it myself many times--but ridiculing her faith
isn't going to get us where we want to be. It only makes our
opponents more combative." He glanced to the woman and back to the
man. "Besides, there are many good features about her religion. Our
society would be poorer without them." I could see a slight smile on
her face.

Before the man could object, the speaker turned to the woman. "Don't
think for a moment that I'm on your side. I'm just as gay as he is."
He paused for emphasis. "First of all, I'm glad you came." The
expression on the dude's face clearly said, ''I'm not''. The speaker
continued, "You are right. The Bible says some harsh things about us
in Leviticus. But it isn't so cut and dried. Do you have a bank
account that pays interest?" She hesitated, clearly flustered by the
change in topic and certain it was a trap, but nodded. "Do you keep
a Kosher diet?" Her frown deepened; she shook her head. "Well, then.
Since you personally don't follow every single word of Leviticus,
you had better have a good reason why you insist the two verses
about gays must be followed and not the ones about diet and money."
She looked daggers at both the dude and the speaker and but stayed
quiet.

He glanced back and forth between the two. "We came to understand
each other, not start a shouting match. Let's get back to that." He
turned to the dude, "And that means making as much of an effort to
understand her as you expect her to make for you." He sat.

I studied the peacemaker as he talked and after he sat down. I
wanted to get to know someone who could both calm someone and put
them in their place. He was quite slim, not very tall (about a match
for my 5-9, a plus) nor very muscular. His dark hair was short (a
plus) and he was clean-shaven (alas, a point against him) though
if he did let his beard grow, it looked like it would be full. He
wore a white t-shirt under a black leather vest with black jeans and
a black leather cap. I was surprised at the last touch to his
fashion statement--he wore what looked to be a dog collar loosely
around his neck as some guys would wear a chain. It was black
leather and rather wide with polished metal disks almost as wide as
the collar regularly spaced all the way around.

The moderator looked relieved that a messy situation had been
resolved for him. He said, "Any other comments?" When no one said
anything he went on, "I guess that concludes tonight's meeting."

Everyone stood and gathered up backpacks. I snagged my pack and made
my way to the peacemaker. I stuck my hand out. "Hi, I'm Troy Palmer.
I was impressed with the way you handled the battle. May I buy you a
drink?"

"Jim Cooper." He smiled and shook my hand. "Sorry, but I don't
drink. I hate what happens when I do."

"Coffee?"

Up close I could see the disk in the dog collar directly under his
Adam's apple was inscribed with his first name.

"I don't care for coffee and it's too late in the day for tea."

I fell back on the last gun in my arsenal, hoping he really didn't
drink and wasn't trying to brush me off. "Dessert at TJ's?" That was
the nickname for a place called Traffic Jam and Snug that was a few
blocks from campus and well known for eccentric fare.

"Sounds good." That was so good to hear as I was beginning to
develop a crush on him. "I'll meet you there in, oh," he glanced at
his watch, "fifteen minutes?"

"I'll meet you just inside the door."

I didn't risk taking my books back to my car though that made me
early. It did give me time to see what kind of flowers were planted
in the urinal mounted high on the wall on the front of the building.
As I said, the place is eccentric.

Jim arrived when he said he would and we were soon seated. I was
going to get the cheesecake, so didn't bother perusing the menu. Jim
took only a moment before setting the menu aside. A moment later he
also ordered the cheesecake.

"So," I said, once the waiter left, "I can't say I've been to the
GSA meetings very often, but I haven't seen you there before. Are
you a freshman?"

"Actually, I'm a senior." I winced to show I had caught my gaffe.
"And I attend the GSA meetings frequently. You must have come the
few times I haven't."

"I"m certainly starting off on the wrong foot. Perhaps I can ask a
question without stepping on toes. What's your major?"

"Music Education. Yours?"

"Physics with as many electives in the other sciences as I can
manage. Which, now that I'm a senior, has been quite a few."

"Where do you live?" he asked.

"With my parents out in Garden City."

"Far from here?" Hmm. Most natives knew where the smaller suburbs
were.

"Fifteen miles due west. You?"

"I live in University Towers."

"Can't stand to live with Mom and Dad? They throw you out when they
learned you're gay?"

He smiled. "No, nothing like that. I get along great with my
parents. But it is hard to commute from Texas."

"Texas? You don't sound like a Texan."

"Ah shore cain if Ah wount tew," he drawled. He continued without
it, "Studying music forced me to listen to sounds, including speech.
When I came here three years ago, I concentrated on speaking like
the locals so I didn't sound like a hick."

"Why leave Texas to come to Detroit?"

"I wanted to see something quite different from home and Detroit is
about as different from Barken as you can get."

Our cheesecake came. I took a bite, then said, "Never heard of
Barken. How big is it?"

"Few people have, even in Texas. It's pretty small."

"Can't you get a big city in Houston or Dallas."

"Sure can, but I also wanted to experience a northern climate before
I settled down."

"And you have plans for that already?"

"Once I'm done here I'll go back to Barken to be the music teacher."

"You say that as if there will be only one."

"That's right. While I was growing up, we were bussed into Cherry,
the closest town, for school. Cherry and Barken do not get along and
the town council finally decided to open a school in town. I'll be
the music teacher for the whole school, Kay through Twelve. Course,
that's maybe seventy students altogether."

"You sound so sure that you'll get the job."

"Yup. Not many people want to come to a desert town such as Barken.
But I grew up there. I couldn't live anywhere else for long. I gotta
go back. You might say it's in my blood." He gave a wink when he
said that. Whatever he meant was lost on me.

He continued, "What do you have planned for next year?"

"With my overall science major, I figure getting a job in one of
the research labs of the Big Three." Around Detroit, Big Three meant
the car companies. A research job meant a pretty good living.

"Sounds good." He didn't look like it sounded good. We were both
quiet for a couple bites.

"The reason I invited you here," I said, "was because I was
impressed with the way you handled yourself in the GSA meeting."

"Thank you. Unfortunately, I had a lot of practice going to school
in Cherry."

"Oh?"

"The residents of Cherry practice a very fundamentalist form of
Christianity."

I groaned. "And you're gay." I had run into many a fundamentalist
myself and had campaigned against some of their screwy ballot
initiatives--as in what laws can we pass to screw the queer?

"Worse than that. Everyone from Barken was considered to be...
heathen." It was an odd sort of hesitation.

"And that gave you a double hit."

"Yeah. I learned the fine art calmly skewering my opponents pretty
quick." He scraped the last of the cheesecake off his plate and
licked the fork. "It got so bad in my case that it was enough for
the Barken city council to decide to open their own school. It
actually works well all the way around. Cherry is sufficiently glad
to get rid of us they didn't mind the loss of tax revenue. They even
agreed not to tell the state what we were going to do. Since the
state won't be poking around, Barken won't have to worry about
teacher certification, which is good as we wouldn't be able to
attract many certified teachers anyway."

"Aren't they concerned about teacher quality?"

"Heh. If someone wants to teach in Barken, they'll do it because
they want to, and that's a good indication of quality right there."

"Won't you be certified when you're done here?"

"I'll have a degree with an education major. Whether or not I sit
for the Texas certification exam probably won't make any
difference."

The waiter came by with the bill, which I paid.

Jim said, "I can tell from your expression that you hope this little
meeting will lead to something more." He was reading me right. "I
will warn you right now that I am reluctant to get involved with
you, as sweet and sexy as you appear to be. I want a relationship
that will last and next May I'm going back to Barken and you're
staying here. We could be friends, but I'm sure you've heard how
hard it is for two gay men to be just friends."

"Couldn't you get a job teaching music around here?"

"Couldn't you teach science in Barken?" he countered. He saw my
look of dismay. "Barken really does need a science teacher."

"Sorry. No. I'd rather go into research."

"Then we'll have to settle for friendship."

Too late. That crush had already developed into love. The human
heart is so fickle, falling for what it can't have.

As we left TJ's I said, "I'll walk with you to your dorm. It's on
the way to my car." Actually, it wasn't, but I would only be walking
an extra block.

Along the way I said, "I have to ask. Why the dog collar?"

He chuckled as he fingered it. "You might say it is a declaration of
my individuality." With a practiced motion, he felt for the disk
with his name and centered it under his Adam's apple. "I'm also a dog
lover and you might say I wear it in solidarity with all dogs
everywhere." He winked again.

----------

I studiously attended GSA meetings after that, even participating in
the discussions. I began to understand why the straights were afraid
of us and the more I heard, the more I believed that the religious
argument was simply a cover for that fear.

I always sat as close to Jim as I could. I almost always invited him
out for dessert afterward. He almost always declined. "It seems too
much like a date," he said.

By the end of the month I gave up on going out for dessert and asked
him to join me for lunch. After all, we both had to eat. To this he
was more agreeable as long as he paid for his own. Though he didn't
want a lover, he did need a friend and could put up with a bit of
sexual tension to get that friendship.

I invited Jim out to my place (well, my parent's) one Friday evening
to watch the DVD of Big Eden, a movie of a gay guy afraid to reveal
his feelings to the one he loved, though his feelings obvious to the
rest of the town. Jim responded in a teasing voice, "I hope you're
not trying to get me to change my mind." I was, but played innocent.

Jim proposed his favorite movie for the following Friday evening.
He brought me up to his tiny dorm room so he could pop the DVD disc
into his computer and we could watch it on the small screen. Jim
must be well off, I decided, if he could afford a single room. There
was only one bed in the 12-by-12 space instead of the usual two. The
walls held several posters of dogs, the largest of Dalmatians. He
had placed several photos on his desks, one set obviously of his
parents and younger brother, another set of the family's pet dogs--
a large malamute, a poodle, and a Husky puppy. Near the foot of the
bed was a circular rug, which seemed to have accumulate a great deal
of dog hair. That surprised me as the rest of the room was fairly
neat and clean (we are talking about a guy's room here) and I was
sure pets weren't allowed. There certainly was no dog there now.

I was surprised by Jim's choice of movie--"101 Dalmatians," the
live-action version with Jeff Daniels and Glenn Close. I didn't
think that someone like Jim with his air of sophistication would
claim a Disney movie as his favorite using the reverential tones
that meant no other movie could come close.

I was even more surprised at his reaction to it. He seemed to
completely ignore the humans and concentrate solely on the dogs. He
didn't just watch them, he empathized with them--cheering them on
and wincing when they banged into something. He commented on his
favorite puppy and why its markings were prettier than the others.
He remarked about the handsomeness of the papa dog. I had the crazy
impression he wanted to jump into the scene for a romp.

Jim's antics inspired a fabulously weird idea, though I was torn
between encouraging this obsession and using it to my advantage.
After the movie while he was in the bathroom, I checked his clothing
sizes - medium shirt,30 waist/31 inseam for jeans, 7D shoes. Over
the following week, I bought a turtleneck shirt, briefs, and socks,
all in white. I couldn't find white jeans, so subjected a pair to a
lot of bleach. I even found white gloves (which I hoped would fit)
and a white scarf and cap. Using a bottle of India ink and an
eyedropper, I put Dalmatian spots on everything, taking care the
spots were small so they wouldn't give the impression of a Holstein
cow.

I met him in his room Friday evening and handed him the paper bag
with the clothing inside. He was reluctant to take it, saying,
"Troy, dear boy, giving me gifts tends to imply more than
friendship. We've already talked about why that won't work." He
probably saw the determination in my expression and sighed. "Well,
at least I can take a look at what you brought." He accepted the bag
and glanced inside.

I was completely unprepared for his reaction.

"Oh!" he said, his voice rising into a squeal. He dumped the
contents onto his bed, saying, "This is so wonderful! It's fabulous!
I"m surprised I didn't think of it myself!" He held up each article
and exclaimed again. "Even briefs!" he said as he held them up. He
plopped the cap onto his head, tweaking its position as he admired
it in the mirror, then taking it off to adjust the fit. He checked
the shirt-tag, "A medium! Just right." He pulled off the shirt he
was wearing and pulled on the turtleneck. The size-tag in the jeans
had been bleached blank, so he held them up to his waist, then soon
had the briefs and the jeans on. A moment later, he was wearing the
socks, scarf, and gloves and admiring the complete ensemble in the
mirror, exclaiming, "This is so wonderful!"

He came over to me and gave me a hug. "Troy, dear boy, I have no
idea how your brain came up with this marvelous surprise, but I like
it very much. These threads mean more to me than I could possibly
explain." He kissed me, first a quick one, then a long sensual one,
followed by another hug. I eagerly participated, pressing myself
against him.

When he finally released me, a tear had spilled from his eye, which
he wiped with his sleeve. "Oh, drat!" he said quietly, hugging me
again and whispering in my ear. "I do believe I've broken one of my
personal vows and fallen in love with you." He sighed. "That is
either going to mess up your future or make next May quite painful."

"Aren't you forgetting the option of you changing your future?" I
asked.

"Troy, dear boy, you haven't been listening." He kissed me. "I am
going back to Barken next May." He kissed again. "You are either
coming with me or you're not." Another kiss. "Though life would be
so much nicer if you did."

I felt a bit of anger that he wouldn't budge, blaming me for the
eventual breakup. Couldn't we rationally discuss what would be best
for both of us?

Jim was oblivious to my feelings. He said, "So where should we go
tonight? Perhaps it is my turn to treat you to dessert at TJ's." He
grabbed his jacket.

"You're going out dressed in ''that''!"

"Of course." He came over and patted my cheek. "Troy, dear boy, if
you didn't want me to be seen in public wearing these clothes, you
would have given me pajamas." There was an unmistakable meaning in
his grin. "Though perhaps we can do something about that later." He
kissed me. "Now let's go have some fun."

Jim somehow managed to give the impression of ignoring all the
stares in the restaurant and at the same time glory in each eye that
was on him, as if to say, of course, I'm the one to watch tonight.
Why would you look anywhere else? And drat it, if that didn't make me
feel all the more special in his presence. He was the center of
attention, yet I was the center of his attention.

After dinner, we returned to Jim's room and spent a wonderful
evening in his narrow bed. I decided that two guys in a twin-size
bed added to the enjoyment. There wasn't much room for snuggling
side by side.

I was about to drift off to sleep, hopefully for the night, when
Jim shook my shoulder, "Troy, dear boy, it's time you went home to
bed."

"Can't I sleep here and wake up in your arms?" I didn't want to
open my eyes fearing sleep might slip away.

He chuckled, then kissed me. "This bed is hardly big enough for both
of us to get a good night's sleep."

"So what if we don't get out of bed until noon. Tomorrow is
Saturday, after all."

"As tempting as that might be, it won't work. Sorry, Troy."

"We could go to my place. I have a much bigger bed."

He sighed heavily and sat up, then put his hand back on my shoulder.
I opened my eyes and looked at him in the dim light. "Troy, dear
boy, I would be happy to repeat this evening as often as you may
want, but I sleep alone. At least for now."

I wasn't going to get to sleep quickly now. I was wide awake. "Well
if you are going to change your mind in the future, why not change
it now?"

"Sorry, Troy."

"Can't you at least explain why? If it is because you snore, I can
buy earplugs."

"No, I can't explain. Not yet. If you come with me to Barken, I'll
explain then."

I felt anger flash through me. "Barken! Always you and Barken!" I
scrambled out of bed. "You insist you have to live in Barken, then
you start keeping secrets, telling me I have to go to Barken to find
out." I found it is hard to get dressed when you're both in a hurry
and mad. "What about my half of the relationship? Why do we always
have to do it your way?"

I turned and walked to the door. I heard a heavy sigh as I closed
it.

==Chapter 2==

I was miserable for the entire next week and quite aware that my
classwork was suffering. I kept thinking about Jim, about how much
I loved him, how I enjoyed being with him, how much I missed him.
I also thought about his insistence that he returned to Barken, that
he almost seemed obsessed with the place. I had to do something.

I did a websearch on both Barken and Cherry, though it took me a
while to remember the name of the neighboring town. I came up with
a complete blank. Mapquest could find the two towns, but that told
me only that both towns had streets with a regular grid and a park
or a town square in the center. None of the citizens of either town
seemed to be Internet literate. No webpages described either place.

Though it took me a week to swallow my pride, I spent much of the
next Friday evening camped outside his door, studying as I waited.
Love had won out over pride--I had bought a half-dozen roses, each
a different color because I had heard the colors had meaning and I
didn't want to leave anything out.

It was nearly eleven before Jim showed up, shouting, "Troy!" before
I had heard his approach. He ran to me as I scrambled to my feet and
soon enfolded me in a hug, followed by a long kiss.

While he fumbled with is keys and got the door open, I located the
roses on the floor. I presented them, saying, "I'm sorry," which
earned me another kiss.

"I'm sorry, too, Troy, dear boy" he said. "I'm very aware that I am
placing all kinds of conditions on this relationship. But those
conditions must be as they are a part of who I am. I know that isn't
fair to you, and for that, I'm sorry."

We hugged each other, then helped each other undress.

Afterward, as I reached for my briefs, Jim said, "Since May might
break us apart, let's try to maximize the time we have before then.
I want to spend Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Spring Break with you."

"Don't you want to spend the holidays with your family?"

"I'll see a lot of my family after graduation. I may not see you
then."

"I love you," I said and kissed him. "So where should we go?"

"I've put too many restrictions on you already. It is entirely your
choice."

"Don't you want to show me around Barken?"

"Yeah, I do, but only if you want to go."

I thought about it while I finished dressing. "At the moment, I'm
too angry at Barken and its secrets."

"Fair enough."

"So before you go hide yourself in Barken for the rest of your life,
let me show you a bit of the country."

"A cross country trip in winter?"

"We don't have to go cross country. But some places are at their
best in winter."

We kissed. And hugged. Then I said, "Good night, Jim," and left.

----------

"Doctor Shishido's office."

"Hi. This is Jim Cooper. May I speak to the doctor?"

"Sure Jim. Just a moment. He's almost done with a patient."

A minute later, "Hi, Jim. This is Doctor Shishido. How are you
today?"

"Doc, when asked that by a member of the medical profession I always
wonder if it is a greeting or an inquiry into the state of my
health."

Dr. Shishido chuckled. "Both."

"Well, to answer both of your queries, I'm fine."

"So if you're in good health, there must be some other reason why
you called."

"Yeah, there is. I have an important question for you. Once someone
leaves Barken, how long do its effects last?"

"Oh, golly." A pause. "That depends."

"Depends on what?"

"Usually on how long between the time they arrive in Barken and
their first shift. If their first shift happens in five days, the
effects may linger for up to three years. If we go to the other
extreme when the first shift doesn't happen for a month, the effects
may last only a month."

"What about someone born in Barken?"

"Such as yourself?"

"Yeah."

"It's hard to tell when the clock starts. I've had some cases where
it was obvious the first--and maybe even the second or third--shift
was ''in utero''. In other cases it wasn't."

"And in my case?"

"You're going to make me remember back that far? Heh. Jim Cooper...
Jim Cooper... Ah. If I remember right--and I can't say that I do--
the ultrasounds I did on your mother always showed you as human.
You might have changed. Then again, you might not. There's no way
to tell. Now I think you need to tell me why this prompted you to
call."

"I'm in love."

"Is he a nice guy?"

"He gave me a set of white clothes decorated with Dalmatian spots."

Doctor Shishido laughed for several seconds. "Does he know?"

"I'm positive he doesn't. He gave the clothes to me after he saw how
involved I got watching 101 Dalmatians."

"Ooh, that's rich. So how does your love life prompt your question?"

"We got into an argument when I insisted I had to come back to
Barken after graduation. To maintain peace I agreed to spend all my
breaks between now and graduation with him and he doesn't want to
visit Barken just yet."

"Your mom know you won't be back?"

"Yeah, I already called her."

"Hmm." A pause. "You'll be away for a total of nine months."

"About that."

"I must warn you, then, you might be cutting it close."

"Are you sure."

"Not at all. There's no way to tell. Not that many people leave
Barken and those that do rarely call me up and tell me how long
the effects last. Jim, do you shift?

"Every night. I sleep so much better that way."

"Many people do. Any trouble shifting?"

"No."

"At the first signs of it, you had better give it up so you aren't
stuck. We've lost contact with a few of our youth and suspect that's
what happened. We don't want to lose you too."

"I'll be careful."

"It may not be that simple. Some people had no trouble shifting then
found they couldn't shift back. You need to take some precautions in
case that should happen. Make sure you have a backup plan."

"What kind of plan?"

"Whatever will get you back to Barken if you can't communicate. One
thing you might do is to tell your parents to come looking for you
if they don't get an email within so many days of the last one. The
main thing is to have that plan."

"I will, Doc. Thanks so much. Goodbye."

"Bye, Jim."

Jim became very conscientious about two additions to his bedtime
routine. He always made sure a particular piece of paper was
prominently displayed on his desk before he went to sleep and
hidden away after waking. He moved his sleeping rug to just inside
the door and made sure the door was unlocked while he slept.

----------

Jim appeared frequently on campus wearing his Dalmatian clothes,
complete with the collar. He usually did it on Friday so he would
be seen wearing them on our dates to Detroit's many cultural
institutions. It wasn't long before he picked up a nickname. He
strongly objected to the name Mutt, saying a Dalmatian is a
purebred, not a mongrel. But he happily answered to the name Bowser
when someone jokingly used it.

Jim and I had four wonderful days at Thanksgiving. He spent nearly
all day, every day, with me and my family, even accompanying us to
the big dinner Aunt Jane and Uncle Tom's house. My family is a small
one so it was easy for Jim to keep track of names. Long days
together almost made up for nights apart. Just as well--I did have
''some'' studying to do.

The two and a half weeks at Christmas were even better. We had time
between exams and Christmas to do our Christmas shopping, including
forays to outlet malls and to Bronner's Christmas Store in
Frankenmuth. Both the gaudy extravagance of the store and the fake
Bavarian setting of the town delighted Jim.

After Christmas, we had time to try some cross-country skiing as we
visited Traverse City, Mackinac Island, and Sault Ste. Marie. We had
a grand time on the Agawa Canyon Snow Train out of the Canadian side
of the Soo. I said nothing when Jim insisted we get separate rooms
in each motel.

Instead of heading south for spring break as college students
normally do, we stayed in the north, exploring Niagara, Toronto, and
Montreal in our brief respite from class.

That trip had an air of urgency. There were only seven weeks until
graduation and our future together after that was still uncertain.
Bless his heart, Jim didn't remind me that his decision was set and
it was up to me to decide to follow him to Barken or to look for a
research job in the Detroit area. I wasn't sure if it was a help
that the car companies had a hiring freeze and didn't even come on
campus for interviews.

==Chapter 3==

I had switched parking lots to one by University Towers so that Jim
and I could walk to class together. It was a bit farther for me, but
the few moments with Jim in the morning made it worthwhile.

It was the first day of May, which I knew was the date of Jim's last
exam. I had one that day and one more the day after before I was
done. The thought of being free soon sometimes made it hard to
concentrate on the pesky impediments, such as exams.

But when I knocked on the door, I got no answer. "Jim?" I called
out. I thought I heard noises. "Jim?" I said as I knocked. This
wasn't like him. He was usually up well before I got there. Had he
been up too late studying or packing? I knocked again. "Come on,
Jim." Had he left without me? He knew what time I was coming. If he
had gone, who was making that noise?

I tried the handle and was surprised to find it unlocked. I opened
it to find a large Dalmatian standing there, its tail wagging.
"Jim?" From the door, a person can see the entire room. Jim wasn't
there. I stepped to the bathroom door and knocked. No answer, so I
opened the door and flipped on the light. No Jim.

I turned to the dog. "Have you seen Jim?" The dog whuffed in
response, its tail still wagging. "By the way, what are you doing
here? Dogs aren't allowed. I didn't think Jim had a dog."

The dog came over and stuck its head under my fingers. I idly petted
it as I scanned the room for clues of Jim. My fingers found the
dog's collar, so I squatted down for a closer look. It was Jim's
collar! Complete with the disk with his name. I turned it around,
examining it closely, which the dog patiently endured. I had been
seeing that collar around my lover's neck every day for six months
now. There was no mistaking it. What was it doing on the dog?

I stood and walked around the room for clues of where Jim might be.
I could see he had done quite a bit of packing, with only a few
things left to put into boxes and more boxes lined up along the
wall. On the desk, I found a note addressed to me:

Troy,
I got called away in the middle of the night and didn't
want to wake you. It was urgent but not serious. I will tell
you all about it when we next meet.

A friend at the Humane Society brought the dog over last
night, knowing how much I like Dalmatians. Isn't he a beaut? Do
you think you might stop in a couple times over the next few
days to make sure he is fed, or perhaps even take him for a
walk?

Troy, my love, I have a big favor to ask. This business
may keep me beyond the end of the semester. Would you be so
kind as to take my stuff and my dog back to Barken? If you do,
you can stay with Mrs. Brumfield in the Barken Motel. Either
way, please call my parents and let them know what you plan to
do. I hope with all my heart I will see you in Barken in a few
days.

With much love,
Jim

I sighed, and felt the dog watching me. Not having anyone else to
talk to, I turned to the dog. "Do you know how annoying your owner
is being right now? Take you and all this stuff to Barken for him!
What could be so urgent that he'd miss his last exam and yet not be
serious?" The dog lowered his head a bit. "I don't know if you like
me or if you're willing to put up with being in a car with me for
three days. Since Jim has had you for such a short time, I doubt he
knows either." To my surprise, the dog came over and licked my
fingers. I could only scratch his head in reply.

"This is so presumptuous of Jim, just like his insistence that he
will spend the rest of his days in Barken and it is my fault the
relationship is over if I don't follow him." I sighed. The dog
whined and stuck his nose into my hand.

"But as secretive and demanding as he is, I love him. Oh, how I love
him!" I kept my hands busy petting the dog as we looked into each
other's eyes. "From his crazy collar and spotted clothes, to the
tips of his toes. Heh." I grimaced. "I"m subjecting a strange dog to
bad poetry. Surely that is criminal somewhere.

"Oh, hell!" I dabbed my eyes and blew my nose. "Why not do it?" The
dog barked, a rather quiet ruff sound. "You agree? I certainly don't
have a job that I need to get to. Now don't you think I deserve a
vacation after four years of school and working summers before I
start looking for a job?" To my delight, the dog barked quietly
again and bobbed his head.

"Yeah, Jim was so insistent that Barken was the place for him that
I do owe it to him to at least see the place before I decide. You
do agree, don't you?" The dog bobbed his head, then pranced around
the room a bit before putting his forelegs in my lap and licking my
face. I guess it's decided.

"Do you have a name?" The dog lifted his head and looked at me. "It
looks like we are going to be together for a while and I can't just
call you 'Dog,' now can I?" The dog bobbed its head. "Let's see."
I pondered it for a moment. "Heh. Jim acquired the name Bowser when
I gave him those Dalmatian clothes. It seems so appropriate I call
Jim's Dalmatian the same name. May I name you Bowser?"

The dog bobbed his head and barked once. "That sounded like a yes to
me," I said, patting his head.

I had some time before my exam, so decided I might as well call
right then. Nearby, Jim had posted his parent's phone number so I
would find it easily. I called.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mrs. Cooper?"

"Yes."

"This is Jim's friend Troy."

"Oh, Troy, you don't have to play word games with me. Jim has told
me all about you."

"Oh, that's good. I'm calling as I found a note from Jim saying he
had to leave suddenly. Do you know what it's about? Jim was quite
vague."

"I think I had better let Jim tell you."

"Ah. He wrote that it was urgent but not serious. Is he all right?"

"I'm sure he is."

"Did you know Jim got a Dalmatian yesterday?"

"I'm not surprised. Jim loves dogs, especially Dalmatians."

I chuckled. "That he does. Well, Jim wanted me to tell you that I've
decided I would come to Barken with Jim's stuff and the dog."

"Oh, thank you, Troy! That would be most helpful and save us a trip.
I'm so glad you can come. I'll call the motel right away and reserve
a room."

"Thanks," I said.

"Troy, I know this is going to sound weird, but could you hold the
phone out for the dog?"

"Yeah, it does sound weird. Just a second." I held out the phone,
saying, "It's for you," smirking as I did so.

To my surprise, Bowser moved his head to position an ear by the
receiver and barked. A few moments later, he barked again and
stepped away. What in the world had I just witnessed?

I put the phone back to my own ear and said, "Mrs. Cooper?"

"Yes, Troy."

"I have a couple exams yet so it will be a few days before I come."

"We look forward to your visit whenever you get here. Bye Troy."

"Bye."

I glanced at my watch. "Sorry, doggie. I have to go. I'll be back
for you later."

----------

After my exam that day and with permission of my parents, I cleaned
out Jim's dorm room and took his stuff and Bowser to their house.

I got a shock when I went through the clothes he was wearing the day
before he disappeared and found Jim's wallet. Of course, I looked
through it. There was $47 in bills and 82 cents in coin. His student
ID card, his Detroit Public Library card, his driver's license, and
a couple credit cards were all still there. This was a mystery. How
had Jim been able to get anywhere without money or proving who he
was? His car was still in the student lot; I saw it on the way in.
One needed money to take a cab. One needed identification to take a
train or plane. Was he traveling under an alias? Had he been
coerced into joining a crime organization? Now I was worried.

It was rather nice having Bowser with me that evening as I studied
for the last exam. He was companionable, sitting beside my chair as
I worked and following me through the house during breaks.

I appreciated the chance to stretch my muscles when Mom thought I
should take him for a walk. This crazy dog pulled another surprise
when, on the way through the garage, he pawed at my bicycle. Taking
the hint, I mounted up, the dog willingly scampering along beside
me, even when I picked up speed. Perhaps I had been missing out by
not having a dog in my youth.

My last exam went well. The graduation ceremony actually did give
the feeling that one phase of my life was over and another was
beginning. I felt bad that I couldn't share the experience with Jim.
I wondered again why he had left so suddenly.

The day after graduation I loaded up Jim's car with clothes for
myself, all of Jim's stuff, and Bowser. The dog was quite intent in
overseeing the loading process. Once loaded, I opened the passenger
door and he hopped in. I settled myself behind the wheel and we were
off.

----------

May is a beautiful time to drive across the country. The problem is
that it's a big country. It was close to fifteen hundred miles from
Detroit to Barken. And it was going to take two and a half days to
cover that distance.

I talked to Bowser. I sang along with the radio and was amused when
Bowser did too. It was spooky how well he could match pitch. But
mostly, we just sat, letting the scenery flash by while the radio
filled the silence.

The only incident was the drive through Cherry. I had the windows up
and the air conditioner on, which turned out to be a good thing.
Just after crossing the city boundary, Bowser, who had put his
forepaws on the dashboard for better viewing, lay down in the seat.
Even so, I hadn't gotten very far into town before I heard shouting
and saw people pointing to him. A moment later a tomato splattered
against the passenger side window and another on the windshield in
front of the dog. I picked up my speed both to get through the town
faster and to attract the attention of police. The police stayed
hidden and a few more tomatoes struck home before we were back into
open desert.

What was that all about? Jim had said he had a bad time in Cherry,
but what did they have against me? Was it that I was driving Jim's
car? This was another mystery to discuss with Jim when I found him.

The wipers and washer fluid got most of the tomato gunk off the
windshield. I'd have to find a car-wash for the rest.

Bowser soon had his paws back on the dashboard and when we passed
the sign for the Barken city limits, he let out a bark and then
wiggled in anticipation. This was another mystery as this dog was
from the Humane Society in Detroit. What would he know about Barken?

The first thing about Barken that caught my eye was the large number
of dogs wandering the street. And none of them had collars. The dogs
seemed to be moving with a definite purpose, as a human would, not
wandering from one distraction to another as I had seen dogs do.

It didn't take long to find Jim's home as Barken isn't very big and
the map Jim had left was a good one.

No sooner had I gotten out of the car than Bowser jumped over my
seat and out the door and dashed into the yard, barking the whole
way. Coming just as fast from the house was the small Husky I had
seen in photos in Jim's room, being just as noisy. I would have
expected the Husky to be grown now, but this one wasn't.

I feared a grand territorial battle between the dog from Detroit and
the local pet. It was nothing of the sort. The two dogs greeted each
other like old friends, playfully romping together. The noise soon
brought out who I assumed were Jim's parents. With cries of, "You're
here!" they came down the porch steps while Bowser broke away from
his games to give each an enthusiastic face licking. Stranger and
stranger. Only then did Jim's parents come over to greet me, which
they did warmly, insisting I call them Walt and Amanda.

As they did so, many of the other dogs in town came pouring into the
yard, each of them giving Bowser an enthusiastic greeting. There
were so many that it was difficult to hear the humans speak.

I asked, "I wouldn't expect such a welcome for a strange dog."

"We all like dogs so much that there's no such thing as a strange
dog around here," said Walt.

"Even the dogs welcome a strange one," I said.

"Isn't that nice?" said Amanda.

"Is Jim here? Has he finished with his mysterious errand?" I asked.

I saw Walt turn around and begin to point at something, but Amanda
grabbed his hand. She turned to me. "No, dear. He'll find you soon
enough. Come, let's get the car unloaded."

I can tell a deliberate change of subject when I hear one. Mystery
piled onto mystery, but there was nothing to do with my curiosity
until Jim turned up.

Once the stuff was stashed in the basement--Jim's old room having
been converted to a sewing room--Amanda said, "I'm sorry we don't
have space for you to stay here, but the Barken Motel is a good
place and Mrs. Brumfield is a wonderful cook. Perhaps you should
go check in now." She took my arm and guided me to the car. "Since
Jim considers you his partner, that makes us your in-laws. We need
to get to know each other, so please stop by for supper each evening
or even just to hang out."

When I opened the door to Jim's car, Bowser broke from the pack and
bounded over. "Don't you want to play with your friends?" I asked.
Apparently not, as he stepped over my seat to the passenger side.

When I walked into the motel, Bowser had insisted in coming with
me. I was afraid the woman behind the small reception desk would
demand I keep him outside. Much to my surprise, they greeted each
other as old friends. "Jim! It is so good to see you again!" she
kept saying.

When she finally turned to me, I'm sure I had a puzzled expression,
but she ignored it completely. "Hi. You must be Troy Palmer. The
Coopers reserved a room for you." She went behind the desk and
opened the guest book for me to sign and handed me a key. "I have
room three all set up for you."

After signing, I asked, "I'm a bit confused about this town. There
are all these strange things going on, things that don't make sense.
For instance, you called the dog by his owner's name."

She let out a musical laugh, then said, "I guess we do that a lot
around here, though you can't really say a dog has an owner."

Another cryptic remark.

"But how did you know it was Jim's dog. He got it in Detroit."

"He did? I could have sworn I've seen this dog around here before.
But don't mind an old lady like me." She smiled sweetly.

I guess Bowser had gotten attached to me during our car ride. As
much as he liked playing with the other dogs and visiting with Jim's
parents, he preferred my company. He went everywhere that I did,
even into the mall. I would have thought dogs wouldn't be allowed in
the mall, but there were as many dogs as humans inside.

On my third day in Barken Amanda suggested I take Bowser to visit
the school superintendent and just see what a teaching job in Barken
would be like. Though I didn't feel qualified to teach and didn't
want to give the impression I was even remotely considering such a
job, I didn't have anything better to do.

"Ah, you must be Troy," said Dottie Latour. She leaned over with her
had out. "And it is good to see you, too." Bowser obliged by
extending a paw and letting her shake it. My dog--uh, Jim's dog--
was just full of surprises. She turned back to me, "Let me show you
around."

Mrs. Latour's small office was probably the only room actually
finished on the school house site, though the rest if it was close.
"We'll never have many students here, so our design is based on the
old rural schools, though we'll have three classrooms instead of
one."

The main part of the school was a hallway with two rooms on either
side. She stopped just inside the first room on the left where I
could see workers install light fixtures. "How's it going, Gordy?"

"Just fine, ma'am," sang out the worker that was the cleanest. My dad
had said that meant he was the boss. He didn't do as much actual
work so didn't get as dirty. "We'll have these babies in by the end
of the week and get the drop-ceiling in next week. We'll be done
long before Labor Day."

She turned to me. "This will be our elementary classroom, grades
Kindergarten through Fifth." In turn, she indicated the second room
on the left was for the middle school class and across from it on
the right was for the high school. There wouldn't be more than 25
students in each room. The last room was a combination of gymnasium
and lunchroom with a small stage across one end. We sat down in the
gym using a couple of plastic chairs used by the workers for breaks.

"Mrs. Cooper told me you majored in Science."

"Well, my major was actually Physics, but I also took many classes
in Chemistry, Biology, and Geology."

"We could use a general science teacher."

"But I didn't major in education and won't be certified," I said.

"I can't be that picky. Don't worry about it."

I looked at her strangely. "Not be picky? I don't get it. Don't you
want the best for your children?"

"I suspect you've noticed that Barken isn't exactly in a prime
location, ready to attract hordes of candidates." Ya think? "But our
citizens just don't want to be anywhere else." Gee, I hadn't
noticed. "So I have to staff my school with any warm body I can get
my hands on."

"If your teaching staff will be so inferior, why bother with a
school at all?"

"You're Jim's lover, aren't you?" I nodded. News travels fast in a
small town. "Then I imagine Jim told you at least part of the
story."

"Yeah, he did."

"Here it is from my point of view. Why bus fifty to seventy kids
forty-five minutes each way to a town that is prejudiced against
them? That far away in a town that hostile makes it dangerous for
our kids and too far away for us to intervene effectively. If your
kid doesn't feel safe, he's not going to learn. I'd rather have
children feeling safe under uncertified teachers than feeling
threatened under the best teachers in the state."

Bowser had been sitting attentively, seeming to listen to our
conversation. He now got up and began to wander the room. I tried to
keep an eye on him to keep him out of mischief. The superintendent
ignored Bowser completely.

She said, "If you stay to teach with us, you'll spend part of your
day in each room. Most high schools teach a year of Biology,
Chemistry, and Physics. You might as well teach one subject a year
to all high school grades. We could even add a general science class
for the fourth year of the cycle. We could work out a three year
cycle for the middle school students. As for the elementary grades,
it would be best, I think, to teach then in small groups as the
other teachers will do."

"That's all very good, Mrs. Latour, but I don't intend to stay in
Barken. This place is just too strange for me. I'm only sticking
around until Jim shows up."

She glanced at Bowser, then looked at me strangely. I got the
feeling there was something going on that was supposed to be obvious
if only I had the wits to know what it was. The superintendent
didn't provide any clues. She only said, "Well if you change your
mind, just let me know."

By the fourth day I was worried about what had happened to Jim.
Strangely, his parents weren't concerned at all, assuring me that
Jim would show up in due time and I should just enjoy my vacation.
I countered that a vacation wasn't so much fun when you couldn't
share it with the one you love.

By the end of the first week, the combination of Jim's absence and
this strange town was really freaking me out. If I didn't love Jim
so much I would have jumped in his car and sped out of town.

==Chapter 4==

It was that night when I had the first dream. It was a strange one.
The first image I remember was of Jim in his Dalmatian outfit
standing before a doorway and beckoning me through. The world beyond
the door was golden, radiating both the color and a golden mood, a
sense of belonging and of well-being. I walked through the door
thinking about after-death experiences and wondering what part of my
life was dying.

Once through the door, I looked around for Jim, but didn't see him--
I could see back into the room where I had been, but he wasn't there
either. At my side was Bowser, eager to play. I felt energetic
enough that I was happy to accept his invitation. I noticed I was
wearing no clothes, but that seemed natural and appropriate in this
golden light. We dashed about the golden countryside, looking at
this and sniffing at that, frolicking together and generally having
a wonderful time. I very much wanted this experience to continue for
as long as possible.

We had flopped onto the ground to rest and Bowser rolled onto his
back. I dutifully and playfully rubbed his belly. He rewarded my
efforts by licking my nose. I rolled over onto my own back and Jim
returned the favor and rubbed the fur on my belly. I let my tongue
hang out and stretched my paws in the air in satisfaction.

I rolled over and stood on my paws, able to greet Bowser nose to
nose. He danced playfully away and I was struck by a thought that
warmed me--Bowser was very sexy-looking. Such a handsome dog. Bowser
was looking at me with the same kind of hunger.

Bowser pranced before me, posing to show off his muscles. He winked
and tossed his head. He stepped up to me and kissed me, his muzzle
against mine. His display was definitely having an effect on me.
I again rolled onto the grass with my paws in the air. Bowser gently
straddled me then lay atop me, belly to belly, licking my muzzle as
he settled himself. He soon began to rock back and forth.

I awoke with a record case of blue balls; the slightest touch would
have set off a depth charge in my groin. I opened my eyes to see
Bowser standing at the side of the bed, his head on the mattress
near mine staring into my eyes. Apparently satisfied that I was
awake, Bowser stepped sideways until his head was near my groin. He
deliberately took a big sniff, then placed a paw on the mattress.

"Oh, no, you don't," I said clambering out of bed. I hurried to the
shower and turned it on cold. As I stood under the spray, I thought
over what I could remember of the dream. It was then that I realized
some things about the dream that disturbed me. My companion in the
dream was sometimes Jim and sometimes Bowser and the two seemed
interchangeable. There were times that Bowser had done things only a
human would do. And the most troublesome was that my perspective
was sometimes that of a gay dog, complete with fur, paws, and
muzzle. I expected the gay part. It was the dog part the sent my
mind spinning.

Come on, Jim. I love you, but I've got to get out of this town.

It isn't often that images from my dreams persist long into the day.
This one did, troubling me with its images and my reaction to them.

As I dressed, I realized it was still quite early. I knew I wasn't
going to get any more sleep the way my body felt stretched tight. I
wandered down to the dining area and was surprised that Mrs.
Brumfield already had an egg casserole ready. It was delicious. It
was uncanny how she anticipated my needs.

But I couldn't tolerate the town anymore, so walked into the
surrounding hills, Bowser trailing beside me. It wasn't hot yet, but
I knew it would be soon. I could at least avoid the town and its
strangeness until the heat sent me in search of air conditioning.

I picked a hill and trudged up it, then plopped my butt onto the
sand where I could overlook the town. Once I was seated, Bowser
began pulling at my shoelaces in spite of my attempts to waive him
off. It seemed a game to him, one that I was in no mood to play. I
had promised to meet Jim in this town and would keep that promise. I
hadn't promised anything beyond that.

Bowser succeeded in undoing one lace, then began to tug on the shoe
itself. "You want the shoe? Fine. You can have it." I threw it at
him and he neatly dodged it. He scampered after it and brought it
back to me--and promptly began to pull off the sock. I let him have
it, but once he did, he wasn't interested in it anymore. He dropped
it on the shoe and went after the laces of the other shoe. I thought
it best to cut the game short and pulled the shoe and sock off.
"There. I've got bare feet. Happy? You had better make sure there
are no rattlers, scorpions, or other desert nasties around." Bowser
dutifully made a circuit around me as if to prove he was up to the
task.

Then Bowser began to bury my feet in the sand by using a paw to
brush sand over my toes. I swatted at him, but he dodged my hand.
"What are you doing, dog?" I leaned back and Bowser returned. He
watched me intently for a moment then started pushing sand over my
feet again. I jumped to my feet and gave chase for a few steps,
before I thought about my bare feet and what might be lurking in the
sand. Bowser also stopped and took a stance that would allow him to
resume running if I did. He barked softly at me, perhaps to say that
he wanted the game to continue. I sat down and glared at the dog. He
glared back, then deliberately came up to me and pushed sand over my
toes.

I threw up my hands, which startled Bowser enough to take a step
back. "Fine. You want sand over my feet. Go for it." He bobbed his
head, turned around and started digging with his forepaws so that
the sand landed on my feet.

When I had sand up to my ankles, Bowser turned his attention to my
shirt, tugging at it as if he intended to pull it over my head. I
took it off to protect it from damage and said, "No. I will not take
off my shorts. Don't even try." He didn't.

Instead, he dug up more sand so that it covered my shorts. "Okay,
dog. You want to bury me alive? You go right ahead." I stretched out
on the sand and he proceeded to do just that, taking great care not
to get sand on my face. Once I was quite covered from neck downward,
Bowser came and stood by my head to shield it from the son. "You
satisfied?" He bobbed his head. "Good."

I've never heard of a dog that thought it a good idea to bury a
human in the sand, though I considered it possible. But a dog that
knew how to keep the sun off my face? Another mystery. I closed my
eyes and drifted off to sleep to make up for my early rising.
Thankfully it was dreamless.

I wandered back to the motel just in time for lunch wearing only my
shorts as I was too covered in sand. Mrs. Brumfield was out watering
her flowers and took delight on turning the hose on me. It was hot
enough that I took delight in it too. The whole time she had the
hose on me she had this mysterious smile and kept winking at Bowser.

I spent the afternoon in the library researching companies that
might look favorably on my resume. It appeared the Big Three weren't
hiring, so I was concentrating my research on the first and second
tier suppliers. These jobs may not pay as well and be as secure as
similar ones in the car companies, but in an era when GM and such
were turning over more and more design work to their suppliers, it
would be a decent living.

Dinner was with the Coopers again. As we ate and talked, I slowly
came to realize that while Walt Cooper tolerated his job about as
much as my dad tolerated his own, Walt didn't have the cultural
resources of a thriving metropolis to keep him and his family
entertained. There was no Barken Theater, though the new school
being built would have a stage. There was no concert hall. The small
movie theater showed only one movie each week. The mall was small.
There were no organized sports teams. When I contrasted his life to
the one I had made sure Jim knew in Detroit--baseball, hockey, Pine
Knob, Meadowbrook, Fox Theater, Second City, Orchestra Hall, Detroit
Institute of Arts, and a Cineplex in every suburb--Barken came up
woefully short. How did they stand the place?

That night I had another dream that stuck in my head. The overall
direction and many of the details were the same as the night before.
But in this dream Jim seemed to become a part of his Dalmatian
clothes and Bowser seemed to walk around on two legs, acting quite
human. My own perspective seemed to shift from human to dog and back
again several times during the dream. As before, my mind accumulated
an erotic charge from this shifting blend of human and dog that
postured before me and then offered himself to me.

I didn't think I could have had a case of blue balls worse than the
day before, but that I did when I awoke. I heard a familiar voice
say, "Troy, dear boy, let me take care of that for you," as he
wrapped his fingers around me.

My eyes opened to a wonderful looking face complete with dog collar.
"Jim! It is so good to see you!" I wondered how he had slipped into
bed beside me without waking me. Further talk had to wait while he
met my need and I met his. We then had time to hug and kiss, then
doze in the comfort of each other's arms. I had missed him terribly
and being in his embrace again felt wonderful.

It was mid morning before I pulled my attention away from Jim and
glanced around the room. "Where's Bowser?"

"I let him out," said Jim.

"A dog that has been at my side for nine days is suddenly willing to
venture out without me?"

"I knew we would be busy." Jim winked.

"Yet you're wearing the collar."

"Bowser doesn't need it, not in this town."

My head said it was irrational to feel possessive over a dog that
actually belonged to Jim. My heart said something else. If I
understand things right, Jim got Bowser the day before he
disappeared. Bowser had spent pretty much all of the last two weeks
with me. But an argument wasn't going to get me where I wanted to
be with Jim. "Come on, lets get some breakfast. I'm sure whatever
Mrs. Brumfield made for me is cold by now, but even cold, I'm sure
it'll be delicious."

Jim glanced away. "Could I borrow your robe?"

"Can't you slip back into whatever you were wearing?" I said
glancing around the room. I realized that all the clothes in the
room were mine. "So how did you get in here with no clothes?"

He didn't answer my question. "Your robe? I'm getting hungry."

"And where have you been for the last nine days?"

"I can't tell you. Not yet."

All of my frustrations from the last week--the mystery, the
realization that Barken didn't have much going for it, the feeling
of possessiveness towards Bowser--boiled over.

"You can't tell me? The love of your life? Fine. I'm sick of this
town. I gotta get out of here. I brought your damn dog across the
country and waited for you to appear. Well, now that you're here,
my commitments to this town are finished. I have a life to get back
to." I dropped my suitcase on the bed and began to circle the room,
gathering up stuff as I went.

"You won't stay in Barken for me?"

"You won't come to Detroit for me?" I shot back. As I passed him, I
put a hand against his cheek. "I love you, Jim, but this
relationship has become too one sided. If you want to live in
Barken, be my guest." I waived my arm as if I were offering him the
city. "But I don't. I'm not insisting on Detroit, but since we had a
wonderful time this past year it's as good as any for a start. You
didn't like the fun we had?"

"I liked it very much."

"Then why not come with me and leave small town life behind?"

"I can't. I have to live in Barken."

I tossed an armload of clothes into the suitcase. "Then this is
goodbye."

I watched as Jim sighed wearily and walked to the door. He had
turned the knob before he realized the only thing he was wearing
was the dog collar. He let go of the knob, turned around and leaned
against the door frame and folded his arms across his chest. I was
able to gather up several more things before he said, "May I borrow
your robe?" His voice was soft.

"Yeah. Sure. I have to get dressed anyway."

I slipped the robe off and handed it to him, then pulled on t-shirt
and shorts.

He stood there with the robe in his hand for several moments before
putting it on. "You're going to need me to drive you to the Houston
airport, won't you," he said. I wasn't sure if it was a question.

"Yeah. Thanks."

I heard him sniff and wipe his eyes. I suddenly realized I had to do
the same. This time he did open the door.

I took Jim's absence as a chance to go to the dining area. Beside a
plate of muffins was a note, "Knew you wouldn't be up early so
didn't bother with anything fancy." For muffins, they were actually
quite fancy.

I had cleaned everything out of the bathroom when Jim returned
dressed as I was in t-shirt and shorts. He handed me the robe, then
went back to lean on the door frame to watch me.

I folded the robe and laid it in the suitcase, then scanned the room
for anything I might have missed. It looked like I had it all. I was
suddenly hit with a wave of dizziness. I had to put a hand against
the wall to hold myself up.

Jim said, "Are you okay?"

"Just feeling dizzy for a moment. I'll be fine."

Jim sighed, then said, "Strip."

"Strip what?"

"Your clothes," he said, stepping forward from his place on the
door frame.

"You find a dizzy man a turn-on? I was so sure you weren't into
kink."

"Not at all. Troy, dear boy, you're about to become a citizen of
Barken." He had come halfway across the room.

"I don't want to be a citizen of Barken! And since when do citizen
initiation rites require nakedness?"

He was beside me now and pulled on my hand. "Look at your arm."

It was covered with white hairs! I held out the other arm and saw
the same thing. I stared at them in wonder and was sure I could see
the hairs become more numerous. I looked at Jim with my mouth
hanging open and was surprised to see short hairs appearing on his
face in the familiar pattern of Dalmatian spots.

"Come now. It isn't good to get tangled up in your clothes. Let's
get you out of them."

"You got a lot of explaining to do!" My voice sounded raspy.

"And now is the time to do it." Jim reached for my belt as my shorts
slipped off my butt. "Shirt," said Jim as he instead reached down to
undo my shoelaces. I pulled off my shirt, then stepped out of my
shorts.

My whole body was covered in short hair! All that I could see was
white.

Jim said, "There is something in the soil of Barken that gives its
citizens the ability to become dogs once they stay here long enough.
The first time is involuntary, but after that you can learn to
control it."

I could feel bones moving now--in my head, arms, and legs. My
fingers had shrunk quite a bit in size. I glanced at Jim--who had
the head of a dog! I could see the distinctive pattern of Bowser's
spots.

He must have been able to figure out my expression as he said, "Yes,
Bowser and I are one and the same. I think I'll hold this in-between
form so that I am able to talk to you."

I could feel new muscles in my butt as my tail grew in. I tried to
speak, but couldn't form coherent words. It all came out as growls
and barks.

"When one moves away from Barken," said Jim, "a person loses the
ability to change, sometimes within six months, sometimes after
three years." No longer having to deal with my clothes, Jim took
off his own. I was looking at a curious blend of Jim and Bowser--
doggie fur, head, and tail, with human arms, legs, and body. "I lost
the ability to change when I happened to be in dog form."

Standing only on hind paws had gotten precarious, so I allowed my
legs to collapse and sat on the floor. I saw that my point of view
shifted from Jim's waist to his knees. Once on the floor, I could
figure out how to gather four legs under me.

I noticed that I did not feel terror or disgust at what was
happening, but felt a completeness I didn't know was missing. Even
so, I trembled as I thought about what had just happened. I had
become a dog!

Jim sat down beside me and scratched me between the ears, which felt
marvelous. He then pulled me onto his lap and put his furry arms
around me. I pulled in his smell and catalogued it in my mind --
this comforting smell is Jim.

"It was bad luck," Jim said, "that I ended up locked in my dog form
just before my last exam. You may wonder why I took the chance, but
I didn't know if I was cutting it close or had two more years and I
sleep so much better as Bowser even cooped up in a dorm room. I
couldn't change back to human until Barken had a chance to work its
magic on me again. I wasn't too concerned with how long it was
taking as I knew you would stick around for me and I wanted Barken
to work its magic on you too." He sighed as he ran his fingers
through the fur on my back.

"Yesterday, I sensed I would regain my ability soon. I knew you were
getting fed up with Barken and I was afraid you would leave before
your first change. I buried you in the sand yesterday hoping I could
speed up Barken's magic."

He pulled me off his lap. "Let's see which breed you've become.
Could you turn around, please?" I did so as he catalogued what he
saw. "White muzzle, tan head, left ear tipped in white, the right in
black, white forelegs, tan neck, black back and flanks, back legs
have white socks and tan thighs, tan butt, tan and white tail, and
white belly. You stand about as tall as I do, just under two feet.
Shorthair coat, which is and advantage in Barken. Hmm." He held his
lower jaw in his hands, considering me. "We in Barken have to know
our breeds as people tend to get upset if you refer to them by the
wrong one. Troy, dear boy, I'd say you are a beautiful English
foxhound. Of course, even if you became a mongrel I'd consider you
beautiful."

Jim scooted over to sit beside me again. "Well, it takes about
twelve hours in dog form after your first change before you can
teach yourself how to change back to human. After that, you'll be
able to shift as much as you want or even choose an in-between
form." He scratched me between the ears again. "That means we have
all day in dog form--we might as well enjoy it."

Jim completed his shift to Bowser. I was pleased to see we were
about the same size as dogs just as we were as humans. Jim spent a
few moments demonstrating how to walk on four feet, then nosed the
door open and once outside, demonstrated how to run. It was a
fabulous day!

----------

Jim and I managed to introduce two customs into Barken life over the
next few months. The first caught on immediately when Jim started to
wear his Dalmatian clothes around town., though by noon of the first
day he knew it was crazy to wear a turtleneck in Barken in June and
was soon busy applying ink to a t-shirt and a pair of bleached
cutoff jeans.

The day after that, Jim studied the broad patches of color in the
fur of my foxhound form and then presented me with cap, t-shirt, and
cutoffs appropriately dyed. I was embarrassed with the tan splotch
across my human butt, though the locals didn't seem to notice the
problem I had with it.

Within a week, Ron's Grocery sold out of bleach and tan, brown, and
black dye and Gretchen's Garments in the mall had trouble keeping
white tees and cutoffs in stock. One could be pretty good at
guessing a person's breed by the clothes they wore that summer.

As for the other new custom... Shortly after arriving in Barken I
noticed that Walt and Amanda didn't wear wedding rings and, when I
began to look for it, saw that no one else in town did either. I
wondered about it--until my first change. Then it was obvious that
a ring only got in the way when a person shifted; one had to
remember to take it off or risked losing it.

I got an idea when Jim and I started discussing a commitment
ceremony and I talked it over with him. He liked the idea very much.
So with Mayor Grimsley officiating and what seemed like the whole
town watching I was able to say, "I, Troy, present to you, James,
this collar as a symbol of my love. I declare to all witnesses that
you are my spouse in good times and bad, in sickness and in health,
whether rich or poor, until death separates us." I essentially gave
Jim the collar he had worn in Detroit though now it had my name in
the disk next to his. He had a duplicate made, which he fastened
around my neck as he said his own vows.

Mrs. Latour suggested I start the high school students--all twenty
of them over four grades--with physics as the seniors hadn't taken
it yet. She then worked closely with me over the summer to plan and
prepare to teach three different kinds of classes. Now that I've
been teaching for several months, I understand why some people--like
Jim--can get passionate about it. I end my workday sitting at
the back of the gym watching my love leading the high schoolers
through band rehearsal and from there I can see the joy in his face.

The conventions of Barken society strongly suggest that you appear
in public as full human or full dog. The way Jim explained it was
that some people have rather strange ideas of what is a comfortable
in-between form. So Jim and I are human in school and teach students
that are human (usually) and we can do our afternoon romps as dogs.
It is only in the privacy of our home during the evening and night
that we explore what it is like to be human with fur and tail.

Barken may not have many concerts, movies, or theater. Houston is
close enough for that when I need it. It hardly matters. Now that I
am a citizen of Barken, I know I can't live anywhere else for long.
Nothing can offer the joy of spending time as a dog.
[[Category:Story|Effect of Spotted Clothes, The]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
[[Category:Barken]] [[Category:Animal]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Effect of Spotted Clothes, The}}

User:Erastus/The Effect of Spotted Clothes

2007-08-22T01:48:01Z

Erastus: Change sorting

This story is set in the Barken, Texas universe. The Barken, Texas story archive can be found [http://www.dogpawz.com/barken here].

Warning: This story is based on a gay relationship and may not be of interest to all readers.

__NOTOC__

----

The Effect of Spotted Clothes

by Erastus Centaur

==Chapter 1==

I don't show up at the Gay-Straight Alliance at Wayne State
University in Detroit very often, though I do try to make it two to
three times at the start of the school year to check out the fresh
meat. I guess the rest of the time I don't worry much what the
straights think of me. Fortunately, there were many new faces--and
bods--to check out. I'm not into notching my belt, mind you, but
there are few places on campus where I can meet potential boyfriends
without straights getting nervous.

So there I sat in a circle of about 40 people, half of them men. I
was checking out potential boyfriend material and paying only enough
attention to the conversation to determine if a particular guy was
gay or just a friendly straight. With some guys it was obvious--a
touch of makeup, way too much fashion style for a college campus, or
a t-shirt slogan that left no doubt. Other guys were able to blend
into the straight world until they started complaining about being
misunderstood.

I had only checked out about half the circle when the conversation
rose in volume and I thought I should pay attention to it.

A chick was saying, "... can't argue against the Bible! I'm telling
ya it's right there in black and white! If you don't give you your
sinning ways, you all will burn in Hell!"

A dude--with perhaps more volume--shot back, "You don't know
what you're talking about! You preach love and all you do is hate!
Your piety is a sham and then you claim that we're the ones who will
burn!"

I could see the chick was steamed and about to storm out. The
moderator was making calming noises to no effect when another guy
rose to speak, one that I hadn't checked out yet. "Please," he said.
He had an air of confidence in conflict which caused the combatants
to yield the floor.

He turned to the man. "You're not helping. I can appreciate your
anger--I've felt it myself many times--but ridiculing her faith
isn't going to get us where we want to be. It only makes our
opponents more combative." He glanced to the woman and back to the
man. "Besides, there are many good features about her religion. Our
society would be poorer without them." I could see a slight smile on
her face.

Before the man could object, the speaker turned to the woman. "Don't
think for a moment that I'm on your side. I'm just as gay as he is."
He paused for emphasis. "First of all, I'm glad you came." The
expression on the dude's face clearly said, ''I'm not''. The speaker
continued, "You are right. The Bible says some harsh things about us
in Leviticus. But it isn't so cut and dried. Do you have a bank
account that pays interest?" She hesitated, clearly flustered by the
change in topic and certain it was a trap, but nodded. "Do you keep
a Kosher diet?" Her frown deepened; she shook her head. "Well, then.
Since you personally don't follow every single word of Leviticus,
you had better have a good reason why you insist the two verses
about gays must be followed and not the ones about diet and money."
She looked daggers at both the dude and the speaker and but stayed
quiet.

He glanced back and forth between the two. "We came to understand
each other, not start a shouting match. Let's get back to that." He
turned to the dude, "And that means making as much of an effort to
understand her as you expect her to make for you." He sat.

I studied the peacemaker as he talked and after he sat down. I
wanted to get to know someone who could both calm someone and put
them in their place. He was quite slim, not very tall (about a match
for my 5-9, a plus) nor very muscular. His dark hair was short (a
plus) and he was clean-shaven (alas, a point against him) though
if he did let his beard grow, it looked like it would be full. He
wore a white t-shirt under a black leather vest with black jeans and
a black leather cap. I was surprised at the last touch to his
fashion statement--he wore what looked to be a dog collar loosely
around his neck as some guys would wear a chain. It was black
leather and rather wide with polished metal disks almost as wide as
the collar regularly spaced all the way around.

The moderator looked relieved that a messy situation had been
resolved for him. He said, "Any other comments?" When no one said
anything he went on, "I guess that concludes tonight's meeting."

Everyone stood and gathered up backpacks. I snagged my pack and made
my way to the peacemaker. I stuck my hand out. "Hi, I'm Troy Palmer.
I was impressed with the way you handled the battle. May I buy you a
drink?"

"Jim Cooper." He smiled and shook my hand. "Sorry, but I don't
drink. I hate what happens when I do."

"Coffee?"

Up close I could see the disk in the dog collar directly under his
Adam's apple was inscribed with his first name.

"I don't care for coffee and it's too late in the day for tea."

I fell back on the last gun in my arsenal, hoping he really didn't
drink and wasn't trying to brush me off. "Dessert at TJ's?" That was
the nickname for a place called Traffic Jam and Snug that was a few
blocks from campus and well known for eccentric fare.

"Sounds good." That was so good to hear as I was beginning to
develop a crush on him. "I'll meet you there in, oh," he glanced at
his watch, "fifteen minutes?"

"I'll meet you just inside the door."

I didn't risk taking my books back to my car though that made me
early. It did give me time to see what kind of flowers were planted
in the urinal mounted high on the wall on the front of the building.
As I said, the place is eccentric.

Jim arrived when he said he would and we were soon seated. I was
going to get the cheesecake, so didn't bother perusing the menu. Jim
took only a moment before setting the menu aside. A moment later he
also ordered the cheesecake.

"So," I said, once the waiter left, "I can't say I've been to the
GSA meetings very often, but I haven't seen you there before. Are
you a freshman?"

"Actually, I'm a senior." I winced to show I had caught my gaffe.
"And I attend the GSA meetings frequently. You must have come the
few times I haven't."

"I"m certainly starting off on the wrong foot. Perhaps I can ask a
question without stepping on toes. What's your major?"

"Music Education. Yours?"

"Physics with as many electives in the other sciences as I can
manage. Which, now that I'm a senior, has been quite a few."

"Where do you live?" he asked.

"With my parents out in Garden City."

"Far from here?" Hmm. Most natives knew where the smaller suburbs
were.

"Fifteen miles due west. You?"

"I live in University Towers."

"Can't stand to live with Mom and Dad? They throw you out when they
learned you're gay?"

He smiled. "No, nothing like that. I get along great with my
parents. But it is hard to commute from Texas."

"Texas? You don't sound like a Texan."

"Ah shore cain if Ah wount tew," he drawled. He continued without
it, "Studying music forced me to listen to sounds, including speech.
When I came here three years ago, I concentrated on speaking like
the locals so I didn't sound like a hick."

"Why leave Texas to come to Detroit?"

"I wanted to see something quite different from home and Detroit is
about as different from Barken as you can get."

Our cheesecake came. I took a bite, then said, "Never heard of
Barken. How big is it?"

"Few people have, even in Texas. It's pretty small."

"Can't you get a big city in Houston or Dallas."

"Sure can, but I also wanted to experience a northern climate before
I settled down."

"And you have plans for that already?"

"Once I'm done here I'll go back to Barken to be the music teacher."

"You say that as if there will be only one."

"That's right. While I was growing up, we were bussed into Cherry,
the closest town, for school. Cherry and Barken do not get along and
the town council finally decided to open a school in town. I'll be
the music teacher for the whole school, Kay through Twelve. Course,
that's maybe seventy students altogether."

"You sound so sure that you'll get the job."

"Yup. Not many people want to come to a desert town such as Barken.
But I grew up there. I couldn't live anywhere else for long. I gotta
go back. You might say it's in my blood." He gave a wink when he
said that. Whatever he meant was lost on me.

He continued, "What do you have planned for next year?"

"With my overall science major, I figure getting a job in one of
the research labs of the Big Three." Around Detroit, Big Three meant
the car companies. A research job meant a pretty good living.

"Sounds good." He didn't look like it sounded good. We were both
quiet for a couple bites.

"The reason I invited you here," I said, "was because I was
impressed with the way you handled yourself in the GSA meeting."

"Thank you. Unfortunately, I had a lot of practice going to school
in Cherry."

"Oh?"

"The residents of Cherry practice a very fundamentalist form of
Christianity."

I groaned. "And you're gay." I had run into many a fundamentalist
myself and had campaigned against some of their screwy ballot
initiatives--as in what laws can we pass to screw the queer?

"Worse than that. Everyone from Barken was considered to be...
heathen." It was an odd sort of hesitation.

"And that gave you a double hit."

"Yeah. I learned the fine art calmly skewering my opponents pretty
quick." He scraped the last of the cheesecake off his plate and
licked the fork. "It got so bad in my case that it was enough for
the Barken city council to decide to open their own school. It
actually works well all the way around. Cherry is sufficiently glad
to get rid of us they didn't mind the loss of tax revenue. They even
agreed not to tell the state what we were going to do. Since the
state won't be poking around, Barken won't have to worry about
teacher certification, which is good as we wouldn't be able to
attract many certified teachers anyway."

"Aren't they concerned about teacher quality?"

"Heh. If someone wants to teach in Barken, they'll do it because
they want to, and that's a good indication of quality right there."

"Won't you be certified when you're done here?"

"I'll have a degree with an education major. Whether or not I sit
for the Texas certification exam probably won't make any
difference."

The waiter came by with the bill, which I paid.

Jim said, "I can tell from your expression that you hope this little
meeting will lead to something more." He was reading me right. "I
will warn you right now that I am reluctant to get involved with
you, as sweet and sexy as you appear to be. I want a relationship
that will last and next May I'm going back to Barken and you're
staying here. We could be friends, but I'm sure you've heard how
hard it is for two gay men to be just friends."

"Couldn't you get a job teaching music around here?"

"Couldn't you teach science in Barken?" he countered. He saw my
look of dismay. "Barken really does need a science teacher."

"Sorry. No. I'd rather go into research."

"Then we'll have to settle for friendship."

Too late. That crush had already developed into love. The human
heart is so fickle, falling for what it can't have.

As we left TJ's I said, "I'll walk with you to your dorm. It's on
the way to my car." Actually, it wasn't, but I would only be walking
an extra block.

Along the way I said, "I have to ask. Why the dog collar?"

He chuckled as he fingered it. "You might say it is a declaration of
my individuality." With a practiced motion, he felt for the disk
with his name and centered it under his Adam's apple. "I'm also a dog
lover and you might say I wear it in solidarity with all dogs
everywhere." He winked again.

----------

I studiously attended GSA meetings after that, even participating in
the discussions. I began to understand why the straights were afraid
of us and the more I heard, the more I believed that the religious
argument was simply a cover for that fear.

I always sat as close to Jim as I could. I almost always invited him
out for dessert afterward. He almost always declined. "It seems too
much like a date," he said.

By the end of the month I gave up on going out for dessert and asked
him to join me for lunch. After all, we both had to eat. To this he
was more agreeable as long as he paid for his own. Though he didn't
want a lover, he did need a friend and could put up with a bit of
sexual tension to get that friendship.

I invited Jim out to my place (well, my parent's) one Friday evening
to watch the DVD of Big Eden, a movie of a gay guy afraid to reveal
his feelings to the one he loved, though his feelings obvious to the
rest of the town. Jim responded in a teasing voice, "I hope you're
not trying to get me to change my mind." I was, but played innocent.

Jim proposed his favorite movie for the following Friday evening.
He brought me up to his tiny dorm room so he could pop the DVD disc
into his computer and we could watch it on the small screen. Jim
must be well off, I decided, if he could afford a single room. There
was only one bed in the 12-by-12 space instead of the usual two. The
walls held several posters of dogs, the largest of Dalmatians. He
had placed several photos on his desks, one set obviously of his
parents and younger brother, another set of the family's pet dogs--
a large malamute, a poodle, and a Husky puppy. Near the foot of the
bed was a circular rug, which seemed to have accumulate a great deal
of dog hair. That surprised me as the rest of the room was fairly
neat and clean (we are talking about a guy's room here) and I was
sure pets weren't allowed. There certainly was no dog there now.

I was surprised by Jim's choice of movie--"101 Dalmatians," the
live-action version with Jeff Daniels and Glenn Close. I didn't
think that someone like Jim with his air of sophistication would
claim a Disney movie as his favorite using the reverential tones
that meant no other movie could come close.

I was even more surprised at his reaction to it. He seemed to
completely ignore the humans and concentrate solely on the dogs. He
didn't just watch them, he empathized with them--cheering them on
and wincing when they banged into something. He commented on his
favorite puppy and why its markings were prettier than the others.
He remarked about the handsomeness of the papa dog. I had the crazy
impression he wanted to jump into the scene for a romp.

Jim's antics inspired a fabulously weird idea, though I was torn
between encouraging this obsession and using it to my advantage.
After the movie while he was in the bathroom, I checked his clothing
sizes - medium shirt,30 waist/31 inseam for jeans, 7D shoes. Over
the following week, I bought a turtleneck shirt, briefs, and socks,
all in white. I couldn't find white jeans, so subjected a pair to a
lot of bleach. I even found white gloves (which I hoped would fit)
and a white scarf and cap. Using a bottle of India ink and an
eyedropper, I put Dalmatian spots on everything, taking care the
spots were small so they wouldn't give the impression of a Holstein
cow.

I met him in his room Friday evening and handed him the paper bag
with the clothing inside. He was reluctant to take it, saying,
"Troy, dear boy, giving me gifts tends to imply more than
friendship. We've already talked about why that won't work." He
probably saw the determination in my expression and sighed. "Well,
at least I can take a look at what you brought." He accepted the bag
and glanced inside.

I was completely unprepared for his reaction.

"Oh!" he said, his voice rising into a squeal. He dumped the
contents onto his bed, saying, "This is so wonderful! It's fabulous!
I"m surprised I didn't think of it myself!" He held up each article
and exclaimed again. "Even briefs!" he said as he held them up. He
plopped the cap onto his head, tweaking its position as he admired
it in the mirror, then taking it off to adjust the fit. He checked
the shirt-tag, "A medium! Just right." He pulled off the shirt he
was wearing and pulled on the turtleneck. The size-tag in the jeans
had been bleached blank, so he held them up to his waist, then soon
had the briefs and the jeans on. A moment later, he was wearing the
socks, scarf, and gloves and admiring the complete ensemble in the
mirror, exclaiming, "This is so wonderful!"

He came over to me and gave me a hug. "Troy, dear boy, I have no
idea how your brain came up with this marvelous surprise, but I like
it very much. These threads mean more to me than I could possibly
explain." He kissed me, first a quick one, then a long sensual one,
followed by another hug. I eagerly participated, pressing myself
against him.

When he finally released me, a tear had spilled from his eye, which
he wiped with his sleeve. "Oh, drat!" he said quietly, hugging me
again and whispering in my ear. "I do believe I've broken one of my
personal vows and fallen in love with you." He sighed. "That is
either going to mess up your future or make next May quite painful."

"Aren't you forgetting the option of you changing your future?" I
asked.

"Troy, dear boy, you haven't been listening." He kissed me. "I am
going back to Barken next May." He kissed again. "You are either
coming with me or you're not." Another kiss. "Though life would be
so much nicer if you did."

I felt a bit of anger that he wouldn't budge, blaming me for the
eventual breakup. Couldn't we rationally discuss what would be best
for both of us?

Jim was oblivious to my feelings. He said, "So where should we go
tonight? Perhaps it is my turn to treat you to dessert at TJ's." He
grabbed his jacket.

"You're going out dressed in ''that''!"

"Of course." He came over and patted my cheek. "Troy, dear boy, if
you didn't want me to be seen in public wearing these clothes, you
would have given me pajamas." There was an unmistakable meaning in
his grin. "Though perhaps we can do something about that later." He
kissed me. "Now let's go have some fun."

Jim somehow managed to give the impression of ignoring all the
stares in the restaurant and at the same time glory in each eye that
was on him, as if to say, of course, I'm the one to watch tonight.
Why would you look anywhere else? And drat it, if that didn't make me
feel all the more special in his presence. He was the center of
attention, yet I was the center of his attention.

After dinner, we returned to Jim's room and spent a wonderful
evening in his narrow bed. I decided that two guys in a twin-size
bed added to the enjoyment. There wasn't much room for snuggling
side by side.

I was about to drift off to sleep, hopefully for the night, when
Jim shook my shoulder, "Troy, dear boy, it's time you went home to
bed."

"Can't I sleep here and wake up in your arms?" I didn't want to
open my eyes fearing sleep might slip away.

He chuckled, then kissed me. "This bed is hardly big enough for both
of us to get a good night's sleep."

"So what if we don't get out of bed until noon. Tomorrow is
Saturday, after all."

"As tempting as that might be, it won't work. Sorry, Troy."

"We could go to my place. I have a much bigger bed."

He sighed heavily and sat up, then put his hand back on my shoulder.
I opened my eyes and looked at him in the dim light. "Troy, dear
boy, I would be happy to repeat this evening as often as you may
want, but I sleep alone. At least for now."

I wasn't going to get to sleep quickly now. I was wide awake. "Well
if you are going to change your mind in the future, why not change
it now?"

"Sorry, Troy."

"Can't you at least explain why? If it is because you snore, I can
buy earplugs."

"No, I can't explain. Not yet. If you come with me to Barken, I'll
explain then."

I felt anger flash through me. "Barken! Always you and Barken!" I
scrambled out of bed. "You insist you have to live in Barken, then
you start keeping secrets, telling me I have to go to Barken to find
out." I found it is hard to get dressed when you're both in a hurry
and mad. "What about my half of the relationship? Why do we always
have to do it your way?"

I turned and walked to the door. I heard a heavy sigh as I closed
it.

==Chapter 2==

I was miserable for the entire next week and quite aware that my
classwork was suffering. I kept thinking about Jim, about how much
I loved him, how I enjoyed being with him, how much I missed him.
I also thought about his insistence that he returned to Barken, that
he almost seemed obsessed with the place. I had to do something.

I did a websearch on both Barken and Cherry, though it took me a
while to remember the name of the neighboring town. I came up with
a complete blank. Mapquest could find the two towns, but that told
me only that both towns had streets with a regular grid and a park
or a town square in the center. None of the citizens of either town
seemed to be Internet literate. No webpages described either place.

Though it took me a week to swallow my pride, I spent much of the
next Friday evening camped outside his door, studying as I waited.
Love had won out over pride--I had bought a half-dozen roses, each
a different color because I had heard the colors had meaning and I
didn't want to leave anything out.

It was nearly eleven before Jim showed up, shouting, "Troy!" before
I had heard his approach. He ran to me as I scrambled to my feet and
soon enfolded me in a hug, followed by a long kiss.

While he fumbled with is keys and got the door open, I located the
roses on the floor. I presented them, saying, "I'm sorry," which
earned me another kiss.

"I'm sorry, too, Troy, dear boy" he said. "I'm very aware that I am
placing all kinds of conditions on this relationship. But those
conditions must be as they are a part of who I am. I know that isn't
fair to you, and for that, I'm sorry."

We hugged each other, then helped each other undress.

Afterward, as I reached for my briefs, Jim said, "Since May might
break us apart, let's try to maximize the time we have before then.
I want to spend Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Spring Break with you."

"Don't you want to spend the holidays with your family?"

"I'll see a lot of my family after graduation. I may not see you
then."

"I love you," I said and kissed him. "So where should we go?"

"I've put too many restrictions on you already. It is entirely your
choice."

"Don't you want to show me around Barken?"

"Yeah, I do, but only if you want to go."

I thought about it while I finished dressing. "At the moment, I'm
too angry at Barken and its secrets."

"Fair enough."

"So before you go hide yourself in Barken for the rest of your life,
let me show you a bit of the country."

"A cross country trip in winter?"

"We don't have to go cross country. But some places are at their
best in winter."

We kissed. And hugged. Then I said, "Good night, Jim," and left.

----------

"Doctor Shishido's office."

"Hi. This is Jim Cooper. May I speak to the doctor?"

"Sure Jim. Just a moment. He's almost done with a patient."

A minute later, "Hi, Jim. This is Doctor Shishido. How are you
today?"

"Doc, when asked that by a member of the medical profession I always
wonder if it is a greeting or an inquiry into the state of my
health."

Dr. Shishido chuckled. "Both."

"Well, to answer both of your queries, I'm fine."

"So if you're in good health, there must be some other reason why
you called."

"Yeah, there is. I have an important question for you. Once someone
leaves Barken, how long do its effects last?"

"Oh, golly." A pause. "That depends."

"Depends on what?"

"Usually on how long between the time they arrive in Barken and
their first shift. If their first shift happens in five days, the
effects may linger for up to three years. If we go to the other
extreme when the first shift doesn't happen for a month, the effects
may last only a month."

"What about someone born in Barken?"

"Such as yourself?"

"Yeah."

"It's hard to tell when the clock starts. I've had some cases where
it was obvious the first--and maybe even the second or third--shift
was ''in utero''. In other cases it wasn't."

"And in my case?"

"You're going to make me remember back that far? Heh. Jim Cooper...
Jim Cooper... Ah. If I remember right--and I can't say that I do--
the ultrasounds I did on your mother always showed you as human.
You might have changed. Then again, you might not. There's no way
to tell. Now I think you need to tell me why this prompted you to
call."

"I'm in love."

"Is he a nice guy?"

"He gave me a set of white clothes decorated with Dalmatian spots."

Doctor Shishido laughed for several seconds. "Does he know?"

"I'm positive he doesn't. He gave the clothes to me after he saw how
involved I got watching 101 Dalmatians."

"Ooh, that's rich. So how does your love life prompt your question?"

"We got into an argument when I insisted I had to come back to
Barken after graduation. To maintain peace I agreed to spend all my
breaks between now and graduation with him and he doesn't want to
visit Barken just yet."

"Your mom know you won't be back?"

"Yeah, I already called her."

"Hmm." A pause. "You'll be away for a total of nine months."

"About that."

"I must warn you, then, you might be cutting it close."

"Are you sure."

"Not at all. There's no way to tell. Not that many people leave
Barken and those that do rarely call me up and tell me how long
the effects last. Jim, do you shift?

"Every night. I sleep so much better that way."

"Many people do. Any trouble shifting?"

"No."

"At the first signs of it, you had better give it up so you aren't
stuck. We've lost contact with a few of our youth and suspect that's
what happened. We don't want to lose you too."

"I'll be careful."

"It may not be that simple. Some people had no trouble shifting then
found they couldn't shift back. You need to take some precautions in
case that should happen. Make sure you have a backup plan."

"What kind of plan?"

"Whatever will get you back to Barken if you can't communicate. One
thing you might do is to tell your parents to come looking for you
if they don't get an email within so many days of the last one. The
main thing is to have that plan."

"I will, Doc. Thanks so much. Goodbye."

"Bye, Jim."

Jim became very conscientious about two additions to his bedtime
routine. He always made sure a particular piece of paper was
prominently displayed on his desk before he went to sleep and
hidden away after waking. He moved his sleeping rug to just inside
the door and made sure the door was unlocked while he slept.

----------

Jim appeared frequently on campus wearing his Dalmatian clothes,
complete with the collar. He usually did it on Friday so he would
be seen wearing them on our dates to Detroit's many cultural
institutions. It wasn't long before he picked up a nickname. He
strongly objected to the name Mutt, saying a Dalmatian is a
purebred, not a mongrel. But he happily answered to the name Bowser
when someone jokingly used it.

Jim and I had four wonderful days at Thanksgiving. He spent nearly
all day, every day, with me and my family, even accompanying us to
the big dinner Aunt Jane and Uncle Tom's house. My family is a small
one so it was easy for Jim to keep track of names. Long days
together almost made up for nights apart. Just as well--I did have
''some'' studying to do.

The two and a half weeks at Christmas were even better. We had time
between exams and Christmas to do our Christmas shopping, including
forays to outlet malls and to Bronner's Christmas Store in
Frankenmuth. Both the gaudy extravagance of the store and the fake
Bavarian setting of the town delighted Jim.

After Christmas, we had time to try some cross-country skiing as we
visited Traverse City, Mackinac Island, and Sault Ste. Marie. We had
a grand time on the Agawa Canyon Snow Train out of the Canadian side
of the Soo. I said nothing when Jim insisted we get separate rooms
in each motel.

Instead of heading south for spring break as college students
normally do, we stayed in the north, exploring Niagara, Toronto, and
Montreal in our brief respite from class.

That trip had an air of urgency. There were only seven weeks until
graduation and our future together after that was still uncertain.
Bless his heart, Jim didn't remind me that his decision was set and
it was up to me to decide to follow him to Barken or to look for a
research job in the Detroit area. I wasn't sure if it was a help
that the car companies had a hiring freeze and didn't even come on
campus for interviews.

==Chapter 3==

I had switched parking lots to one by University Towers so that Jim
and I could walk to class together. It was a bit farther for me, but
the few moments with Jim in the morning made it worthwhile.

It was the first day of May, which I knew was the date of Jim's last
exam. I had one that day and one more the day after before I was
done. The thought of being free soon sometimes made it hard to
concentrate on the pesky impediments, such as exams.

But when I knocked on the door, I got no answer. "Jim?" I called
out. I thought I heard noises. "Jim?" I said as I knocked. This
wasn't like him. He was usually up well before I got there. Had he
been up too late studying or packing? I knocked again. "Come on,
Jim." Had he left without me? He knew what time I was coming. If he
had gone, who was making that noise?

I tried the handle and was surprised to find it unlocked. I opened
it to find a large Dalmatian standing there, its tail wagging.
"Jim?" From the door, a person can see the entire room. Jim wasn't
there. I stepped to the bathroom door and knocked. No answer, so I
opened the door and flipped on the light. No Jim.

I turned to the dog. "Have you seen Jim?" The dog whuffed in
response, its tail still wagging. "By the way, what are you doing
here? Dogs aren't allowed. I didn't think Jim had a dog."

The dog came over and stuck its head under my fingers. I idly petted
it as I scanned the room for clues of Jim. My fingers found the
dog's collar, so I squatted down for a closer look. It was Jim's
collar! Complete with the disk with his name. I turned it around,
examining it closely, which the dog patiently endured. I had been
seeing that collar around my lover's neck every day for six months
now. There was no mistaking it. What was it doing on the dog?

I stood and walked around the room for clues of where Jim might be.
I could see he had done quite a bit of packing, with only a few
things left to put into boxes and more boxes lined up along the
wall. On the desk, I found a note addressed to me:

Troy,
I got called away in the middle of the night and didn't
want to wake you. It was urgent but not serious. I will tell
you all about it when we next meet.

A friend at the Humane Society brought the dog over last
night, knowing how much I like Dalmatians. Isn't he a beaut? Do
you think you might stop in a couple times over the next few
days to make sure he is fed, or perhaps even take him for a
walk?

Troy, my love, I have a big favor to ask. This business
may keep me beyond the end of the semester. Would you be so
kind as to take my stuff and my dog back to Barken? If you do,
you can stay with Mrs. Brumfield in the Barken Motel. Either
way, please call my parents and let them know what you plan to
do. I hope with all my heart I will see you in Barken in a few
days.

With much love,
Jim

I sighed, and felt the dog watching me. Not having anyone else to
talk to, I turned to the dog. "Do you know how annoying your owner
is being right now? Take you and all this stuff to Barken for him!
What could be so urgent that he'd miss his last exam and yet not be
serious?" The dog lowered his head a bit. "I don't know if you like
me or if you're willing to put up with being in a car with me for
three days. Since Jim has had you for such a short time, I doubt he
knows either." To my surprise, the dog came over and licked my
fingers. I could only scratch his head in reply.

"This is so presumptuous of Jim, just like his insistence that he
will spend the rest of his days in Barken and it is my fault the
relationship is over if I don't follow him." I sighed. The dog
whined and stuck his nose into my hand.

"But as secretive and demanding as he is, I love him. Oh, how I love
him!" I kept my hands busy petting the dog as we looked into each
other's eyes. "From his crazy collar and spotted clothes, to the
tips of his toes. Heh." I grimaced. "I"m subjecting a strange dog to
bad poetry. Surely that is criminal somewhere.

"Oh, hell!" I dabbed my eyes and blew my nose. "Why not do it?" The
dog barked, a rather quiet ruff sound. "You agree? I certainly don't
have a job that I need to get to. Now don't you think I deserve a
vacation after four years of school and working summers before I
start looking for a job?" To my delight, the dog barked quietly
again and bobbed his head.

"Yeah, Jim was so insistent that Barken was the place for him that
I do owe it to him to at least see the place before I decide. You
do agree, don't you?" The dog bobbed his head, then pranced around
the room a bit before putting his forelegs in my lap and licking my
face. I guess it's decided.

"Do you have a name?" The dog lifted his head and looked at me. "It
looks like we are going to be together for a while and I can't just
call you 'Dog,' now can I?" The dog bobbed its head. "Let's see."
I pondered it for a moment. "Heh. Jim acquired the name Bowser when
I gave him those Dalmatian clothes. It seems so appropriate I call
Jim's Dalmatian the same name. May I name you Bowser?"

The dog bobbed his head and barked once. "That sounded like a yes to
me," I said, patting his head.

I had some time before my exam, so decided I might as well call
right then. Nearby, Jim had posted his parent's phone number so I
would find it easily. I called.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mrs. Cooper?"

"Yes."

"This is Jim's friend Troy."

"Oh, Troy, you don't have to play word games with me. Jim has told
me all about you."

"Oh, that's good. I'm calling as I found a note from Jim saying he
had to leave suddenly. Do you know what it's about? Jim was quite
vague."

"I think I had better let Jim tell you."

"Ah. He wrote that it was urgent but not serious. Is he all right?"

"I'm sure he is."

"Did you know Jim got a Dalmatian yesterday?"

"I'm not surprised. Jim loves dogs, especially Dalmatians."

I chuckled. "That he does. Well, Jim wanted me to tell you that I've
decided I would come to Barken with Jim's stuff and the dog."

"Oh, thank you, Troy! That would be most helpful and save us a trip.
I'm so glad you can come. I'll call the motel right away and reserve
a room."

"Thanks," I said.

"Troy, I know this is going to sound weird, but could you hold the
phone out for the dog?"

"Yeah, it does sound weird. Just a second." I held out the phone,
saying, "It's for you," smirking as I did so.

To my surprise, Bowser moved his head to position an ear by the
receiver and barked. A few moments later, he barked again and
stepped away. What in the world had I just witnessed?

I put the phone back to my own ear and said, "Mrs. Cooper?"

"Yes, Troy."

"I have a couple exams yet so it will be a few days before I come."

"We look forward to your visit whenever you get here. Bye Troy."

"Bye."

I glanced at my watch. "Sorry, doggie. I have to go. I'll be back
for you later."

----------

After my exam that day and with permission of my parents, I cleaned
out Jim's dorm room and took his stuff and Bowser to their house.

I got a shock when I went through the clothes he was wearing the day
before he disappeared and found Jim's wallet. Of course, I looked
through it. There was $47 in bills and 82 cents in coin. His student
ID card, his Detroit Public Library card, his driver's license, and
a couple credit cards were all still there. This was a mystery. How
had Jim been able to get anywhere without money or proving who he
was? His car was still in the student lot; I saw it on the way in.
One needed money to take a cab. One needed identification to take a
train or plane. Was he traveling under an alias? Had he been
coerced into joining a crime organization? Now I was worried.

It was rather nice having Bowser with me that evening as I studied
for the last exam. He was companionable, sitting beside my chair as
I worked and following me through the house during breaks.

I appreciated the chance to stretch my muscles when Mom thought I
should take him for a walk. This crazy dog pulled another surprise
when, on the way through the garage, he pawed at my bicycle. Taking
the hint, I mounted up, the dog willingly scampering along beside
me, even when I picked up speed. Perhaps I had been missing out by
not having a dog in my youth.

My last exam went well. The graduation ceremony actually did give
the feeling that one phase of my life was over and another was
beginning. I felt bad that I couldn't share the experience with Jim.
I wondered again why he had left so suddenly.

The day after graduation I loaded up Jim's car with clothes for
myself, all of Jim's stuff, and Bowser. The dog was quite intent in
overseeing the loading process. Once loaded, I opened the passenger
door and he hopped in. I settled myself behind the wheel and we were
off.

----------

May is a beautiful time to drive across the country. The problem is
that it's a big country. It was close to fifteen hundred miles from
Detroit to Barken. And it was going to take two and a half days to
cover that distance.

I talked to Bowser. I sang along with the radio and was amused when
Bowser did too. It was spooky how well he could match pitch. But
mostly, we just sat, letting the scenery flash by while the radio
filled the silence.

The only incident was the drive through Cherry. I had the windows up
and the air conditioner on, which turned out to be a good thing.
Just after crossing the city boundary, Bowser, who had put his
forepaws on the dashboard for better viewing, lay down in the seat.
Even so, I hadn't gotten very far into town before I heard shouting
and saw people pointing to him. A moment later a tomato splattered
against the passenger side window and another on the windshield in
front of the dog. I picked up my speed both to get through the town
faster and to attract the attention of police. The police stayed
hidden and a few more tomatoes struck home before we were back into
open desert.

What was that all about? Jim had said he had a bad time in Cherry,
but what did they have against me? Was it that I was driving Jim's
car? This was another mystery to discuss with Jim when I found him.

The wipers and washer fluid got most of the tomato gunk off the
windshield. I'd have to find a car-wash for the rest.

Bowser soon had his paws back on the dashboard and when we passed
the sign for the Barken city limits, he let out a bark and then
wiggled in anticipation. This was another mystery as this dog was
from the Humane Society in Detroit. What would he know about Barken?

The first thing about Barken that caught my eye was the large number
of dogs wandering the street. And none of them had collars. The dogs
seemed to be moving with a definite purpose, as a human would, not
wandering from one distraction to another as I had seen dogs do.

It didn't take long to find Jim's home as Barken isn't very big and
the map Jim had left was a good one.

No sooner had I gotten out of the car than Bowser jumped over my
seat and out the door and dashed into the yard, barking the whole
way. Coming just as fast from the house was the small Husky I had
seen in photos in Jim's room, being just as noisy. I would have
expected the Husky to be grown now, but this one wasn't.

I feared a grand territorial battle between the dog from Detroit and
the local pet. It was nothing of the sort. The two dogs greeted each
other like old friends, playfully romping together. The noise soon
brought out who I assumed were Jim's parents. With cries of, "You're
here!" they came down the porch steps while Bowser broke away from
his games to give each an enthusiastic face licking. Stranger and
stranger. Only then did Jim's parents come over to greet me, which
they did warmly, insisting I call them Walt and Amanda.

As they did so, many of the other dogs in town came pouring into the
yard, each of them giving Bowser an enthusiastic greeting. There
were so many that it was difficult to hear the humans speak.

I asked, "I wouldn't expect such a welcome for a strange dog."

"We all like dogs so much that there's no such thing as a strange
dog around here," said Walt.

"Even the dogs welcome a strange one," I said.

"Isn't that nice?" said Amanda.

"Is Jim here? Has he finished with his mysterious errand?" I asked.

I saw Walt turn around and begin to point at something, but Amanda
grabbed his hand. She turned to me. "No, dear. He'll find you soon
enough. Come, let's get the car unloaded."

I can tell a deliberate change of subject when I hear one. Mystery
piled onto mystery, but there was nothing to do with my curiosity
until Jim turned up.

Once the stuff was stashed in the basement--Jim's old room having
been converted to a sewing room--Amanda said, "I'm sorry we don't
have space for you to stay here, but the Barken Motel is a good
place and Mrs. Brumfield is a wonderful cook. Perhaps you should
go check in now." She took my arm and guided me to the car. "Since
Jim considers you his partner, that makes us your in-laws. We need
to get to know each other, so please stop by for supper each evening
or even just to hang out."

When I opened the door to Jim's car, Bowser broke from the pack and
bounded over. "Don't you want to play with your friends?" I asked.
Apparently not, as he stepped over my seat to the passenger side.

When I walked into the motel, Bowser had insisted in coming with
me. I was afraid the woman behind the small reception desk would
demand I keep him outside. Much to my surprise, they greeted each
other as old friends. "Jim! It is so good to see you again!" she
kept saying.

When she finally turned to me, I'm sure I had a puzzled expression,
but she ignored it completely. "Hi. You must be Troy Palmer. The
Coopers reserved a room for you." She went behind the desk and
opened the guest book for me to sign and handed me a key. "I have
room three all set up for you."

After signing, I asked, "I'm a bit confused about this town. There
are all these strange things going on, things that don't make sense.
For instance, you called the dog by his owner's name."

She let out a musical laugh, then said, "I guess we do that a lot
around here, though you can't really say a dog has an owner."

Another cryptic remark.

"But how did you know it was Jim's dog. He got it in Detroit."

"He did? I could have sworn I've seen this dog around here before.
But don't mind an old lady like me." She smiled sweetly.

I guess Bowser had gotten attached to me during our car ride. As
much as he liked playing with the other dogs and visiting with Jim's
parents, he preferred my company. He went everywhere that I did,
even into the mall. I would have thought dogs wouldn't be allowed in
the mall, but there were as many dogs as humans inside.

On my third day in Barken Amanda suggested I take Bowser to visit
the school superintendent and just see what a teaching job in Barken
would be like. Though I didn't feel qualified to teach and didn't
want to give the impression I was even remotely considering such a
job, I didn't have anything better to do.

"Ah, you must be Troy," said Dottie Latour. She leaned over with her
had out. "And it is good to see you, too." Bowser obliged by
extending a paw and letting her shake it. My dog--uh, Jim's dog--
was just full of surprises. She turned back to me, "Let me show you
around."

Mrs. Latour's small office was probably the only room actually
finished on the school house site, though the rest if it was close.
"We'll never have many students here, so our design is based on the
old rural schools, though we'll have three classrooms instead of
one."

The main part of the school was a hallway with two rooms on either
side. She stopped just inside the first room on the left where I
could see workers install light fixtures. "How's it going, Gordy?"

"Just fine, ma'am," sang out the worker that was the cleanest. My dad
had said that meant he was the boss. He didn't do as much actual
work so didn't get as dirty. "We'll have these babies in by the end
of the week and get the drop-ceiling in next week. We'll be done
long before Labor Day."

She turned to me. "This will be our elementary classroom, grades
Kindergarten through Fifth." In turn, she indicated the second room
on the left was for the middle school class and across from it on
the right was for the high school. There wouldn't be more than 25
students in each room. The last room was a combination of gymnasium
and lunchroom with a small stage across one end. We sat down in the
gym using a couple of plastic chairs used by the workers for breaks.

"Mrs. Cooper told me you majored in Science."

"Well, my major was actually Physics, but I also took many classes
in Chemistry, Biology, and Geology."

"We could use a general science teacher."

"But I didn't major in education and won't be certified," I said.

"I can't be that picky. Don't worry about it."

I looked at her strangely. "Not be picky? I don't get it. Don't you
want the best for your children?"

"I suspect you've noticed that Barken isn't exactly in a prime
location, ready to attract hordes of candidates." Ya think? "But our
citizens just don't want to be anywhere else." Gee, I hadn't
noticed. "So I have to staff my school with any warm body I can get
my hands on."

"If your teaching staff will be so inferior, why bother with a
school at all?"

"You're Jim's lover, aren't you?" I nodded. News travels fast in a
small town. "Then I imagine Jim told you at least part of the
story."

"Yeah, he did."

"Here it is from my point of view. Why bus fifty to seventy kids
forty-five minutes each way to a town that is prejudiced against
them? That far away in a town that hostile makes it dangerous for
our kids and too far away for us to intervene effectively. If your
kid doesn't feel safe, he's not going to learn. I'd rather have
children feeling safe under uncertified teachers than feeling
threatened under the best teachers in the state."

Bowser had been sitting attentively, seeming to listen to our
conversation. He now got up and began to wander the room. I tried to
keep an eye on him to keep him out of mischief. The superintendent
ignored Bowser completely.

She said, "If you stay to teach with us, you'll spend part of your
day in each room. Most high schools teach a year of Biology,
Chemistry, and Physics. You might as well teach one subject a year
to all high school grades. We could even add a general science class
for the fourth year of the cycle. We could work out a three year
cycle for the middle school students. As for the elementary grades,
it would be best, I think, to teach then in small groups as the
other teachers will do."

"That's all very good, Mrs. Latour, but I don't intend to stay in
Barken. This place is just too strange for me. I'm only sticking
around until Jim shows up."

She glanced at Bowser, then looked at me strangely. I got the
feeling there was something going on that was supposed to be obvious
if only I had the wits to know what it was. The superintendent
didn't provide any clues. She only said, "Well if you change your
mind, just let me know."

By the fourth day I was worried about what had happened to Jim.
Strangely, his parents weren't concerned at all, assuring me that
Jim would show up in due time and I should just enjoy my vacation.
I countered that a vacation wasn't so much fun when you couldn't
share it with the one you love.

By the end of the first week, the combination of Jim's absence and
this strange town was really freaking me out. If I didn't love Jim
so much I would have jumped in his car and sped out of town.

==Chapter 4==

It was that night when I had the first dream. It was a strange one.
The first image I remember was of Jim in his Dalmatian outfit
standing before a doorway and beckoning me through. The world beyond
the door was golden, radiating both the color and a golden mood, a
sense of belonging and of well-being. I walked through the door
thinking about after-death experiences and wondering what part of my
life was dying.

Once through the door, I looked around for Jim, but didn't see him--
I could see back into the room where I had been, but he wasn't there
either. At my side was Bowser, eager to play. I felt energetic
enough that I was happy to accept his invitation. I noticed I was
wearing no clothes, but that seemed natural and appropriate in this
golden light. We dashed about the golden countryside, looking at
this and sniffing at that, frolicking together and generally having
a wonderful time. I very much wanted this experience to continue for
as long as possible.

We had flopped onto the ground to rest and Bowser rolled onto his
back. I dutifully and playfully rubbed his belly. He rewarded my
efforts by licking my nose. I rolled over onto my own back and Jim
returned the favor and rubbed the fur on my belly. I let my tongue
hang out and stretched my paws in the air in satisfaction.

I rolled over and stood on my paws, able to greet Bowser nose to
nose. He danced playfully away and I was struck by a thought that
warmed me--Bowser was very sexy-looking. Such a handsome dog. Bowser
was looking at me with the same kind of hunger.

Bowser pranced before me, posing to show off his muscles. He winked
and tossed his head. He stepped up to me and kissed me, his muzzle
against mine. His display was definitely having an effect on me.
I again rolled onto the grass with my paws in the air. Bowser gently
straddled me then lay atop me, belly to belly, licking my muzzle as
he settled himself. He soon began to rock back and forth.

I awoke with a record case of blue balls; the slightest touch would
have set off a depth charge in my groin. I opened my eyes to see
Bowser standing at the side of the bed, his head on the mattress
near mine staring into my eyes. Apparently satisfied that I was
awake, Bowser stepped sideways until his head was near my groin. He
deliberately took a big sniff, then placed a paw on the mattress.

"Oh, no, you don't," I said clambering out of bed. I hurried to the
shower and turned it on cold. As I stood under the spray, I thought
over what I could remember of the dream. It was then that I realized
some things about the dream that disturbed me. My companion in the
dream was sometimes Jim and sometimes Bowser and the two seemed
interchangeable. There were times that Bowser had done things only a
human would do. And the most troublesome was that my perspective
was sometimes that of a gay dog, complete with fur, paws, and
muzzle. I expected the gay part. It was the dog part the sent my
mind spinning.

Come on, Jim. I love you, but I've got to get out of this town.

It isn't often that images from my dreams persist long into the day.
This one did, troubling me with its images and my reaction to them.

As I dressed, I realized it was still quite early. I knew I wasn't
going to get any more sleep the way my body felt stretched tight. I
wandered down to the dining area and was surprised that Mrs.
Brumfield already had an egg casserole ready. It was delicious. It
was uncanny how she anticipated my needs.

But I couldn't tolerate the town anymore, so walked into the
surrounding hills, Bowser trailing beside me. It wasn't hot yet, but
I knew it would be soon. I could at least avoid the town and its
strangeness until the heat sent me in search of air conditioning.

I picked a hill and trudged up it, then plopped my butt onto the
sand where I could overlook the town. Once I was seated, Bowser
began pulling at my shoelaces in spite of my attempts to waive him
off. It seemed a game to him, one that I was in no mood to play. I
had promised to meet Jim in this town and would keep that promise. I
hadn't promised anything beyond that.

Bowser succeeded in undoing one lace, then began to tug on the shoe
itself. "You want the shoe? Fine. You can have it." I threw it at
him and he neatly dodged it. He scampered after it and brought it
back to me--and promptly began to pull off the sock. I let him have
it, but once he did, he wasn't interested in it anymore. He dropped
it on the shoe and went after the laces of the other shoe. I thought
it best to cut the game short and pulled the shoe and sock off.
"There. I've got bare feet. Happy? You had better make sure there
are no rattlers, scorpions, or other desert nasties around." Bowser
dutifully made a circuit around me as if to prove he was up to the
task.

Then Bowser began to bury my feet in the sand by using a paw to
brush sand over my toes. I swatted at him, but he dodged my hand.
"What are you doing, dog?" I leaned back and Bowser returned. He
watched me intently for a moment then started pushing sand over my
feet again. I jumped to my feet and gave chase for a few steps,
before I thought about my bare feet and what might be lurking in the
sand. Bowser also stopped and took a stance that would allow him to
resume running if I did. He barked softly at me, perhaps to say that
he wanted the game to continue. I sat down and glared at the dog. He
glared back, then deliberately came up to me and pushed sand over my
toes.

I threw up my hands, which startled Bowser enough to take a step
back. "Fine. You want sand over my feet. Go for it." He bobbed his
head, turned around and started digging with his forepaws so that
the sand landed on my feet.

When I had sand up to my ankles, Bowser turned his attention to my
shirt, tugging at it as if he intended to pull it over my head. I
took it off to protect it from damage and said, "No. I will not take
off my shorts. Don't even try." He didn't.

Instead, he dug up more sand so that it covered my shorts. "Okay,
dog. You want to bury me alive? You go right ahead." I stretched out
on the sand and he proceeded to do just that, taking great care not
to get sand on my face. Once I was quite covered from neck downward,
Bowser came and stood by my head to shield it from the son. "You
satisfied?" He bobbed his head. "Good."

I've never heard of a dog that thought it a good idea to bury a
human in the sand, though I considered it possible. But a dog that
knew how to keep the sun off my face? Another mystery. I closed my
eyes and drifted off to sleep to make up for my early rising.
Thankfully it was dreamless.

I wandered back to the motel just in time for lunch wearing only my
shorts as I was too covered in sand. Mrs. Brumfield was out watering
her flowers and took delight on turning the hose on me. It was hot
enough that I took delight in it too. The whole time she had the
hose on me she had this mysterious smile and kept winking at Bowser.

I spent the afternoon in the library researching companies that
might look favorably on my resume. It appeared the Big Three weren't
hiring, so I was concentrating my research on the first and second
tier suppliers. These jobs may not pay as well and be as secure as
similar ones in the car companies, but in an era when GM and such
were turning over more and more design work to their suppliers, it
would be a decent living.

Dinner was with the Coopers again. As we ate and talked, I slowly
came to realize that while Walt Cooper tolerated his job about as
much as my dad tolerated his own, Walt didn't have the cultural
resources of a thriving metropolis to keep him and his family
entertained. There was no Barken Theater, though the new school
being built would have a stage. There was no concert hall. The small
movie theater showed only one movie each week. The mall was small.
There were no organized sports teams. When I contrasted his life to
the one I had made sure Jim knew in Detroit--baseball, hockey, Pine
Knob, Meadowbrook, Fox Theater, Second City, Orchestra Hall, Detroit
Institute of Arts, and a Cineplex in every suburb--Barken came up
woefully short. How did they stand the place?

That night I had another dream that stuck in my head. The overall
direction and many of the details were the same as the night before.
But in this dream Jim seemed to become a part of his Dalmatian
clothes and Bowser seemed to walk around on two legs, acting quite
human. My own perspective seemed to shift from human to dog and back
again several times during the dream. As before, my mind accumulated
an erotic charge from this shifting blend of human and dog that
postured before me and then offered himself to me.

I didn't think I could have had a case of blue balls worse than the
day before, but that I did when I awoke. I heard a familiar voice
say, "Troy, dear boy, let me take care of that for you," as he
wrapped his fingers around me.

My eyes opened to a wonderful looking face complete with dog collar.
"Jim! It is so good to see you!" I wondered how he had slipped into
bed beside me without waking me. Further talk had to wait while he
met my need and I met his. We then had time to hug and kiss, then
doze in the comfort of each other's arms. I had missed him terribly
and being in his embrace again felt wonderful.

It was mid morning before I pulled my attention away from Jim and
glanced around the room. "Where's Bowser?"

"I let him out," said Jim.

"A dog that has been at my side for nine days is suddenly willing to
venture out without me?"

"I knew we would be busy." Jim winked.

"Yet you're wearing the collar."

"Bowser doesn't need it, not in this town."

My head said it was irrational to feel possessive over a dog that
actually belonged to Jim. My heart said something else. If I
understand things right, Jim got Bowser the day before he
disappeared. Bowser had spent pretty much all of the last two weeks
with me. But an argument wasn't going to get me where I wanted to
be with Jim. "Come on, lets get some breakfast. I'm sure whatever
Mrs. Brumfield made for me is cold by now, but even cold, I'm sure
it'll be delicious."

Jim glanced away. "Could I borrow your robe?"

"Can't you slip back into whatever you were wearing?" I said
glancing around the room. I realized that all the clothes in the
room were mine. "So how did you get in here with no clothes?"

He didn't answer my question. "Your robe? I'm getting hungry."

"And where have you been for the last nine days?"

"I can't tell you. Not yet."

All of my frustrations from the last week--the mystery, the
realization that Barken didn't have much going for it, the feeling
of possessiveness towards Bowser--boiled over.

"You can't tell me? The love of your life? Fine. I'm sick of this
town. I gotta get out of here. I brought your damn dog across the
country and waited for you to appear. Well, now that you're here,
my commitments to this town are finished. I have a life to get back
to." I dropped my suitcase on the bed and began to circle the room,
gathering up stuff as I went.

"You won't stay in Barken for me?"

"You won't come to Detroit for me?" I shot back. As I passed him, I
put a hand against his cheek. "I love you, Jim, but this
relationship has become too one sided. If you want to live in
Barken, be my guest." I waived my arm as if I were offering him the
city. "But I don't. I'm not insisting on Detroit, but since we had a
wonderful time this past year it's as good as any for a start. You
didn't like the fun we had?"

"I liked it very much."

"Then why not come with me and leave small town life behind?"

"I can't. I have to live in Barken."

I tossed an armload of clothes into the suitcase. "Then this is
goodbye."

I watched as Jim sighed wearily and walked to the door. He had
turned the knob before he realized the only thing he was wearing
was the dog collar. He let go of the knob, turned around and leaned
against the door frame and folded his arms across his chest. I was
able to gather up several more things before he said, "May I borrow
your robe?" His voice was soft.

"Yeah. Sure. I have to get dressed anyway."

I slipped the robe off and handed it to him, then pulled on t-shirt
and shorts.

He stood there with the robe in his hand for several moments before
putting it on. "You're going to need me to drive you to the Houston
airport, won't you," he said. I wasn't sure if it was a question.

"Yeah. Thanks."

I heard him sniff and wipe his eyes. I suddenly realized I had to do
the same. This time he did open the door.

I took Jim's absence as a chance to go to the dining area. Beside a
plate of muffins was a note, "Knew you wouldn't be up early so
didn't bother with anything fancy." For muffins, they were actually
quite fancy.

I had cleaned everything out of the bathroom when Jim returned
dressed as I was in t-shirt and shorts. He handed me the robe, then
went back to lean on the door frame to watch me.

I folded the robe and laid it in the suitcase, then scanned the room
for anything I might have missed. It looked like I had it all. I was
suddenly hit with a wave of dizziness. I had to put a hand against
the wall to hold myself up.

Jim said, "Are you okay?"

"Just feeling dizzy for a moment. I'll be fine."

Jim sighed, then said, "Strip."

"Strip what?"

"Your clothes," he said, stepping forward from his place on the
door frame.

"You find a dizzy man a turn-on? I was so sure you weren't into
kink."

"Not at all. Troy, dear boy, you're about to become a citizen of
Barken." He had come halfway across the room.

"I don't want to be a citizen of Barken! And since when do citizen
initiation rites require nakedness?"

He was beside me now and pulled on my hand. "Look at your arm."

It was covered with white hairs! I held out the other arm and saw
the same thing. I stared at them in wonder and was sure I could see
the hairs become more numerous. I looked at Jim with my mouth
hanging open and was surprised to see short hairs appearing on his
face in the familiar pattern of Dalmatian spots.

"Come now. It isn't good to get tangled up in your clothes. Let's
get you out of them."

"You got a lot of explaining to do!" My voice sounded raspy.

"And now is the time to do it." Jim reached for my belt as my shorts
slipped off my butt. "Shirt," said Jim as he instead reached down to
undo my shoelaces. I pulled off my shirt, then stepped out of my
shorts.

My whole body was covered in short hair! All that I could see was
white.

Jim said, "There is something in the soil of Barken that gives its
citizens the ability to become dogs once they stay here long enough.
The first time is involuntary, but after that you can learn to
control it."

I could feel bones moving now--in my head, arms, and legs. My
fingers had shrunk quite a bit in size. I glanced at Jim--who had
the head of a dog! I could see the distinctive pattern of Bowser's
spots.

He must have been able to figure out my expression as he said, "Yes,
Bowser and I are one and the same. I think I'll hold this in-between
form so that I am able to talk to you."

I could feel new muscles in my butt as my tail grew in. I tried to
speak, but couldn't form coherent words. It all came out as growls
and barks.

"When one moves away from Barken," said Jim, "a person loses the
ability to change, sometimes within six months, sometimes after
three years." No longer having to deal with my clothes, Jim took
off his own. I was looking at a curious blend of Jim and Bowser--
doggie fur, head, and tail, with human arms, legs, and body. "I lost
the ability to change when I happened to be in dog form."

Standing only on hind paws had gotten precarious, so I allowed my
legs to collapse and sat on the floor. I saw that my point of view
shifted from Jim's waist to his knees. Once on the floor, I could
figure out how to gather four legs under me.

I noticed that I did not feel terror or disgust at what was
happening, but felt a completeness I didn't know was missing. Even
so, I trembled as I thought about what had just happened. I had
become a dog!

Jim sat down beside me and scratched me between the ears, which felt
marvelous. He then pulled me onto his lap and put his furry arms
around me. I pulled in his smell and catalogued it in my mind --
this comforting smell is Jim.

"It was bad luck," Jim said, "that I ended up locked in my dog form
just before my last exam. You may wonder why I took the chance, but
I didn't know if I was cutting it close or had two more years and I
sleep so much better as Bowser even cooped up in a dorm room. I
couldn't change back to human until Barken had a chance to work its
magic on me again. I wasn't too concerned with how long it was
taking as I knew you would stick around for me and I wanted Barken
to work its magic on you too." He sighed as he ran his fingers
through the fur on my back.

"Yesterday, I sensed I would regain my ability soon. I knew you were
getting fed up with Barken and I was afraid you would leave before
your first change. I buried you in the sand yesterday hoping I could
speed up Barken's magic."

He pulled me off his lap. "Let's see which breed you've become.
Could you turn around, please?" I did so as he catalogued what he
saw. "White muzzle, tan head, left ear tipped in white, the right in
black, white forelegs, tan neck, black back and flanks, back legs
have white socks and tan thighs, tan butt, tan and white tail, and
white belly. You stand about as tall as I do, just under two feet.
Shorthair coat, which is and advantage in Barken. Hmm." He held his
lower jaw in his hands, considering me. "We in Barken have to know
our breeds as people tend to get upset if you refer to them by the
wrong one. Troy, dear boy, I'd say you are a beautiful English
foxhound. Of course, even if you became a mongrel I'd consider you
beautiful."

Jim scooted over to sit beside me again. "Well, it takes about
twelve hours in dog form after your first change before you can
teach yourself how to change back to human. After that, you'll be
able to shift as much as you want or even choose an in-between
form." He scratched me between the ears again. "That means we have
all day in dog form--we might as well enjoy it."

Jim completed his shift to Bowser. I was pleased to see we were
about the same size as dogs just as we were as humans. Jim spent a
few moments demonstrating how to walk on four feet, then nosed the
door open and once outside, demonstrated how to run. It was a
fabulous day!

----------

Jim and I managed to introduce two customs into Barken life over the
next few months. The first caught on immediately when Jim started to
wear his Dalmatian clothes around town., though by noon of the first
day he knew it was crazy to wear a turtleneck in Barken in June and
was soon busy applying ink to a t-shirt and a pair of bleached
cutoff jeans.

The day after that, Jim studied the broad patches of color in the
fur of my foxhound form and then presented me with cap, t-shirt, and
cutoffs appropriately dyed. I was embarrassed with the tan splotch
across my human butt, though the locals didn't seem to notice the
problem I had with it.

Within a week, Ron's Grocery sold out of bleach and tan, brown, and
black dye and Gretchen's Garments in the mall had trouble keeping
white tees and cutoffs in stock. One could be pretty good at
guessing a person's breed by the clothes they wore that summer.

As for the other new custom... Shortly after arriving in Barken I
noticed that Walt and Amanda didn't wear wedding rings and, when I
began to look for it, saw that no one else in town did either. I
wondered about it--until my first change. Then it was obvious that
a ring only got in the way when a person shifted; one had to
remember to take it off or risked losing it.

I got an idea when Jim and I started discussing a commitment
ceremony and I talked it over with him. He liked the idea very much.
So with Mayor Grimsley officiating and what seemed like the whole
town watching I was able to say, "I, Troy, present to you, James,
this collar as a symbol of my love. I declare to all witnesses that
you are my spouse in good times and bad, in sickness and in health,
whether rich or poor, until death separates us." I essentially gave
Jim the collar he had worn in Detroit though now it had my name in
the disk next to his. He had a duplicate made, which he fastened
around my neck as he said his own vows.

Mrs. Latour suggested I start the high school students--all twenty
of them over four grades--with physics as the seniors hadn't taken
it yet. She then worked closely with me over the summer to plan and
prepare to teach three different kinds of classes. Now that I've
been teaching for several months, I understand why some people--like
Jim--can get passionate about it. I end my workday sitting at
the back of the gym watching my love leading the high schoolers
through band rehearsal and from there I can see the joy in his face.

The conventions of Barken society strongly suggest that you appear
in public as full human or full dog. The way Jim explained it was
that some people have rather strange ideas of what is a comfortable
in-between form. So Jim and I are human in school and teach students
that are human (usually) and we can do our afternoon romps as dogs.
It is only in the privacy of our home during the evening and night
that we explore what it is like to be human with fur and tail.

Barken may not have many concerts, movies, or theater. Houston is
close enough for that when I need it. It hardly matters. Now that I
am a citizen of Barken, I know I can't live anywhere else for long.
Nothing can offer the joy of spending time as a dog.
[[Category:Story|The Effect of Spotted Clothes]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
[[Category:Barken]] [[Category:Animal]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Effect of Spotted Clothes, The}}

Category:Walk-A-Mile

2007-08-22T01:43:57Z

Erastus: New

[[Category:Stories by setting]]

User:Erastus/Just the Right Shoes for This Life

2007-08-22T01:42:42Z

Erastus: Added categories for setting. Added no table of contents

This is set in Posti's Walk-A-Mile Universe, with his blessings.

His original story is [http://tsa.transform.to/misc/walkamile.html here.]

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Just the Right Shoes for This Life

by Erastus Centaur

==Chapter 1==

Great! Just Great!

The boss was droning on, but Rusty hardly heard him. Rusty was too
preoccupied with endlessly repeating in his head the last thing he
did hear the boss say.

"Sorry, Rusty, we have to let you go."

How could they? It was the ideal job for me, Rusty thought. I liked
the work. It paid the bills. What's more, it paid the alimony. He
just couldn't be out on the street now!

"... let you go ... let you go ..."

How was he going to pay alimony now? He and Cheryl and come to an
amicable understanding that the marriage was not working. He had
thought that meant they could have an amicable divorce. It had
caught him completely by surprise that Cheryl had turned the divorce
proceedings into an opportunity to fleece him. Her lawyer had even
managed to include the clause that he still had to pay alimony even
if Rusty lost a job, the rotten guy.

"... let you go ... let you go ..."

Cheryl kept the house. Rusty made do with a small apartment. Small
was good. He didn't have much to put in it. Cheryl had kept the
furniture too.

Without a job, how was he going to keep even this little bit of
shelter? One missed rent payment and he would be out on the street.
For that matter, one missed alimony payment and he would likely be
in jail, given Cheryl's current predatory practices. At least in
jail he would have a roof over his head.

"... let you go ... let you go ..."

The company had already downsized so much due to the stock bust and
ongoing recession. If they have to lay me off, Rusty thought, it can
only mean one thing. The company is about to fold. Just great. As
thanks for his loyalty, he loses his job after everyone else so he
has to contend with hordes that are already unemployed and had first
crack at the few jobs still available. Besides, all these newfangled
startups consider anyone over the age of 33 to be ''old'', a has-been,
a fossil, washed up, an old dog that can't be taught new tricks.
Might as well take a shovel and pile on six feet of dirt. And Rusty
was 35.

Rusty realized his boss had stopped talking. He looked up. His boss
had his hand out. As Rusty shook it, the big guy said, "I'm sorry it
had to end this way. Take care of yourself."

''Yeah, right. Take care of yourself, he says'', thought Rusty. There
aren't any jobs out there. My ex had drained my savings and made
sure I won't ever get any savings. And I'm about to be tossed into
the street for missing my rent, if not into jail for missing an
alimony payment.

Rusty gathered up his few personal possessions and left. He drove to
the apartment and parked the car. He didn't bother to take the stuff
inside. He needed to walk. Just walk.

Rusty walked for hours. He didn't bother eating as his gut was too
tangled in knots. He wandered, stopping to look at whatever
penetrated his foggy brain, and very little did. Yeah, there were
the ducks along the pond in the park and a gaudy display at the
clothing store, but that was about it.

It was late afternoon when Rusty realized he had been sitting on a
bench at a bus stop and another bus driver had pulled away after
glaring at him through the open door. He didn't know how many other
buses there had been before this one. He looked around and realized
he didn't know where he was. Not that it mattered.

He got up from the bench and wandered away. Within a block he found
something that caught his attention. Why did a shoe store include
horseshoes in its display?

He looked over the display. It was vast! There didn't be any
unifying theme to the shoes, other than they were all shoes. He had
never seen so many shoes in one place, nor had he seen such a wide
variety. And that was just what he could see through the window. He
couldn't see to the back of the shop through the grime on the
window.

Rusty had never thought of shoes much, but this place almost looked
like a museum for shoes--except it was too disorganized. Rusty--
truly--had no place else to go. Why not spend a little time
browsing?

On his way in the door, Rusty found the name of the place and had to
laugh. "Walk a Mile," it said. What a cute takeoff on that old
proverb!

"Hello dear," said a woman. She was busy at one of the piles of
shoes, though her efforts didn't seem to have any effect on the
chaos there. Amazingly, though the pile was jumbled, pairs managed
to stay together. The woman wore what could have been described as
a housedress, though it wasn't new. Her hair had a hint of gray in
the brown and she looked to be... Well, Rusty realized that she had
a face such that it wasn't possible to tell how old she was. "Feel
free to browse," she said, waving an arm at him. "I'll be glad to
help if you need anything. Go ahead and try on anything you like."

I'm not in the market for shoes, Rusty firmly told himself. I can't
afford it. The phrase, "Let you go" echoed around his brain for a
moment, until he firmly reminded himself, ''that's enough!'' It
won't do to dwell on that anymore.

Now that he was in amongst them, Rusty could see the wide variety of
shoes. There were workboots, dress shoes, sandals, track shoes, golf
shoes, cowboy boots, penny loafers, children's sneakers, high tops,
hiking boots, shoes with ties, shoes with buckles, slip-ons, Earth
shoes, gardening clogs, dancing slippers, Dutch wooden shoes, tap
shoes, moccasins, slippers that covered just the toes, slippers that
looked like rabbit heads, ballet pointe shoes, knee high boots in
a garish red leather, flip-flops, platform shoes, Japanese clogs,
rhinestone studded shoes. He could identify shoes from many eras.
Roman sandals that tied up the leg, shoes a German prince might
wear, boots of a Nazi SS guard, those of a medieval serf, an
American flapper, a Russian peasant, a Canadian Inuit. There were
snow shoes, ice skates, ski boots from a variety of ages, baseball
cleats, fisherman's hip waders. Shoes that were white, black, brown,
red, blue, tan, green, pink, gold, leather, suede, velvet (''velvet?''),
covered in fur, lined with fur, made of rubber, plastic, silk. There
were tiny baby shoes all the way to a pair of army boots that
declared their size to be 22E. There were...

By this time, Rusty's mouth hung open in astonishment. "Excuse me."

"Yes?" said the woman.

"Where... how did you get so many different kinds of shoes?"

"Some I buy from people that don't need them anymore. Some I take
in trade. But most I collect them just because they strike my
fancy."

"Does that explain the horseshoes?"

She had a slight twinkle in her eye. "Yeah. I love ''all'' kinds of
shoes. It's too bad that the only animal that wears shoes is the
horse."

Rusty began think this woman must be--just a little bit--strange.

His mind went through what she had said, "You take shoes in trade?"

"That's what I said."

"What are your terms?"

"You give me a pair of shoes. I give you a pair of shoes."

"What about the discrepancy in price? Some of these shoes have to be
worth lots of money!"

"Doesn't matter."

Rusty looked at her a moment. She seemed absolutely sincere.

Rusty glanced at the shoes on his feet. They were nondescript shoes
for wearing around an office. Rusty'd had them for years and they
looked it. Maybe he was in the market for new shoes after all. If he
could find a pair of shoes that were suitable for a job interview
and not drain the bank account.

"Where I might find some office shoes in size seven-and-a-half,
triple E?" Rusty hated having feet that small and wide. Most stores
carried sized only down to 8D.

"I'm sorry, but you have to pick out the perfect shoes on your own.
And don't worry about size. I'll have it fit you."

Rusty gazed across what seemed like acres of shoes in huge random
piles. "How am I going to find office shoes in all that?" He waved
an arm, taking it all in. "Don't you believe in customer
assistance?"

She turned to face him with a hint of fire behind the eyes. Even so,
when she spoke, it was with unfailing kindness and patience. "I'm
sorry that I can't help you with your search. If I did so, I would
have to charge you for my time. If you need customer assistance, I
can recommend many fine shoe stores nearby."

Rusty realized he could run up quite a bill for even a small hourly
rate. Money he didn't have. Time he had. Lots of it.

Rusty sighed. This could take a while.

He started down between the rows of tables and display racks,
marveling that in the jumble each shoe was next to its mate.

Rusty's eye caught a classic wing-tip. He never considered the style
much before, but maybe he should leave the menial work behind and go
into management? This is the management shoe that was almost a
cliche. He picked it up and looked it over. Rats. It was a 12D, much
too large. He set it down.

"I said I can fit it."

"Huh?" He glanced at the woman. She had her back to him and hadn't
appeared to interrupt whatever she was doing at the table.

"I said I can fit it." She turned around and faced him. "If it is a
shoe you like, try it on. Don't worry about the fit."

"But it will be too big!"

"Some people never listen," she muttered, striding over to him.
"Have a seat." She pointed to a nearby bench. "And take your shoes
off."

Rusty sighed. He pulled his left shoe off. She gently, but firmly,
slipped the wingtip over his foot. It was obvious she had done this
many times before. A few quick flicks of her fingers and the bow was
neatly tied.

"But it doesn't..." was out of his mouth before he considered what
his foot is feeling. "But it does fit!" That's amazing! He looked at
the two feet side by side, each in a different style of shoe. The
left one looked noticeably larger than the right. Yet each foot felt
it was in a shoe of the proper size. How did she do it?

"Let's try the mate, shall we?" Before Rusty had a chance to say
anything, she slipped off his old right shoe and put the wingtip on
his foot, tying the bow as deftly as she had before. "There. How
does that feel?"

"Amazingly, it feels just fine." Rusty said. This was all a bit too
much.

"Well, then, why don't you step outside and walk around a bit. I
have only one rule. If you walk less than a mile by the time you
take them off, you can have your old shoes back. If you walk more
than a mile, they're yours and I keep your old ones in trade."

As he stepped through the door, Rusty felt his head spin for a
moment. He closed his eyes.

As the spinning settled, Rusty heard an unfamiliar man's voice.
"Well, well, well. David has decided to do his duty after all.
You're just in time."

Rusty's eyes snapped open to see a youngish man dressed in a suit
staring at him. Rusty looked around and found he was standing in
an office, not at all like the urban street just outside the shoe
store's door that he expected. How did he get here?

He realized he still had his hand behind his back holding the door
handle. If he stepped through a door and ended up in an office
instead of on the street, shouldn't he be able to step back through
the door and be back in the shop?

He turned around to do just that. The door didn't say, "Walk a
Mile." The letters spelled out, "Henderson and Wylie Financial
Services" across the glass (though backward from his view). He
opened the door and saw a small open area with elevator doors.

"Not so fast," said the voice in his ear as the door was pulled out
of his grasp. "Now that you're here, we are going to go through with
it."

"There must be some mistake. My name isn't David, its Rusty."

"Now don't try to play dumb now," said the stranger. Rusty could
hear an undercurrent of menace in the man's voice. "If you had
legally changed your name, you certainly wouldn't have come back
here." The man pulled on Rusty's arm.

Rusty resisted. "I need to sit for a moment, get some water. I had a
bit of dizziness when I came through the door. My head is still
spinning a bit." While true, that last part was now more figurative
than literal.

"Sure. We've got a bit of time yet." The man guided Rusty to what
was probably the secretary's chair. "Sarah!"

A woman's head appeared from around the corner, "Yeah, Jack?"

"Could you get Dave a glass of water?"

"Sure thing." The head disappeared.

While they waited, Rusty looked around the office. Compared to the
cubicle warren that he had been fired from that morning, this place
looked like it was dripping in money. Instead of posters with
inspirational sayings on them, this place had actual paintings on
the walls. The desk he was sitting at looked to be real wood and
mahogany at that, not the Formica covered surface he had known so
long. Rusty reached his hand out to touch the wood.

It wasn't his hand.

The fingers were much longer. The hair on the back of the hand was
thick and blond, not sparse and brown. The arm was encased in a navy
suit, not in the expected office casual tan long sleeve tee.

Rusty felt a twist in his gut and the color drain from his face.

The secretary returned just then. She stopped short when she saw
Rusty's face. "You don't look so good. You even look a bit green."
She handed him the water. He drank eagerly.

Jack said, "Dave's just fine. Aren't you Dave." Rusty could hear the
forcefulness in that voice. "He's just a little worried about his
presentation to Henderson coming up in ten minutes."

The secretary didn't look convinced, but she disappeared behind the
corner.

Rusty didn't care to get on the wrong side of determination behind
that voice. The way those eyes glinted, Rusty could tell this was
a dude one didn't want to tangle with. He had no idea what was going
on, but it seemed safest to play along.

"Perhaps," said Rusty, "you should remind me what this meeting with
Henderson is all about. Whatever made me dizzy seems to have blanked
my mind."

"Selective memory, huh? Well, I'll be glad to refresh it for you."
The eyes glinted again. "You are going to calmly ask Henderson for
a half million dollars. When he asks why, you will threaten him with
revealing what you know about the Romelly account. If you manage to
get the money, you turn ninety percent over to me."

"And if I don't do all this?"

"I call the police and tell them about your embezzling activities.
I think they would ''fascinated'' with the discrepancies I've found
in over two dozen accounts."

Rusty took a stab at what was really going on, "I did not embezzle,"
he said with as much conviction as possible. "There is no such
evidence in those accounts."

"There is now," said Jack with a grin worthy of a shark.

Rusty sat there for a moment.

"Come on," said Jack. "We had better get into the conference room.
We'll wait for Henderson there."

As they walked, Rusty reviewed what appeared to be happening. It
didn't make a lot of sense, so he tried to stick with the facts.
One: He had been in a shoe store and had admired some wingtips. Two:
Though the shoes were not his size, they fit perfectly once they
were on his feet. Three: The owner had practically shoved him out
the door with those shoes on and once through the door, he had
seemed to jump into in someone else's body at the moment a crime was
about to happen.

Whatever was going on. Rusty didn't like it.

They had taken their seats as Rusty reviewed what the woman had said
once he got the shoes on. Something about walking a mile in the
shoes. Ah yes, if he hadn't walked a mile, he could just take the
shoes off. He certainly hadn't walked a mile in the office. It was
worth a try.

The conference door opened. As Rusty's partner in crime turned to
greet the new guy--must be Henderson himself--Rusty quickly pulled
one foot up, untied the shoe and slipped it off.

==Chapter 2==

He was hit with a moment of dizziness, then found himself sitting
in the shoe shop again. He glanced down to check that he was
wearing his own clothes and that his hands looked like his own
hands.

He turned to the shopkeeper. "What just happened?"

"Ah, you're back," she said. "Those shoes must not be for you."

"I step out your door and right into an embezzlement scheme. What is
going on here?"

She looked directly into Rusty's eyes for a moment. "I think you
figured it out."

"I see. How did you get those shoes."

"I imagine their owner stopped in to swap for a new pair. He got
tired of his life and wanted a new start. If I remember right, he
took a pair of moccasins and didn't come back."

"Can't we stop that embezzlement crime?"

"You could have, but you chose not to. Don't feel bad, the original
owner didn't either."

"Then we'll have to destroy those shoes!"

"Sorry. No. They may be the perfect pair for someone who can stop
the crime or who relishes the intrigue. You, on the other hand, are
now free to select another pair or leave my little shop."

Rusty pondered that for a moment. What he had seen was bad, but his
own life wasn't all that appealing either. He thought back to the
office politics of his former job. While he didn't think the
supervisors and managers engaged in embezzlement, office politics
could get pretty rough. They had no qualms about stabbing each other
in the back, trying to score points in some mysterious game with
those higher up. Rusty was suddenly grateful he hadn't gotten into
management and knew he would never want to wear wingtips again.

But here was a chance at a completely new life. What did he want to
do with it? What did he want to be when he grew up?

He wandered around the displays, thinking about the lives the shoes
represented. Snowshoes and ski boots were out. He didn't like cold
weather, at least not enough to live in it. The Japanese clogs and
the Ukrainian boots were out. The culture would be way too strange.
Firemen boots--too dangerous. Rhinestone shoes--ugh!

His eyes fell on a pair of workboots. A job in construction? If
management didn't suit him and working in an office warren was old
hat, why not go in the other direction? Take a job outside, get some
fresh air, use his body (and he might get a good one), be able to
see what he had accomplished during the day.

He chose a large pair, hoping that implied a large body. His size
was average now. Perhaps it was time to try what it was like being
big and maybe even intimidating.

He slipped the large boots onto his feet and walked confidently
through the door.

Rusty didn't feel dizzy this time. One moment he was striding
forward. The next moment he was waking up from a face plant.

He groaned. He was feeling quite sore. He opened his eyes and lifted
his head to see several pairs of workboots.

"Gus, are you there?" Rusty heard the voice coming from behind his
head. Glancing to the side, he could see a pair of workboots of
someone kneeling beside him.

He groaned again, then decided to roll over so that he could see the
kneeling figure better.

"Oh good," said the figure. "You're still with us." How many fingers
do you see?"

"Two," said Rusty. "What happened?"

"They never remember traumatic events." The figure sighed. "You fell
off that beam." He pointed upward. Rusty rolled to a sitting
position and looked up. The beam seemed to be a long way up. Rusty
felt the color drain from his face again. "The fall could have
killed you."

"All right you lazy bums. Get back to work!"

"Hold on a moment, Jack. Gus fell. He might be injured."

"Jack turned to Rusty. "Can you stand?"

"I think so."

"Then get back to work."

Jack straightened and addressed the whole group. "Did ''all'' of you
fall? No? Get back to work."

The crowd dispersed. The guy that talked back to Jack offered Rusty
a hand to help him up. "Are you really feeling OK?"

Rusty stretched as he stood. "I feel sore and have a headache, but
otherwise I think I'm OK. Your name escapes me just now." He worked
real hard to suppress a grin.

"Gus, this is Tony you're talking to. We've known each other for ten
months now." Tony peered at Rusty. "You can be infuriating
sometimes. I can't always tell when you are serious or teasing.
Better be safe than sorry. You had better stay on the ground for
a while, in spite of what Jack says. I'll run interference if there
is a problem."

"Thanks," said Rusty.

If there were men working "upstairs", finding a place in the shade
under the building wasn't a good idea. Rusty turned to the row of
pickup trucks. And stared. Each one was a vintage truck from the
1930s and '40s. How was it that a bunch of construction workers
each had a vintage truck? Then he noticed something else. These
trucks weren't in the pristine condition of a vintage car buff.
They were beat up and covered in dirt, about the way a construction
worker's truck should look. Why buy a vintage truck and subject it
to such abuse?

Rusty walked over to the line of trucks and gave them a good looking
over. He saw the license plates that didn't look like the ones he
knew for vintage plates, they looked like normal, every day plates--
except the date on them was 1947.

It wasn't until he passed a cab with a newspaper scattered across
the bench seat that reality sunk in. The paper was dated July 29,
1947. Rusty had resumed Gus's life fifty-five years in the past.

Rust felt his knees gave way. He sagged against the truck, then
slowly lowered himself to the ground. Well, Tony had said to take it
easy.

It was interesting to watch the men climb along the girders. They
looked like a well orchestrated team. Rusty noted how each man
quickly reattached his tether as he moved along, doing it in
smooth movements of long practice. Rusty was glad he wasn't up
there. He didn't think he could get that tether attached right
without a lot of practice.

While he sat there watching, Rusty thought over the situation. If
the former occupant of this body had fallen, what had caused it? Had
Gus really died? Did he--Rusty--get the shoes because someone had
given the shoes to the shoe shop after Gus's death? That was a
gruesome thought.

Rusty though that if he was in the body Gus had left behind, he had
better become familiar with it. He found he was dressed in a t-shirt
and jeans, which seemed to be the uniform of the construction crew.
He had a hardhat on his head, but it didn't seem to be as sturdy as
the ones he had seen from his own time.

His arms seemed to be long and muscular, the hands looked to be used
to manual work. The skin was darker than before and a check under
the sleeve confirmed not all of the darkness was due to the sun.
There wasn't much hair on the arm, though what was there was black.

The jeans looked to be much slimmer and longer than before. Pulling
up the cuff showed muscular legs and the same dark skin. Pulling
out the tail of his shirt revealed a slim waist and decently muscled
abs also covered with the same dark skin.

He tried to get a good look at himself in a reflection in the glass
of one of the trucks, but the light was all wrong. He did see he had
straight hair and that it was pulled into a ponytail. The ponytail
reached to the middle of his back. He also noticed a red headband.

He looked around for a sideview mirror, but discovered such things
weren't common in 1947. None of the trucks had one and he didn't
want to climb in one to use the rearview mirror.

Well, if he couldn't get a good look at himself in the windows,
maybe a driver's license would have a decent picture (though he
doubted a license picture from 1947 would have a chance of being
better than the poor photos used in 2002.

He found the wallet in the back left pocket, but there was no
driver's license. Figures. In a city one could use public
transportation. What he did find was a black and white photo. It
showed two Native Americans. The man looked to be tall, slim with
big shoulders, and a ponytail with a headband. He looked to be
barely out of high school. The woman also looked young. She came up
to the man's chin. Her hair was also long and dark. She was full
figured, but also looked very young. He turned it over and read the
inscription, "My dear Gus Nighthawk, Please return to me as soon as
you can. Love always, Lily." The date was September 15, 1946.

So I ended up in the body of an American Indian, thought Rusty. That
thought reminded him of reading about Mohawk Indians that were
highly prized construction workers as they weren't afraid of
heights.

Rusty studied the face of the man in the photo, presumably now his.
It was a strong face and rather pleasant. This may not be so bad.

"I thought I said to get to work, not moon over your girlfriend!"
Jack had a firm grip on Rusty's shoulder, pulling him up. "We have
deadlines to meet. I can't afford to have you lounging around,
even if you bumped your noggin'."

They were interrupted by a couple guys coming from the building. One
of them held up a piece of rope that looked quite worn. They were
shouting, "Hey Jack! Jack! Need a new tether. This one's about to
break." When they were close enough they shoved the worn part in
Jack's face.

"Come on, ya wimps. You should be able to do your job without that
silly tether. You know I don't keep extras around. They're too much
money."

They had attracted some attention and more of the men were walking
across to Jack. Now that he was looking for it, he could see that
two, maybe three, others were Mohawks.

"I'm not working without one," said the one holding the rope.

He and Jack glared at each other for a moment. The other man said,
"I found this where Gus fell." He held up a piece of rope with a
frayed end. "And I found this where Gus had been working." He held
up another piece with a frayed end.

A couple things were suddenly very clear to Rusty.

Gus had died from that fall.

Rusty had been put into his reanimated body.

Jack didn't care about safety.

"I quit," said Rusty.

"If you do, you won't work in this town again. You can be sure I can
make that happen." Rusty had no doubt Jack could. "You'll never earn
enough money to see your squaw again. No, you can't quit." Jack
turned to the assembled crowd. "Now get back to work! All of you!"

A couple more things became clear in Rusty's mind.

As fine as this new body was and though it would be fun to play at
being an Indian, this wasn't going to work.

His knowledge of 21st century America wasn't going to get him a job
in mid-century society. There were computers around--a small number
of primitive machines--but no one was going to allow him near one.
The wonders he knew about wouldn't be accepted coming from an
Indian.

He couldn't get the money for training in any current profession. He
would be stuck in low paying jobs. An alternative would be to go to
an Indian reservation, which in mid-century was not a pleasant place
to be.

His options were to work for a guy who didn't care whether he lived
or join the ranks of the poor.

Rusty lowered himself to the ground and began untying a boot.

"What do you think you are doing?" yelled Jack. "Get back to work.
All of you. There is work to be done. A building to build. We can't
be standing around--"

"Jack!" It was Tony's voice, loud enough to cut through Jack's
tirade. Rusty kept his attention on his boot. "None of us are going
back up until we have proper safety equipment. You may think only of
money, but we want to be able to go home at..."

Tony's voice faded as dizziness overtook Rusty.

==Chapter 3==

Rusty sat for a moment in the shoe shop waiting for the world to
stop spinning. By then the shopkeeper had come over to him.

"The original owner of these boots died, didn't he." Rusty's voice
was full of accusation.

She didn't take the bait. "It is quite possible. I don't know where
most of these shoes have been and what happened to their owner. I
do know and what you apparently figured out that when you put on
their boots you take over as if they hadn't died. Whether that is a
good thing or not, I have no way of knowing."

She paused. Rusty didn't say anything. She said, "So have you
decided your original life isn't so bad after all or do you want to
try another pair of shoes?"

"I've entered into a life with a backstabbing colleague and one with
a greedy boss. But my original life had that as well. It wasn't any
better. I guess I'm still trying to get away from it."

"In what way was this boss greedy?"

"He valued money more than his workers lives."

"Ohhh," she said. "That's bad." She patted his hand. "The store will
be open as long as you need it."

Now what? Rusty wandered between the tables and racks of footwear
for several minutes. The shopkeeper seemed to ignore him.

His eye seemed to linger over the hockey skates. Nah. He found
hockey confusing. Football? Too prone to injuries. Track? Boring.

He paused for a moment. Why sports? Why was that attracting his
attention?

Well...

If he was transferred into someone else's body, he surely would be
able to play the sport. The body would be healthy and strong. Would
he find a segment of humanity he could get along with?

Perhaps yes. Rusty thought back to his high school days and his time
on the baseball team. They weren't a great team, but they did end
the season above .500 and he had enjoyed the camaraderie. Perhaps he
should choose baseball. At least he knew how to play the game.

Rusty continued his walking, looking for baseball shoes. As
expected, he saw many pairs. Which to choose? Was there a way to
find one pair from a life he might enjoy, where the previous owner
had been happy?

Alas, there was no way to know.

By this point, Rusty had passed up a dozen pair. He spotted a pair
a little different from the rest. There was a logo of an Indian on
the side of the shoes. Somebody from the Cleveland Indians had left
a pair of shoes here? Everyone on his high school team had dreamed
--at least for a while--about being in The Show, joining a Major
League team. What an opportunity!

Rusty slipped the shoes on and strode confidently to the door.

When the dizziness faded, Rusty found himself sitting on a bench in
a locker room facing what he assumed was his locker. From the way
one ankle rested on the other knee and from the position of his
hands, it was obvious he had come into this body as it finished
putting on the shoes.

Rusty looked around. The name above the locker he faced said "Darryl
Billingsley" but it was on a piece of cardboard in a bracket. The
locker room looked old and in need of paint, not what he expected of
a Major League team. The uniform he was wearing looked too worn to
be new this season, even if it was now October according to the
calendar on the wall, the kind with one page for each day.

Another player turned a bit so Rusty could see his back. Rusty
gasped. The unifirm had "Spokane Indians" on it! Not Major League
at all! This team was Minor League. The teams were filled with the
eager upstarts wondering why the had to toil in the Minors and with
the dregs of the sport, the older guys who couldn't admit they would
never make it to The Show.

He felt an arm on his shoulder. He looked up into a face that looked
like it hadn't come to terms with a dream that would never happen.
"Hey, Darryl. You Okay? For a moment you looked a little green. And
then you gasped like you were in pain."

Rusty reached up to put his hand over the hand on his shoulder and
smiled a little smile. "Thanks for the concern, buddy, but I'm
fine."

A note of teasing crept into the other man's voice. "You'd better!
I'll need you to close for me today. We wouldn't want our star
reliever to have a bad day this close to the playoffs!" The other
man's face grew serious. "You hadn't answered me yet. Are you in?"

"In what?"

"You don't remember our discussion from yesterday?"

How to cover for this one? "Um... I guess I put it out of my mind.
What was it about?"

The other man looked around and realized the coach was walking in.
"Sorry. Can't talk about it now."

What was that about? wondered Rusty.

Was he about to be caught in another unpleasant situation? The coach
was starting his pre-game motivation speech, but Rusty found he had
another more important issue to think about. How many times from the
dugout to the pitchers mound make a mile? Is there a designated
hitter in this league? How many times around the bases do I have to
allow for? How far is it from here to the dugout and the bullpen?
And the big question--''How long can I stick around before I lose my
chance of escape?''

Rusty tuned into the coach while pondering that last question. "This
is the big one, men. We win this one and we're in the playoffs. Lose
it and you will be left wondering what you could have done
differently, and those thoughts make for a long winter. I'm sure you
know that since this is an important game, there will be a lot of
Major League scouts watching to see how we handle the pressure. For
some of you, a win could mean more than a chance at the Minor League
playoffs."

The coach paused for a moment. "Everyone says a win over our
opponents from Great Falls should be a piece of cake. Don't let that
talk fool you into letting your guard down. Treat it like a walk in
the park and they just might break their losing streak. Now go get
'em!"

The team cheered and surged out to the field. Rusty hung back so
that he wouldn't look too stupid as he paused at the door to get his
bearings.

Rusty watched with interest during warm-ups and preliminaries. It had
been a while since he had attended any game and had never attended
a Minor League game. He was amused at the difference between the
young players trying to impress scouts and older players doing
things with a minimum of fuss. It was nice having such a great seat
for the game.

The game began with Roger McAllister on the mound, the guy that had
been so mysterious. He retired the side quickly. The Spokane hitters
responded with a single, an out, a double, and a sacrifice to bring
a runner home before the end of the inning.

Rusty was both amused and concerned when the Great Falls hitters
managed to get a runner in during the top of the second inning.

Spokane was scoreless in the bottom of the second and McAllister
retired three batters easily.

A run by Spokane in the bottom of the third was answered by a run
by Great Falls in the top of the fourth. The same thing happened
in the bottom of the fourth and top of the fifth. Once Spokane got
a run in the bottom of the fifth to finish the inning, the coach
pulled McAllister and sent Rusty in.

During his warm-up, Rusty noticed that this body seemed to remember
how to pitch. The motions were much more fluid and accurate than he
had ever managed in high school. He hadn't been in this body long
yet he was amazed at how well he could control it.

Though Rusty's body knew how to pitch, Rusty's mind hadn't kept such
things as strategy and hand signals from either the previous mind in
this body or from his youth.

He walked the first batter. The second got a single.

The catcher called time out and he and the coach came out to the
mound.

"Why aren't you following my signals?" said the catcher. "We usually
only yell at umpires for being blind."

Okay, thought Rusty, how do I get out of this mess? His pause made
the coach very interested in the reply. "Sorry," he finally said,
"I had a mental blank about what they mean."

"You've been pitching all summer and forgot what the hand signals
mean?" said the coach, shaking his head. "And you manage to do it
during an important game!" He turned and walked back to the dugout.

"A quick refresher, then," said the catcher. "One finger for fast,
two for slow, three for curve. I move my hand around to indicate
high or low, inside or outside." He put a bit of edge into his
voice. "Do you think that little peanut sized brain can remember all
that for more than ten seconds?"

"Yeah," said Rusty, "I got it."

Rusty struck out the next two batters though getting close to a full
count on both of them. He misread another hand signal and fed the
batter a pitch that was low and fast.

The better connected for a pop-up, which Rusty fumbled. One runner
scored.

The coach pulled him. Rusty sighed with relief.

Once Rusty was in the dugout, The coach barked, "McAllister!
Billingsley! With me." On the way past the batting coach, he brushed
his right eyebrow twice. The batting coach's smile vanished as he
nodded.

The two pitchers followed the coach to his office. He closed the
door, locked it, and turned to study them a moment. "I had to think
for a while to come up with why your performance was so bad today.
Then I noticed Jimmy Ganni sitting behind home plate. Suddenly it
all became clear."

The coach paused and glared at us each in turn. McAllister began
to fidget. He had rested one foot on the other knee and now was
running his fingers across the knot in his shoelace.

"You're throwing the game. Aren't you."

Rusty was pretty sure he saw rage, defiance, and denial flit across
McAllister's face before he brought it under control. McAllister
remained silent.

"That," raged the coach, "is the worst sort of betrayal I can
imagine. You may be making a ton of money from this, but you are
hurting your teammates. They will be denied the playoffs because
of your greed. They will be denied another chance to play in front
of scouts and perhaps a chance at The Show. The police should be
here any minute."

"But throwing a game isn't illegal!" said McAllister. "The only
penalty is expulsion from the league."

Rusty suddenly realized that McAllister was admitting to it. The
other pitcher's intent was to collect the reward and retire.

It seemed the coach did too as his eyes narrowed a bit. "Throwing a
game isn't why the police are coming. You committed fraud. You did
not put out your best effort as your teammates expected. The
victims of your fraud are your teammates."

McAllister began to look a bit panicky when there was a knock on the
door. The coach unlocked it and let in two policemen. The coach
said, "Ah. Come in. Please arrest these two men on the crime of
fraud."

The policemen closed in around Rusty and McAllister. "Can't we at
least take a shower?" said McAllister.

"No," said the coach. I want you seen in that uniform when the press
gets word. It is that uniform you disgraced."

As one of the policemen reached for Rusty's wrist, he said, "Just a
moment, officer, I have something in my shoe."

"Freeze!" shouted one of the policemen. "Hands on head." Rusty
complied. "I'll take the shoe off for you. Which one?"

"Left," said Rusty.

The cop undid the laces and tugged at the heel. Rusty was overcome
with dizziness.

==Chapter 4==

As soon has his head stopped spinning, Rusty opened his eyes--just
in time to see the left shoe drop to the floor. Rusty waited for the
shopkeeper to amble over. "Well?" she said.

"Baseball pitcher. A teammate threw the game. I didn't do well on
the pitcher's mound and was also accused. Before leaving the
stadium, I asked the cop to remove my shoe."

Rusty sat quietly for a moment, then said, "What happens to the
people left behind when I take off a shoe?"

"I really don't know," she said. "It probably depends on how I got
the shoe."

"Well, what happened to the cop that pulled off my shoe and I
vanished?"

"It sounds like you took over for a guy who was disgusted with his
life, so it would be as if you had never been there. If the guy
designated for relief isn't there, someone else has to do it.
Whether that person is arrested would depend on how well he played."

"What about the construction guy who fell to his death? That
happened way back in 1947. What about his sweetheart?"

I'm sure she would have made sure he got the proper funeral."

Rusty pondered that for a few minutes.

"Do you want another pair of shoes?" said the shopkeeper,
interrupting Rusty's reverie.

Conniving and greedy bosses, teammates willing to throw a game.
Humans could get downright nasty to each other. There had to be
some good people out there. Didn't there? There were some people
that knew right from wrong. Weren't there? Out of all these shoes
piled in this room, there had to be a pair that had belonged to
a person whom everyone loved, who had died a sudden death that
would allow him to take over.

It wasn't exactly a cheery thought--wishing some good person had
died suddenly so he could take over.

Rusty wandered through the piles of shoes, touching a pair here and
there. Snowshoes, fur lined shoes, ice skates, and skis were out.
He didn't like the cold. He didn't want to struggle with another
language, so the Russian, Japanese, Greek, Dutch, and German Nazi
footwear could be bypassed. He didn't want the kind of life to which
the rhinestone shoes belonged. His recent experiences had eliminated
sport shoes, workboots, and anything that remotely looked like
office shoes. What kind of shoe hadn't he tried yet?

His eye fell on a pair of what looked like ballet slippers except
they didn't have the rounded toes of pointe shoes. This must be a
man's ballet shoe then, he decided. That brought to mind the few
(very few) times he had seen a ballet. The dancers had been
graceful, even the men. How could there be any ugliness in a life so
caught up in making beauty?

It was worth a try. Wasn't it?

Rusty put on the ballet shoes, guessing how the laces were to go.
This could be interesting. People could find themselves watching a
klutzy dancer. He carefully walked through the doorway.

Hoo Boy! As his vision cleared, Rusty found himself flat on his back
staring up at a circle of faces with one face very close. That face
spoke, "Oh good, Ivan, you're alive."

Wonderful, thought Rusty, I get to inhabit the body of a guy who just
died.

The voice went on. "Are you hurt? Can you get up?"

"I don't know yet," said Rusty. "What happened?"

"It appears you fell into the orchestra pit. You could have done
serious damage to yourself." You ain't kidding, thought Rusty. "It
is good to see you're okay."

Rusty did a mental inventory. He hurt a little bit, but not a lot.
Nothing seemed to be broken. He used his hands to push to a sitting
position. That went well. He slowly stood. The dancers around him
applauded. Well at least most of them.

He looked down. He was wearing a t-shirt and tights along with the
dance shoes. The body underneath the clothing looked to be in
mighty fine shape.

The one who had leaned over him appeared to be the one in charge.
"Okay, show's over. Back to work."

The crowd went back on stage and took up positions as for the start
of a dance. Along the way, he heard a voice from behind say, "Don't
think this is over, Korsakov." The turned to see who said it, but
couldn't tell who spoke.

Rusty wasn't sure what to do, so hung back. After a moment he
realized that the dancers formed a regular pattern and there was
an obvious gap. Rusty stepped into that place. Perhaps he could
blame the coming fiasco on being hurt in the head.

Much to his surprise, it didn't turn out that way. When the music
started, his body seemed to know what to do. It was invigorating to
dance like this. He felt graceful and that he was expressing deep
emotions he had never thought were there. He figured that muscle
memory was at work. He leaped. He spun. He expertly lifted and
supported his partner. He was having a wonderful time! He wished
the moment could go on forever and understood why dancers did what
they did.

Perhaps this is the life for me, thought Rusty, though things may be
a lot different when learning a new dance and someone referred to
the steps by name. He also thought about how many dance steps make a
mile. How soon would he need to decide whether to go or stay? But
the dance went on and Rusty began to put those thoughts out of his
mind.

Rusty felt something slam against his left knee, sending him
sprawling. Whatever had happened, his knee ''hurt''. He didn't dare
put weight on it. It hurt just to move, so he decided to simply
lie there.

He heard a collective gasp when he fell and within seconds, he was
surrounded again with anxious faces.

"That looks bad, Ivan," said a woman. "Don't move. Knees normally
don't bend that way."

The director--the person who had hovered over him before--came into
Rusty's view. She glanced at Rusty and pulled out a cell phone. "Hi.
We need an ambulance at the Regent Theater. It looks like a damaged
knee." She turned off the phone and turned to Rusty. "I'm so sorry,
dear. It really looks like your dancing days are over. This is a bad
one. And you were looking so good in this last dance."

''I was?'' thought Rusty. ''This last dance? That means it was me, not the previous occupant of this body!''

She straightened up and used her I'm In Charge voice. "Mister
Tanayev! What were you doing out of position!"

"I was out of position?"

"Don't play innocent with me, buster!" She turned to the dark
auditorium, shielded her eyes from the stage lights and said,
"Tyler?"

"Yes, ma'am." The voice appeared to come from the light booth.

"Did you catch all that on video?"

"Sure did."

"Please take that cassette to my office." She turned to Mr. Tanayev.
"Would you like to explain it to me now or wait until the police get
here?"

"The police?"

"Yes. The charge will be assault and battery. I bet if we wound the
tape back far enough, we'll find that Mr. Korsakov didn't fall into
the orchestra pit, he was pushed. This wouldn't be a bit of
professional jealousy, would it?"

That certainly pushed a button. Mr. Tanayev went into a tirade. "I'm
a better dancer and he gets the good roles! I'm stuck in the
ensemble and he gets the solos! You call what he does dancing? He
could phone it in..."

Rusty tuned him out and turned to the ballerina sitting by his head.
"Could you pull my shoes off?" The grimace from pain was not faked.

"I'd hate to disturb your leg."

"Perhaps you could start with the other one. I've got an itch on
that foot and I doubt you could scratch it through the shoe."

Rusty endured a big stab of pain when she pulled the ties out from
under the leg and tried very hard not to show it. He was relieved
when a moment later the dizziness overtook him.

==Chapter 5==

Once his head stopped spinning, Rusty slumped in the chair. He
didn't hurt now, but the pain had been incredible. The memory of it
still lingered.

"It was bad, wasn't it," said the shopkeeper with sympathy in her
voice.

"Yeah," Rusty whispered.

"What happened?"

"Professional jealousy by another dancer. He killed the original
owner of the shoes by pushing him into the orchestra pit. When I
revived the body, he settled for a career ending injury. Oh man,
did that hurt!" Rusty winced in memory.

"You look like you could use a spot of tea. I'll be right back."

Rusty took the time to simply sit.

She returned sooner than Rusty thought possible, carrying a
steaming mug. It smelled wonderful, definitely herbal.

The shopkeeper busied herself while Rusty sipped the tea. When
she heard him set the mug down, she came over to him. "Have you
decided what you want to do now?"

"I've decided I'm tired of humanity. There is so much pain we
inflict on each other. I want to get away from all that pain."

"What about all the love that humans show to each other? What about
the selfless worker in the soup kitchen, the joy of children
playing, the satisfaction of a job well done, the simple helping
hand in a time of need?"

"It may be there, but I haven't found it."

"I'm sure there are those types of people in all the shoes here."

"Maybe so, but I can't bear any more pain in the attempt to look for
such a person."

"So how do you get yourself out of this mess?" She paused to collect
her thoughts. "You can walk out that door in your original shoes.
People have remade their lives before. You can too. You can leave
here determined to be the kind of person you are searching for." She
studied his face for a moment. "Or you can walk out that door wearing
someone else's shoes. I will not allow the third option of committing
suicide in this store." She said that last part in a voice that
allowed no compromise.

"I could be your assistant."

"Sorry, but no. You could not live the way I do."

Rusty sighed, the let his eyes wander around the little shop.
Russian shoes, Japanese shoes, Greek shoes, Roman shoes, sandals,
boots, pink, gold, brown. The mass of shoes dissolved into a blur.
Wingtips, loafers, saddle shoes, hiking boots, horseshoes, tap shoes,
hip waders.

Wait a minute.

Horseshoes?

Rusty stared at the horseshoes for several minutes. He was thinking
can I really do it? Can I give up my humanity? Is my humanity worth
keeping? As those thoughts churned through his brain, he moved
from display to display. He hadn't paid much attention to horses. It
just now struck him that horseshoes came in a variety of sizes.

"Could you tell me how many different size horseshoes you have?"

The shopkeeper rattled them off without taking her eyes from the
shoes she was sorting, "I have those available in pony, mule,
donkey, riding horse, and draft sizes."

"Has anyone ever put on a pair of horseshoes?"

"One. A guy named Bob."

"What happened to him?"

"I don't know. He stepped through the door and never came back.
Once a person steps through the door, I can't find out what happened
to them unless they come back and tell me."

"So you never hear of the happy endings?

"On occasion I do. Some people will verify that the shoes are what
causes the change by taking them off. They pop back in here. If it
has been a good experience, they'll slip the shoe back on quickly. A
few people will tell me a sentence or two before they slip the shoe
back on."

Rusty pondered the nearest horseshoe for a moment. "How did that Bob
guy wear a horseshoe?"

"He slipped nails through the shoes and held the nails between his
toes. He did it right in front of the door so he only needed to take
a couple steps.

By this time Rusty had lined up horseshoes of each size. He pondered
his selection. Racer? Draft?

The shopkeeper interrupted his musings. "I must warn you that you
must consider taking horseshoes as permanent."

"Don't I get to walk a mile in them first."

"That rule still holds. But please think about this. If you actually
become a horse you won't have the ability to take the shoes off. You
won't be able to ask a person to take them off. You may not even
have enough wits to think of doing it."

"Oh!" said Rusty. No, he hadn't thought of that. In his mind, he ran
over what she said. "Back up a bit. Is there a chance I might not
become a horse?"

"As I said, I don't know what happens. Ever since Bob went through
here, I've wondered about it. Mind you, my curiosity isn't great
enough to try it myself. But I've thought Bob could have become
everything from a human who gets off on pony shoes, to some blend of
human and horse, to full horse."

"Pony shoes?"

She tossed him a pair. They were black shoes that had a sole in the
shape of a hoof and also kept the heel high off the ground.

Rusty set them aside. "Way too kinky for me."

"But if you 'wear' the horseshoes, you might end up in a body that
thinks they aren't kinky enough."

Draft, Rusty decided. He wandered through the displays making sure
the pair of horseshoes he had in his hands were the largest
available. After spending time in a few other bodies, he understood
bigger was better.

Now that he had a pair of the largest horseshoes in the store, he
walked over to the door, leaned against the frame, and looked at the
metal in his hands, thinking. This one was for keeps. There would be
no turning back if he ran into a bad situation. If he was a horse,
he might have a cruel master. If he ended up in pony shoes, his
partner might be sadistic. If he was some blend of human and horse
in a human world, he might be a freak.

He glanced at the shopkeeper, who was busy sorting shoes. Rusty
suddenly realized that when she was not helping him, she was sorting
the shoes. It seemed to have absolutely no effect on the chaos on
the display tables.

Rusty walked over to her. "It appears that you collected all these
shoes," he swept a hand around to include the whole room, "from
people who have died or were unhappy and wanted a different life."

"Yes, that's right."

"Is the same true for the horseshoes?"

"No. It's not. I just like horseshoes and consider my collection to
be incomplete without them. The horseshoes around here have never
been used."

Well, that was a relief. There was a lower chance (certainly much
lower than the current 100%) of popping into a bad situation.

Rusty went back to lean against the door frame. Should he do it?
Could he do it? He thought about the lives he had visited and his
original life. Being human, to put it bluntly, sucked. The real
question now before him was actually straightforward. Would life as
a horse or horse hybrid have a better chance of being a good life?

Put that way, the choice seemed pretty easy. Life as a human seemed
to have a close to 100% chance of being miserable. Though the right
value was unknown, Rusty felt sure the percent chance of having a
miserable life as a horse was much less than a sure thing. There was
hope for a good life.

One part of his mind said, This is for keeps. Are you sure?

Another part responded, Ya got any better ideas? And when was life a
sure thing?

Rusty sat down in a chair by the door. He removed shoes and socks.

He walked over to the shopkeeper, hoping he didn't catch a sliver in
his toes. "Um, do you have any horseshoe nails?"

She held out her fist. It looked like there was something in that
fist, so Rusty slid the horseshoes over his forearm, cupped his
hands beneath hers. She dropped four nails into his hands.

He walked back to the chair by the door. He put his left foot on his
right knee, then held a horseshoe against his toes. He adjusted the
shoe a bit until two holes lined up between his toes. He slipped two
nails in and felt them slide between his toes. While keeping the
nails in place, he set the shoe on the floor. He did the same with
the right foot.

Rusty opened the door and used his toes to push the shoes to just
inside. He put his toes around the nails. It was obvious he wouldn't
have a good grip on the shoe or the nails, but that wouldn't matter,
at least not for long.

Very quickly, Rusty picked up his right foot. He closed his eyes.
And stepped.

The dizziness was much stronger and lasted much longer than it had
before. Rusty kept his eyes closed until he was sure the dizziness
was gone.

Even before he opened his eyes, Rusty noticed the aroma. It was
''wonderful!'' It smelled like he was in the middle of a garden on a
beautiful day in mid May in which everything was in bloom at once.
On opening those eyes, he was pleased to see his nose hadn't been
wrong. It was a garden and quite a large one. He couldn't see
anything that marked its end either straight ahead or to the left or
right. Rusty noticed something strange, at least to his limited
knowledge of botany. Many trees appeared to have both blooms and
ripe fruit.

Since he wasn't waking up to a face plant and wasn't surrounded by
others, Rusty had time to look over the body he now wore.

The first thing he noticed was that his mind did not appear to be
diminished. He had thought about "flowers" and "fruit" using words.
A quick mental count to ten settled the matter. Second, he didn't
have a muzzle. He could judge distances as well as before, his
field of vision was the same, and the nose between his eyes looked
to be human normal. He could see one difference without a mirror--the
hair on his upper lip was blond and a lot thicker.

He put a hand to his face to feel for any other changes. As the
fingers came into view, he realized at least I have a hand. These
fingers were longer than before. He ran his fingers through the
thick mustache then over his mouth to his chin. Yep, he had an
equally thick beard. Tugging on a few hairs, he could see it was
blond. The rest of his head felt normal. There was no bald spot.

He glanced downward. He had a very human chest and abdomen with
the human normal amount of blond hair over some impressive muscles.

But what was below that was very much not human. The lower parts
of his abdomen were covered with blond fur and below that were two
solid looking legs, the portion below very knobby knees sported long
pale blond hairs which obscured, he was sure, hooves. Lifting one up
and shaking it did indeed reveal a large hoof.

He had a brief moment of panic when he realized his manhood did not
hang between those legs. A twist of his shoulders and a glance
behind him showed the rest. There were two more legs and a tail.

With a tiny bit of concentration he could make those hind legs move
and swish the tail.

Centaur. The word suddenly came to his mind. He was now a centaur.

The idea both pleased him and annoyed him. This body was built for
strength and the images of centaurs he remembered depicted a
wonderful nobility. As a body it looked to be a fine one. He had
kept what he felt were the necessary human parts--the brain and
hands. And if he was to be blended with an animal, the horse was as
good as any and a lot better than most. It was obvious he had
strength and he probably had a good deal of speed.

But he was now a freak among humans.

A rumble from his horse part reminded him that he hadn't eaten in
several lifetimes. All of the fruit on the surrounding trees looked
delicious, even if he couldn't put a name to many of them. The apple
tree was closest, so he started there.

After working through two apples, he started towards another tree.
It was then he heard noises. It sounded very much like happy humans.
He could hear talking and singing and it sounded like someone had
some type of flute.

Rusty knew that those happy sounds could change in a moment,
especially if the sounds came from humans calculating how to make
money off a centaur, either by making him part of a circus act or
issuing fines for stealing fruit. He glanced around for a hiding
place, but there didn't seem to be one. The trees weren't close
enough together to offer seclusion for this large body. Maybe he
could get a human to pry off a horseshoe before going too far.

Before he could think of alternatives, he could see the group
through the trees in the distance.

They were centaurs! He wasn't a freak. He was just one of many.

A moment later, he heard a shout and the flute player stopped
playing. Evidently he had been spotted as the other centaurs
changed course to meet him. He knew he didn't want to hide from
everyone for the rest of his life (how long did centaurs live?)
so he might as well meet them now.

There were five in the group that approached, two females and three
males. He had plenty of time to study them as they came closer.

One female looked like she had just reached adulthood. She was a
beauty, with curves in all the right places. Her fur was the same
dark red as the hair on her head. She had shaggy white hair on her
lower legs that covered her hooves.

The other female looked like she could have been the young female's
mother, though her fur and hair was a lighter red.

The horse part of the largest of the males looked like a Clydesdale
with chocolate fur and shaggy white stockings. His beard was thick
and brown. Rusty wondered if he was the young female's father.

A second male looked like the young female's little brother, at
about the age when little brothers become pesky. He had a hint of
a mustache.

The last member of the group was the one holding the flute. His fur
was full of white and tan patches that extended down to his knees.
Below that, the fur was white and short. His thick beard was the
same color as his tan patches. Rusty guessed he was a bit too old to
be the oldest male's son.

"Hello," said the young female, holding out her hand. "You must be
new here. I'm sure I know all of the centaurs and yet you don't look
familiar."

Rusty shook her hand and said, "Yes, I just arrived."

"But how did you get here?" she asked.

Before Rusty could reply her father said, "Probably the same way I
did, Calla." He now faced Rusty and held out his hand. "Hi. I'm Bob,
though I'm known around here as Posti." Rusty shook the offered
hand. "Please pardon my daughter's bluntness. Other than births, you
are the first new person she has seen." He put his arm around his
daughter's shoulders. "My guess is that you were in a strange shoe
store just before you came here."

"How did you ... Ah yes, the shopkeeper did mention a guy named Bob
that had tried on the horseshoes."

"Yep, that's me. Though when I did it I wanted to be a complete
horse. Mind you, I'm not complaining about the results."

"Dad," the young male patted his father's flank. "You just used a
buncha words I don't know yet."

"And those words are?"

"Shopkeeper and horseshoe."

"I'll make it easy for you," said Posti. "There aren't any shops or
shopkeepers around here, so it might take a while to explain that
one. As for horseshoe ..." He turned to Rusty. "Could you raise a hind
leg?"

"Sure," said Rusty, though he was a bit mystified.

Posti and the two youth circled around behind Rusty. Rusty raised
a leg and felt Post grab it and tilt it so they could see the bottom
side. "That is a horseshoe," said Posti.

"Doesn't it hurt?" said the boy. "Why is it there?" said Calla.

"No it doesn't hurt," said Posti. "And it is part of the magic that
brought him here. After we've traveled a while, we'll help him take
it off. He won't need it here." Rusty felt the hand let go of his
leg and he set it down.

Posti said, "Would you like to join us? Since you are new here, I'm
sure you don't have family. I could tell you about this place along
the way"

"Where are you going?" asked Rusty.

"Off to visit friends. I'm sure they'd love to meet you. The
important thing for you is they are more than a mile away."

"Dad, what's a mile."

"A very old measure of distance."

"Sure, I'll join you," said Rusty. They resumed their journey. "And
you've got me very curious. Where are we? I don't know any place on
earth that is good for growing both apples and oranges."

"Would you believe we're not on Earth?" said Posti.

Rusty turned and stared. "We're ''not''? How do you know?"

"The star patterns are quite different. There's no Big Dipper in the
north. We call the pattern the Northern Necklace."

"So where are we?"

"I don't know in relation to Earth. I just think of this place as
Eden or Paradise. You won't find much of the conflict, the greed and
backstabbing you find on earth." Rusty shivered at the thought of
what he had found during his body-hopping. "This is an idyllic place
to live."

"I could use an idyllic place. And to find such a place while in a
body like this is, as you say, Paradise."

Posti stopped and turned to Rusty with a twinkle in his eye. "Shall
we pry off that horseshoe now or do you first want to walk a mile?"

The answer to Rusty was obvious. He winked at Calla.
[[Category:Story|Just the Right Shoes for This Life]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
[[Category:Walk-A-Mile]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Just the Right Shoes for This Life}}

Category:Professional Animals

2007-08-22T01:30:02Z

Erastus: New

[[Category:Stories by setting]]

User:Erastus/Summer Job

2007-08-22T01:28:31Z

Erastus: Added categories for setting and TF type.

This is the original story in a world called "Professional Animals."

--------------------------------------------------------------------
'''Summer Job'''

by Erastus Centaur

It's going to be a long summer.

My instructions are to look natural. Pose for the tourists. Don't
speak. Don't scare anyone. And for heaven's sake, don't hurt anyone.

It's going to be a long summer.

Posing for tourists is boring.

At least the dining hall is pleasant and the rec room well stocked
and accommodating.

At least the job ''pays'' well. And there isn't a lot to spend it
on.
I will have plenty of money for college in the fall. No need for
loans, no need to interrupt studying (and partying) for a measly
job that paid minimum wage.

For all it put me through, it had ''better'' pay well!

Even if it is boring.

Another tourist. Time to pick up the head. Stare at the camera.
Wait for the shutter to snap. Turn for a profile shot. Oh well,
that photo is a waste. Poor kid forgot the lens cap.
Sorry kid. I'm not allowed to remind you to take the lens cap off.
I'll be happy to stay here and pose. Actually I'm required to stay
here and pose. Sorry kid. Mom's calling. I hope there is a next
time.

Yellowstone National Park is a great place to spend the summer. I
should come back sometime as a tourist. Then I'll be able to
appreciate the geological wonders. The park rangers frown on me
wandering around Old Faithful.

Do I regret taking the job? To be honest, there are times when I
do. I have to remind myself it is for a limited duration and the
benefits for my future are great. I just wish it wasn't so boring.

Ah, here's a kid in a wheelchair. Approach slowly so as not to scare
her. Watch for signs of agitation so as not to seriously invade
her space. None so far. It looks like she'll let me get up close and
personal. Good. She giggled. Ready to close. Yes! She wasn't shy
about stroking my nose. Another point for public relations. Oh good.
Mom is checking my ID. I may get an attaboy for this!

Humans have been terrible stewards of the planet. We could see the
problems coming. And we ''still'' bickered and did nothing. Too many
greedy people.

Strange how the timing within science works out. Researchers weren't
able to figure out the specific causes of the die-offs before there
were no mammals left in North American larger than a squirrel--other
than humans.

But at the same time, scientists created and perfected ways to guide
the shape of one body into that of another. The North American moose
genome may have been lost--at least until the riddle of the die-offs
is solved--but the moose shape has been preserved.

Ah. Here comes the fun part. I get to do something worthwhile. Dad
has gotten mad at his boy. The boy looks terrified. Whatever the
poor kid did, he doesn't deserve that much of a harangue.

At least I can get away with intervention.

I lumber over to them. Dad is beginning to show signs of wanting to
smack the kid. Not only do I invade their space. I stick my head
between them. They have to back up. Dad takes a swipe at my nose. It
stings, but not much. The boy looks grateful. He quickly takes a
step so he is hiding behind me, and begins to pet my neck. Dad
begins to lose steam as I turn and look at him. In a moment, Dad
heaves a big sigh and does the skritch thing. One simply doesn't
argue with one my size. And because of the way I look, most people
forget I have a human brain. I stay put until they get bored and go
back to the car.

Then it is back to my own boredom.

Yellowstone Park was the first to notice the drop in attendance. It
seemed that geysers weren't the only draw. Visitors to the park
wanted to get photos of the large mammals and when there were no
more large mammals, Old Faithful wasn't enough for many of them.

A ranger at Yellowstone was also the first one to make the
connection between a population that was in the midst of a love-hate
relationship with the new "body-styling" technology and a solution
to the park's problem.

A large part of the citizenry thought it was the neatest thing. This
was especially true in the high schools in the tonier suburbs where
the students (or parents) could afford the styling fee. The in-crowd
usually all had tails or wings or--in the more radical cases--heads
of the school mascot. This was especially prevalent where the mascot
was a mustang or an eagle. It also prompted a few schools to do away
with Redskin and similar names to take up mascots their students
would be happy to become. One school even chose the timid deer as
their mascot. Antlers quickly became the rage there.

The high school in Beverly Hills took it to the extreme. All the
boys had themselves styled as a young Tom Cruise, even as the
original tottered around with a cane. The women were all styled as
Evie Bjornson, the Swedish Nightingale that appeared on the scene
four years ago. With everyone wearing only one of two faces (and
the student that didn't get with it was branded hopelessly uncool)
the school promptly installed retinal scans to make sure each
person took their own tests.

My school wasn't in a rich area. Few kids could afford styling.
It was that lack of money that made this job appealing.

Another part of the citizenry thought styling was as bad as the
devil himself. We should be happy with the body that God gave us,
they shouted. The backlash to that idea finally broke the
stranglehold of religious fundamentalists, though their leaders
became even more shrill.

Even so, there were very few people that considered going all the
way. Antlers, tails, ears, and even furry heads and bodies was one
thing. Giving up hands was quite another. It wasn't talked about
much, but only a couple thousand humans in a population of three
hundred million went to a full animal shape.

That Yellowstone ranger figured why not go all the way? Why not
"style" humans to replace the deer, elk, moose, wolves, coyotes,
mountain goats, and bears? Such humans could then be put on display
in Yellowstone and other parks as a draw for the tourists.

This next carload includes a toddler. Kids that small are easily
scared by the big and I'm certainly big. Best to keep my distance.
Let Mom and Dad take a photo, let them point to me and exclaim.

Posing for tourists is boring.

It's going to be a long summer.

To attract people to be display animals, the Yellowstone ranger knew
the park would have to pay well--or at least pay well according to
the target audience, the college student. Dangle enough money to
pay tuition at top schools and college students will consider all
kinds of summer jobs. Throw in two free stylings and there would be
enough applicants.

Wearing a watch would spoil the illusion, so I have to rely on the
position of the sun or amble over so that I can read the clock
mounted on a pole in the parking lot. I think I've managed to glance
at it without being obvious. It won't do for a kid to exclaim,
"Look, at that! He knows how to tell time!"

Yellowstone knew it couldn't get funding from Congress for display
animals. The National Park system barely had enough for operational
costs and Congress was already running up a big deficit each year.

Instead, the park management contacted World Wildlife Fund, Sierra
Club, and Friends of the Earth. These groups couldn't go up against
the corporate interests that caused the die-offs--no matter how much
money they raised, the corporations had more. But in their guilt
over their failure, they were glad to pay for display animals--and
create just enough corporate guilt to pay for a few more.

Quitting time. The sun is low. And, thankfully, there are no cars in
my parking lot. The rules say that I have to stick around as long as
the tourists want to snap pictures.

I make my way back to the employee cafeteria and rec hall. Meals are
included as part of the compensation. While I am still human--I
still have human intelligence and any offspring I might father would
pop out of the womb as human--my digestive tract was styled to match
the rest of me. It will be a vegetarian summer for me. Through
feedback from the employees, the cooks have come up with some mighty
tasty meals, combinations that simply do not occur in the wild.

I take my place at a trough that has already been filled for me.
Jordan and Sandra are already working through their greens. Steve
ambles up shortly after me. We greet each other. It doesn't take
long to comment over the day's events. While the tourists do some
surprising things on occasion, I do believe I said it was boring.

With that out of the way, our talk turns to our lives before this
job. The four of us have gotten to know each other pretty well.

Applying for such a high paying job doesn't mean the park will take
all applicants. Some people are too active and couldn't stand the
boredom. Others are too aggressive or too shy to pose in front of
tourist cameras all day. Some couldn't stay "in character" even in
the best of all costumes. Others couldn't handle the public
relations part of being gentle in spite of the petting, poking, and
sticky fingers. Oh yes, we were well screened.

I'm sometimes envious of some of the other employees, even though I
chose my form. The bears can sit in chairs and can grasp cups, even
if they must do it with two paws. I have to stand and drink through
a straw. The coyotes and wolves get to eat meat. I miss the meat,
though at the moment, it wouldn't taste all that good and would
cause digestive difficulties--and wouldn't ''that'' make a pretty
picture! For meals, we vegetarians tend to stick together.

Afterwards, though, is another matter. Since our jobs are to pose
for tourist cameras, we can't be running around while on the job.
We do need to exercise and after dinner is when we do it. A few of
us gallop around a track, but the main event is the ongoing game of
soccer.

Playing soccer on four legs with a substantially horizontal body is
nothing like playing it as an unstyled human. It is even wilder when
one considers that a wolf or coyote could pass beneath me with
plenty of room to spare. I think we gave up on rules within the
first week and stopped keeping track of score in the second. You do
get ejected from the game for roughness--can't have an elk in a
cast, now can we?--but other than that, the free-for-all nature of
our sport gives us the excitement we have come to crave.

Not only were we well screened, we were also well counseled. They
wanted to be sure we knew what we were getting into and that we knew
their expectations of us. There were discussions of which animals
were appropriate for which kind of personality.

I chose moose. There were two main reasons. The first was that my
psych profile described me as lumbering and placid. Well, not
exactly those terms. They had a much more polite way of saying the
same thing, but I don't remember the words they use. It doesn't
matter now.

The second was that before my styling, I was a small guy. My family
didn't have the money for a body styling even if it was to bring me
up to average height. As a moose, I now tower over everyone else.
It's a good feeling.

When it is time to give up my moose form, I get to choose the
details of my human shape. I don't think I want to keep much of my
moose body--a little too ugly for daily living and those antlers are
''way'' too big--but I can go with straight human or blend with any
other animal I wish. I've already decided I definitely want tall. I
still have the summer to decide on other features.

While I have been accepted at the college of my choice, I am very
reluctant to be styled after the school mascot. It is a prestigious
college and I'll have enough money to pay for tuition, but I probably
won't have enough to pay for a styling when I'm done. Though fashions
may change, at the moment it just won't do to show up for a job
interview with a tail or antlers.

Since my job is to be on display, I have to be within sight of the
parking lot designated for my "habitat." It just won't do for cars
to pull into the "moose" parking lot and the tourists can't find the
moose. There is a clump of bushes that I can partially stand behind
when I need to relieve myself without embarrassing the tourists. I
even get a meal delivered so I don't have to munch away at the local
flora.

When dealing with real animals in a zoo, the keepers can say,
"Sorry. The lions are inside today." One just doesn't argue with a
lion. But when the animal has a human brain, you can make them sign
a contract saying you *will* be on display.

Jordan is also a moose. That allows us to trade off at times, though
it is expected we will both be on site as much as possible. He is a
lighter color and his antlers aren't quite as broad as mine. The
differences allow the tourists to tell us apart. Many of them enjoy
that. They will study the sign that contains our ID photos (after
styling only) and names, then tell the kids, "That one is Jordan.
This one is Mike."

Once you are accepted as an employee, they deposit a signing bonus
into the bank account of your choice. The money will sit there until
September with hefty deposits each week. Then they start the styling
process immediately. No need to wait.

I would have thought they would put us to sleep for the process, but
no. Their research shows the mind deals with the change better if it
experiences it. They told us that some of the first people that went
for a full animal styling didn't handle it well when they woke up in
a strange body.

So I watched as some fingers and toes grew and formed hooves while
others shrank away to nothing, as arms and legs grew and reshaped,
as muzzle extended, as neck lengthened, as ears and antlers grew,
as torso became rounder, and as fur grew in. My change room had
mirrors so I could see all aspects of the change. It was freaky to
watch. It was also strangely arousing. Yep, even ''that'' changed.

My own parents are here today. They started making plans as soon as
I told them I got the job. We kept in contact through phone calls.
The dorms have speakerphones programmed with our own frequently
called numbers and the buttons are big enough they can be jabbed
with a pencil held in the mouth.

I was a little on edge knowing Mom and Dad would see me in this
form. I wasn't embarrassed about this form, exactly. I guess I knew
I had done something major and I hadn't asked for their permission.

I amble up to them almost as soon as they get out of the car. Some
other tourists are a little surprised--and disappointed--that these
other people are greeted by the moose and they aren't. Jordan
catches on and ambles over to them.

It means I don't dare speak until the people from the other car get
tired of Jordan and leave. Mom and Dad understand and don't talk
either. They simply stand there with their arms around my neck. That
is, when one of them isn't taking pictures of me and the other one.
Before the other car leaves, Dad asks the woman to take a picture of
all three of us. I think I know which one is going to be the family
Christmas photo this year. Dad has already joked about
''Christmoose''.

There is more to do in the evenings than play sports outside the rec
hall. There are several computers with voice activation and buttons
easily poked with a pencil that have various computer programs and
games. They also have web browsing that can be done reasonably well
with the touch sensitive screens. There is also a vast library of
ebooks and voice controlled page turning. I've completed three novels
already this summer.

A guy has been hanging out at my parking lot all day today. The
reason is quite obvious. His head has been styled in the shape of a
moose, but looking more like that cartoon moose--the one with the
squirrel sidekick--than like me.

I wonder if he is studying me to find out what "real" moose do.
Sorry to disappoint you, kid, ain't no such thing at the moment.
Perhaps he is merely studying what I look like. I'm a good model. My
styling is quite accurate. He certainly takes enough pictures for
that to be the case.

I actually find this guy unsettling. His face is way too cartoonish
for my taste, yet it seems to work for him. I guess after being
around authentic stylings all day I've gotten to be a bit of a style
snob.

My room at the dorm doesn't have much in it. There is a small desk
with the speakerphone and the large (and I mean ''large'') mattress on
the floor. The only personal item is last year's Christmas photo in
a frame propped on the desk.

There is no bathroom. We're supposed to do our thing outside. There
is no shower, though if we stink real bad or need deskunking (as
happened to Greg, one of the wolves), one of our caretakers will
take us into the shower in the rec room.

There is no closet as I have no clothes. The ones I wore on my trip
here won't fit for the return trip as I will be much taller. There
are no other personal items as I can't manipulate them in this form.
There is no lock on the door as I have no place to keep a key. Just
as well. I only sleep here and use the phone to call my parents.

The news today is that Travis, one of the coyotes, was fired. The
accusation was that he broke character and played with some tourist
kids. This went way beyond letting the kids pet him. It included
participating in a game of soccer the kids were playing on the
parking lot--and it was the bear parking lot no less.

That left Travis in a bind. Because he violated Terms and Conditions
of the contract, they won't pay for the second styling. He hasn't
earned enough money to pay for it himself. It is too early in the
season. Though he is banned from the employee grounds, he was not
banned from the park itself.

The news of his firing made the rounds at dinner. Along with it came
the speculation that Travis did it on purpose. He wanted to go
feral. If true, he is likely in for a lonely life.

More tourists. Time to pose. Time to show off my magnificent antlers
and large form.

Posing for tourists is boring.

It's going to be a long summer.
[[Category:Story|Summer Job]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
[[Category:Professional Animals]] [[Category:Animal]]"
{{DEFAULTSORT:Summer Job}}

User:Erastus/The Effect of Spotted Clothes

2007-08-21T17:43:53Z

Erastus: Added categories for setting and TF type. Added no table of contents

This story is set in the Barken, Texas universe. The Barken, Texas story archive can be found [http://www.dogpawz.com/barken here].

Warning: This story is based on a gay relationship and may not be of interest to all readers.

__NOTOC__

----

The Effect of Spotted Clothes

by Erastus Centaur

==Chapter 1==

I don't show up at the Gay-Straight Alliance at Wayne State
University in Detroit very often, though I do try to make it two to
three times at the start of the school year to check out the fresh
meat. I guess the rest of the time I don't worry much what the
straights think of me. Fortunately, there were many new faces--and
bods--to check out. I'm not into notching my belt, mind you, but
there are few places on campus where I can meet potential boyfriends
without straights getting nervous.

So there I sat in a circle of about 40 people, half of them men. I
was checking out potential boyfriend material and paying only enough
attention to the conversation to determine if a particular guy was
gay or just a friendly straight. With some guys it was obvious--a
touch of makeup, way too much fashion style for a college campus, or
a t-shirt slogan that left no doubt. Other guys were able to blend
into the straight world until they started complaining about being
misunderstood.

I had only checked out about half the circle when the conversation
rose in volume and I thought I should pay attention to it.

A chick was saying, "... can't argue against the Bible! I'm telling
ya it's right there in black and white! If you don't give you your
sinning ways, you all will burn in Hell!"

A dude--with perhaps more volume--shot back, "You don't know
what you're talking about! You preach love and all you do is hate!
Your piety is a sham and then you claim that we're the ones who will
burn!"

I could see the chick was steamed and about to storm out. The
moderator was making calming noises to no effect when another guy
rose to speak, one that I hadn't checked out yet. "Please," he said.
He had an air of confidence in conflict which caused the combatants
to yield the floor.

He turned to the man. "You're not helping. I can appreciate your
anger--I've felt it myself many times--but ridiculing her faith
isn't going to get us where we want to be. It only makes our
opponents more combative." He glanced to the woman and back to the
man. "Besides, there are many good features about her religion. Our
society would be poorer without them." I could see a slight smile on
her face.

Before the man could object, the speaker turned to the woman. "Don't
think for a moment that I'm on your side. I'm just as gay as he is."
He paused for emphasis. "First of all, I'm glad you came." The
expression on the dude's face clearly said, ''I'm not''. The speaker
continued, "You are right. The Bible says some harsh things about us
in Leviticus. But it isn't so cut and dried. Do you have a bank
account that pays interest?" She hesitated, clearly flustered by the
change in topic and certain it was a trap, but nodded. "Do you keep
a Kosher diet?" Her frown deepened; she shook her head. "Well, then.
Since you personally don't follow every single word of Leviticus,
you had better have a good reason why you insist the two verses
about gays must be followed and not the ones about diet and money."
She looked daggers at both the dude and the speaker and but stayed
quiet.

He glanced back and forth between the two. "We came to understand
each other, not start a shouting match. Let's get back to that." He
turned to the dude, "And that means making as much of an effort to
understand her as you expect her to make for you." He sat.

I studied the peacemaker as he talked and after he sat down. I
wanted to get to know someone who could both calm someone and put
them in their place. He was quite slim, not very tall (about a match
for my 5-9, a plus) nor very muscular. His dark hair was short (a
plus) and he was clean-shaven (alas, a point against him) though
if he did let his beard grow, it looked like it would be full. He
wore a white t-shirt under a black leather vest with black jeans and
a black leather cap. I was surprised at the last touch to his
fashion statement--he wore what looked to be a dog collar loosely
around his neck as some guys would wear a chain. It was black
leather and rather wide with polished metal disks almost as wide as
the collar regularly spaced all the way around.

The moderator looked relieved that a messy situation had been
resolved for him. He said, "Any other comments?" When no one said
anything he went on, "I guess that concludes tonight's meeting."

Everyone stood and gathered up backpacks. I snagged my pack and made
my way to the peacemaker. I stuck my hand out. "Hi, I'm Troy Palmer.
I was impressed with the way you handled the battle. May I buy you a
drink?"

"Jim Cooper." He smiled and shook my hand. "Sorry, but I don't
drink. I hate what happens when I do."

"Coffee?"

Up close I could see the disk in the dog collar directly under his
Adam's apple was inscribed with his first name.

"I don't care for coffee and it's too late in the day for tea."

I fell back on the last gun in my arsenal, hoping he really didn't
drink and wasn't trying to brush me off. "Dessert at TJ's?" That was
the nickname for a place called Traffic Jam and Snug that was a few
blocks from campus and well known for eccentric fare.

"Sounds good." That was so good to hear as I was beginning to
develop a crush on him. "I'll meet you there in, oh," he glanced at
his watch, "fifteen minutes?"

"I'll meet you just inside the door."

I didn't risk taking my books back to my car though that made me
early. It did give me time to see what kind of flowers were planted
in the urinal mounted high on the wall on the front of the building.
As I said, the place is eccentric.

Jim arrived when he said he would and we were soon seated. I was
going to get the cheesecake, so didn't bother perusing the menu. Jim
took only a moment before setting the menu aside. A moment later he
also ordered the cheesecake.

"So," I said, once the waiter left, "I can't say I've been to the
GSA meetings very often, but I haven't seen you there before. Are
you a freshman?"

"Actually, I'm a senior." I winced to show I had caught my gaffe.
"And I attend the GSA meetings frequently. You must have come the
few times I haven't."

"I"m certainly starting off on the wrong foot. Perhaps I can ask a
question without stepping on toes. What's your major?"

"Music Education. Yours?"

"Physics with as many electives in the other sciences as I can
manage. Which, now that I'm a senior, has been quite a few."

"Where do you live?" he asked.

"With my parents out in Garden City."

"Far from here?" Hmm. Most natives knew where the smaller suburbs
were.

"Fifteen miles due west. You?"

"I live in University Towers."

"Can't stand to live with Mom and Dad? They throw you out when they
learned you're gay?"

He smiled. "No, nothing like that. I get along great with my
parents. But it is hard to commute from Texas."

"Texas? You don't sound like a Texan."

"Ah shore cain if Ah wount tew," he drawled. He continued without
it, "Studying music forced me to listen to sounds, including speech.
When I came here three years ago, I concentrated on speaking like
the locals so I didn't sound like a hick."

"Why leave Texas to come to Detroit?"

"I wanted to see something quite different from home and Detroit is
about as different from Barken as you can get."

Our cheesecake came. I took a bite, then said, "Never heard of
Barken. How big is it?"

"Few people have, even in Texas. It's pretty small."

"Can't you get a big city in Houston or Dallas."

"Sure can, but I also wanted to experience a northern climate before
I settled down."

"And you have plans for that already?"

"Once I'm done here I'll go back to Barken to be the music teacher."

"You say that as if there will be only one."

"That's right. While I was growing up, we were bussed into Cherry,
the closest town, for school. Cherry and Barken do not get along and
the town council finally decided to open a school in town. I'll be
the music teacher for the whole school, Kay through Twelve. Course,
that's maybe seventy students altogether."

"You sound so sure that you'll get the job."

"Yup. Not many people want to come to a desert town such as Barken.
But I grew up there. I couldn't live anywhere else for long. I gotta
go back. You might say it's in my blood." He gave a wink when he
said that. Whatever he meant was lost on me.

He continued, "What do you have planned for next year?"

"With my overall science major, I figure getting a job in one of
the research labs of the Big Three." Around Detroit, Big Three meant
the car companies. A research job meant a pretty good living.

"Sounds good." He didn't look like it sounded good. We were both
quiet for a couple bites.

"The reason I invited you here," I said, "was because I was
impressed with the way you handled yourself in the GSA meeting."

"Thank you. Unfortunately, I had a lot of practice going to school
in Cherry."

"Oh?"

"The residents of Cherry practice a very fundamentalist form of
Christianity."

I groaned. "And you're gay." I had run into many a fundamentalist
myself and had campaigned against some of their screwy ballot
initiatives--as in what laws can we pass to screw the queer?

"Worse than that. Everyone from Barken was considered to be...
heathen." It was an odd sort of hesitation.

"And that gave you a double hit."

"Yeah. I learned the fine art calmly skewering my opponents pretty
quick." He scraped the last of the cheesecake off his plate and
licked the fork. "It got so bad in my case that it was enough for
the Barken city council to decide to open their own school. It
actually works well all the way around. Cherry is sufficiently glad
to get rid of us they didn't mind the loss of tax revenue. They even
agreed not to tell the state what we were going to do. Since the
state won't be poking around, Barken won't have to worry about
teacher certification, which is good as we wouldn't be able to
attract many certified teachers anyway."

"Aren't they concerned about teacher quality?"

"Heh. If someone wants to teach in Barken, they'll do it because
they want to, and that's a good indication of quality right there."

"Won't you be certified when you're done here?"

"I'll have a degree with an education major. Whether or not I sit
for the Texas certification exam probably won't make any
difference."

The waiter came by with the bill, which I paid.

Jim said, "I can tell from your expression that you hope this little
meeting will lead to something more." He was reading me right. "I
will warn you right now that I am reluctant to get involved with
you, as sweet and sexy as you appear to be. I want a relationship
that will last and next May I'm going back to Barken and you're
staying here. We could be friends, but I'm sure you've heard how
hard it is for two gay men to be just friends."

"Couldn't you get a job teaching music around here?"

"Couldn't you teach science in Barken?" he countered. He saw my
look of dismay. "Barken really does need a science teacher."

"Sorry. No. I'd rather go into research."

"Then we'll have to settle for friendship."

Too late. That crush had already developed into love. The human
heart is so fickle, falling for what it can't have.

As we left TJ's I said, "I'll walk with you to your dorm. It's on
the way to my car." Actually, it wasn't, but I would only be walking
an extra block.

Along the way I said, "I have to ask. Why the dog collar?"

He chuckled as he fingered it. "You might say it is a declaration of
my individuality." With a practiced motion, he felt for the disk
with his name and centered it under his Adam's apple. "I'm also a dog
lover and you might say I wear it in solidarity with all dogs
everywhere." He winked again.

----------

I studiously attended GSA meetings after that, even participating in
the discussions. I began to understand why the straights were afraid
of us and the more I heard, the more I believed that the religious
argument was simply a cover for that fear.

I always sat as close to Jim as I could. I almost always invited him
out for dessert afterward. He almost always declined. "It seems too
much like a date," he said.

By the end of the month I gave up on going out for dessert and asked
him to join me for lunch. After all, we both had to eat. To this he
was more agreeable as long as he paid for his own. Though he didn't
want a lover, he did need a friend and could put up with a bit of
sexual tension to get that friendship.

I invited Jim out to my place (well, my parent's) one Friday evening
to watch the DVD of Big Eden, a movie of a gay guy afraid to reveal
his feelings to the one he loved, though his feelings obvious to the
rest of the town. Jim responded in a teasing voice, "I hope you're
not trying to get me to change my mind." I was, but played innocent.

Jim proposed his favorite movie for the following Friday evening.
He brought me up to his tiny dorm room so he could pop the DVD disc
into his computer and we could watch it on the small screen. Jim
must be well off, I decided, if he could afford a single room. There
was only one bed in the 12-by-12 space instead of the usual two. The
walls held several posters of dogs, the largest of Dalmatians. He
had placed several photos on his desks, one set obviously of his
parents and younger brother, another set of the family's pet dogs--
a large malamute, a poodle, and a Husky puppy. Near the foot of the
bed was a circular rug, which seemed to have accumulate a great deal
of dog hair. That surprised me as the rest of the room was fairly
neat and clean (we are talking about a guy's room here) and I was
sure pets weren't allowed. There certainly was no dog there now.

I was surprised by Jim's choice of movie--"101 Dalmatians," the
live-action version with Jeff Daniels and Glenn Close. I didn't
think that someone like Jim with his air of sophistication would
claim a Disney movie as his favorite using the reverential tones
that meant no other movie could come close.

I was even more surprised at his reaction to it. He seemed to
completely ignore the humans and concentrate solely on the dogs. He
didn't just watch them, he empathized with them--cheering them on
and wincing when they banged into something. He commented on his
favorite puppy and why its markings were prettier than the others.
He remarked about the handsomeness of the papa dog. I had the crazy
impression he wanted to jump into the scene for a romp.

Jim's antics inspired a fabulously weird idea, though I was torn
between encouraging this obsession and using it to my advantage.
After the movie while he was in the bathroom, I checked his clothing
sizes - medium shirt,30 waist/31 inseam for jeans, 7D shoes. Over
the following week, I bought a turtleneck shirt, briefs, and socks,
all in white. I couldn't find white jeans, so subjected a pair to a
lot of bleach. I even found white gloves (which I hoped would fit)
and a white scarf and cap. Using a bottle of India ink and an
eyedropper, I put Dalmatian spots on everything, taking care the
spots were small so they wouldn't give the impression of a Holstein
cow.

I met him in his room Friday evening and handed him the paper bag
with the clothing inside. He was reluctant to take it, saying,
"Troy, dear boy, giving me gifts tends to imply more than
friendship. We've already talked about why that won't work." He
probably saw the determination in my expression and sighed. "Well,
at least I can take a look at what you brought." He accepted the bag
and glanced inside.

I was completely unprepared for his reaction.

"Oh!" he said, his voice rising into a squeal. He dumped the
contents onto his bed, saying, "This is so wonderful! It's fabulous!
I"m surprised I didn't think of it myself!" He held up each article
and exclaimed again. "Even briefs!" he said as he held them up. He
plopped the cap onto his head, tweaking its position as he admired
it in the mirror, then taking it off to adjust the fit. He checked
the shirt-tag, "A medium! Just right." He pulled off the shirt he
was wearing and pulled on the turtleneck. The size-tag in the jeans
had been bleached blank, so he held them up to his waist, then soon
had the briefs and the jeans on. A moment later, he was wearing the
socks, scarf, and gloves and admiring the complete ensemble in the
mirror, exclaiming, "This is so wonderful!"

He came over to me and gave me a hug. "Troy, dear boy, I have no
idea how your brain came up with this marvelous surprise, but I like
it very much. These threads mean more to me than I could possibly
explain." He kissed me, first a quick one, then a long sensual one,
followed by another hug. I eagerly participated, pressing myself
against him.

When he finally released me, a tear had spilled from his eye, which
he wiped with his sleeve. "Oh, drat!" he said quietly, hugging me
again and whispering in my ear. "I do believe I've broken one of my
personal vows and fallen in love with you." He sighed. "That is
either going to mess up your future or make next May quite painful."

"Aren't you forgetting the option of you changing your future?" I
asked.

"Troy, dear boy, you haven't been listening." He kissed me. "I am
going back to Barken next May." He kissed again. "You are either
coming with me or you're not." Another kiss. "Though life would be
so much nicer if you did."

I felt a bit of anger that he wouldn't budge, blaming me for the
eventual breakup. Couldn't we rationally discuss what would be best
for both of us?

Jim was oblivious to my feelings. He said, "So where should we go
tonight? Perhaps it is my turn to treat you to dessert at TJ's." He
grabbed his jacket.

"You're going out dressed in ''that''!"

"Of course." He came over and patted my cheek. "Troy, dear boy, if
you didn't want me to be seen in public wearing these clothes, you
would have given me pajamas." There was an unmistakable meaning in
his grin. "Though perhaps we can do something about that later." He
kissed me. "Now let's go have some fun."

Jim somehow managed to give the impression of ignoring all the
stares in the restaurant and at the same time glory in each eye that
was on him, as if to say, of course, I'm the one to watch tonight.
Why would you look anywhere else? And drat it, if that didn't make me
feel all the more special in his presence. He was the center of
attention, yet I was the center of his attention.

After dinner, we returned to Jim's room and spent a wonderful
evening in his narrow bed. I decided that two guys in a twin-size
bed added to the enjoyment. There wasn't much room for snuggling
side by side.

I was about to drift off to sleep, hopefully for the night, when
Jim shook my shoulder, "Troy, dear boy, it's time you went home to
bed."

"Can't I sleep here and wake up in your arms?" I didn't want to
open my eyes fearing sleep might slip away.

He chuckled, then kissed me. "This bed is hardly big enough for both
of us to get a good night's sleep."

"So what if we don't get out of bed until noon. Tomorrow is
Saturday, after all."

"As tempting as that might be, it won't work. Sorry, Troy."

"We could go to my place. I have a much bigger bed."

He sighed heavily and sat up, then put his hand back on my shoulder.
I opened my eyes and looked at him in the dim light. "Troy, dear
boy, I would be happy to repeat this evening as often as you may
want, but I sleep alone. At least for now."

I wasn't going to get to sleep quickly now. I was wide awake. "Well
if you are going to change your mind in the future, why not change
it now?"

"Sorry, Troy."

"Can't you at least explain why? If it is because you snore, I can
buy earplugs."

"No, I can't explain. Not yet. If you come with me to Barken, I'll
explain then."

I felt anger flash through me. "Barken! Always you and Barken!" I
scrambled out of bed. "You insist you have to live in Barken, then
you start keeping secrets, telling me I have to go to Barken to find
out." I found it is hard to get dressed when you're both in a hurry
and mad. "What about my half of the relationship? Why do we always
have to do it your way?"

I turned and walked to the door. I heard a heavy sigh as I closed
it.

==Chapter 2==

I was miserable for the entire next week and quite aware that my
classwork was suffering. I kept thinking about Jim, about how much
I loved him, how I enjoyed being with him, how much I missed him.
I also thought about his insistence that he returned to Barken, that
he almost seemed obsessed with the place. I had to do something.

I did a websearch on both Barken and Cherry, though it took me a
while to remember the name of the neighboring town. I came up with
a complete blank. Mapquest could find the two towns, but that told
me only that both towns had streets with a regular grid and a park
or a town square in the center. None of the citizens of either town
seemed to be Internet literate. No webpages described either place.

Though it took me a week to swallow my pride, I spent much of the
next Friday evening camped outside his door, studying as I waited.
Love had won out over pride--I had bought a half-dozen roses, each
a different color because I had heard the colors had meaning and I
didn't want to leave anything out.

It was nearly eleven before Jim showed up, shouting, "Troy!" before
I had heard his approach. He ran to me as I scrambled to my feet and
soon enfolded me in a hug, followed by a long kiss.

While he fumbled with is keys and got the door open, I located the
roses on the floor. I presented them, saying, "I'm sorry," which
earned me another kiss.

"I'm sorry, too, Troy, dear boy" he said. "I'm very aware that I am
placing all kinds of conditions on this relationship. But those
conditions must be as they are a part of who I am. I know that isn't
fair to you, and for that, I'm sorry."

We hugged each other, then helped each other undress.

Afterward, as I reached for my briefs, Jim said, "Since May might
break us apart, let's try to maximize the time we have before then.
I want to spend Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Spring Break with you."

"Don't you want to spend the holidays with your family?"

"I'll see a lot of my family after graduation. I may not see you
then."

"I love you," I said and kissed him. "So where should we go?"

"I've put too many restrictions on you already. It is entirely your
choice."

"Don't you want to show me around Barken?"

"Yeah, I do, but only if you want to go."

I thought about it while I finished dressing. "At the moment, I'm
too angry at Barken and its secrets."

"Fair enough."

"So before you go hide yourself in Barken for the rest of your life,
let me show you a bit of the country."

"A cross country trip in winter?"

"We don't have to go cross country. But some places are at their
best in winter."

We kissed. And hugged. Then I said, "Good night, Jim," and left.

----------

"Doctor Shishido's office."

"Hi. This is Jim Cooper. May I speak to the doctor?"

"Sure Jim. Just a moment. He's almost done with a patient."

A minute later, "Hi, Jim. This is Doctor Shishido. How are you
today?"

"Doc, when asked that by a member of the medical profession I always
wonder if it is a greeting or an inquiry into the state of my
health."

Dr. Shishido chuckled. "Both."

"Well, to answer both of your queries, I'm fine."

"So if you're in good health, there must be some other reason why
you called."

"Yeah, there is. I have an important question for you. Once someone
leaves Barken, how long do its effects last?"

"Oh, golly." A pause. "That depends."

"Depends on what?"

"Usually on how long between the time they arrive in Barken and
their first shift. If their first shift happens in five days, the
effects may linger for up to three years. If we go to the other
extreme when the first shift doesn't happen for a month, the effects
may last only a month."

"What about someone born in Barken?"

"Such as yourself?"

"Yeah."

"It's hard to tell when the clock starts. I've had some cases where
it was obvious the first--and maybe even the second or third--shift
was ''in utero''. In other cases it wasn't."

"And in my case?"

"You're going to make me remember back that far? Heh. Jim Cooper...
Jim Cooper... Ah. If I remember right--and I can't say that I do--
the ultrasounds I did on your mother always showed you as human.
You might have changed. Then again, you might not. There's no way
to tell. Now I think you need to tell me why this prompted you to
call."

"I'm in love."

"Is he a nice guy?"

"He gave me a set of white clothes decorated with Dalmatian spots."

Doctor Shishido laughed for several seconds. "Does he know?"

"I'm positive he doesn't. He gave the clothes to me after he saw how
involved I got watching 101 Dalmatians."

"Ooh, that's rich. So how does your love life prompt your question?"

"We got into an argument when I insisted I had to come back to
Barken after graduation. To maintain peace I agreed to spend all my
breaks between now and graduation with him and he doesn't want to
visit Barken just yet."

"Your mom know you won't be back?"

"Yeah, I already called her."

"Hmm." A pause. "You'll be away for a total of nine months."

"About that."

"I must warn you, then, you might be cutting it close."

"Are you sure."

"Not at all. There's no way to tell. Not that many people leave
Barken and those that do rarely call me up and tell me how long
the effects last. Jim, do you shift?

"Every night. I sleep so much better that way."

"Many people do. Any trouble shifting?"

"No."

"At the first signs of it, you had better give it up so you aren't
stuck. We've lost contact with a few of our youth and suspect that's
what happened. We don't want to lose you too."

"I'll be careful."

"It may not be that simple. Some people had no trouble shifting then
found they couldn't shift back. You need to take some precautions in
case that should happen. Make sure you have a backup plan."

"What kind of plan?"

"Whatever will get you back to Barken if you can't communicate. One
thing you might do is to tell your parents to come looking for you
if they don't get an email within so many days of the last one. The
main thing is to have that plan."

"I will, Doc. Thanks so much. Goodbye."

"Bye, Jim."

Jim became very conscientious about two additions to his bedtime
routine. He always made sure a particular piece of paper was
prominently displayed on his desk before he went to sleep and
hidden away after waking. He moved his sleeping rug to just inside
the door and made sure the door was unlocked while he slept.

----------

Jim appeared frequently on campus wearing his Dalmatian clothes,
complete with the collar. He usually did it on Friday so he would
be seen wearing them on our dates to Detroit's many cultural
institutions. It wasn't long before he picked up a nickname. He
strongly objected to the name Mutt, saying a Dalmatian is a
purebred, not a mongrel. But he happily answered to the name Bowser
when someone jokingly used it.

Jim and I had four wonderful days at Thanksgiving. He spent nearly
all day, every day, with me and my family, even accompanying us to
the big dinner Aunt Jane and Uncle Tom's house. My family is a small
one so it was easy for Jim to keep track of names. Long days
together almost made up for nights apart. Just as well--I did have
''some'' studying to do.

The two and a half weeks at Christmas were even better. We had time
between exams and Christmas to do our Christmas shopping, including
forays to outlet malls and to Bronner's Christmas Store in
Frankenmuth. Both the gaudy extravagance of the store and the fake
Bavarian setting of the town delighted Jim.

After Christmas, we had time to try some cross-country skiing as we
visited Traverse City, Mackinac Island, and Sault Ste. Marie. We had
a grand time on the Agawa Canyon Snow Train out of the Canadian side
of the Soo. I said nothing when Jim insisted we get separate rooms
in each motel.

Instead of heading south for spring break as college students
normally do, we stayed in the north, exploring Niagara, Toronto, and
Montreal in our brief respite from class.

That trip had an air of urgency. There were only seven weeks until
graduation and our future together after that was still uncertain.
Bless his heart, Jim didn't remind me that his decision was set and
it was up to me to decide to follow him to Barken or to look for a
research job in the Detroit area. I wasn't sure if it was a help
that the car companies had a hiring freeze and didn't even come on
campus for interviews.

==Chapter 3==

I had switched parking lots to one by University Towers so that Jim
and I could walk to class together. It was a bit farther for me, but
the few moments with Jim in the morning made it worthwhile.

It was the first day of May, which I knew was the date of Jim's last
exam. I had one that day and one more the day after before I was
done. The thought of being free soon sometimes made it hard to
concentrate on the pesky impediments, such as exams.

But when I knocked on the door, I got no answer. "Jim?" I called
out. I thought I heard noises. "Jim?" I said as I knocked. This
wasn't like him. He was usually up well before I got there. Had he
been up too late studying or packing? I knocked again. "Come on,
Jim." Had he left without me? He knew what time I was coming. If he
had gone, who was making that noise?

I tried the handle and was surprised to find it unlocked. I opened
it to find a large Dalmatian standing there, its tail wagging.
"Jim?" From the door, a person can see the entire room. Jim wasn't
there. I stepped to the bathroom door and knocked. No answer, so I
opened the door and flipped on the light. No Jim.

I turned to the dog. "Have you seen Jim?" The dog whuffed in
response, its tail still wagging. "By the way, what are you doing
here? Dogs aren't allowed. I didn't think Jim had a dog."

The dog came over and stuck its head under my fingers. I idly petted
it as I scanned the room for clues of Jim. My fingers found the
dog's collar, so I squatted down for a closer look. It was Jim's
collar! Complete with the disk with his name. I turned it around,
examining it closely, which the dog patiently endured. I had been
seeing that collar around my lover's neck every day for six months
now. There was no mistaking it. What was it doing on the dog?

I stood and walked around the room for clues of where Jim might be.
I could see he had done quite a bit of packing, with only a few
things left to put into boxes and more boxes lined up along the
wall. On the desk, I found a note addressed to me:

Troy,
I got called away in the middle of the night and didn't
want to wake you. It was urgent but not serious. I will tell
you all about it when we next meet.

A friend at the Humane Society brought the dog over last
night, knowing how much I like Dalmatians. Isn't he a beaut? Do
you think you might stop in a couple times over the next few
days to make sure he is fed, or perhaps even take him for a
walk?

Troy, my love, I have a big favor to ask. This business
may keep me beyond the end of the semester. Would you be so
kind as to take my stuff and my dog back to Barken? If you do,
you can stay with Mrs. Brumfield in the Barken Motel. Either
way, please call my parents and let them know what you plan to
do. I hope with all my heart I will see you in Barken in a few
days.

With much love,
Jim

I sighed, and felt the dog watching me. Not having anyone else to
talk to, I turned to the dog. "Do you know how annoying your owner
is being right now? Take you and all this stuff to Barken for him!
What could be so urgent that he'd miss his last exam and yet not be
serious?" The dog lowered his head a bit. "I don't know if you like
me or if you're willing to put up with being in a car with me for
three days. Since Jim has had you for such a short time, I doubt he
knows either." To my surprise, the dog came over and licked my
fingers. I could only scratch his head in reply.

"This is so presumptuous of Jim, just like his insistence that he
will spend the rest of his days in Barken and it is my fault the
relationship is over if I don't follow him." I sighed. The dog
whined and stuck his nose into my hand.

"But as secretive and demanding as he is, I love him. Oh, how I love
him!" I kept my hands busy petting the dog as we looked into each
other's eyes. "From his crazy collar and spotted clothes, to the
tips of his toes. Heh." I grimaced. "I"m subjecting a strange dog to
bad poetry. Surely that is criminal somewhere.

"Oh, hell!" I dabbed my eyes and blew my nose. "Why not do it?" The
dog barked, a rather quiet ruff sound. "You agree? I certainly don't
have a job that I need to get to. Now don't you think I deserve a
vacation after four years of school and working summers before I
start looking for a job?" To my delight, the dog barked quietly
again and bobbed his head.

"Yeah, Jim was so insistent that Barken was the place for him that
I do owe it to him to at least see the place before I decide. You
do agree, don't you?" The dog bobbed his head, then pranced around
the room a bit before putting his forelegs in my lap and licking my
face. I guess it's decided.

"Do you have a name?" The dog lifted his head and looked at me. "It
looks like we are going to be together for a while and I can't just
call you 'Dog,' now can I?" The dog bobbed its head. "Let's see."
I pondered it for a moment. "Heh. Jim acquired the name Bowser when
I gave him those Dalmatian clothes. It seems so appropriate I call
Jim's Dalmatian the same name. May I name you Bowser?"

The dog bobbed his head and barked once. "That sounded like a yes to
me," I said, patting his head.

I had some time before my exam, so decided I might as well call
right then. Nearby, Jim had posted his parent's phone number so I
would find it easily. I called.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mrs. Cooper?"

"Yes."

"This is Jim's friend Troy."

"Oh, Troy, you don't have to play word games with me. Jim has told
me all about you."

"Oh, that's good. I'm calling as I found a note from Jim saying he
had to leave suddenly. Do you know what it's about? Jim was quite
vague."

"I think I had better let Jim tell you."

"Ah. He wrote that it was urgent but not serious. Is he all right?"

"I'm sure he is."

"Did you know Jim got a Dalmatian yesterday?"

"I'm not surprised. Jim loves dogs, especially Dalmatians."

I chuckled. "That he does. Well, Jim wanted me to tell you that I've
decided I would come to Barken with Jim's stuff and the dog."

"Oh, thank you, Troy! That would be most helpful and save us a trip.
I'm so glad you can come. I'll call the motel right away and reserve
a room."

"Thanks," I said.

"Troy, I know this is going to sound weird, but could you hold the
phone out for the dog?"

"Yeah, it does sound weird. Just a second." I held out the phone,
saying, "It's for you," smirking as I did so.

To my surprise, Bowser moved his head to position an ear by the
receiver and barked. A few moments later, he barked again and
stepped away. What in the world had I just witnessed?

I put the phone back to my own ear and said, "Mrs. Cooper?"

"Yes, Troy."

"I have a couple exams yet so it will be a few days before I come."

"We look forward to your visit whenever you get here. Bye Troy."

"Bye."

I glanced at my watch. "Sorry, doggie. I have to go. I'll be back
for you later."

----------

After my exam that day and with permission of my parents, I cleaned
out Jim's dorm room and took his stuff and Bowser to their house.

I got a shock when I went through the clothes he was wearing the day
before he disappeared and found Jim's wallet. Of course, I looked
through it. There was $47 in bills and 82 cents in coin. His student
ID card, his Detroit Public Library card, his driver's license, and
a couple credit cards were all still there. This was a mystery. How
had Jim been able to get anywhere without money or proving who he
was? His car was still in the student lot; I saw it on the way in.
One needed money to take a cab. One needed identification to take a
train or plane. Was he traveling under an alias? Had he been
coerced into joining a crime organization? Now I was worried.

It was rather nice having Bowser with me that evening as I studied
for the last exam. He was companionable, sitting beside my chair as
I worked and following me through the house during breaks.

I appreciated the chance to stretch my muscles when Mom thought I
should take him for a walk. This crazy dog pulled another surprise
when, on the way through the garage, he pawed at my bicycle. Taking
the hint, I mounted up, the dog willingly scampering along beside
me, even when I picked up speed. Perhaps I had been missing out by
not having a dog in my youth.

My last exam went well. The graduation ceremony actually did give
the feeling that one phase of my life was over and another was
beginning. I felt bad that I couldn't share the experience with Jim.
I wondered again why he had left so suddenly.

The day after graduation I loaded up Jim's car with clothes for
myself, all of Jim's stuff, and Bowser. The dog was quite intent in
overseeing the loading process. Once loaded, I opened the passenger
door and he hopped in. I settled myself behind the wheel and we were
off.

----------

May is a beautiful time to drive across the country. The problem is
that it's a big country. It was close to fifteen hundred miles from
Detroit to Barken. And it was going to take two and a half days to
cover that distance.

I talked to Bowser. I sang along with the radio and was amused when
Bowser did too. It was spooky how well he could match pitch. But
mostly, we just sat, letting the scenery flash by while the radio
filled the silence.

The only incident was the drive through Cherry. I had the windows up
and the air conditioner on, which turned out to be a good thing.
Just after crossing the city boundary, Bowser, who had put his
forepaws on the dashboard for better viewing, lay down in the seat.
Even so, I hadn't gotten very far into town before I heard shouting
and saw people pointing to him. A moment later a tomato splattered
against the passenger side window and another on the windshield in
front of the dog. I picked up my speed both to get through the town
faster and to attract the attention of police. The police stayed
hidden and a few more tomatoes struck home before we were back into
open desert.

What was that all about? Jim had said he had a bad time in Cherry,
but what did they have against me? Was it that I was driving Jim's
car? This was another mystery to discuss with Jim when I found him.

The wipers and washer fluid got most of the tomato gunk off the
windshield. I'd have to find a car-wash for the rest.

Bowser soon had his paws back on the dashboard and when we passed
the sign for the Barken city limits, he let out a bark and then
wiggled in anticipation. This was another mystery as this dog was
from the Humane Society in Detroit. What would he know about Barken?

The first thing about Barken that caught my eye was the large number
of dogs wandering the street. And none of them had collars. The dogs
seemed to be moving with a definite purpose, as a human would, not
wandering from one distraction to another as I had seen dogs do.

It didn't take long to find Jim's home as Barken isn't very big and
the map Jim had left was a good one.

No sooner had I gotten out of the car than Bowser jumped over my
seat and out the door and dashed into the yard, barking the whole
way. Coming just as fast from the house was the small Husky I had
seen in photos in Jim's room, being just as noisy. I would have
expected the Husky to be grown now, but this one wasn't.

I feared a grand territorial battle between the dog from Detroit and
the local pet. It was nothing of the sort. The two dogs greeted each
other like old friends, playfully romping together. The noise soon
brought out who I assumed were Jim's parents. With cries of, "You're
here!" they came down the porch steps while Bowser broke away from
his games to give each an enthusiastic face licking. Stranger and
stranger. Only then did Jim's parents come over to greet me, which
they did warmly, insisting I call them Walt and Amanda.

As they did so, many of the other dogs in town came pouring into the
yard, each of them giving Bowser an enthusiastic greeting. There
were so many that it was difficult to hear the humans speak.

I asked, "I wouldn't expect such a welcome for a strange dog."

"We all like dogs so much that there's no such thing as a strange
dog around here," said Walt.

"Even the dogs welcome a strange one," I said.

"Isn't that nice?" said Amanda.

"Is Jim here? Has he finished with his mysterious errand?" I asked.

I saw Walt turn around and begin to point at something, but Amanda
grabbed his hand. She turned to me. "No, dear. He'll find you soon
enough. Come, let's get the car unloaded."

I can tell a deliberate change of subject when I hear one. Mystery
piled onto mystery, but there was nothing to do with my curiosity
until Jim turned up.

Once the stuff was stashed in the basement--Jim's old room having
been converted to a sewing room--Amanda said, "I'm sorry we don't
have space for you to stay here, but the Barken Motel is a good
place and Mrs. Brumfield is a wonderful cook. Perhaps you should
go check in now." She took my arm and guided me to the car. "Since
Jim considers you his partner, that makes us your in-laws. We need
to get to know each other, so please stop by for supper each evening
or even just to hang out."

When I opened the door to Jim's car, Bowser broke from the pack and
bounded over. "Don't you want to play with your friends?" I asked.
Apparently not, as he stepped over my seat to the passenger side.

When I walked into the motel, Bowser had insisted in coming with
me. I was afraid the woman behind the small reception desk would
demand I keep him outside. Much to my surprise, they greeted each
other as old friends. "Jim! It is so good to see you again!" she
kept saying.

When she finally turned to me, I'm sure I had a puzzled expression,
but she ignored it completely. "Hi. You must be Troy Palmer. The
Coopers reserved a room for you." She went behind the desk and
opened the guest book for me to sign and handed me a key. "I have
room three all set up for you."

After signing, I asked, "I'm a bit confused about this town. There
are all these strange things going on, things that don't make sense.
For instance, you called the dog by his owner's name."

She let out a musical laugh, then said, "I guess we do that a lot
around here, though you can't really say a dog has an owner."

Another cryptic remark.

"But how did you know it was Jim's dog. He got it in Detroit."

"He did? I could have sworn I've seen this dog around here before.
But don't mind an old lady like me." She smiled sweetly.

I guess Bowser had gotten attached to me during our car ride. As
much as he liked playing with the other dogs and visiting with Jim's
parents, he preferred my company. He went everywhere that I did,
even into the mall. I would have thought dogs wouldn't be allowed in
the mall, but there were as many dogs as humans inside.

On my third day in Barken Amanda suggested I take Bowser to visit
the school superintendent and just see what a teaching job in Barken
would be like. Though I didn't feel qualified to teach and didn't
want to give the impression I was even remotely considering such a
job, I didn't have anything better to do.

"Ah, you must be Troy," said Dottie Latour. She leaned over with her
had out. "And it is good to see you, too." Bowser obliged by
extending a paw and letting her shake it. My dog--uh, Jim's dog--
was just full of surprises. She turned back to me, "Let me show you
around."

Mrs. Latour's small office was probably the only room actually
finished on the school house site, though the rest if it was close.
"We'll never have many students here, so our design is based on the
old rural schools, though we'll have three classrooms instead of
one."

The main part of the school was a hallway with two rooms on either
side. She stopped just inside the first room on the left where I
could see workers install light fixtures. "How's it going, Gordy?"

"Just fine, ma'am," sang out the worker that was the cleanest. My dad
had said that meant he was the boss. He didn't do as much actual
work so didn't get as dirty. "We'll have these babies in by the end
of the week and get the drop-ceiling in next week. We'll be done
long before Labor Day."

She turned to me. "This will be our elementary classroom, grades
Kindergarten through Fifth." In turn, she indicated the second room
on the left was for the middle school class and across from it on
the right was for the high school. There wouldn't be more than 25
students in each room. The last room was a combination of gymnasium
and lunchroom with a small stage across one end. We sat down in the
gym using a couple of plastic chairs used by the workers for breaks.

"Mrs. Cooper told me you majored in Science."

"Well, my major was actually Physics, but I also took many classes
in Chemistry, Biology, and Geology."

"We could use a general science teacher."

"But I didn't major in education and won't be certified," I said.

"I can't be that picky. Don't worry about it."

I looked at her strangely. "Not be picky? I don't get it. Don't you
want the best for your children?"

"I suspect you've noticed that Barken isn't exactly in a prime
location, ready to attract hordes of candidates." Ya think? "But our
citizens just don't want to be anywhere else." Gee, I hadn't
noticed. "So I have to staff my school with any warm body I can get
my hands on."

"If your teaching staff will be so inferior, why bother with a
school at all?"

"You're Jim's lover, aren't you?" I nodded. News travels fast in a
small town. "Then I imagine Jim told you at least part of the
story."

"Yeah, he did."

"Here it is from my point of view. Why bus fifty to seventy kids
forty-five minutes each way to a town that is prejudiced against
them? That far away in a town that hostile makes it dangerous for
our kids and too far away for us to intervene effectively. If your
kid doesn't feel safe, he's not going to learn. I'd rather have
children feeling safe under uncertified teachers than feeling
threatened under the best teachers in the state."

Bowser had been sitting attentively, seeming to listen to our
conversation. He now got up and began to wander the room. I tried to
keep an eye on him to keep him out of mischief. The superintendent
ignored Bowser completely.

She said, "If you stay to teach with us, you'll spend part of your
day in each room. Most high schools teach a year of Biology,
Chemistry, and Physics. You might as well teach one subject a year
to all high school grades. We could even add a general science class
for the fourth year of the cycle. We could work out a three year
cycle for the middle school students. As for the elementary grades,
it would be best, I think, to teach then in small groups as the
other teachers will do."

"That's all very good, Mrs. Latour, but I don't intend to stay in
Barken. This place is just too strange for me. I'm only sticking
around until Jim shows up."

She glanced at Bowser, then looked at me strangely. I got the
feeling there was something going on that was supposed to be obvious
if only I had the wits to know what it was. The superintendent
didn't provide any clues. She only said, "Well if you change your
mind, just let me know."

By the fourth day I was worried about what had happened to Jim.
Strangely, his parents weren't concerned at all, assuring me that
Jim would show up in due time and I should just enjoy my vacation.
I countered that a vacation wasn't so much fun when you couldn't
share it with the one you love.

By the end of the first week, the combination of Jim's absence and
this strange town was really freaking me out. If I didn't love Jim
so much I would have jumped in his car and sped out of town.

==Chapter 4==

It was that night when I had the first dream. It was a strange one.
The first image I remember was of Jim in his Dalmatian outfit
standing before a doorway and beckoning me through. The world beyond
the door was golden, radiating both the color and a golden mood, a
sense of belonging and of well-being. I walked through the door
thinking about after-death experiences and wondering what part of my
life was dying.

Once through the door, I looked around for Jim, but didn't see him--
I could see back into the room where I had been, but he wasn't there
either. At my side was Bowser, eager to play. I felt energetic
enough that I was happy to accept his invitation. I noticed I was
wearing no clothes, but that seemed natural and appropriate in this
golden light. We dashed about the golden countryside, looking at
this and sniffing at that, frolicking together and generally having
a wonderful time. I very much wanted this experience to continue for
as long as possible.

We had flopped onto the ground to rest and Bowser rolled onto his
back. I dutifully and playfully rubbed his belly. He rewarded my
efforts by licking my nose. I rolled over onto my own back and Jim
returned the favor and rubbed the fur on my belly. I let my tongue
hang out and stretched my paws in the air in satisfaction.

I rolled over and stood on my paws, able to greet Bowser nose to
nose. He danced playfully away and I was struck by a thought that
warmed me--Bowser was very sexy-looking. Such a handsome dog. Bowser
was looking at me with the same kind of hunger.

Bowser pranced before me, posing to show off his muscles. He winked
and tossed his head. He stepped up to me and kissed me, his muzzle
against mine. His display was definitely having an effect on me.
I again rolled onto the grass with my paws in the air. Bowser gently
straddled me then lay atop me, belly to belly, licking my muzzle as
he settled himself. He soon began to rock back and forth.

I awoke with a record case of blue balls; the slightest touch would
have set off a depth charge in my groin. I opened my eyes to see
Bowser standing at the side of the bed, his head on the mattress
near mine staring into my eyes. Apparently satisfied that I was
awake, Bowser stepped sideways until his head was near my groin. He
deliberately took a big sniff, then placed a paw on the mattress.

"Oh, no, you don't," I said clambering out of bed. I hurried to the
shower and turned it on cold. As I stood under the spray, I thought
over what I could remember of the dream. It was then that I realized
some things about the dream that disturbed me. My companion in the
dream was sometimes Jim and sometimes Bowser and the two seemed
interchangeable. There were times that Bowser had done things only a
human would do. And the most troublesome was that my perspective
was sometimes that of a gay dog, complete with fur, paws, and
muzzle. I expected the gay part. It was the dog part the sent my
mind spinning.

Come on, Jim. I love you, but I've got to get out of this town.

It isn't often that images from my dreams persist long into the day.
This one did, troubling me with its images and my reaction to them.

As I dressed, I realized it was still quite early. I knew I wasn't
going to get any more sleep the way my body felt stretched tight. I
wandered down to the dining area and was surprised that Mrs.
Brumfield already had an egg casserole ready. It was delicious. It
was uncanny how she anticipated my needs.

But I couldn't tolerate the town anymore, so walked into the
surrounding hills, Bowser trailing beside me. It wasn't hot yet, but
I knew it would be soon. I could at least avoid the town and its
strangeness until the heat sent me in search of air conditioning.

I picked a hill and trudged up it, then plopped my butt onto the
sand where I could overlook the town. Once I was seated, Bowser
began pulling at my shoelaces in spite of my attempts to waive him
off. It seemed a game to him, one that I was in no mood to play. I
had promised to meet Jim in this town and would keep that promise. I
hadn't promised anything beyond that.

Bowser succeeded in undoing one lace, then began to tug on the shoe
itself. "You want the shoe? Fine. You can have it." I threw it at
him and he neatly dodged it. He scampered after it and brought it
back to me--and promptly began to pull off the sock. I let him have
it, but once he did, he wasn't interested in it anymore. He dropped
it on the shoe and went after the laces of the other shoe. I thought
it best to cut the game short and pulled the shoe and sock off.
"There. I've got bare feet. Happy? You had better make sure there
are no rattlers, scorpions, or other desert nasties around." Bowser
dutifully made a circuit around me as if to prove he was up to the
task.

Then Bowser began to bury my feet in the sand by using a paw to
brush sand over my toes. I swatted at him, but he dodged my hand.
"What are you doing, dog?" I leaned back and Bowser returned. He
watched me intently for a moment then started pushing sand over my
feet again. I jumped to my feet and gave chase for a few steps,
before I thought about my bare feet and what might be lurking in the
sand. Bowser also stopped and took a stance that would allow him to
resume running if I did. He barked softly at me, perhaps to say that
he wanted the game to continue. I sat down and glared at the dog. He
glared back, then deliberately came up to me and pushed sand over my
toes.

I threw up my hands, which startled Bowser enough to take a step
back. "Fine. You want sand over my feet. Go for it." He bobbed his
head, turned around and started digging with his forepaws so that
the sand landed on my feet.

When I had sand up to my ankles, Bowser turned his attention to my
shirt, tugging at it as if he intended to pull it over my head. I
took it off to protect it from damage and said, "No. I will not take
off my shorts. Don't even try." He didn't.

Instead, he dug up more sand so that it covered my shorts. "Okay,
dog. You want to bury me alive? You go right ahead." I stretched out
on the sand and he proceeded to do just that, taking great care not
to get sand on my face. Once I was quite covered from neck downward,
Bowser came and stood by my head to shield it from the son. "You
satisfied?" He bobbed his head. "Good."

I've never heard of a dog that thought it a good idea to bury a
human in the sand, though I considered it possible. But a dog that
knew how to keep the sun off my face? Another mystery. I closed my
eyes and drifted off to sleep to make up for my early rising.
Thankfully it was dreamless.

I wandered back to the motel just in time for lunch wearing only my
shorts as I was too covered in sand. Mrs. Brumfield was out watering
her flowers and took delight on turning the hose on me. It was hot
enough that I took delight in it too. The whole time she had the
hose on me she had this mysterious smile and kept winking at Bowser.

I spent the afternoon in the library researching companies that
might look favorably on my resume. It appeared the Big Three weren't
hiring, so I was concentrating my research on the first and second
tier suppliers. These jobs may not pay as well and be as secure as
similar ones in the car companies, but in an era when GM and such
were turning over more and more design work to their suppliers, it
would be a decent living.

Dinner was with the Coopers again. As we ate and talked, I slowly
came to realize that while Walt Cooper tolerated his job about as
much as my dad tolerated his own, Walt didn't have the cultural
resources of a thriving metropolis to keep him and his family
entertained. There was no Barken Theater, though the new school
being built would have a stage. There was no concert hall. The small
movie theater showed only one movie each week. The mall was small.
There were no organized sports teams. When I contrasted his life to
the one I had made sure Jim knew in Detroit--baseball, hockey, Pine
Knob, Meadowbrook, Fox Theater, Second City, Orchestra Hall, Detroit
Institute of Arts, and a Cineplex in every suburb--Barken came up
woefully short. How did they stand the place?

That night I had another dream that stuck in my head. The overall
direction and many of the details were the same as the night before.
But in this dream Jim seemed to become a part of his Dalmatian
clothes and Bowser seemed to walk around on two legs, acting quite
human. My own perspective seemed to shift from human to dog and back
again several times during the dream. As before, my mind accumulated
an erotic charge from this shifting blend of human and dog that
postured before me and then offered himself to me.

I didn't think I could have had a case of blue balls worse than the
day before, but that I did when I awoke. I heard a familiar voice
say, "Troy, dear boy, let me take care of that for you," as he
wrapped his fingers around me.

My eyes opened to a wonderful looking face complete with dog collar.
"Jim! It is so good to see you!" I wondered how he had slipped into
bed beside me without waking me. Further talk had to wait while he
met my need and I met his. We then had time to hug and kiss, then
doze in the comfort of each other's arms. I had missed him terribly
and being in his embrace again felt wonderful.

It was mid morning before I pulled my attention away from Jim and
glanced around the room. "Where's Bowser?"

"I let him out," said Jim.

"A dog that has been at my side for nine days is suddenly willing to
venture out without me?"

"I knew we would be busy." Jim winked.

"Yet you're wearing the collar."

"Bowser doesn't need it, not in this town."

My head said it was irrational to feel possessive over a dog that
actually belonged to Jim. My heart said something else. If I
understand things right, Jim got Bowser the day before he
disappeared. Bowser had spent pretty much all of the last two weeks
with me. But an argument wasn't going to get me where I wanted to
be with Jim. "Come on, lets get some breakfast. I'm sure whatever
Mrs. Brumfield made for me is cold by now, but even cold, I'm sure
it'll be delicious."

Jim glanced away. "Could I borrow your robe?"

"Can't you slip back into whatever you were wearing?" I said
glancing around the room. I realized that all the clothes in the
room were mine. "So how did you get in here with no clothes?"

He didn't answer my question. "Your robe? I'm getting hungry."

"And where have you been for the last nine days?"

"I can't tell you. Not yet."

All of my frustrations from the last week--the mystery, the
realization that Barken didn't have much going for it, the feeling
of possessiveness towards Bowser--boiled over.

"You can't tell me? The love of your life? Fine. I'm sick of this
town. I gotta get out of here. I brought your damn dog across the
country and waited for you to appear. Well, now that you're here,
my commitments to this town are finished. I have a life to get back
to." I dropped my suitcase on the bed and began to circle the room,
gathering up stuff as I went.

"You won't stay in Barken for me?"

"You won't come to Detroit for me?" I shot back. As I passed him, I
put a hand against his cheek. "I love you, Jim, but this
relationship has become too one sided. If you want to live in
Barken, be my guest." I waived my arm as if I were offering him the
city. "But I don't. I'm not insisting on Detroit, but since we had a
wonderful time this past year it's as good as any for a start. You
didn't like the fun we had?"

"I liked it very much."

"Then why not come with me and leave small town life behind?"

"I can't. I have to live in Barken."

I tossed an armload of clothes into the suitcase. "Then this is
goodbye."

I watched as Jim sighed wearily and walked to the door. He had
turned the knob before he realized the only thing he was wearing
was the dog collar. He let go of the knob, turned around and leaned
against the door frame and folded his arms across his chest. I was
able to gather up several more things before he said, "May I borrow
your robe?" His voice was soft.

"Yeah. Sure. I have to get dressed anyway."

I slipped the robe off and handed it to him, then pulled on t-shirt
and shorts.

He stood there with the robe in his hand for several moments before
putting it on. "You're going to need me to drive you to the Houston
airport, won't you," he said. I wasn't sure if it was a question.

"Yeah. Thanks."

I heard him sniff and wipe his eyes. I suddenly realized I had to do
the same. This time he did open the door.

I took Jim's absence as a chance to go to the dining area. Beside a
plate of muffins was a note, "Knew you wouldn't be up early so
didn't bother with anything fancy." For muffins, they were actually
quite fancy.

I had cleaned everything out of the bathroom when Jim returned
dressed as I was in t-shirt and shorts. He handed me the robe, then
went back to lean on the door frame to watch me.

I folded the robe and laid it in the suitcase, then scanned the room
for anything I might have missed. It looked like I had it all. I was
suddenly hit with a wave of dizziness. I had to put a hand against
the wall to hold myself up.

Jim said, "Are you okay?"

"Just feeling dizzy for a moment. I'll be fine."

Jim sighed, then said, "Strip."

"Strip what?"

"Your clothes," he said, stepping forward from his place on the
door frame.

"You find a dizzy man a turn-on? I was so sure you weren't into
kink."

"Not at all. Troy, dear boy, you're about to become a citizen of
Barken." He had come halfway across the room.

"I don't want to be a citizen of Barken! And since when do citizen
initiation rites require nakedness?"

He was beside me now and pulled on my hand. "Look at your arm."

It was covered with white hairs! I held out the other arm and saw
the same thing. I stared at them in wonder and was sure I could see
the hairs become more numerous. I looked at Jim with my mouth
hanging open and was surprised to see short hairs appearing on his
face in the familiar pattern of Dalmatian spots.

"Come now. It isn't good to get tangled up in your clothes. Let's
get you out of them."

"You got a lot of explaining to do!" My voice sounded raspy.

"And now is the time to do it." Jim reached for my belt as my shorts
slipped off my butt. "Shirt," said Jim as he instead reached down to
undo my shoelaces. I pulled off my shirt, then stepped out of my
shorts.

My whole body was covered in short hair! All that I could see was
white.

Jim said, "There is something in the soil of Barken that gives its
citizens the ability to become dogs once they stay here long enough.
The first time is involuntary, but after that you can learn to
control it."

I could feel bones moving now--in my head, arms, and legs. My
fingers had shrunk quite a bit in size. I glanced at Jim--who had
the head of a dog! I could see the distinctive pattern of Bowser's
spots.

He must have been able to figure out my expression as he said, "Yes,
Bowser and I are one and the same. I think I'll hold this in-between
form so that I am able to talk to you."

I could feel new muscles in my butt as my tail grew in. I tried to
speak, but couldn't form coherent words. It all came out as growls
and barks.

"When one moves away from Barken," said Jim, "a person loses the
ability to change, sometimes within six months, sometimes after
three years." No longer having to deal with my clothes, Jim took
off his own. I was looking at a curious blend of Jim and Bowser--
doggie fur, head, and tail, with human arms, legs, and body. "I lost
the ability to change when I happened to be in dog form."

Standing only on hind paws had gotten precarious, so I allowed my
legs to collapse and sat on the floor. I saw that my point of view
shifted from Jim's waist to his knees. Once on the floor, I could
figure out how to gather four legs under me.

I noticed that I did not feel terror or disgust at what was
happening, but felt a completeness I didn't know was missing. Even
so, I trembled as I thought about what had just happened. I had
become a dog!

Jim sat down beside me and scratched me between the ears, which felt
marvelous. He then pulled me onto his lap and put his furry arms
around me. I pulled in his smell and catalogued it in my mind --
this comforting smell is Jim.

"It was bad luck," Jim said, "that I ended up locked in my dog form
just before my last exam. You may wonder why I took the chance, but
I didn't know if I was cutting it close or had two more years and I
sleep so much better as Bowser even cooped up in a dorm room. I
couldn't change back to human until Barken had a chance to work its
magic on me again. I wasn't too concerned with how long it was
taking as I knew you would stick around for me and I wanted Barken
to work its magic on you too." He sighed as he ran his fingers
through the fur on my back.

"Yesterday, I sensed I would regain my ability soon. I knew you were
getting fed up with Barken and I was afraid you would leave before
your first change. I buried you in the sand yesterday hoping I could
speed up Barken's magic."

He pulled me off his lap. "Let's see which breed you've become.
Could you turn around, please?" I did so as he catalogued what he
saw. "White muzzle, tan head, left ear tipped in white, the right in
black, white forelegs, tan neck, black back and flanks, back legs
have white socks and tan thighs, tan butt, tan and white tail, and
white belly. You stand about as tall as I do, just under two feet.
Shorthair coat, which is and advantage in Barken. Hmm." He held his
lower jaw in his hands, considering me. "We in Barken have to know
our breeds as people tend to get upset if you refer to them by the
wrong one. Troy, dear boy, I'd say you are a beautiful English
foxhound. Of course, even if you became a mongrel I'd consider you
beautiful."

Jim scooted over to sit beside me again. "Well, it takes about
twelve hours in dog form after your first change before you can
teach yourself how to change back to human. After that, you'll be
able to shift as much as you want or even choose an in-between
form." He scratched me between the ears again. "That means we have
all day in dog form--we might as well enjoy it."

Jim completed his shift to Bowser. I was pleased to see we were
about the same size as dogs just as we were as humans. Jim spent a
few moments demonstrating how to walk on four feet, then nosed the
door open and once outside, demonstrated how to run. It was a
fabulous day!

----------

Jim and I managed to introduce two customs into Barken life over the
next few months. The first caught on immediately when Jim started to
wear his Dalmatian clothes around town., though by noon of the first
day he knew it was crazy to wear a turtleneck in Barken in June and
was soon busy applying ink to a t-shirt and a pair of bleached
cutoff jeans.

The day after that, Jim studied the broad patches of color in the
fur of my foxhound form and then presented me with cap, t-shirt, and
cutoffs appropriately dyed. I was embarrassed with the tan splotch
across my human butt, though the locals didn't seem to notice the
problem I had with it.

Within a week, Ron's Grocery sold out of bleach and tan, brown, and
black dye and Gretchen's Garments in the mall had trouble keeping
white tees and cutoffs in stock. One could be pretty good at
guessing a person's breed by the clothes they wore that summer.

As for the other new custom... Shortly after arriving in Barken I
noticed that Walt and Amanda didn't wear wedding rings and, when I
began to look for it, saw that no one else in town did either. I
wondered about it--until my first change. Then it was obvious that
a ring only got in the way when a person shifted; one had to
remember to take it off or risked losing it.

I got an idea when Jim and I started discussing a commitment
ceremony and I talked it over with him. He liked the idea very much.
So with Mayor Grimsley officiating and what seemed like the whole
town watching I was able to say, "I, Troy, present to you, James,
this collar as a symbol of my love. I declare to all witnesses that
you are my spouse in good times and bad, in sickness and in health,
whether rich or poor, until death separates us." I essentially gave
Jim the collar he had worn in Detroit though now it had my name in
the disk next to his. He had a duplicate made, which he fastened
around my neck as he said his own vows.

Mrs. Latour suggested I start the high school students--all twenty
of them over four grades--with physics as the seniors hadn't taken
it yet. She then worked closely with me over the summer to plan and
prepare to teach three different kinds of classes. Now that I've
been teaching for several months, I understand why some people--like
Jim--can get passionate about it. I end my workday sitting at
the back of the gym watching my love leading the high schoolers
through band rehearsal and from there I can see the joy in his face.

The conventions of Barken society strongly suggest that you appear
in public as full human or full dog. The way Jim explained it was
that some people have rather strange ideas of what is a comfortable
in-between form. So Jim and I are human in school and teach students
that are human (usually) and we can do our afternoon romps as dogs.
It is only in the privacy of our home during the evening and night
that we explore what it is like to be human with fur and tail.

Barken may not have many concerts, movies, or theater. Houston is
close enough for that when I need it. It hardly matters. Now that I
am a citizen of Barken, I know I can't live anywhere else for long.
Nothing can offer the joy of spending time as a dog.
[[Category:Story|The Effect of Spotted Clothes]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
[[Category:Barken]] [[Category:Animal]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:The Effect of Spotted Clothes}}

User:Erastus/The Effect of Spotted Clothes

2007-07-26T21:19:45Z

Erastus: Added story categories

This story is set in the Barken, Texas universe. The Barken, Texas story archive can be found [http://www.dogpawz.com/barken here].

Warning: This story is based on a gay relationship and may not be of interest to all readers.

----

The Effect of Spotted Clothes

by Erastus Centaur

{{part|name=Chapter 1}}

I don't show up at the Gay-Straight Alliance at Wayne State
University in Detroit very often, though I do try to make it two to
three times at the start of the school year to check out the fresh
meat. I guess the rest of the time I don't worry much what the
straights think of me. Fortunately, there were many new faces--and
bods--to check out. I'm not into notching my belt, mind you, but
there are few places on campus where I can meet potential boyfriends
without straights getting nervous.

So there I sat in a circle of about 40 people, half of them men. I
was checking out potential boyfriend material and paying only enough
attention to the conversation to determine if a particular guy was
gay or just a friendly straight. With some guys it was obvious--a
touch of makeup, way too much fashion style for a college campus, or
a t-shirt slogan that left no doubt. Other guys were able to blend
into the straight world until they started complaining about being
misunderstood.

I had only checked out about half the circle when the conversation
rose in volume and I thought I should pay attention to it.

A chick was saying, "... can't argue against the Bible! I'm telling
ya it's right there in black and white! If you don't give you your
sinning ways, you all will burn in Hell!"

A dude--with perhaps more volume--shot back, "You don't know
what you're talking about! You preach love and all you do is hate!
Your piety is a sham and then you claim that we're the ones who will
burn!"

I could see the chick was steamed and about to storm out. The
moderator was making calming noises to no effect when another guy
rose to speak, one that I hadn't checked out yet. "Please," he said.
He had an air of confidence in conflict which caused the combatants
to yield the floor.

He turned to the man. "You're not helping. I can appreciate your
anger--I've felt it myself many times--but ridiculing her faith
isn't going to get us where we want to be. It only makes our
opponents more combative." He glanced to the woman and back to the
man. "Besides, there are many good features about her religion. Our
society would be poorer without them." I could see a slight smile on
her face.

Before the man could object, the speaker turned to the woman. "Don't
think for a moment that I'm on your side. I'm just as gay as he is."
He paused for emphasis. "First of all, I'm glad you came." The
expression on the dude's face clearly said, ''I'm not''. The speaker
continued, "You are right. The Bible says some harsh things about us
in Leviticus. But it isn't so cut and dried. Do you have a bank
account that pays interest?" She hesitated, clearly flustered by the
change in topic and certain it was a trap, but nodded. "Do you keep
a Kosher diet?" Her frown deepened; she shook her head. "Well, then.
Since you personally don't follow every single word of Leviticus,
you had better have a good reason why you insist the two verses
about gays must be followed and not the ones about diet and money."
She looked daggers at both the dude and the speaker and but stayed
quiet.

He glanced back and forth between the two. "We came to understand
each other, not start a shouting match. Let's get back to that." He
turned to the dude, "And that means making as much of an effort to
understand her as you expect her to make for you." He sat.

I studied the peacemaker as he talked and after he sat down. I
wanted to get to know someone who could both calm someone and put
them in their place. He was quite slim, not very tall (about a match
for my 5-9, a plus) nor very muscular. His dark hair was short (a
plus) and he was clean-shaven (alas, a point against him) though
if he did let his beard grow, it looked like it would be full. He
wore a white t-shirt under a black leather vest with black jeans and
a black leather cap. I was surprised at the last touch to his
fashion statement--he wore what looked to be a dog collar loosely
around his neck as some guys would wear a chain. It was black
leather and rather wide with polished metal disks almost as wide as
the collar regularly spaced all the way around.

The moderator looked relieved that a messy situation had been
resolved for him. He said, "Any other comments?" When no one said
anything he went on, "I guess that concludes tonight's meeting."

Everyone stood and gathered up backpacks. I snagged my pack and made
my way to the peacemaker. I stuck my hand out. "Hi, I'm Troy Palmer.
I was impressed with the way you handled the battle. May I buy you a
drink?"

"Jim Cooper." He smiled and shook my hand. "Sorry, but I don't
drink. I hate what happens when I do."

"Coffee?"

Up close I could see the disk in the dog collar directly under his
Adam's apple was inscribed with his first name.

"I don't care for coffee and it's too late in the day for tea."

I fell back on the last gun in my arsenal, hoping he really didn't
drink and wasn't trying to brush me off. "Dessert at TJ's?" That was
the nickname for a place called Traffic Jam and Snug that was a few
blocks from campus and well known for eccentric fare.

"Sounds good." That was so good to hear as I was beginning to
develop a crush on him. "I'll meet you there in, oh," he glanced at
his watch, "fifteen minutes?"

"I'll meet you just inside the door."

I didn't risk taking my books back to my car though that made me
early. It did give me time to see what kind of flowers were planted
in the urinal mounted high on the wall on the front of the building.
As I said, the place is eccentric.

Jim arrived when he said he would and we were soon seated. I was
going to get the cheesecake, so didn't bother perusing the menu. Jim
took only a moment before setting the menu aside. A moment later he
also ordered the cheesecake.

"So," I said, once the waiter left, "I can't say I've been to the
GSA meetings very often, but I haven't seen you there before. Are
you a freshman?"

"Actually, I'm a senior." I winced to show I had caught my gaffe.
"And I attend the GSA meetings frequently. You must have come the
few times I haven't."

"I"m certainly starting off on the wrong foot. Perhaps I can ask a
question without stepping on toes. What's your major?"

"Music Education. Yours?"

"Physics with as many electives in the other sciences as I can
manage. Which, now that I'm a senior, has been quite a few."

"Where do you live?" he asked.

"With my parents out in Garden City."

"Far from here?" Hmm. Most natives knew where the smaller suburbs
were.

"Fifteen miles due west. You?"

"I live in University Towers."

"Can't stand to live with Mom and Dad? They throw you out when they
learned you're gay?"

He smiled. "No, nothing like that. I get along great with my
parents. But it is hard to commute from Texas."

"Texas? You don't sound like a Texan."

"Ah shore cain if Ah wount tew," he drawled. He continued without
it, "Studying music forced me to listen to sounds, including speech.
When I came here three years ago, I concentrated on speaking like
the locals so I didn't sound like a hick."

"Why leave Texas to come to Detroit?"

"I wanted to see something quite different from home and Detroit is
about as different from Barken as you can get."

Our cheesecake came. I took a bite, then said, "Never heard of
Barken. How big is it?"

"Few people have, even in Texas. It's pretty small."

"Can't you get a big city in Houston or Dallas."

"Sure can, but I also wanted to experience a northern climate before
I settled down."

"And you have plans for that already?"

"Once I'm done here I'll go back to Barken to be the music teacher."

"You say that as if there will be only one."

"That's right. While I was growing up, we were bussed into Cherry,
the closest town, for school. Cherry and Barken do not get along and
the town council finally decided to open a school in town. I'll be
the music teacher for the whole school, Kay through Twelve. Course,
that's maybe seventy students altogether."

"You sound so sure that you'll get the job."

"Yup. Not many people want to come to a desert town such as Barken.
But I grew up there. I couldn't live anywhere else for long. I gotta
go back. You might say it's in my blood." He gave a wink when he
said that. Whatever he meant was lost on me.

He continued, "What do you have planned for next year?"

"With my overall science major, I figure getting a job in one of
the research labs of the Big Three." Around Detroit, Big Three meant
the car companies. A research job meant a pretty good living.

"Sounds good." He didn't look like it sounded good. We were both
quiet for a couple bites.

"The reason I invited you here," I said, "was because I was
impressed with the way you handled yourself in the GSA meeting."

"Thank you. Unfortunately, I had a lot of practice going to school
in Cherry."

"Oh?"

"The residents of Cherry practice a very fundamentalist form of
Christianity."

I groaned. "And you're gay." I had run into many a fundamentalist
myself and had campaigned against some of their screwy ballot
initiatives--as in what laws can we pass to screw the queer?

"Worse than that. Everyone from Barken was considered to be...
heathen." It was an odd sort of hesitation.

"And that gave you a double hit."

"Yeah. I learned the fine art calmly skewering my opponents pretty
quick." He scraped the last of the cheesecake off his plate and
licked the fork. "It got so bad in my case that it was enough for
the Barken city council to decide to open their own school. It
actually works well all the way around. Cherry is sufficiently glad
to get rid of us they didn't mind the loss of tax revenue. They even
agreed not to tell the state what we were going to do. Since the
state won't be poking around, Barken won't have to worry about
teacher certification, which is good as we wouldn't be able to
attract many certified teachers anyway."

"Aren't they concerned about teacher quality?"

"Heh. If someone wants to teach in Barken, they'll do it because
they want to, and that's a good indication of quality right there."

"Won't you be certified when you're done here?"

"I'll have a degree with an education major. Whether or not I sit
for the Texas certification exam probably won't make any
difference."

The waiter came by with the bill, which I paid.

Jim said, "I can tell from your expression that you hope this little
meeting will lead to something more." He was reading me right. "I
will warn you right now that I am reluctant to get involved with
you, as sweet and sexy as you appear to be. I want a relationship
that will last and next May I'm going back to Barken and you're
staying here. We could be friends, but I'm sure you've heard how
hard it is for two gay men to be just friends."

"Couldn't you get a job teaching music around here?"

"Couldn't you teach science in Barken?" he countered. He saw my
look of dismay. "Barken really does need a science teacher."

"Sorry. No. I'd rather go into research."

"Then we'll have to settle for friendship."

Too late. That crush had already developed into love. The human
heart is so fickle, falling for what it can't have.

As we left TJ's I said, "I'll walk with you to your dorm. It's on
the way to my car." Actually, it wasn't, but I would only be walking
an extra block.

Along the way I said, "I have to ask. Why the dog collar?"

He chuckled as he fingered it. "You might say it is a declaration of
my individuality." With a practiced motion, he felt for the disk
with his name and centered it under his Adam's apple. "I'm also a dog
lover and you might say I wear it in solidarity with all dogs
everywhere." He winked again.

----------

I studiously attended GSA meetings after that, even participating in
the discussions. I began to understand why the straights were afraid
of us and the more I heard, the more I believed that the religious
argument was simply a cover for that fear.

I always sat as close to Jim as I could. I almost always invited him
out for dessert afterward. He almost always declined. "It seems too
much like a date," he said.

By the end of the month I gave up on going out for dessert and asked
him to join me for lunch. After all, we both had to eat. To this he
was more agreeable as long as he paid for his own. Though he didn't
want a lover, he did need a friend and could put up with a bit of
sexual tension to get that friendship.

I invited Jim out to my place (well, my parent's) one Friday evening
to watch the DVD of Big Eden, a movie of a gay guy afraid to reveal
his feelings to the one he loved, though his feelings obvious to the
rest of the town. Jim responded in a teasing voice, "I hope you're
not trying to get me to change my mind." I was, but played innocent.

Jim proposed his favorite movie for the following Friday evening.
He brought me up to his tiny dorm room so he could pop the DVD disc
into his computer and we could watch it on the small screen. Jim
must be well off, I decided, if he could afford a single room. There
was only one bed in the 12-by-12 space instead of the usual two. The
walls held several posters of dogs, the largest of Dalmatians. He
had placed several photos on his desks, one set obviously of his
parents and younger brother, another set of the family's pet dogs--
a large malamute, a poodle, and a Husky puppy. Near the foot of the
bed was a circular rug, which seemed to have accumulate a great deal
of dog hair. That surprised me as the rest of the room was fairly
neat and clean (we are talking about a guy's room here) and I was
sure pets weren't allowed. There certainly was no dog there now.

I was surprised by Jim's choice of movie--"101 Dalmatians," the
live-action version with Jeff Daniels and Glenn Close. I didn't
think that someone like Jim with his air of sophistication would
claim a Disney movie as his favorite using the reverential tones
that meant no other movie could come close.

I was even more surprised at his reaction to it. He seemed to
completely ignore the humans and concentrate solely on the dogs. He
didn't just watch them, he empathized with them--cheering them on
and wincing when they banged into something. He commented on his
favorite puppy and why its markings were prettier than the others.
He remarked about the handsomeness of the papa dog. I had the crazy
impression he wanted to jump into the scene for a romp.

Jim's antics inspired a fabulously weird idea, though I was torn
between encouraging this obsession and using it to my advantage.
After the movie while he was in the bathroom, I checked his clothing
sizes - medium shirt,30 waist/31 inseam for jeans, 7D shoes. Over
the following week, I bought a turtleneck shirt, briefs, and socks,
all in white. I couldn't find white jeans, so subjected a pair to a
lot of bleach. I even found white gloves (which I hoped would fit)
and a white scarf and cap. Using a bottle of India ink and an
eyedropper, I put Dalmatian spots on everything, taking care the
spots were small so they wouldn't give the impression of a Holstein
cow.

I met him in his room Friday evening and handed him the paper bag
with the clothing inside. He was reluctant to take it, saying,
"Troy, dear boy, giving me gifts tends to imply more than
friendship. We've already talked about why that won't work." He
probably saw the determination in my expression and sighed. "Well,
at least I can take a look at what you brought." He accepted the bag
and glanced inside.

I was completely unprepared for his reaction.

"Oh!" he said, his voice rising into a squeal. He dumped the
contents onto his bed, saying, "This is so wonderful! It's fabulous!
I"m surprised I didn't think of it myself!" He held up each article
and exclaimed again. "Even briefs!" he said as he held them up. He
plopped the cap onto his head, tweaking its position as he admired
it in the mirror, then taking it off to adjust the fit. He checked
the shirt-tag, "A medium! Just right." He pulled off the shirt he
was wearing and pulled on the turtleneck. The size-tag in the jeans
had been bleached blank, so he held them up to his waist, then soon
had the briefs and the jeans on. A moment later, he was wearing the
socks, scarf, and gloves and admiring the complete ensemble in the
mirror, exclaiming, "This is so wonderful!"

He came over to me and gave me a hug. "Troy, dear boy, I have no
idea how your brain came up with this marvelous surprise, but I like
it very much. These threads mean more to me than I could possibly
explain." He kissed me, first a quick one, then a long sensual one,
followed by another hug. I eagerly participated, pressing myself
against him.

When he finally released me, a tear had spilled from his eye, which
he wiped with his sleeve. "Oh, drat!" he said quietly, hugging me
again and whispering in my ear. "I do believe I've broken one of my
personal vows and fallen in love with you." He sighed. "That is
either going to mess up your future or make next May quite painful."

"Aren't you forgetting the option of you changing your future?" I
asked.

"Troy, dear boy, you haven't been listening." He kissed me. "I am
going back to Barken next May." He kissed again. "You are either
coming with me or you're not." Another kiss. "Though life would be
so much nicer if you did."

I felt a bit of anger that he wouldn't budge, blaming me for the
eventual breakup. Couldn't we rationally discuss what would be best
for both of us?

Jim was oblivious to my feelings. He said, "So where should we go
tonight? Perhaps it is my turn to treat you to dessert at TJ's." He
grabbed his jacket.

"You're going out dressed in ''that''!"

"Of course." He came over and patted my cheek. "Troy, dear boy, if
you didn't want me to be seen in public wearing these clothes, you
would have given me pajamas." There was an unmistakable meaning in
his grin. "Though perhaps we can do something about that later." He
kissed me. "Now let's go have some fun."

Jim somehow managed to give the impression of ignoring all the
stares in the restaurant and at the same time glory in each eye that
was on him, as if to say, of course, I'm the one to watch tonight.
Why would you look anywhere else? And drat it, if that didn't make me
feel all the more special in his presence. He was the center of
attention, yet I was the center of his attention.

After dinner, we returned to Jim's room and spent a wonderful
evening in his narrow bed. I decided that two guys in a twin-size
bed added to the enjoyment. There wasn't much room for snuggling
side by side.

I was about to drift off to sleep, hopefully for the night, when
Jim shook my shoulder, "Troy, dear boy, it's time you went home to
bed."

"Can't I sleep here and wake up in your arms?" I didn't want to
open my eyes fearing sleep might slip away.

He chuckled, then kissed me. "This bed is hardly big enough for both
of us to get a good night's sleep."

"So what if we don't get out of bed until noon. Tomorrow is
Saturday, after all."

"As tempting as that might be, it won't work. Sorry, Troy."

"We could go to my place. I have a much bigger bed."

He sighed heavily and sat up, then put his hand back on my shoulder.
I opened my eyes and looked at him in the dim light. "Troy, dear
boy, I would be happy to repeat this evening as often as you may
want, but I sleep alone. At least for now."

I wasn't going to get to sleep quickly now. I was wide awake. "Well
if you are going to change your mind in the future, why not change
it now?"

"Sorry, Troy."

"Can't you at least explain why? If it is because you snore, I can
buy earplugs."

"No, I can't explain. Not yet. If you come with me to Barken, I'll
explain then."

I felt anger flash through me. "Barken! Always you and Barken!" I
scrambled out of bed. "You insist you have to live in Barken, then
you start keeping secrets, telling me I have to go to Barken to find
out." I found it is hard to get dressed when you're both in a hurry
and mad. "What about my half of the relationship? Why do we always
have to do it your way?"

I turned and walked to the door. I heard a heavy sigh as I closed
it.

{{part|name=Chapter 2}}

I was miserable for the entire next week and quite aware that my
classwork was suffering. I kept thinking about Jim, about how much
I loved him, how I enjoyed being with him, how much I missed him.
I also thought about his insistence that he returned to Barken, that
he almost seemed obsessed with the place. I had to do something.

I did a websearch on both Barken and Cherry, though it took me a
while to remember the name of the neighboring town. I came up with
a complete blank. Mapquest could find the two towns, but that told
me only that both towns had streets with a regular grid and a park
or a town square in the center. None of the citizens of either town
seemed to be Internet literate. No webpages described either place.

Though it took me a week to swallow my pride, I spent much of the
next Friday evening camped outside his door, studying as I waited.
Love had won out over pride--I had bought a half-dozen roses, each
a different color because I had heard the colors had meaning and I
didn't want to leave anything out.

It was nearly eleven before Jim showed up, shouting, "Troy!" before
I had heard his approach. He ran to me as I scrambled to my feet and
soon enfolded me in a hug, followed by a long kiss.

While he fumbled with is keys and got the door open, I located the
roses on the floor. I presented them, saying, "I'm sorry," which
earned me another kiss.

"I'm sorry, too, Troy, dear boy" he said. "I'm very aware that I am
placing all kinds of conditions on this relationship. But those
conditions must be as they are a part of who I am. I know that isn't
fair to you, and for that, I'm sorry."

We hugged each other, then helped each other undress.

Afterward, as I reached for my briefs, Jim said, "Since May might
break us apart, let's try to maximize the time we have before then.
I want to spend Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Spring Break with you."

"Don't you want to spend the holidays with your family?"

"I'll see a lot of my family after graduation. I may not see you
then."

"I love you," I said and kissed him. "So where should we go?"

"I've put too many restrictions on you already. It is entirely your
choice."

"Don't you want to show me around Barken?"

"Yeah, I do, but only if you want to go."

I thought about it while I finished dressing. "At the moment, I'm
too angry at Barken and its secrets."

"Fair enough."

"So before you go hide yourself in Barken for the rest of your life,
let me show you a bit of the country."

"A cross country trip in winter?"

"We don't have to go cross country. But some places are at their
best in winter."

We kissed. And hugged. Then I said, "Good night, Jim," and left.

----------

"Doctor Shishido's office."

"Hi. This is Jim Cooper. May I speak to the doctor?"

"Sure Jim. Just a moment. He's almost done with a patient."

A minute later, "Hi, Jim. This is Doctor Shishido. How are you
today?"

"Doc, when asked that by a member of the medical profession I always
wonder if it is a greeting or an inquiry into the state of my
health."

Dr. Shishido chuckled. "Both."

"Well, to answer both of your queries, I'm fine."

"So if you're in good health, there must be some other reason why
you called."

"Yeah, there is. I have an important question for you. Once someone
leaves Barken, how long do its effects last?"

"Oh, golly." A pause. "That depends."

"Depends on what?"

"Usually on how long between the time they arrive in Barken and
their first shift. If their first shift happens in five days, the
effects may linger for up to three years. If we go to the other
extreme when the first shift doesn't happen for a month, the effects
may last only a month."

"What about someone born in Barken?"

"Such as yourself?"

"Yeah."

"It's hard to tell when the clock starts. I've had some cases where
it was obvious the first--and maybe even the second or third--shift
was ''in utero''. In other cases it wasn't."

"And in my case?"

"You're going to make me remember back that far? Heh. Jim Cooper...
Jim Cooper... Ah. If I remember right--and I can't say that I do--
the ultrasounds I did on your mother always showed you as human.
You might have changed. Then again, you might not. There's no way
to tell. Now I think you need to tell me why this prompted you to
call."

"I'm in love."

"Is he a nice guy?"

"He gave me a set of white clothes decorated with Dalmatian spots."

Doctor Shishido laughed for several seconds. "Does he know?"

"I'm positive he doesn't. He gave the clothes to me after he saw how
involved I got watching 101 Dalmatians."

"Ooh, that's rich. So how does your love life prompt your question?"

"We got into an argument when I insisted I had to come back to
Barken after graduation. To maintain peace I agreed to spend all my
breaks between now and graduation with him and he doesn't want to
visit Barken just yet."

"Your mom know you won't be back?"

"Yeah, I already called her."

"Hmm." A pause. "You'll be away for a total of nine months."

"About that."

"I must warn you, then, you might be cutting it close."

"Are you sure."

"Not at all. There's no way to tell. Not that many people leave
Barken and those that do rarely call me up and tell me how long
the effects last. Jim, do you shift?

"Every night. I sleep so much better that way."

"Many people do. Any trouble shifting?"

"No."

"At the first signs of it, you had better give it up so you aren't
stuck. We've lost contact with a few of our youth and suspect that's
what happened. We don't want to lose you too."

"I'll be careful."

"It may not be that simple. Some people had no trouble shifting then
found they couldn't shift back. You need to take some precautions in
case that should happen. Make sure you have a backup plan."

"What kind of plan?"

"Whatever will get you back to Barken if you can't communicate. One
thing you might do is to tell your parents to come looking for you
if they don't get an email within so many days of the last one. The
main thing is to have that plan."

"I will, Doc. Thanks so much. Goodbye."

"Bye, Jim."

Jim became very conscientious about two additions to his bedtime
routine. He always made sure a particular piece of paper was
prominently displayed on his desk before he went to sleep and
hidden away after waking. He moved his sleeping rug to just inside
the door and made sure the door was unlocked while he slept.

----------

Jim appeared frequently on campus wearing his Dalmatian clothes,
complete with the collar. He usually did it on Friday so he would
be seen wearing them on our dates to Detroit's many cultural
institutions. It wasn't long before he picked up a nickname. He
strongly objected to the name Mutt, saying a Dalmatian is a
purebred, not a mongrel. But he happily answered to the name Bowser
when someone jokingly used it.

Jim and I had four wonderful days at Thanksgiving. He spent nearly
all day, every day, with me and my family, even accompanying us to
the big dinner Aunt Jane and Uncle Tom's house. My family is a small
one so it was easy for Jim to keep track of names. Long days
together almost made up for nights apart. Just as well--I did have
''some'' studying to do.

The two and a half weeks at Christmas were even better. We had time
between exams and Christmas to do our Christmas shopping, including
forays to outlet malls and to Bronner's Christmas Store in
Frankenmuth. Both the gaudy extravagance of the store and the fake
Bavarian setting of the town delighted Jim.

After Christmas, we had time to try some cross-country skiing as we
visited Traverse City, Mackinac Island, and Sault Ste. Marie. We had
a grand time on the Agawa Canyon Snow Train out of the Canadian side
of the Soo. I said nothing when Jim insisted we get separate rooms
in each motel.

Instead of heading south for spring break as college students
normally do, we stayed in the north, exploring Niagara, Toronto, and
Montreal in our brief respite from class.

That trip had an air of urgency. There were only seven weeks until
graduation and our future together after that was still uncertain.
Bless his heart, Jim didn't remind me that his decision was set and
it was up to me to decide to follow him to Barken or to look for a
research job in the Detroit area. I wasn't sure if it was a help
that the car companies had a hiring freeze and didn't even come on
campus for interviews.

{{part|name=Chapter 3}}

I had switched parking lots to one by University Towers so that Jim
and I could walk to class together. It was a bit farther for me, but
the few moments with Jim in the morning made it worthwhile.

It was the first day of May, which I knew was the date of Jim's last
exam. I had one that day and one more the day after before I was
done. The thought of being free soon sometimes made it hard to
concentrate on the pesky impediments, such as exams.

But when I knocked on the door, I got no answer. "Jim?" I called
out. I thought I heard noises. "Jim?" I said as I knocked. This
wasn't like him. He was usually up well before I got there. Had he
been up too late studying or packing? I knocked again. "Come on,
Jim." Had he left without me? He knew what time I was coming. If he
had gone, who was making that noise?

I tried the handle and was surprised to find it unlocked. I opened
it to find a large Dalmatian standing there, its tail wagging.
"Jim?" From the door, a person can see the entire room. Jim wasn't
there. I stepped to the bathroom door and knocked. No answer, so I
opened the door and flipped on the light. No Jim.

I turned to the dog. "Have you seen Jim?" The dog whuffed in
response, its tail still wagging. "By the way, what are you doing
here? Dogs aren't allowed. I didn't think Jim had a dog."

The dog came over and stuck its head under my fingers. I idly petted
it as I scanned the room for clues of Jim. My fingers found the
dog's collar, so I squatted down for a closer look. It was Jim's
collar! Complete with the disk with his name. I turned it around,
examining it closely, which the dog patiently endured. I had been
seeing that collar around my lover's neck every day for six months
now. There was no mistaking it. What was it doing on the dog?

I stood and walked around the room for clues of where Jim might be.
I could see he had done quite a bit of packing, with only a few
things left to put into boxes and more boxes lined up along the
wall. On the desk, I found a note addressed to me:

Troy,
I got called away in the middle of the night and didn't
want to wake you. It was urgent but not serious. I will tell
you all about it when we next meet.

A friend at the Humane Society brought the dog over last
night, knowing how much I like Dalmatians. Isn't he a beaut? Do
you think you might stop in a couple times over the next few
days to make sure he is fed, or perhaps even take him for a
walk?

Troy, my love, I have a big favor to ask. This business
may keep me beyond the end of the semester. Would you be so
kind as to take my stuff and my dog back to Barken? If you do,
you can stay with Mrs. Brumfield in the Barken Motel. Either
way, please call my parents and let them know what you plan to
do. I hope with all my heart I will see you in Barken in a few
days.

With much love,
Jim

I sighed, and felt the dog watching me. Not having anyone else to
talk to, I turned to the dog. "Do you know how annoying your owner
is being right now? Take you and all this stuff to Barken for him!
What could be so urgent that he'd miss his last exam and yet not be
serious?" The dog lowered his head a bit. "I don't know if you like
me or if you're willing to put up with being in a car with me for
three days. Since Jim has had you for such a short time, I doubt he
knows either." To my surprise, the dog came over and licked my
fingers. I could only scratch his head in reply.

"This is so presumptuous of Jim, just like his insistence that he
will spend the rest of his days in Barken and it is my fault the
relationship is over if I don't follow him." I sighed. The dog
whined and stuck his nose into my hand.

"But as secretive and demanding as he is, I love him. Oh, how I love
him!" I kept my hands busy petting the dog as we looked into each
other's eyes. "From his crazy collar and spotted clothes, to the
tips of his toes. Heh." I grimaced. "I"m subjecting a strange dog to
bad poetry. Surely that is criminal somewhere.

"Oh, hell!" I dabbed my eyes and blew my nose. "Why not do it?" The
dog barked, a rather quiet ruff sound. "You agree? I certainly don't
have a job that I need to get to. Now don't you think I deserve a
vacation after four years of school and working summers before I
start looking for a job?" To my delight, the dog barked quietly
again and bobbed his head.

"Yeah, Jim was so insistent that Barken was the place for him that
I do owe it to him to at least see the place before I decide. You
do agree, don't you?" The dog bobbed his head, then pranced around
the room a bit before putting his forelegs in my lap and licking my
face. I guess it's decided.

"Do you have a name?" The dog lifted his head and looked at me. "It
looks like we are going to be together for a while and I can't just
call you 'Dog,' now can I?" The dog bobbed its head. "Let's see."
I pondered it for a moment. "Heh. Jim acquired the name Bowser when
I gave him those Dalmatian clothes. It seems so appropriate I call
Jim's Dalmatian the same name. May I name you Bowser?"

The dog bobbed his head and barked once. "That sounded like a yes to
me," I said, patting his head.

I had some time before my exam, so decided I might as well call
right then. Nearby, Jim had posted his parent's phone number so I
would find it easily. I called.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mrs. Cooper?"

"Yes."

"This is Jim's friend Troy."

"Oh, Troy, you don't have to play word games with me. Jim has told
me all about you."

"Oh, that's good. I'm calling as I found a note from Jim saying he
had to leave suddenly. Do you know what it's about? Jim was quite
vague."

"I think I had better let Jim tell you."

"Ah. He wrote that it was urgent but not serious. Is he all right?"

"I'm sure he is."

"Did you know Jim got a Dalmatian yesterday?"

"I'm not surprised. Jim loves dogs, especially Dalmatians."

I chuckled. "That he does. Well, Jim wanted me to tell you that I've
decided I would come to Barken with Jim's stuff and the dog."

"Oh, thank you, Troy! That would be most helpful and save us a trip.
I'm so glad you can come. I'll call the motel right away and reserve
a room."

"Thanks," I said.

"Troy, I know this is going to sound weird, but could you hold the
phone out for the dog?"

"Yeah, it does sound weird. Just a second." I held out the phone,
saying, "It's for you," smirking as I did so.

To my surprise, Bowser moved his head to position an ear by the
receiver and barked. A few moments later, he barked again and
stepped away. What in the world had I just witnessed?

I put the phone back to my own ear and said, "Mrs. Cooper?"

"Yes, Troy."

"I have a couple exams yet so it will be a few days before I come."

"We look forward to your visit whenever you get here. Bye Troy."

"Bye."

I glanced at my watch. "Sorry, doggie. I have to go. I'll be back
for you later."

----------

After my exam that day and with permission of my parents, I cleaned
out Jim's dorm room and took his stuff and Bowser to their house.

I got a shock when I went through the clothes he was wearing the day
before he disappeared and found Jim's wallet. Of course, I looked
through it. There was $47 in bills and 82 cents in coin. His student
ID card, his Detroit Public Library card, his driver's license, and
a couple credit cards were all still there. This was a mystery. How
had Jim been able to get anywhere without money or proving who he
was? His car was still in the student lot; I saw it on the way in.
One needed money to take a cab. One needed identification to take a
train or plane. Was he traveling under an alias? Had he been
coerced into joining a crime organization? Now I was worried.

It was rather nice having Bowser with me that evening as I studied
for the last exam. He was companionable, sitting beside my chair as
I worked and following me through the house during breaks.

I appreciated the chance to stretch my muscles when Mom thought I
should take him for a walk. This crazy dog pulled another surprise
when, on the way through the garage, he pawed at my bicycle. Taking
the hint, I mounted up, the dog willingly scampering along beside
me, even when I picked up speed. Perhaps I had been missing out by
not having a dog in my youth.

My last exam went well. The graduation ceremony actually did give
the feeling that one phase of my life was over and another was
beginning. I felt bad that I couldn't share the experience with Jim.
I wondered again why he had left so suddenly.

The day after graduation I loaded up Jim's car with clothes for
myself, all of Jim's stuff, and Bowser. The dog was quite intent in
overseeing the loading process. Once loaded, I opened the passenger
door and he hopped in. I settled myself behind the wheel and we were
off.

----------

May is a beautiful time to drive across the country. The problem is
that it's a big country. It was close to fifteen hundred miles from
Detroit to Barken. And it was going to take two and a half days to
cover that distance.

I talked to Bowser. I sang along with the radio and was amused when
Bowser did too. It was spooky how well he could match pitch. But
mostly, we just sat, letting the scenery flash by while the radio
filled the silence.

The only incident was the drive through Cherry. I had the windows up
and the air conditioner on, which turned out to be a good thing.
Just after crossing the city boundary, Bowser, who had put his
forepaws on the dashboard for better viewing, lay down in the seat.
Even so, I hadn't gotten very far into town before I heard shouting
and saw people pointing to him. A moment later a tomato splattered
against the passenger side window and another on the windshield in
front of the dog. I picked up my speed both to get through the town
faster and to attract the attention of police. The police stayed
hidden and a few more tomatoes struck home before we were back into
open desert.

What was that all about? Jim had said he had a bad time in Cherry,
but what did they have against me? Was it that I was driving Jim's
car? This was another mystery to discuss with Jim when I found him.

The wipers and washer fluid got most of the tomato gunk off the
windshield. I'd have to find a car-wash for the rest.

Bowser soon had his paws back on the dashboard and when we passed
the sign for the Barken city limits, he let out a bark and then
wiggled in anticipation. This was another mystery as this dog was
from the Humane Society in Detroit. What would he know about Barken?

The first thing about Barken that caught my eye was the large number
of dogs wandering the street. And none of them had collars. The dogs
seemed to be moving with a definite purpose, as a human would, not
wandering from one distraction to another as I had seen dogs do.

It didn't take long to find Jim's home as Barken isn't very big and
the map Jim had left was a good one.

No sooner had I gotten out of the car than Bowser jumped over my
seat and out the door and dashed into the yard, barking the whole
way. Coming just as fast from the house was the small Husky I had
seen in photos in Jim's room, being just as noisy. I would have
expected the Husky to be grown now, but this one wasn't.

I feared a grand territorial battle between the dog from Detroit and
the local pet. It was nothing of the sort. The two dogs greeted each
other like old friends, playfully romping together. The noise soon
brought out who I assumed were Jim's parents. With cries of, "You're
here!" they came down the porch steps while Bowser broke away from
his games to give each an enthusiastic face licking. Stranger and
stranger. Only then did Jim's parents come over to greet me, which
they did warmly, insisting I call them Walt and Amanda.

As they did so, many of the other dogs in town came pouring into the
yard, each of them giving Bowser an enthusiastic greeting. There
were so many that it was difficult to hear the humans speak.

I asked, "I wouldn't expect such a welcome for a strange dog."

"We all like dogs so much that there's no such thing as a strange
dog around here," said Walt.

"Even the dogs welcome a strange one," I said.

"Isn't that nice?" said Amanda.

"Is Jim here? Has he finished with his mysterious errand?" I asked.

I saw Walt turn around and begin to point at something, but Amanda
grabbed his hand. She turned to me. "No, dear. He'll find you soon
enough. Come, let's get the car unloaded."

I can tell a deliberate change of subject when I hear one. Mystery
piled onto mystery, but there was nothing to do with my curiosity
until Jim turned up.

Once the stuff was stashed in the basement--Jim's old room having
been converted to a sewing room--Amanda said, "I'm sorry we don't
have space for you to stay here, but the Barken Motel is a good
place and Mrs. Brumfield is a wonderful cook. Perhaps you should
go check in now." She took my arm and guided me to the car. "Since
Jim considers you his partner, that makes us your in-laws. We need
to get to know each other, so please stop by for supper each evening
or even just to hang out."

When I opened the door to Jim's car, Bowser broke from the pack and
bounded over. "Don't you want to play with your friends?" I asked.
Apparently not, as he stepped over my seat to the passenger side.

When I walked into the motel, Bowser had insisted in coming with
me. I was afraid the woman behind the small reception desk would
demand I keep him outside. Much to my surprise, they greeted each
other as old friends. "Jim! It is so good to see you again!" she
kept saying.

When she finally turned to me, I'm sure I had a puzzled expression,
but she ignored it completely. "Hi. You must be Troy Palmer. The
Coopers reserved a room for you." She went behind the desk and
opened the guest book for me to sign and handed me a key. "I have
room three all set up for you."

After signing, I asked, "I'm a bit confused about this town. There
are all these strange things going on, things that don't make sense.
For instance, you called the dog by his owner's name."

She let out a musical laugh, then said, "I guess we do that a lot
around here, though you can't really say a dog has an owner."

Another cryptic remark.

"But how did you know it was Jim's dog. He got it in Detroit."

"He did? I could have sworn I've seen this dog around here before.
But don't mind an old lady like me." She smiled sweetly.

I guess Bowser had gotten attached to me during our car ride. As
much as he liked playing with the other dogs and visiting with Jim's
parents, he preferred my company. He went everywhere that I did,
even into the mall. I would have thought dogs wouldn't be allowed in
the mall, but there were as many dogs as humans inside.

On my third day in Barken Amanda suggested I take Bowser to visit
the school superintendent and just see what a teaching job in Barken
would be like. Though I didn't feel qualified to teach and didn't
want to give the impression I was even remotely considering such a
job, I didn't have anything better to do.

"Ah, you must be Troy," said Dottie Latour. She leaned over with her
had out. "And it is good to see you, too." Bowser obliged by
extending a paw and letting her shake it. My dog--uh, Jim's dog--
was just full of surprises. She turned back to me, "Let me show you
around."

Mrs. Latour's small office was probably the only room actually
finished on the school house site, though the rest if it was close.
"We'll never have many students here, so our design is based on the
old rural schools, though we'll have three classrooms instead of
one."

The main part of the school was a hallway with two rooms on either
side. She stopped just inside the first room on the left where I
could see workers install light fixtures. "How's it going, Gordy?"

"Just fine, ma'am," sang out the worker that was the cleanest. My dad
had said that meant he was the boss. He didn't do as much actual
work so didn't get as dirty. "We'll have these babies in by the end
of the week and get the drop-ceiling in next week. We'll be done
long before Labor Day."

She turned to me. "This will be our elementary classroom, grades
Kindergarten through Fifth." In turn, she indicated the second room
on the left was for the middle school class and across from it on
the right was for the high school. There wouldn't be more than 25
students in each room. The last room was a combination of gymnasium
and lunchroom with a small stage across one end. We sat down in the
gym using a couple of plastic chairs used by the workers for breaks.

"Mrs. Cooper told me you majored in Science."

"Well, my major was actually Physics, but I also took many classes
in Chemistry, Biology, and Geology."

"We could use a general science teacher."

"But I didn't major in education and won't be certified," I said.

"I can't be that picky. Don't worry about it."

I looked at her strangely. "Not be picky? I don't get it. Don't you
want the best for your children?"

"I suspect you've noticed that Barken isn't exactly in a prime
location, ready to attract hordes of candidates." Ya think? "But our
citizens just don't want to be anywhere else." Gee, I hadn't
noticed. "So I have to staff my school with any warm body I can get
my hands on."

"If your teaching staff will be so inferior, why bother with a
school at all?"

"You're Jim's lover, aren't you?" I nodded. News travels fast in a
small town. "Then I imagine Jim told you at least part of the
story."

"Yeah, he did."

"Here it is from my point of view. Why bus fifty to seventy kids
forty-five minutes each way to a town that is prejudiced against
them? That far away in a town that hostile makes it dangerous for
our kids and too far away for us to intervene effectively. If your
kid doesn't feel safe, he's not going to learn. I'd rather have
children feeling safe under uncertified teachers than feeling
threatened under the best teachers in the state."

Bowser had been sitting attentively, seeming to listen to our
conversation. He now got up and began to wander the room. I tried to
keep an eye on him to keep him out of mischief. The superintendent
ignored Bowser completely.

She said, "If you stay to teach with us, you'll spend part of your
day in each room. Most high schools teach a year of Biology,
Chemistry, and Physics. You might as well teach one subject a year
to all high school grades. We could even add a general science class
for the fourth year of the cycle. We could work out a three year
cycle for the middle school students. As for the elementary grades,
it would be best, I think, to teach then in small groups as the
other teachers will do."

"That's all very good, Mrs. Latour, but I don't intend to stay in
Barken. This place is just too strange for me. I'm only sticking
around until Jim shows up."

She glanced at Bowser, then looked at me strangely. I got the
feeling there was something going on that was supposed to be obvious
if only I had the wits to know what it was. The superintendent
didn't provide any clues. She only said, "Well if you change your
mind, just let me know."

By the fourth day I was worried about what had happened to Jim.
Strangely, his parents weren't concerned at all, assuring me that
Jim would show up in due time and I should just enjoy my vacation.
I countered that a vacation wasn't so much fun when you couldn't
share it with the one you love.

By the end of the first week, the combination of Jim's absence and
this strange town was really freaking me out. If I didn't love Jim
so much I would have jumped in his car and sped out of town.

{{part|name=Chapter 4}}

It was that night when I had the first dream. It was a strange one.
The first image I remember was of Jim in his Dalmatian outfit
standing before a doorway and beckoning me through. The world beyond
the door was golden, radiating both the color and a golden mood, a
sense of belonging and of well-being. I walked through the door
thinking about after-death experiences and wondering what part of my
life was dying.

Once through the door, I looked around for Jim, but didn't see him--
I could see back into the room where I had been, but he wasn't there
either. At my side was Bowser, eager to play. I felt energetic
enough that I was happy to accept his invitation. I noticed I was
wearing no clothes, but that seemed natural and appropriate in this
golden light. We dashed about the golden countryside, looking at
this and sniffing at that, frolicking together and generally having
a wonderful time. I very much wanted this experience to continue for
as long as possible.

We had flopped onto the ground to rest and Bowser rolled onto his
back. I dutifully and playfully rubbed his belly. He rewarded my
efforts by licking my nose. I rolled over onto my own back and Jim
returned the favor and rubbed the fur on my belly. I let my tongue
hang out and stretched my paws in the air in satisfaction.

I rolled over and stood on my paws, able to greet Bowser nose to
nose. He danced playfully away and I was struck by a thought that
warmed me--Bowser was very sexy-looking. Such a handsome dog. Bowser
was looking at me with the same kind of hunger.

Bowser pranced before me, posing to show off his muscles. He winked
and tossed his head. He stepped up to me and kissed me, his muzzle
against mine. His display was definitely having an effect on me.
I again rolled onto the grass with my paws in the air. Bowser gently
straddled me then lay atop me, belly to belly, licking my muzzle as
he settled himself. He soon began to rock back and forth.

I awoke with a record case of blue balls; the slightest touch would
have set off a depth charge in my groin. I opened my eyes to see
Bowser standing at the side of the bed, his head on the mattress
near mine staring into my eyes. Apparently satisfied that I was
awake, Bowser stepped sideways until his head was near my groin. He
deliberately took a big sniff, then placed a paw on the mattress.

"Oh, no, you don't," I said clambering out of bed. I hurried to the
shower and turned it on cold. As I stood under the spray, I thought
over what I could remember of the dream. It was then that I realized
some things about the dream that disturbed me. My companion in the
dream was sometimes Jim and sometimes Bowser and the two seemed
interchangeable. There were times that Bowser had done things only a
human would do. And the most troublesome was that my perspective
was sometimes that of a gay dog, complete with fur, paws, and
muzzle. I expected the gay part. It was the dog part the sent my
mind spinning.

Come on, Jim. I love you, but I've got to get out of this town.

It isn't often that images from my dreams persist long into the day.
This one did, troubling me with its images and my reaction to them.

As I dressed, I realized it was still quite early. I knew I wasn't
going to get any more sleep the way my body felt stretched tight. I
wandered down to the dining area and was surprised that Mrs.
Brumfield already had an egg casserole ready. It was delicious. It
was uncanny how she anticipated my needs.

But I couldn't tolerate the town anymore, so walked into the
surrounding hills, Bowser trailing beside me. It wasn't hot yet, but
I knew it would be soon. I could at least avoid the town and its
strangeness until the heat sent me in search of air conditioning.

I picked a hill and trudged up it, then plopped my butt onto the
sand where I could overlook the town. Once I was seated, Bowser
began pulling at my shoelaces in spite of my attempts to waive him
off. It seemed a game to him, one that I was in no mood to play. I
had promised to meet Jim in this town and would keep that promise. I
hadn't promised anything beyond that.

Bowser succeeded in undoing one lace, then began to tug on the shoe
itself. "You want the shoe? Fine. You can have it." I threw it at
him and he neatly dodged it. He scampered after it and brought it
back to me--and promptly began to pull off the sock. I let him have
it, but once he did, he wasn't interested in it anymore. He dropped
it on the shoe and went after the laces of the other shoe. I thought
it best to cut the game short and pulled the shoe and sock off.
"There. I've got bare feet. Happy? You had better make sure there
are no rattlers, scorpions, or other desert nasties around." Bowser
dutifully made a circuit around me as if to prove he was up to the
task.

Then Bowser began to bury my feet in the sand by using a paw to
brush sand over my toes. I swatted at him, but he dodged my hand.
"What are you doing, dog?" I leaned back and Bowser returned. He
watched me intently for a moment then started pushing sand over my
feet again. I jumped to my feet and gave chase for a few steps,
before I thought about my bare feet and what might be lurking in the
sand. Bowser also stopped and took a stance that would allow him to
resume running if I did. He barked softly at me, perhaps to say that
he wanted the game to continue. I sat down and glared at the dog. He
glared back, then deliberately came up to me and pushed sand over my
toes.

I threw up my hands, which startled Bowser enough to take a step
back. "Fine. You want sand over my feet. Go for it." He bobbed his
head, turned around and started digging with his forepaws so that
the sand landed on my feet.

When I had sand up to my ankles, Bowser turned his attention to my
shirt, tugging at it as if he intended to pull it over my head. I
took it off to protect it from damage and said, "No. I will not take
off my shorts. Don't even try." He didn't.

Instead, he dug up more sand so that it covered my shorts. "Okay,
dog. You want to bury me alive? You go right ahead." I stretched out
on the sand and he proceeded to do just that, taking great care not
to get sand on my face. Once I was quite covered from neck downward,
Bowser came and stood by my head to shield it from the son. "You
satisfied?" He bobbed his head. "Good."

I've never heard of a dog that thought it a good idea to bury a
human in the sand, though I considered it possible. But a dog that
knew how to keep the sun off my face? Another mystery. I closed my
eyes and drifted off to sleep to make up for my early rising.
Thankfully it was dreamless.

I wandered back to the motel just in time for lunch wearing only my
shorts as I was too covered in sand. Mrs. Brumfield was out watering
her flowers and took delight on turning the hose on me. It was hot
enough that I took delight in it too. The whole time she had the
hose on me she had this mysterious smile and kept winking at Bowser.

I spent the afternoon in the library researching companies that
might look favorably on my resume. It appeared the Big Three weren't
hiring, so I was concentrating my research on the first and second
tier suppliers. These jobs may not pay as well and be as secure as
similar ones in the car companies, but in an era when GM and such
were turning over more and more design work to their suppliers, it
would be a decent living.

Dinner was with the Coopers again. As we ate and talked, I slowly
came to realize that while Walt Cooper tolerated his job about as
much as my dad tolerated his own, Walt didn't have the cultural
resources of a thriving metropolis to keep him and his family
entertained. There was no Barken Theater, though the new school
being built would have a stage. There was no concert hall. The small
movie theater showed only one movie each week. The mall was small.
There were no organized sports teams. When I contrasted his life to
the one I had made sure Jim knew in Detroit--baseball, hockey, Pine
Knob, Meadowbrook, Fox Theater, Second City, Orchestra Hall, Detroit
Institute of Arts, and a Cineplex in every suburb--Barken came up
woefully short. How did they stand the place?

That night I had another dream that stuck in my head. The overall
direction and many of the details were the same as the night before.
But in this dream Jim seemed to become a part of his Dalmatian
clothes and Bowser seemed to walk around on two legs, acting quite
human. My own perspective seemed to shift from human to dog and back
again several times during the dream. As before, my mind accumulated
an erotic charge from this shifting blend of human and dog that
postured before me and then offered himself to me.

I didn't think I could have had a case of blue balls worse than the
day before, but that I did when I awoke. I heard a familiar voice
say, "Troy, dear boy, let me take care of that for you," as he
wrapped his fingers around me.

My eyes opened to a wonderful looking face complete with dog collar.
"Jim! It is so good to see you!" I wondered how he had slipped into
bed beside me without waking me. Further talk had to wait while he
met my need and I met his. We then had time to hug and kiss, then
doze in the comfort of each other's arms. I had missed him terribly
and being in his embrace again felt wonderful.

It was mid morning before I pulled my attention away from Jim and
glanced around the room. "Where's Bowser?"

"I let him out," said Jim.

"A dog that has been at my side for nine days is suddenly willing to
venture out without me?"

"I knew we would be busy." Jim winked.

"Yet you're wearing the collar."

"Bowser doesn't need it, not in this town."

My head said it was irrational to feel possessive over a dog that
actually belonged to Jim. My heart said something else. If I
understand things right, Jim got Bowser the day before he
disappeared. Bowser had spent pretty much all of the last two weeks
with me. But an argument wasn't going to get me where I wanted to
be with Jim. "Come on, lets get some breakfast. I'm sure whatever
Mrs. Brumfield made for me is cold by now, but even cold, I'm sure
it'll be delicious."

Jim glanced away. "Could I borrow your robe?"

"Can't you slip back into whatever you were wearing?" I said
glancing around the room. I realized that all the clothes in the
room were mine. "So how did you get in here with no clothes?"

He didn't answer my question. "Your robe? I'm getting hungry."

"And where have you been for the last nine days?"

"I can't tell you. Not yet."

All of my frustrations from the last week--the mystery, the
realization that Barken didn't have much going for it, the feeling
of possessiveness towards Bowser--boiled over.

"You can't tell me? The love of your life? Fine. I'm sick of this
town. I gotta get out of here. I brought your damn dog across the
country and waited for you to appear. Well, now that you're here,
my commitments to this town are finished. I have a life to get back
to." I dropped my suitcase on the bed and began to circle the room,
gathering up stuff as I went.

"You won't stay in Barken for me?"

"You won't come to Detroit for me?" I shot back. As I passed him, I
put a hand against his cheek. "I love you, Jim, but this
relationship has become too one sided. If you want to live in
Barken, be my guest." I waived my arm as if I were offering him the
city. "But I don't. I'm not insisting on Detroit, but since we had a
wonderful time this past year it's as good as any for a start. You
didn't like the fun we had?"

"I liked it very much."

"Then why not come with me and leave small town life behind?"

"I can't. I have to live in Barken."

I tossed an armload of clothes into the suitcase. "Then this is
goodbye."

I watched as Jim sighed wearily and walked to the door. He had
turned the knob before he realized the only thing he was wearing
was the dog collar. He let go of the knob, turned around and leaned
against the door frame and folded his arms across his chest. I was
able to gather up several more things before he said, "May I borrow
your robe?" His voice was soft.

"Yeah. Sure. I have to get dressed anyway."

I slipped the robe off and handed it to him, then pulled on t-shirt
and shorts.

He stood there with the robe in his hand for several moments before
putting it on. "You're going to need me to drive you to the Houston
airport, won't you," he said. I wasn't sure if it was a question.

"Yeah. Thanks."

I heard him sniff and wipe his eyes. I suddenly realized I had to do
the same. This time he did open the door.

I took Jim's absence as a chance to go to the dining area. Beside a
plate of muffins was a note, "Knew you wouldn't be up early so
didn't bother with anything fancy." For muffins, they were actually
quite fancy.

I had cleaned everything out of the bathroom when Jim returned
dressed as I was in t-shirt and shorts. He handed me the robe, then
went back to lean on the door frame to watch me.

I folded the robe and laid it in the suitcase, then scanned the room
for anything I might have missed. It looked like I had it all. I was
suddenly hit with a wave of dizziness. I had to put a hand against
the wall to hold myself up.

Jim said, "Are you okay?"

"Just feeling dizzy for a moment. I'll be fine."

Jim sighed, then said, "Strip."

"Strip what?"

"Your clothes," he said, stepping forward from his place on the
door frame.

"You find a dizzy man a turn-on? I was so sure you weren't into
kink."

"Not at all. Troy, dear boy, you're about to become a citizen of
Barken." He had come halfway across the room.

"I don't want to be a citizen of Barken! And since when do citizen
initiation rites require nakedness?"

He was beside me now and pulled on my hand. "Look at your arm."

It was covered with white hairs! I held out the other arm and saw
the same thing. I stared at them in wonder and was sure I could see
the hairs become more numerous. I looked at Jim with my mouth
hanging open and was surprised to see short hairs appearing on his
face in the familiar pattern of Dalmatian spots.

"Come now. It isn't good to get tangled up in your clothes. Let's
get you out of them."

"You got a lot of explaining to do!" My voice sounded raspy.

"And now is the time to do it." Jim reached for my belt as my shorts
slipped off my butt. "Shirt," said Jim as he instead reached down to
undo my shoelaces. I pulled off my shirt, then stepped out of my
shorts.

My whole body was covered in short hair! All that I could see was
white.

Jim said, "There is something in the soil of Barken that gives its
citizens the ability to become dogs once they stay here long enough.
The first time is involuntary, but after that you can learn to
control it."

I could feel bones moving now--in my head, arms, and legs. My
fingers had shrunk quite a bit in size. I glanced at Jim--who had
the head of a dog! I could see the distinctive pattern of Bowser's
spots.

He must have been able to figure out my expression as he said, "Yes,
Bowser and I are one and the same. I think I'll hold this in-between
form so that I am able to talk to you."

I could feel new muscles in my butt as my tail grew in. I tried to
speak, but couldn't form coherent words. It all came out as growls
and barks.

"When one moves away from Barken," said Jim, "a person loses the
ability to change, sometimes within six months, sometimes after
three years." No longer having to deal with my clothes, Jim took
off his own. I was looking at a curious blend of Jim and Bowser--
doggie fur, head, and tail, with human arms, legs, and body. "I lost
the ability to change when I happened to be in dog form."

Standing only on hind paws had gotten precarious, so I allowed my
legs to collapse and sat on the floor. I saw that my point of view
shifted from Jim's waist to his knees. Once on the floor, I could
figure out how to gather four legs under me.

I noticed that I did not feel terror or disgust at what was
happening, but felt a completeness I didn't know was missing. Even
so, I trembled as I thought about what had just happened. I had
become a dog!

Jim sat down beside me and scratched me between the ears, which felt
marvelous. He then pulled me onto his lap and put his furry arms
around me. I pulled in his smell and catalogued it in my mind --
this comforting smell is Jim.

"It was bad luck," Jim said, "that I ended up locked in my dog form
just before my last exam. You may wonder why I took the chance, but
I didn't know if I was cutting it close or had two more years and I
sleep so much better as Bowser even cooped up in a dorm room. I
couldn't change back to human until Barken had a chance to work its
magic on me again. I wasn't too concerned with how long it was
taking as I knew you would stick around for me and I wanted Barken
to work its magic on you too." He sighed as he ran his fingers
through the fur on my back.

"Yesterday, I sensed I would regain my ability soon. I knew you were
getting fed up with Barken and I was afraid you would leave before
your first change. I buried you in the sand yesterday hoping I could
speed up Barken's magic."

He pulled me off his lap. "Let's see which breed you've become.
Could you turn around, please?" I did so as he catalogued what he
saw. "White muzzle, tan head, left ear tipped in white, the right in
black, white forelegs, tan neck, black back and flanks, back legs
have white socks and tan thighs, tan butt, tan and white tail, and
white belly. You stand about as tall as I do, just under two feet.
Shorthair coat, which is and advantage in Barken. Hmm." He held his
lower jaw in his hands, considering me. "We in Barken have to know
our breeds as people tend to get upset if you refer to them by the
wrong one. Troy, dear boy, I'd say you are a beautiful English
foxhound. Of course, even if you became a mongrel I'd consider you
beautiful."

Jim scooted over to sit beside me again. "Well, it takes about
twelve hours in dog form after your first change before you can
teach yourself how to change back to human. After that, you'll be
able to shift as much as you want or even choose an in-between
form." He scratched me between the ears again. "That means we have
all day in dog form--we might as well enjoy it."

Jim completed his shift to Bowser. I was pleased to see we were
about the same size as dogs just as we were as humans. Jim spent a
few moments demonstrating how to walk on four feet, then nosed the
door open and once outside, demonstrated how to run. It was a
fabulous day!

----------

Jim and I managed to introduce two customs into Barken life over the
next few months. The first caught on immediately when Jim started to
wear his Dalmatian clothes around town., though by noon of the first
day he knew it was crazy to wear a turtleneck in Barken in June and
was soon busy applying ink to a t-shirt and a pair of bleached
cutoff jeans.

The day after that, Jim studied the broad patches of color in the
fur of my foxhound form and then presented me with cap, t-shirt, and
cutoffs appropriately dyed. I was embarrassed with the tan splotch
across my human butt, though the locals didn't seem to notice the
problem I had with it.

Within a week, Ron's Grocery sold out of bleach and tan, brown, and
black dye and Gretchen's Garments in the mall had trouble keeping
white tees and cutoffs in stock. One could be pretty good at
guessing a person's breed by the clothes they wore that summer.

As for the other new custom... Shortly after arriving in Barken I
noticed that Walt and Amanda didn't wear wedding rings and, when I
began to look for it, saw that no one else in town did either. I
wondered about it--until my first change. Then it was obvious that
a ring only got in the way when a person shifted; one had to
remember to take it off or risked losing it.

I got an idea when Jim and I started discussing a commitment
ceremony and I talked it over with him. He liked the idea very much.
So with Mayor Grimsley officiating and what seemed like the whole
town watching I was able to say, "I, Troy, present to you, James,
this collar as a symbol of my love. I declare to all witnesses that
you are my spouse in good times and bad, in sickness and in health,
whether rich or poor, until death separates us." I essentially gave
Jim the collar he had worn in Detroit though now it had my name in
the disk next to his. He had a duplicate made, which he fastened
around my neck as he said his own vows.

Mrs. Latour suggested I start the high school students--all twenty
of them over four grades--with physics as the seniors hadn't taken
it yet. She then worked closely with me over the summer to plan and
prepare to teach three different kinds of classes. Now that I've
been teaching for several months, I understand why some people--like
Jim--can get passionate about it. I end my workday sitting at
the back of the gym watching my love leading the high schoolers
through band rehearsal and from there I can see the joy in his face.

The conventions of Barken society strongly suggest that you appear
in public as full human or full dog. The way Jim explained it was
that some people have rather strange ideas of what is a comfortable
in-between form. So Jim and I are human in school and teach students
that are human (usually) and we can do our afternoon romps as dogs.
It is only in the privacy of our home during the evening and night
that we explore what it is like to be human with fur and tail.

Barken may not have many concerts, movies, or theater. Houston is
close enough for that when I need it. It hardly matters. Now that I
am a citizen of Barken, I know I can't live anywhere else for long.
Nothing can offer the joy of spending time as a dog.
[[Category:Story|The Effect of Spotted Clothes]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:The Effect of Spotted Clothes}}

User:Erastus/The Effect of Spotted Clothes

2007-07-26T21:16:04Z

Erastus: New Story

This story is set in the Barken, Texas universe. The Barken, Texas story archive can be found [http://www.dogpawz.com/barken here].

Warning: This story is based on a gay relationship and may not be of interest to all readers.

----

The Effect of Spotted Clothes

by Erastus Centaur

{{part|name=Chapter 1}}

I don't show up at the Gay-Straight Alliance at Wayne State
University in Detroit very often, though I do try to make it two to
three times at the start of the school year to check out the fresh
meat. I guess the rest of the time I don't worry much what the
straights think of me. Fortunately, there were many new faces--and
bods--to check out. I'm not into notching my belt, mind you, but
there are few places on campus where I can meet potential boyfriends
without straights getting nervous.

So there I sat in a circle of about 40 people, half of them men. I
was checking out potential boyfriend material and paying only enough
attention to the conversation to determine if a particular guy was
gay or just a friendly straight. With some guys it was obvious--a
touch of makeup, way too much fashion style for a college campus, or
a t-shirt slogan that left no doubt. Other guys were able to blend
into the straight world until they started complaining about being
misunderstood.

I had only checked out about half the circle when the conversation
rose in volume and I thought I should pay attention to it.

A chick was saying, "... can't argue against the Bible! I'm telling
ya it's right there in black and white! If you don't give you your
sinning ways, you all will burn in Hell!"

A dude--with perhaps more volume--shot back, "You don't know
what you're talking about! You preach love and all you do is hate!
Your piety is a sham and then you claim that we're the ones who will
burn!"

I could see the chick was steamed and about to storm out. The
moderator was making calming noises to no effect when another guy
rose to speak, one that I hadn't checked out yet. "Please," he said.
He had an air of confidence in conflict which caused the combatants
to yield the floor.

He turned to the man. "You're not helping. I can appreciate your
anger--I've felt it myself many times--but ridiculing her faith
isn't going to get us where we want to be. It only makes our
opponents more combative." He glanced to the woman and back to the
man. "Besides, there are many good features about her religion. Our
society would be poorer without them." I could see a slight smile on
her face.

Before the man could object, the speaker turned to the woman. "Don't
think for a moment that I'm on your side. I'm just as gay as he is."
He paused for emphasis. "First of all, I'm glad you came." The
expression on the dude's face clearly said, ''I'm not''. The speaker
continued, "You are right. The Bible says some harsh things about us
in Leviticus. But it isn't so cut and dried. Do you have a bank
account that pays interest?" She hesitated, clearly flustered by the
change in topic and certain it was a trap, but nodded. "Do you keep
a Kosher diet?" Her frown deepened; she shook her head. "Well, then.
Since you personally don't follow every single word of Leviticus,
you had better have a good reason why you insist the two verses
about gays must be followed and not the ones about diet and money."
She looked daggers at both the dude and the speaker and but stayed
quiet.

He glanced back and forth between the two. "We came to understand
each other, not start a shouting match. Let's get back to that." He
turned to the dude, "And that means making as much of an effort to
understand her as you expect her to make for you." He sat.

I studied the peacemaker as he talked and after he sat down. I
wanted to get to know someone who could both calm someone and put
them in their place. He was quite slim, not very tall (about a match
for my 5-9, a plus) nor very muscular. His dark hair was short (a
plus) and he was clean-shaven (alas, a point against him) though
if he did let his beard grow, it looked like it would be full. He
wore a white t-shirt under a black leather vest with black jeans and
a black leather cap. I was surprised at the last touch to his
fashion statement--he wore what looked to be a dog collar loosely
around his neck as some guys would wear a chain. It was black
leather and rather wide with polished metal disks almost as wide as
the collar regularly spaced all the way around.

The moderator looked relieved that a messy situation had been
resolved for him. He said, "Any other comments?" When no one said
anything he went on, "I guess that concludes tonight's meeting."

Everyone stood and gathered up backpacks. I snagged my pack and made
my way to the peacemaker. I stuck my hand out. "Hi, I'm Troy Palmer.
I was impressed with the way you handled the battle. May I buy you a
drink?"

"Jim Cooper." He smiled and shook my hand. "Sorry, but I don't
drink. I hate what happens when I do."

"Coffee?"

Up close I could see the disk in the dog collar directly under his
Adam's apple was inscribed with his first name.

"I don't care for coffee and it's too late in the day for tea."

I fell back on the last gun in my arsenal, hoping he really didn't
drink and wasn't trying to brush me off. "Dessert at TJ's?" That was
the nickname for a place called Traffic Jam and Snug that was a few
blocks from campus and well known for eccentric fare.

"Sounds good." That was so good to hear as I was beginning to
develop a crush on him. "I'll meet you there in, oh," he glanced at
his watch, "fifteen minutes?"

"I'll meet you just inside the door."

I didn't risk taking my books back to my car though that made me
early. It did give me time to see what kind of flowers were planted
in the urinal mounted high on the wall on the front of the building.
As I said, the place is eccentric.

Jim arrived when he said he would and we were soon seated. I was
going to get the cheesecake, so didn't bother perusing the menu. Jim
took only a moment before setting the menu aside. A moment later he
also ordered the cheesecake.

"So," I said, once the waiter left, "I can't say I've been to the
GSA meetings very often, but I haven't seen you there before. Are
you a freshman?"

"Actually, I'm a senior." I winced to show I had caught my gaffe.
"And I attend the GSA meetings frequently. You must have come the
few times I haven't."

"I"m certainly starting off on the wrong foot. Perhaps I can ask a
question without stepping on toes. What's your major?"

"Music Education. Yours?"

"Physics with as many electives in the other sciences as I can
manage. Which, now that I'm a senior, has been quite a few."

"Where do you live?" he asked.

"With my parents out in Garden City."

"Far from here?" Hmm. Most natives knew where the smaller suburbs
were.

"Fifteen miles due west. You?"

"I live in University Towers."

"Can't stand to live with Mom and Dad? They throw you out when they
learned you're gay?"

He smiled. "No, nothing like that. I get along great with my
parents. But it is hard to commute from Texas."

"Texas? You don't sound like a Texan."

"Ah shore cain if Ah wount tew," he drawled. He continued without
it, "Studying music forced me to listen to sounds, including speech.
When I came here three years ago, I concentrated on speaking like
the locals so I didn't sound like a hick."

"Why leave Texas to come to Detroit?"

"I wanted to see something quite different from home and Detroit is
about as different from Barken as you can get."

Our cheesecake came. I took a bite, then said, "Never heard of
Barken. How big is it?"

"Few people have, even in Texas. It's pretty small."

"Can't you get a big city in Houston or Dallas."

"Sure can, but I also wanted to experience a northern climate before
I settled down."

"And you have plans for that already?"

"Once I'm done here I'll go back to Barken to be the music teacher."

"You say that as if there will be only one."

"That's right. While I was growing up, we were bussed into Cherry,
the closest town, for school. Cherry and Barken do not get along and
the town council finally decided to open a school in town. I'll be
the music teacher for the whole school, Kay through Twelve. Course,
that's maybe seventy students altogether."

"You sound so sure that you'll get the job."

"Yup. Not many people want to come to a desert town such as Barken.
But I grew up there. I couldn't live anywhere else for long. I gotta
go back. You might say it's in my blood." He gave a wink when he
said that. Whatever he meant was lost on me.

He continued, "What do you have planned for next year?"

"With my overall science major, I figure getting a job in one of
the research labs of the Big Three." Around Detroit, Big Three meant
the car companies. A research job meant a pretty good living.

"Sounds good." He didn't look like it sounded good. We were both
quiet for a couple bites.

"The reason I invited you here," I said, "was because I was
impressed with the way you handled yourself in the GSA meeting."

"Thank you. Unfortunately, I had a lot of practice going to school
in Cherry."

"Oh?"

"The residents of Cherry practice a very fundamentalist form of
Christianity."

I groaned. "And you're gay." I had run into many a fundamentalist
myself and had campaigned against some of their screwy ballot
initiatives--as in what laws can we pass to screw the queer?

"Worse than that. Everyone from Barken was considered to be...
heathen." It was an odd sort of hesitation.

"And that gave you a double hit."

"Yeah. I learned the fine art calmly skewering my opponents pretty
quick." He scraped the last of the cheesecake off his plate and
licked the fork. "It got so bad in my case that it was enough for
the Barken city council to decide to open their own school. It
actually works well all the way around. Cherry is sufficiently glad
to get rid of us they didn't mind the loss of tax revenue. They even
agreed not to tell the state what we were going to do. Since the
state won't be poking around, Barken won't have to worry about
teacher certification, which is good as we wouldn't be able to
attract many certified teachers anyway."

"Aren't they concerned about teacher quality?"

"Heh. If someone wants to teach in Barken, they'll do it because
they want to, and that's a good indication of quality right there."

"Won't you be certified when you're done here?"

"I'll have a degree with an education major. Whether or not I sit
for the Texas certification exam probably won't make any
difference."

The waiter came by with the bill, which I paid.

Jim said, "I can tell from your expression that you hope this little
meeting will lead to something more." He was reading me right. "I
will warn you right now that I am reluctant to get involved with
you, as sweet and sexy as you appear to be. I want a relationship
that will last and next May I'm going back to Barken and you're
staying here. We could be friends, but I'm sure you've heard how
hard it is for two gay men to be just friends."

"Couldn't you get a job teaching music around here?"

"Couldn't you teach science in Barken?" he countered. He saw my
look of dismay. "Barken really does need a science teacher."

"Sorry. No. I'd rather go into research."

"Then we'll have to settle for friendship."

Too late. That crush had already developed into love. The human
heart is so fickle, falling for what it can't have.

As we left TJ's I said, "I'll walk with you to your dorm. It's on
the way to my car." Actually, it wasn't, but I would only be walking
an extra block.

Along the way I said, "I have to ask. Why the dog collar?"

He chuckled as he fingered it. "You might say it is a declaration of
my individuality." With a practiced motion, he felt for the disk
with his name and centered it under his Adam's apple. "I'm also a dog
lover and you might say I wear it in solidarity with all dogs
everywhere." He winked again.

----------

I studiously attended GSA meetings after that, even participating in
the discussions. I began to understand why the straights were afraid
of us and the more I heard, the more I believed that the religious
argument was simply a cover for that fear.

I always sat as close to Jim as I could. I almost always invited him
out for dessert afterward. He almost always declined. "It seems too
much like a date," he said.

By the end of the month I gave up on going out for dessert and asked
him to join me for lunch. After all, we both had to eat. To this he
was more agreeable as long as he paid for his own. Though he didn't
want a lover, he did need a friend and could put up with a bit of
sexual tension to get that friendship.

I invited Jim out to my place (well, my parent's) one Friday evening
to watch the DVD of Big Eden, a movie of a gay guy afraid to reveal
his feelings to the one he loved, though his feelings obvious to the
rest of the town. Jim responded in a teasing voice, "I hope you're
not trying to get me to change my mind." I was, but played innocent.

Jim proposed his favorite movie for the following Friday evening.
He brought me up to his tiny dorm room so he could pop the DVD disc
into his computer and we could watch it on the small screen. Jim
must be well off, I decided, if he could afford a single room. There
was only one bed in the 12-by-12 space instead of the usual two. The
walls held several posters of dogs, the largest of Dalmatians. He
had placed several photos on his desks, one set obviously of his
parents and younger brother, another set of the family's pet dogs--
a large malamute, a poodle, and a Husky puppy. Near the foot of the
bed was a circular rug, which seemed to have accumulate a great deal
of dog hair. That surprised me as the rest of the room was fairly
neat and clean (we are talking about a guy's room here) and I was
sure pets weren't allowed. There certainly was no dog there now.

I was surprised by Jim's choice of movie--"101 Dalmatians," the
live-action version with Jeff Daniels and Glenn Close. I didn't
think that someone like Jim with his air of sophistication would
claim a Disney movie as his favorite using the reverential tones
that meant no other movie could come close.

I was even more surprised at his reaction to it. He seemed to
completely ignore the humans and concentrate solely on the dogs. He
didn't just watch them, he empathized with them--cheering them on
and wincing when they banged into something. He commented on his
favorite puppy and why its markings were prettier than the others.
He remarked about the handsomeness of the papa dog. I had the crazy
impression he wanted to jump into the scene for a romp.

Jim's antics inspired a fabulously weird idea, though I was torn
between encouraging this obsession and using it to my advantage.
After the movie while he was in the bathroom, I checked his clothing
sizes - medium shirt,30 waist/31 inseam for jeans, 7D shoes. Over
the following week, I bought a turtleneck shirt, briefs, and socks,
all in white. I couldn't find white jeans, so subjected a pair to a
lot of bleach. I even found white gloves (which I hoped would fit)
and a white scarf and cap. Using a bottle of India ink and an
eyedropper, I put Dalmatian spots on everything, taking care the
spots were small so they wouldn't give the impression of a Holstein
cow.

I met him in his room Friday evening and handed him the paper bag
with the clothing inside. He was reluctant to take it, saying,
"Troy, dear boy, giving me gifts tends to imply more than
friendship. We've already talked about why that won't work." He
probably saw the determination in my expression and sighed. "Well,
at least I can take a look at what you brought." He accepted the bag
and glanced inside.

I was completely unprepared for his reaction.

"Oh!" he said, his voice rising into a squeal. He dumped the
contents onto his bed, saying, "This is so wonderful! It's fabulous!
I"m surprised I didn't think of it myself!" He held up each article
and exclaimed again. "Even briefs!" he said as he held them up. He
plopped the cap onto his head, tweaking its position as he admired
it in the mirror, then taking it off to adjust the fit. He checked
the shirt-tag, "A medium! Just right." He pulled off the shirt he
was wearing and pulled on the turtleneck. The size-tag in the jeans
had been bleached blank, so he held them up to his waist, then soon
had the briefs and the jeans on. A moment later, he was wearing the
socks, scarf, and gloves and admiring the complete ensemble in the
mirror, exclaiming, "This is so wonderful!"

He came over to me and gave me a hug. "Troy, dear boy, I have no
idea how your brain came up with this marvelous surprise, but I like
it very much. These threads mean more to me than I could possibly
explain." He kissed me, first a quick one, then a long sensual one,
followed by another hug. I eagerly participated, pressing myself
against him.

When he finally released me, a tear had spilled from his eye, which
he wiped with his sleeve. "Oh, drat!" he said quietly, hugging me
again and whispering in my ear. "I do believe I've broken one of my
personal vows and fallen in love with you." He sighed. "That is
either going to mess up your future or make next May quite painful."

"Aren't you forgetting the option of you changing your future?" I
asked.

"Troy, dear boy, you haven't been listening." He kissed me. "I am
going back to Barken next May." He kissed again. "You are either
coming with me or you're not." Another kiss. "Though life would be
so much nicer if you did."

I felt a bit of anger that he wouldn't budge, blaming me for the
eventual breakup. Couldn't we rationally discuss what would be best
for both of us?

Jim was oblivious to my feelings. He said, "So where should we go
tonight? Perhaps it is my turn to treat you to dessert at TJ's." He
grabbed his jacket.

"You're going out dressed in ''that''!"

"Of course." He came over and patted my cheek. "Troy, dear boy, if
you didn't want me to be seen in public wearing these clothes, you
would have given me pajamas." There was an unmistakable meaning in
his grin. "Though perhaps we can do something about that later." He
kissed me. "Now let's go have some fun."

Jim somehow managed to give the impression of ignoring all the
stares in the restaurant and at the same time glory in each eye that
was on him, as if to say, of course, I'm the one to watch tonight.
Why would you look anywhere else? And drat it, if that didn't make me
feel all the more special in his presence. He was the center of
attention, yet I was the center of his attention.

After dinner, we returned to Jim's room and spent a wonderful
evening in his narrow bed. I decided that two guys in a twin-size
bed added to the enjoyment. There wasn't much room for snuggling
side by side.

I was about to drift off to sleep, hopefully for the night, when
Jim shook my shoulder, "Troy, dear boy, it's time you went home to
bed."

"Can't I sleep here and wake up in your arms?" I didn't want to
open my eyes fearing sleep might slip away.

He chuckled, then kissed me. "This bed is hardly big enough for both
of us to get a good night's sleep."

"So what if we don't get out of bed until noon. Tomorrow is
Saturday, after all."

"As tempting as that might be, it won't work. Sorry, Troy."

"We could go to my place. I have a much bigger bed."

He sighed heavily and sat up, then put his hand back on my shoulder.
I opened my eyes and looked at him in the dim light. "Troy, dear
boy, I would be happy to repeat this evening as often as you may
want, but I sleep alone. At least for now."

I wasn't going to get to sleep quickly now. I was wide awake. "Well
if you are going to change your mind in the future, why not change
it now?"

"Sorry, Troy."

"Can't you at least explain why? If it is because you snore, I can
buy earplugs."

"No, I can't explain. Not yet. If you come with me to Barken, I'll
explain then."

I felt anger flash through me. "Barken! Always you and Barken!" I
scrambled out of bed. "You insist you have to live in Barken, then
you start keeping secrets, telling me I have to go to Barken to find
out." I found it is hard to get dressed when you're both in a hurry
and mad. "What about my half of the relationship? Why do we always
have to do it your way?"

I turned and walked to the door. I heard a heavy sigh as I closed
it.

{{part|name=Chapter 2}}

I was miserable for the entire next week and quite aware that my
classwork was suffering. I kept thinking about Jim, about how much
I loved him, how I enjoyed being with him, how much I missed him.
I also thought about his insistence that he returned to Barken, that
he almost seemed obsessed with the place. I had to do something.

I did a websearch on both Barken and Cherry, though it took me a
while to remember the name of the neighboring town. I came up with
a complete blank. Mapquest could find the two towns, but that told
me only that both towns had streets with a regular grid and a park
or a town square in the center. None of the citizens of either town
seemed to be Internet literate. No webpages described either place.

Though it took me a week to swallow my pride, I spent much of the
next Friday evening camped outside his door, studying as I waited.
Love had won out over pride--I had bought a half-dozen roses, each
a different color because I had heard the colors had meaning and I
didn't want to leave anything out.

It was nearly eleven before Jim showed up, shouting, "Troy!" before
I had heard his approach. He ran to me as I scrambled to my feet and
soon enfolded me in a hug, followed by a long kiss.

While he fumbled with is keys and got the door open, I located the
roses on the floor. I presented them, saying, "I'm sorry," which
earned me another kiss.

"I'm sorry, too, Troy, dear boy" he said. "I'm very aware that I am
placing all kinds of conditions on this relationship. But those
conditions must be as they are a part of who I am. I know that isn't
fair to you, and for that, I'm sorry."

We hugged each other, then helped each other undress.

Afterward, as I reached for my briefs, Jim said, "Since May might
break us apart, let's try to maximize the time we have before then.
I want to spend Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Spring Break with you."

"Don't you want to spend the holidays with your family?"

"I'll see a lot of my family after graduation. I may not see you
then."

"I love you," I said and kissed him. "So where should we go?"

"I've put too many restrictions on you already. It is entirely your
choice."

"Don't you want to show me around Barken?"

"Yeah, I do, but only if you want to go."

I thought about it while I finished dressing. "At the moment, I'm
too angry at Barken and its secrets."

"Fair enough."

"So before you go hide yourself in Barken for the rest of your life,
let me show you a bit of the country."

"A cross country trip in winter?"

"We don't have to go cross country. But some places are at their
best in winter."

We kissed. And hugged. Then I said, "Good night, Jim," and left.

----------

"Doctor Shishido's office."

"Hi. This is Jim Cooper. May I speak to the doctor?"

"Sure Jim. Just a moment. He's almost done with a patient."

A minute later, "Hi, Jim. This is Doctor Shishido. How are you
today?"

"Doc, when asked that by a member of the medical profession I always
wonder if it is a greeting or an inquiry into the state of my
health."

Dr. Shishido chuckled. "Both."

"Well, to answer both of your queries, I'm fine."

"So if you're in good health, there must be some other reason why
you called."

"Yeah, there is. I have an important question for you. Once someone
leaves Barken, how long do its effects last?"

"Oh, golly." A pause. "That depends."

"Depends on what?"

"Usually on how long between the time they arrive in Barken and
their first shift. If their first shift happens in five days, the
effects may linger for up to three years. If we go to the other
extreme when the first shift doesn't happen for a month, the effects
may last only a month."

"What about someone born in Barken?"

"Such as yourself?"

"Yeah."

"It's hard to tell when the clock starts. I've had some cases where
it was obvious the first--and maybe even the second or third--shift
was ''in utero''. In other cases it wasn't."

"And in my case?"

"You're going to make me remember back that far? Heh. Jim Cooper...
Jim Cooper... Ah. If I remember right--and I can't say that I do--
the ultrasounds I did on your mother always showed you as human.
You might have changed. Then again, you might not. There's no way
to tell. Now I think you need to tell me why this prompted you to
call."

"I'm in love."

"Is he a nice guy?"

"He gave me a set of white clothes decorated with Dalmatian spots."

Doctor Shishido laughed for several seconds. "Does he know?"

"I'm positive he doesn't. He gave the clothes to me after he saw how
involved I got watching 101 Dalmatians."

"Ooh, that's rich. So how does your love life prompt your question?"

"We got into an argument when I insisted I had to come back to
Barken after graduation. To maintain peace I agreed to spend all my
breaks between now and graduation with him and he doesn't want to
visit Barken just yet."

"Your mom know you won't be back?"

"Yeah, I already called her."

"Hmm." A pause. "You'll be away for a total of nine months."

"About that."

"I must warn you, then, you might be cutting it close."

"Are you sure."

"Not at all. There's no way to tell. Not that many people leave
Barken and those that do rarely call me up and tell me how long
the effects last. Jim, do you shift?

"Every night. I sleep so much better that way."

"Many people do. Any trouble shifting?"

"No."

"At the first signs of it, you had better give it up so you aren't
stuck. We've lost contact with a few of our youth and suspect that's
what happened. We don't want to lose you too."

"I'll be careful."

"It may not be that simple. Some people had no trouble shifting then
found they couldn't shift back. You need to take some precautions in
case that should happen. Make sure you have a backup plan."

"What kind of plan?"

"Whatever will get you back to Barken if you can't communicate. One
thing you might do is to tell your parents to come looking for you
if they don't get an email within so many days of the last one. The
main thing is to have that plan."

"I will, Doc. Thanks so much. Goodbye."

"Bye, Jim."

Jim became very conscientious about two additions to his bedtime
routine. He always made sure a particular piece of paper was
prominently displayed on his desk before he went to sleep and
hidden away after waking. He moved his sleeping rug to just inside
the door and made sure the door was unlocked while he slept.

----------

Jim appeared frequently on campus wearing his Dalmatian clothes,
complete with the collar. He usually did it on Friday so he would
be seen wearing them on our dates to Detroit's many cultural
institutions. It wasn't long before he picked up a nickname. He
strongly objected to the name Mutt, saying a Dalmatian is a
purebred, not a mongrel. But he happily answered to the name Bowser
when someone jokingly used it.

Jim and I had four wonderful days at Thanksgiving. He spent nearly
all day, every day, with me and my family, even accompanying us to
the big dinner Aunt Jane and Uncle Tom's house. My family is a small
one so it was easy for Jim to keep track of names. Long days
together almost made up for nights apart. Just as well--I did have
''some'' studying to do.

The two and a half weeks at Christmas were even better. We had time
between exams and Christmas to do our Christmas shopping, including
forays to outlet malls and to Bronner's Christmas Store in
Frankenmuth. Both the gaudy extravagance of the store and the fake
Bavarian setting of the town delighted Jim.

After Christmas, we had time to try some cross-country skiing as we
visited Traverse City, Mackinac Island, and Sault Ste. Marie. We had
a grand time on the Agawa Canyon Snow Train out of the Canadian side
of the Soo. I said nothing when Jim insisted we get separate rooms
in each motel.

Instead of heading south for spring break as college students
normally do, we stayed in the north, exploring Niagara, Toronto, and
Montreal in our brief respite from class.

That trip had an air of urgency. There were only seven weeks until
graduation and our future together after that was still uncertain.
Bless his heart, Jim didn't remind me that his decision was set and
it was up to me to decide to follow him to Barken or to look for a
research job in the Detroit area. I wasn't sure if it was a help
that the car companies had a hiring freeze and didn't even come on
campus for interviews.

{{part|name=Chapter 3}}

I had switched parking lots to one by University Towers so that Jim
and I could walk to class together. It was a bit farther for me, but
the few moments with Jim in the morning made it worthwhile.

It was the first day of May, which I knew was the date of Jim's last
exam. I had one that day and one more the day after before I was
done. The thought of being free soon sometimes made it hard to
concentrate on the pesky impediments, such as exams.

But when I knocked on the door, I got no answer. "Jim?" I called
out. I thought I heard noises. "Jim?" I said as I knocked. This
wasn't like him. He was usually up well before I got there. Had he
been up too late studying or packing? I knocked again. "Come on,
Jim." Had he left without me? He knew what time I was coming. If he
had gone, who was making that noise?

I tried the handle and was surprised to find it unlocked. I opened
it to find a large Dalmatian standing there, its tail wagging.
"Jim?" From the door, a person can see the entire room. Jim wasn't
there. I stepped to the bathroom door and knocked. No answer, so I
opened the door and flipped on the light. No Jim.

I turned to the dog. "Have you seen Jim?" The dog whuffed in
response, its tail still wagging. "By the way, what are you doing
here? Dogs aren't allowed. I didn't think Jim had a dog."

The dog came over and stuck its head under my fingers. I idly petted
it as I scanned the room for clues of Jim. My fingers found the
dog's collar, so I squatted down for a closer look. It was Jim's
collar! Complete with the disk with his name. I turned it around,
examining it closely, which the dog patiently endured. I had been
seeing that collar around my lover's neck every day for six months
now. There was no mistaking it. What was it doing on the dog?

I stood and walked around the room for clues of where Jim might be.
I could see he had done quite a bit of packing, with only a few
things left to put into boxes and more boxes lined up along the
wall. On the desk, I found a note addressed to me:

Troy,
I got called away in the middle of the night and didn't
want to wake you. It was urgent but not serious. I will tell
you all about it when we next meet.

A friend at the Humane Society brought the dog over last
night, knowing how much I like Dalmatians. Isn't he a beaut? Do
you think you might stop in a couple times over the next few
days to make sure he is fed, or perhaps even take him for a
walk?

Troy, my love, I have a big favor to ask. This business
may keep me beyond the end of the semester. Would you be so
kind as to take my stuff and my dog back to Barken? If you do,
you can stay with Mrs. Brumfield in the Barken Motel. Either
way, please call my parents and let them know what you plan to
do. I hope with all my heart I will see you in Barken in a few
days.

With much love,
Jim

I sighed, and felt the dog watching me. Not having anyone else to
talk to, I turned to the dog. "Do you know how annoying your owner
is being right now? Take you and all this stuff to Barken for him!
What could be so urgent that he'd miss his last exam and yet not be
serious?" The dog lowered his head a bit. "I don't know if you like
me or if you're willing to put up with being in a car with me for
three days. Since Jim has had you for such a short time, I doubt he
knows either." To my surprise, the dog came over and licked my
fingers. I could only scratch his head in reply.

"This is so presumptuous of Jim, just like his insistence that he
will spend the rest of his days in Barken and it is my fault the
relationship is over if I don't follow him." I sighed. The dog
whined and stuck his nose into my hand.

"But as secretive and demanding as he is, I love him. Oh, how I love
him!" I kept my hands busy petting the dog as we looked into each
other's eyes. "From his crazy collar and spotted clothes, to the
tips of his toes. Heh." I grimaced. "I"m subjecting a strange dog to
bad poetry. Surely that is criminal somewhere.

"Oh, hell!" I dabbed my eyes and blew my nose. "Why not do it?" The
dog barked, a rather quiet ruff sound. "You agree? I certainly don't
have a job that I need to get to. Now don't you think I deserve a
vacation after four years of school and working summers before I
start looking for a job?" To my delight, the dog barked quietly
again and bobbed his head.

"Yeah, Jim was so insistent that Barken was the place for him that
I do owe it to him to at least see the place before I decide. You
do agree, don't you?" The dog bobbed his head, then pranced around
the room a bit before putting his forelegs in my lap and licking my
face. I guess it's decided.

"Do you have a name?" The dog lifted his head and looked at me. "It
looks like we are going to be together for a while and I can't just
call you 'Dog,' now can I?" The dog bobbed its head. "Let's see."
I pondered it for a moment. "Heh. Jim acquired the name Bowser when
I gave him those Dalmatian clothes. It seems so appropriate I call
Jim's Dalmatian the same name. May I name you Bowser?"

The dog bobbed his head and barked once. "That sounded like a yes to
me," I said, patting his head.

I had some time before my exam, so decided I might as well call
right then. Nearby, Jim had posted his parent's phone number so I
would find it easily. I called.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mrs. Cooper?"

"Yes."

"This is Jim's friend Troy."

"Oh, Troy, you don't have to play word games with me. Jim has told
me all about you."

"Oh, that's good. I'm calling as I found a note from Jim saying he
had to leave suddenly. Do you know what it's about? Jim was quite
vague."

"I think I had better let Jim tell you."

"Ah. He wrote that it was urgent but not serious. Is he all right?"

"I'm sure he is."

"Did you know Jim got a Dalmatian yesterday?"

"I'm not surprised. Jim loves dogs, especially Dalmatians."

I chuckled. "That he does. Well, Jim wanted me to tell you that I've
decided I would come to Barken with Jim's stuff and the dog."

"Oh, thank you, Troy! That would be most helpful and save us a trip.
I'm so glad you can come. I'll call the motel right away and reserve
a room."

"Thanks," I said.

"Troy, I know this is going to sound weird, but could you hold the
phone out for the dog?"

"Yeah, it does sound weird. Just a second." I held out the phone,
saying, "It's for you," smirking as I did so.

To my surprise, Bowser moved his head to position an ear by the
receiver and barked. A few moments later, he barked again and
stepped away. What in the world had I just witnessed?

I put the phone back to my own ear and said, "Mrs. Cooper?"

"Yes, Troy."

"I have a couple exams yet so it will be a few days before I come."

"We look forward to your visit whenever you get here. Bye Troy."

"Bye."

I glanced at my watch. "Sorry, doggie. I have to go. I'll be back
for you later."

----------

After my exam that day and with permission of my parents, I cleaned
out Jim's dorm room and took his stuff and Bowser to their house.

I got a shock when I went through the clothes he was wearing the day
before he disappeared and found Jim's wallet. Of course, I looked
through it. There was $47 in bills and 82 cents in coin. His student
ID card, his Detroit Public Library card, his driver's license, and
a couple credit cards were all still there. This was a mystery. How
had Jim been able to get anywhere without money or proving who he
was? His car was still in the student lot; I saw it on the way in.
One needed money to take a cab. One needed identification to take a
train or plane. Was he traveling under an alias? Had he been
coerced into joining a crime organization? Now I was worried.

It was rather nice having Bowser with me that evening as I studied
for the last exam. He was companionable, sitting beside my chair as
I worked and following me through the house during breaks.

I appreciated the chance to stretch my muscles when Mom thought I
should take him for a walk. This crazy dog pulled another surprise
when, on the way through the garage, he pawed at my bicycle. Taking
the hint, I mounted up, the dog willingly scampering along beside
me, even when I picked up speed. Perhaps I had been missing out by
not having a dog in my youth.

My last exam went well. The graduation ceremony actually did give
the feeling that one phase of my life was over and another was
beginning. I felt bad that I couldn't share the experience with Jim.
I wondered again why he had left so suddenly.

The day after graduation I loaded up Jim's car with clothes for
myself, all of Jim's stuff, and Bowser. The dog was quite intent in
overseeing the loading process. Once loaded, I opened the passenger
door and he hopped in. I settled myself behind the wheel and we were
off.

----------

May is a beautiful time to drive across the country. The problem is
that it's a big country. It was close to fifteen hundred miles from
Detroit to Barken. And it was going to take two and a half days to
cover that distance.

I talked to Bowser. I sang along with the radio and was amused when
Bowser did too. It was spooky how well he could match pitch. But
mostly, we just sat, letting the scenery flash by while the radio
filled the silence.

The only incident was the drive through Cherry. I had the windows up
and the air conditioner on, which turned out to be a good thing.
Just after crossing the city boundary, Bowser, who had put his
forepaws on the dashboard for better viewing, lay down in the seat.
Even so, I hadn't gotten very far into town before I heard shouting
and saw people pointing to him. A moment later a tomato splattered
against the passenger side window and another on the windshield in
front of the dog. I picked up my speed both to get through the town
faster and to attract the attention of police. The police stayed
hidden and a few more tomatoes struck home before we were back into
open desert.

What was that all about? Jim had said he had a bad time in Cherry,
but what did they have against me? Was it that I was driving Jim's
car? This was another mystery to discuss with Jim when I found him.

The wipers and washer fluid got most of the tomato gunk off the
windshield. I'd have to find a car-wash for the rest.

Bowser soon had his paws back on the dashboard and when we passed
the sign for the Barken city limits, he let out a bark and then
wiggled in anticipation. This was another mystery as this dog was
from the Humane Society in Detroit. What would he know about Barken?

The first thing about Barken that caught my eye was the large number
of dogs wandering the street. And none of them had collars. The dogs
seemed to be moving with a definite purpose, as a human would, not
wandering from one distraction to another as I had seen dogs do.

It didn't take long to find Jim's home as Barken isn't very big and
the map Jim had left was a good one.

No sooner had I gotten out of the car than Bowser jumped over my
seat and out the door and dashed into the yard, barking the whole
way. Coming just as fast from the house was the small Husky I had
seen in photos in Jim's room, being just as noisy. I would have
expected the Husky to be grown now, but this one wasn't.

I feared a grand territorial battle between the dog from Detroit and
the local pet. It was nothing of the sort. The two dogs greeted each
other like old friends, playfully romping together. The noise soon
brought out who I assumed were Jim's parents. With cries of, "You're
here!" they came down the porch steps while Bowser broke away from
his games to give each an enthusiastic face licking. Stranger and
stranger. Only then did Jim's parents come over to greet me, which
they did warmly, insisting I call them Walt and Amanda.

As they did so, many of the other dogs in town came pouring into the
yard, each of them giving Bowser an enthusiastic greeting. There
were so many that it was difficult to hear the humans speak.

I asked, "I wouldn't expect such a welcome for a strange dog."

"We all like dogs so much that there's no such thing as a strange
dog around here," said Walt.

"Even the dogs welcome a strange one," I said.

"Isn't that nice?" said Amanda.

"Is Jim here? Has he finished with his mysterious errand?" I asked.

I saw Walt turn around and begin to point at something, but Amanda
grabbed his hand. She turned to me. "No, dear. He'll find you soon
enough. Come, let's get the car unloaded."

I can tell a deliberate change of subject when I hear one. Mystery
piled onto mystery, but there was nothing to do with my curiosity
until Jim turned up.

Once the stuff was stashed in the basement--Jim's old room having
been converted to a sewing room--Amanda said, "I'm sorry we don't
have space for you to stay here, but the Barken Motel is a good
place and Mrs. Brumfield is a wonderful cook. Perhaps you should
go check in now." She took my arm and guided me to the car. "Since
Jim considers you his partner, that makes us your in-laws. We need
to get to know each other, so please stop by for supper each evening
or even just to hang out."

When I opened the door to Jim's car, Bowser broke from the pack and
bounded over. "Don't you want to play with your friends?" I asked.
Apparently not, as he stepped over my seat to the passenger side.

When I walked into the motel, Bowser had insisted in coming with
me. I was afraid the woman behind the small reception desk would
demand I keep him outside. Much to my surprise, they greeted each
other as old friends. "Jim! It is so good to see you again!" she
kept saying.

When she finally turned to me, I'm sure I had a puzzled expression,
but she ignored it completely. "Hi. You must be Troy Palmer. The
Coopers reserved a room for you." She went behind the desk and
opened the guest book for me to sign and handed me a key. "I have
room three all set up for you."

After signing, I asked, "I'm a bit confused about this town. There
are all these strange things going on, things that don't make sense.
For instance, you called the dog by his owner's name."

She let out a musical laugh, then said, "I guess we do that a lot
around here, though you can't really say a dog has an owner."

Another cryptic remark.

"But how did you know it was Jim's dog. He got it in Detroit."

"He did? I could have sworn I've seen this dog around here before.
But don't mind an old lady like me." She smiled sweetly.

I guess Bowser had gotten attached to me during our car ride. As
much as he liked playing with the other dogs and visiting with Jim's
parents, he preferred my company. He went everywhere that I did,
even into the mall. I would have thought dogs wouldn't be allowed in
the mall, but there were as many dogs as humans inside.

On my third day in Barken Amanda suggested I take Bowser to visit
the school superintendent and just see what a teaching job in Barken
would be like. Though I didn't feel qualified to teach and didn't
want to give the impression I was even remotely considering such a
job, I didn't have anything better to do.

"Ah, you must be Troy," said Dottie Latour. She leaned over with her
had out. "And it is good to see you, too." Bowser obliged by
extending a paw and letting her shake it. My dog--uh, Jim's dog--
was just full of surprises. She turned back to me, "Let me show you
around."

Mrs. Latour's small office was probably the only room actually
finished on the school house site, though the rest if it was close.
"We'll never have many students here, so our design is based on the
old rural schools, though we'll have three classrooms instead of
one."

The main part of the school was a hallway with two rooms on either
side. She stopped just inside the first room on the left where I
could see workers install light fixtures. "How's it going, Gordy?"

"Just fine, ma'am," sang out the worker that was the cleanest. My dad
had said that meant he was the boss. He didn't do as much actual
work so didn't get as dirty. "We'll have these babies in by the end
of the week and get the drop-ceiling in next week. We'll be done
long before Labor Day."

She turned to me. "This will be our elementary classroom, grades
Kindergarten through Fifth." In turn, she indicated the second room
on the left was for the middle school class and across from it on
the right was for the high school. There wouldn't be more than 25
students in each room. The last room was a combination of gymnasium
and lunchroom with a small stage across one end. We sat down in the
gym using a couple of plastic chairs used by the workers for breaks.

"Mrs. Cooper told me you majored in Science."

"Well, my major was actually Physics, but I also took many classes
in Chemistry, Biology, and Geology."

"We could use a general science teacher."

"But I didn't major in education and won't be certified," I said.

"I can't be that picky. Don't worry about it."

I looked at her strangely. "Not be picky? I don't get it. Don't you
want the best for your children?"

"I suspect you've noticed that Barken isn't exactly in a prime
location, ready to attract hordes of candidates." Ya think? "But our
citizens just don't want to be anywhere else." Gee, I hadn't
noticed. "So I have to staff my school with any warm body I can get
my hands on."

"If your teaching staff will be so inferior, why bother with a
school at all?"

"You're Jim's lover, aren't you?" I nodded. News travels fast in a
small town. "Then I imagine Jim told you at least part of the
story."

"Yeah, he did."

"Here it is from my point of view. Why bus fifty to seventy kids
forty-five minutes each way to a town that is prejudiced against
them? That far away in a town that hostile makes it dangerous for
our kids and too far away for us to intervene effectively. If your
kid doesn't feel safe, he's not going to learn. I'd rather have
children feeling safe under uncertified teachers than feeling
threatened under the best teachers in the state."

Bowser had been sitting attentively, seeming to listen to our
conversation. He now got up and began to wander the room. I tried to
keep an eye on him to keep him out of mischief. The superintendent
ignored Bowser completely.

She said, "If you stay to teach with us, you'll spend part of your
day in each room. Most high schools teach a year of Biology,
Chemistry, and Physics. You might as well teach one subject a year
to all high school grades. We could even add a general science class
for the fourth year of the cycle. We could work out a three year
cycle for the middle school students. As for the elementary grades,
it would be best, I think, to teach then in small groups as the
other teachers will do."

"That's all very good, Mrs. Latour, but I don't intend to stay in
Barken. This place is just too strange for me. I'm only sticking
around until Jim shows up."

She glanced at Bowser, then looked at me strangely. I got the
feeling there was something going on that was supposed to be obvious
if only I had the wits to know what it was. The superintendent
didn't provide any clues. She only said, "Well if you change your
mind, just let me know."

By the fourth day I was worried about what had happened to Jim.
Strangely, his parents weren't concerned at all, assuring me that
Jim would show up in due time and I should just enjoy my vacation.
I countered that a vacation wasn't so much fun when you couldn't
share it with the one you love.

By the end of the first week, the combination of Jim's absence and
this strange town was really freaking me out. If I didn't love Jim
so much I would have jumped in his car and sped out of town.

{{part|name=Chapter 4}}

It was that night when I had the first dream. It was a strange one.
The first image I remember was of Jim in his Dalmatian outfit
standing before a doorway and beckoning me through. The world beyond
the door was golden, radiating both the color and a golden mood, a
sense of belonging and of well-being. I walked through the door
thinking about after-death experiences and wondering what part of my
life was dying.

Once through the door, I looked around for Jim, but didn't see him--
I could see back into the room where I had been, but he wasn't there
either. At my side was Bowser, eager to play. I felt energetic
enough that I was happy to accept his invitation. I noticed I was
wearing no clothes, but that seemed natural and appropriate in this
golden light. We dashed about the golden countryside, looking at
this and sniffing at that, frolicking together and generally having
a wonderful time. I very much wanted this experience to continue for
as long as possible.

We had flopped onto the ground to rest and Bowser rolled onto his
back. I dutifully and playfully rubbed his belly. He rewarded my
efforts by licking my nose. I rolled over onto my own back and Jim
returned the favor and rubbed the fur on my belly. I let my tongue
hang out and stretched my paws in the air in satisfaction.

I rolled over and stood on my paws, able to greet Bowser nose to
nose. He danced playfully away and I was struck by a thought that
warmed me--Bowser was very sexy-looking. Such a handsome dog. Bowser
was looking at me with the same kind of hunger.

Bowser pranced before me, posing to show off his muscles. He winked
and tossed his head. He stepped up to me and kissed me, his muzzle
against mine. His display was definitely having an effect on me.
I again rolled onto the grass with my paws in the air. Bowser gently
straddled me then lay atop me, belly to belly, licking my muzzle as
he settled himself. He soon began to rock back and forth.

I awoke with a record case of blue balls; the slightest touch would
have set off a depth charge in my groin. I opened my eyes to see
Bowser standing at the side of the bed, his head on the mattress
near mine staring into my eyes. Apparently satisfied that I was
awake, Bowser stepped sideways until his head was near my groin. He
deliberately took a big sniff, then placed a paw on the mattress.

"Oh, no, you don't," I said clambering out of bed. I hurried to the
shower and turned it on cold. As I stood under the spray, I thought
over what I could remember of the dream. It was then that I realized
some things about the dream that disturbed me. My companion in the
dream was sometimes Jim and sometimes Bowser and the two seemed
interchangeable. There were times that Bowser had done things only a
human would do. And the most troublesome was that my perspective
was sometimes that of a gay dog, complete with fur, paws, and
muzzle. I expected the gay part. It was the dog part the sent my
mind spinning.

Come on, Jim. I love you, but I've got to get out of this town.

It isn't often that images from my dreams persist long into the day.
This one did, troubling me with its images and my reaction to them.

As I dressed, I realized it was still quite early. I knew I wasn't
going to get any more sleep the way my body felt stretched tight. I
wandered down to the dining area and was surprised that Mrs.
Brumfield already had an egg casserole ready. It was delicious. It
was uncanny how she anticipated my needs.

But I couldn't tolerate the town anymore, so walked into the
surrounding hills, Bowser trailing beside me. It wasn't hot yet, but
I knew it would be soon. I could at least avoid the town and its
strangeness until the heat sent me in search of air conditioning.

I picked a hill and trudged up it, then plopped my butt onto the
sand where I could overlook the town. Once I was seated, Bowser
began pulling at my shoelaces in spite of my attempts to waive him
off. It seemed a game to him, one that I was in no mood to play. I
had promised to meet Jim in this town and would keep that promise. I
hadn't promised anything beyond that.

Bowser succeeded in undoing one lace, then began to tug on the shoe
itself. "You want the shoe? Fine. You can have it." I threw it at
him and he neatly dodged it. He scampered after it and brought it
back to me--and promptly began to pull off the sock. I let him have
it, but once he did, he wasn't interested in it anymore. He dropped
it on the shoe and went after the laces of the other shoe. I thought
it best to cut the game short and pulled the shoe and sock off.
"There. I've got bare feet. Happy? You had better make sure there
are no rattlers, scorpions, or other desert nasties around." Bowser
dutifully made a circuit around me as if to prove he was up to the
task.

Then Bowser began to bury my feet in the sand by using a paw to
brush sand over my toes. I swatted at him, but he dodged my hand.
"What are you doing, dog?" I leaned back and Bowser returned. He
watched me intently for a moment then started pushing sand over my
feet again. I jumped to my feet and gave chase for a few steps,
before I thought about my bare feet and what might be lurking in the
sand. Bowser also stopped and took a stance that would allow him to
resume running if I did. He barked softly at me, perhaps to say that
he wanted the game to continue. I sat down and glared at the dog. He
glared back, then deliberately came up to me and pushed sand over my
toes.

I threw up my hands, which startled Bowser enough to take a step
back. "Fine. You want sand over my feet. Go for it." He bobbed his
head, turned around and started digging with his forepaws so that
the sand landed on my feet.

When I had sand up to my ankles, Bowser turned his attention to my
shirt, tugging at it as if he intended to pull it over my head. I
took it off to protect it from damage and said, "No. I will not take
off my shorts. Don't even try." He didn't.

Instead, he dug up more sand so that it covered my shorts. "Okay,
dog. You want to bury me alive? You go right ahead." I stretched out
on the sand and he proceeded to do just that, taking great care not
to get sand on my face. Once I was quite covered from neck downward,
Bowser came and stood by my head to shield it from the son. "You
satisfied?" He bobbed his head. "Good."

I've never heard of a dog that thought it a good idea to bury a
human in the sand, though I considered it possible. But a dog that
knew how to keep the sun off my face? Another mystery. I closed my
eyes and drifted off to sleep to make up for my early rising.
Thankfully it was dreamless.

I wandered back to the motel just in time for lunch wearing only my
shorts as I was too covered in sand. Mrs. Brumfield was out watering
her flowers and took delight on turning the hose on me. It was hot
enough that I took delight in it too. The whole time she had the
hose on me she had this mysterious smile and kept winking at Bowser.

I spent the afternoon in the library researching companies that
might look favorably on my resume. It appeared the Big Three weren't
hiring, so I was concentrating my research on the first and second
tier suppliers. These jobs may not pay as well and be as secure as
similar ones in the car companies, but in an era when GM and such
were turning over more and more design work to their suppliers, it
would be a decent living.

Dinner was with the Coopers again. As we ate and talked, I slowly
came to realize that while Walt Cooper tolerated his job about as
much as my dad tolerated his own, Walt didn't have the cultural
resources of a thriving metropolis to keep him and his family
entertained. There was no Barken Theater, though the new school
being built would have a stage. There was no concert hall. The small
movie theater showed only one movie each week. The mall was small.
There were no organized sports teams. When I contrasted his life to
the one I had made sure Jim knew in Detroit--baseball, hockey, Pine
Knob, Meadowbrook, Fox Theater, Second City, Orchestra Hall, Detroit
Institute of Arts, and a Cineplex in every suburb--Barken came up
woefully short. How did they stand the place?

That night I had another dream that stuck in my head. The overall
direction and many of the details were the same as the night before.
But in this dream Jim seemed to become a part of his Dalmatian
clothes and Bowser seemed to walk around on two legs, acting quite
human. My own perspective seemed to shift from human to dog and back
again several times during the dream. As before, my mind accumulated
an erotic charge from this shifting blend of human and dog that
postured before me and then offered himself to me.

I didn't think I could have had a case of blue balls worse than the
day before, but that I did when I awoke. I heard a familiar voice
say, "Troy, dear boy, let me take care of that for you," as he
wrapped his fingers around me.

My eyes opened to a wonderful looking face complete with dog collar.
"Jim! It is so good to see you!" I wondered how he had slipped into
bed beside me without waking me. Further talk had to wait while he
met my need and I met his. We then had time to hug and kiss, then
doze in the comfort of each other's arms. I had missed him terribly
and being in his embrace again felt wonderful.

It was mid morning before I pulled my attention away from Jim and
glanced around the room. "Where's Bowser?"

"I let him out," said Jim.

"A dog that has been at my side for nine days is suddenly willing to
venture out without me?"

"I knew we would be busy." Jim winked.

"Yet you're wearing the collar."

"Bowser doesn't need it, not in this town."

My head said it was irrational to feel possessive over a dog that
actually belonged to Jim. My heart said something else. If I
understand things right, Jim got Bowser the day before he
disappeared. Bowser had spent pretty much all of the last two weeks
with me. But an argument wasn't going to get me where I wanted to
be with Jim. "Come on, lets get some breakfast. I'm sure whatever
Mrs. Brumfield made for me is cold by now, but even cold, I'm sure
it'll be delicious."

Jim glanced away. "Could I borrow your robe?"

"Can't you slip back into whatever you were wearing?" I said
glancing around the room. I realized that all the clothes in the
room were mine. "So how did you get in here with no clothes?"

He didn't answer my question. "Your robe? I'm getting hungry."

"And where have you been for the last nine days?"

"I can't tell you. Not yet."

All of my frustrations from the last week--the mystery, the
realization that Barken didn't have much going for it, the feeling
of possessiveness towards Bowser--boiled over.

"You can't tell me? The love of your life? Fine. I'm sick of this
town. I gotta get out of here. I brought your damn dog across the
country and waited for you to appear. Well, now that you're here,
my commitments to this town are finished. I have a life to get back
to." I dropped my suitcase on the bed and began to circle the room,
gathering up stuff as I went.

"You won't stay in Barken for me?"

"You won't come to Detroit for me?" I shot back. As I passed him, I
put a hand against his cheek. "I love you, Jim, but this
relationship has become too one sided. If you want to live in
Barken, be my guest." I waived my arm as if I were offering him the
city. "But I don't. I'm not insisting on Detroit, but since we had a
wonderful time this past year it's as good as any for a start. You
didn't like the fun we had?"

"I liked it very much."

"Then why not come with me and leave small town life behind?"

"I can't. I have to live in Barken."

I tossed an armload of clothes into the suitcase. "Then this is
goodbye."

I watched as Jim sighed wearily and walked to the door. He had
turned the knob before he realized the only thing he was wearing
was the dog collar. He let go of the knob, turned around and leaned
against the door frame and folded his arms across his chest. I was
able to gather up several more things before he said, "May I borrow
your robe?" His voice was soft.

"Yeah. Sure. I have to get dressed anyway."

I slipped the robe off and handed it to him, then pulled on t-shirt
and shorts.

He stood there with the robe in his hand for several moments before
putting it on. "You're going to need me to drive you to the Houston
airport, won't you," he said. I wasn't sure if it was a question.

"Yeah. Thanks."

I heard him sniff and wipe his eyes. I suddenly realized I had to do
the same. This time he did open the door.

I took Jim's absence as a chance to go to the dining area. Beside a
plate of muffins was a note, "Knew you wouldn't be up early so
didn't bother with anything fancy." For muffins, they were actually
quite fancy.

I had cleaned everything out of the bathroom when Jim returned
dressed as I was in t-shirt and shorts. He handed me the robe, then
went back to lean on the door frame to watch me.

I folded the robe and laid it in the suitcase, then scanned the room
for anything I might have missed. It looked like I had it all. I was
suddenly hit with a wave of dizziness. I had to put a hand against
the wall to hold myself up.

Jim said, "Are you okay?"

"Just feeling dizzy for a moment. I'll be fine."

Jim sighed, then said, "Strip."

"Strip what?"

"Your clothes," he said, stepping forward from his place on the
door frame.

"You find a dizzy man a turn-on? I was so sure you weren't into
kink."

"Not at all. Troy, dear boy, you're about to become a citizen of
Barken." He had come halfway across the room.

"I don't want to be a citizen of Barken! And since when do citizen
initiation rites require nakedness?"

He was beside me now and pulled on my hand. "Look at your arm."

It was covered with white hairs! I held out the other arm and saw
the same thing. I stared at them in wonder and was sure I could see
the hairs become more numerous. I looked at Jim with my mouth
hanging open and was surprised to see short hairs appearing on his
face in the familiar pattern of Dalmatian spots.

"Come now. It isn't good to get tangled up in your clothes. Let's
get you out of them."

"You got a lot of explaining to do!" My voice sounded raspy.

"And now is the time to do it." Jim reached for my belt as my shorts
slipped off my butt. "Shirt," said Jim as he instead reached down to
undo my shoelaces. I pulled off my shirt, then stepped out of my
shorts.

My whole body was covered in short hair! All that I could see was
white.

Jim said, "There is something in the soil of Barken that gives its
citizens the ability to become dogs once they stay here long enough.
The first time is involuntary, but after that you can learn to
control it."

I could feel bones moving now--in my head, arms, and legs. My
fingers had shrunk quite a bit in size. I glanced at Jim--who had
the head of a dog! I could see the distinctive pattern of Bowser's
spots.

He must have been able to figure out my expression as he said, "Yes,
Bowser and I are one and the same. I think I'll hold this in-between
form so that I am able to talk to you."

I could feel new muscles in my butt as my tail grew in. I tried to
speak, but couldn't form coherent words. It all came out as growls
and barks.

"When one moves away from Barken," said Jim, "a person loses the
ability to change, sometimes within six months, sometimes after
three years." No longer having to deal with my clothes, Jim took
off his own. I was looking at a curious blend of Jim and Bowser--
doggie fur, head, and tail, with human arms, legs, and body. "I lost
the ability to change when I happened to be in dog form."

Standing only on hind paws had gotten precarious, so I allowed my
legs to collapse and sat on the floor. I saw that my point of view
shifted from Jim's waist to his knees. Once on the floor, I could
figure out how to gather four legs under me.

I noticed that I did not feel terror or disgust at what was
happening, but felt a completeness I didn't know was missing. Even
so, I trembled as I thought about what had just happened. I had
become a dog!

Jim sat down beside me and scratched me between the ears, which felt
marvelous. He then pulled me onto his lap and put his furry arms
around me. I pulled in his smell and catalogued it in my mind --
this comforting smell is Jim.

"It was bad luck," Jim said, "that I ended up locked in my dog form
just before my last exam. You may wonder why I took the chance, but
I didn't know if I was cutting it close or had two more years and I
sleep so much better as Bowser even cooped up in a dorm room. I
couldn't change back to human until Barken had a chance to work its
magic on me again. I wasn't too concerned with how long it was
taking as I knew you would stick around for me and I wanted Barken
to work its magic on you too." He sighed as he ran his fingers
through the fur on my back.

"Yesterday, I sensed I would regain my ability soon. I knew you were
getting fed up with Barken and I was afraid you would leave before
your first change. I buried you in the sand yesterday hoping I could
speed up Barken's magic."

He pulled me off his lap. "Let's see which breed you've become.
Could you turn around, please?" I did so as he catalogued what he
saw. "White muzzle, tan head, left ear tipped in white, the right in
black, white forelegs, tan neck, black back and flanks, back legs
have white socks and tan thighs, tan butt, tan and white tail, and
white belly. You stand about as tall as I do, just under two feet.
Shorthair coat, which is and advantage in Barken. Hmm." He held his
lower jaw in his hands, considering me. "We in Barken have to know
our breeds as people tend to get upset if you refer to them by the
wrong one. Troy, dear boy, I'd say you are a beautiful English
foxhound. Of course, even if you became a mongrel I'd consider you
beautiful."

Jim scooted over to sit beside me again. "Well, it takes about
twelve hours in dog form after your first change before you can
teach yourself how to change back to human. After that, you'll be
able to shift as much as you want or even choose an in-between
form." He scratched me between the ears again. "That means we have
all day in dog form--we might as well enjoy it."

Jim completed his shift to Bowser. I was pleased to see we were
about the same size as dogs just as we were as humans. Jim spent a
few moments demonstrating how to walk on four feet, then nosed the
door open and once outside, demonstrated how to run. It was a
fabulous day!

----------

Jim and I managed to introduce two customs into Barken life over the
next few months. The first caught on immediately when Jim started to
wear his Dalmatian clothes around town., though by noon of the first
day he knew it was crazy to wear a turtleneck in Barken in June and
was soon busy applying ink to a t-shirt and a pair of bleached
cutoff jeans.

The day after that, Jim studied the broad patches of color in the
fur of my foxhound form and then presented me with cap, t-shirt, and
cutoffs appropriately dyed. I was embarrassed with the tan splotch
across my human butt, though the locals didn't seem to notice the
problem I had with it.

Within a week, Ron's Grocery sold out of bleach and tan, brown, and
black dye and Gretchen's Garments in the mall had trouble keeping
white tees and cutoffs in stock. One could be pretty good at
guessing a person's breed by the clothes they wore that summer.

As for the other new custom... Shortly after arriving in Barken I
noticed that Walt and Amanda didn't wear wedding rings and, when I
began to look for it, saw that no one else in town did either. I
wondered about it--until my first change. Then it was obvious that
a ring only got in the way when a person shifted; one had to
remember to take it off or risked losing it.

I got an idea when Jim and I started discussing a commitment
ceremony and I talked it over with him. He liked the idea very much.
So with Mayor Grimsley officiating and what seemed like the whole
town watching I was able to say, "I, Troy, present to you, James,
this collar as a symbol of my love. I declare to all witnesses that
you are my spouse in good times and bad, in sickness and in health,
whether rich or poor, until death separates us." I essentially gave
Jim the collar he had worn in Detroit though now it had my name in
the disk next to his. He had a duplicate made, which he fastened
around my neck as he said his own vows.

Mrs. Latour suggested I start the high school students--all twenty
of them over four grades--with physics as the seniors hadn't taken
it yet. She then worked closely with me over the summer to plan and
prepare to teach three different kinds of classes. Now that I've
been teaching for several months, I understand why some people--like
Jim--can get passionate about it. I end my workday sitting at
the back of the gym watching my love leading the high schoolers
through band rehearsal and from there I can see the joy in his face.

The conventions of Barken society strongly suggest that you appear
in public as full human or full dog. The way Jim explained it was
that some people have rather strange ideas of what is a comfortable
in-between form. So Jim and I are human in school and teach students
that are human (usually) and we can do our afternoon romps as dogs.
It is only in the privacy of our home during the evening and night
that we explore what it is like to be human with fur and tail.

Barken may not have many concerts, movies, or theater. Houston is
close enough for that when I need it. It hardly matters. Now that I
am a citizen of Barken, I know I can't live anywhere else for long.
Nothing can offer the joy of spending time as a dog.

User:Erastus

2007-07-26T20:58:50Z

Erastus: Add Effect of Spotted Clothes

Stories on this site:

[[User:Erastus/Summer Job|Summer Job]]

This is the original story in the Professional Animals universe. I wrote one other story (which needs extensive rewriting before posting) and a handful of authors tried their hand as well.

[[User:Erastus/Implementing the Cure|Implementing the Cure]]

If gender dysphoria is cured with a transgender transition what does one do with a bad case of species dysphoria, especially if the species is mythical?

[[User:Erastus/Just the Right Shoes for This Life|Just the Right Shoes for This Life]]

What if you could become someone else? How much of a change are you willing to make? This is set in Posti's "Walk-a-Mile" universe.

[[User:Erastus/The Effect of Spotted Clothes|The Effect of Spotted Clothes]]

A gay couple meet in college. One of them is from Barken, Texas and intends to return there when he graduates.

----

I also have stories on TSAT, the transformation ezine. Here are links to those stories.

'''Deepest Dreams''' was a winner in a contest to create a story that defied transformation story conventions. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/deepest.dreams.html here].

'''The Harness of Society''' tells the story of three juvenile delinquents taken to a reform camp when their other options fail. The camp has an unusual way to motivate its inmates. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/harness.of.society.html here].

'''A Conversation''' was recorded by a barfly about a man who gets what he wishes for and a lot more. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/conversation.html here].

'''Paint''' explains why most mages are childless. Find it
[http://tsat.transform.to/stories/paint.html here].

'''Serving the Sentence''' is my longest work. Alas, I won't provide a link to it because the version on TSAT is no longer the definitive version.

[[Category:Author]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Erastus}}

User:Erastus/Just the Right Shoes for This Life

2007-07-26T20:52:23Z

Erastus: Added chapter separators

This is set in Posti's Walk-A-Mile Universe, with his blessings.

His original story is [http://tsa.transform.to/misc/walkamile.html here.]

-----------

Just the Right Shoes for This Life

by Erastus Centaur

{{part|name=Chapter 1}}

Great! Just Great!

The boss was droning on, but Rusty hardly heard him. Rusty was too
preoccupied with endlessly repeating in his head the last thing he
did hear the boss say.

"Sorry, Rusty, we have to let you go."

How could they? It was the ideal job for me, Rusty thought. I liked
the work. It paid the bills. What's more, it paid the alimony. He
just couldn't be out on the street now!

"... let you go ... let you go ..."

How was he going to pay alimony now? He and Cheryl and come to an
amicable understanding that the marriage was not working. He had
thought that meant they could have an amicable divorce. It had
caught him completely by surprise that Cheryl had turned the divorce
proceedings into an opportunity to fleece him. Her lawyer had even
managed to include the clause that he still had to pay alimony even
if Rusty lost a job, the rotten guy.

"... let you go ... let you go ..."

Cheryl kept the house. Rusty made do with a small apartment. Small
was good. He didn't have much to put in it. Cheryl had kept the
furniture too.

Without a job, how was he going to keep even this little bit of
shelter? One missed rent payment and he would be out on the street.
For that matter, one missed alimony payment and he would likely be
in jail, given Cheryl's current predatory practices. At least in
jail he would have a roof over his head.

"... let you go ... let you go ..."

The company had already downsized so much due to the stock bust and
ongoing recession. If they have to lay me off, Rusty thought, it can
only mean one thing. The company is about to fold. Just great. As
thanks for his loyalty, he loses his job after everyone else so he
has to contend with hordes that are already unemployed and had first
crack at the few jobs still available. Besides, all these newfangled
startups consider anyone over the age of 33 to be ''old'', a has-been,
a fossil, washed up, an old dog that can't be taught new tricks.
Might as well take a shovel and pile on six feet of dirt. And Rusty
was 35.

Rusty realized his boss had stopped talking. He looked up. His boss
had his hand out. As Rusty shook it, the big guy said, "I'm sorry it
had to end this way. Take care of yourself."

''Yeah, right. Take care of yourself, he says'', thought Rusty. There
aren't any jobs out there. My ex had drained my savings and made
sure I won't ever get any savings. And I'm about to be tossed into
the street for missing my rent, if not into jail for missing an
alimony payment.

Rusty gathered up his few personal possessions and left. He drove to
the apartment and parked the car. He didn't bother to take the stuff
inside. He needed to walk. Just walk.

Rusty walked for hours. He didn't bother eating as his gut was too
tangled in knots. He wandered, stopping to look at whatever
penetrated his foggy brain, and very little did. Yeah, there were
the ducks along the pond in the park and a gaudy display at the
clothing store, but that was about it.

It was late afternoon when Rusty realized he had been sitting on a
bench at a bus stop and another bus driver had pulled away after
glaring at him through the open door. He didn't know how many other
buses there had been before this one. He looked around and realized
he didn't know where he was. Not that it mattered.

He got up from the bench and wandered away. Within a block he found
something that caught his attention. Why did a shoe store include
horseshoes in its display?

He looked over the display. It was vast! There didn't be any
unifying theme to the shoes, other than they were all shoes. He had
never seen so many shoes in one place, nor had he seen such a wide
variety. And that was just what he could see through the window. He
couldn't see to the back of the shop through the grime on the
window.

Rusty had never thought of shoes much, but this place almost looked
like a museum for shoes--except it was too disorganized. Rusty--
truly--had no place else to go. Why not spend a little time
browsing?

On his way in the door, Rusty found the name of the place and had to
laugh. "Walk a Mile," it said. What a cute takeoff on that old
proverb!

"Hello dear," said a woman. She was busy at one of the piles of
shoes, though her efforts didn't seem to have any effect on the
chaos there. Amazingly, though the pile was jumbled, pairs managed
to stay together. The woman wore what could have been described as
a housedress, though it wasn't new. Her hair had a hint of gray in
the brown and she looked to be... Well, Rusty realized that she had
a face such that it wasn't possible to tell how old she was. "Feel
free to browse," she said, waving an arm at him. "I'll be glad to
help if you need anything. Go ahead and try on anything you like."

I'm not in the market for shoes, Rusty firmly told himself. I can't
afford it. The phrase, "Let you go" echoed around his brain for a
moment, until he firmly reminded himself, ''that's enough!'' It
won't do to dwell on that anymore.

Now that he was in amongst them, Rusty could see the wide variety of
shoes. There were workboots, dress shoes, sandals, track shoes, golf
shoes, cowboy boots, penny loafers, children's sneakers, high tops,
hiking boots, shoes with ties, shoes with buckles, slip-ons, Earth
shoes, gardening clogs, dancing slippers, Dutch wooden shoes, tap
shoes, moccasins, slippers that covered just the toes, slippers that
looked like rabbit heads, ballet pointe shoes, knee high boots in
a garish red leather, flip-flops, platform shoes, Japanese clogs,
rhinestone studded shoes. He could identify shoes from many eras.
Roman sandals that tied up the leg, shoes a German prince might
wear, boots of a Nazi SS guard, those of a medieval serf, an
American flapper, a Russian peasant, a Canadian Inuit. There were
snow shoes, ice skates, ski boots from a variety of ages, baseball
cleats, fisherman's hip waders. Shoes that were white, black, brown,
red, blue, tan, green, pink, gold, leather, suede, velvet (''velvet?''),
covered in fur, lined with fur, made of rubber, plastic, silk. There
were tiny baby shoes all the way to a pair of army boots that
declared their size to be 22E. There were...

By this time, Rusty's mouth hung open in astonishment. "Excuse me."

"Yes?" said the woman.

"Where... how did you get so many different kinds of shoes?"

"Some I buy from people that don't need them anymore. Some I take
in trade. But most I collect them just because they strike my
fancy."

"Does that explain the horseshoes?"

She had a slight twinkle in her eye. "Yeah. I love ''all'' kinds of
shoes. It's too bad that the only animal that wears shoes is the
horse."

Rusty began think this woman must be--just a little bit--strange.

His mind went through what she had said, "You take shoes in trade?"

"That's what I said."

"What are your terms?"

"You give me a pair of shoes. I give you a pair of shoes."

"What about the discrepancy in price? Some of these shoes have to be
worth lots of money!"

"Doesn't matter."

Rusty looked at her a moment. She seemed absolutely sincere.

Rusty glanced at the shoes on his feet. They were nondescript shoes
for wearing around an office. Rusty'd had them for years and they
looked it. Maybe he was in the market for new shoes after all. If he
could find a pair of shoes that were suitable for a job interview
and not drain the bank account.

"Where I might find some office shoes in size seven-and-a-half,
triple E?" Rusty hated having feet that small and wide. Most stores
carried sized only down to 8D.

"I'm sorry, but you have to pick out the perfect shoes on your own.
And don't worry about size. I'll have it fit you."

Rusty gazed across what seemed like acres of shoes in huge random
piles. "How am I going to find office shoes in all that?" He waved
an arm, taking it all in. "Don't you believe in customer
assistance?"

She turned to face him with a hint of fire behind the eyes. Even so,
when she spoke, it was with unfailing kindness and patience. "I'm
sorry that I can't help you with your search. If I did so, I would
have to charge you for my time. If you need customer assistance, I
can recommend many fine shoe stores nearby."

Rusty realized he could run up quite a bill for even a small hourly
rate. Money he didn't have. Time he had. Lots of it.

Rusty sighed. This could take a while.

He started down between the rows of tables and display racks,
marveling that in the jumble each shoe was next to its mate.

Rusty's eye caught a classic wing-tip. He never considered the style
much before, but maybe he should leave the menial work behind and go
into management? This is the management shoe that was almost a
cliche. He picked it up and looked it over. Rats. It was a 12D, much
too large. He set it down.

"I said I can fit it."

"Huh?" He glanced at the woman. She had her back to him and hadn't
appeared to interrupt whatever she was doing at the table.

"I said I can fit it." She turned around and faced him. "If it is a
shoe you like, try it on. Don't worry about the fit."

"But it will be too big!"

"Some people never listen," she muttered, striding over to him.
"Have a seat." She pointed to a nearby bench. "And take your shoes
off."

Rusty sighed. He pulled his left shoe off. She gently, but firmly,
slipped the wingtip over his foot. It was obvious she had done this
many times before. A few quick flicks of her fingers and the bow was
neatly tied.

"But it doesn't..." was out of his mouth before he considered what
his foot is feeling. "But it does fit!" That's amazing! He looked at
the two feet side by side, each in a different style of shoe. The
left one looked noticeably larger than the right. Yet each foot felt
it was in a shoe of the proper size. How did she do it?

"Let's try the mate, shall we?" Before Rusty had a chance to say
anything, she slipped off his old right shoe and put the wingtip on
his foot, tying the bow as deftly as she had before. "There. How
does that feel?"

"Amazingly, it feels just fine." Rusty said. This was all a bit too
much.

"Well, then, why don't you step outside and walk around a bit. I
have only one rule. If you walk less than a mile by the time you
take them off, you can have your old shoes back. If you walk more
than a mile, they're yours and I keep your old ones in trade."

As he stepped through the door, Rusty felt his head spin for a
moment. He closed his eyes.

As the spinning settled, Rusty heard an unfamiliar man's voice.
"Well, well, well. David has decided to do his duty after all.
You're just in time."

Rusty's eyes snapped open to see a youngish man dressed in a suit
staring at him. Rusty looked around and found he was standing in
an office, not at all like the urban street just outside the shoe
store's door that he expected. How did he get here?

He realized he still had his hand behind his back holding the door
handle. If he stepped through a door and ended up in an office
instead of on the street, shouldn't he be able to step back through
the door and be back in the shop?

He turned around to do just that. The door didn't say, "Walk a
Mile." The letters spelled out, "Henderson and Wylie Financial
Services" across the glass (though backward from his view). He
opened the door and saw a small open area with elevator doors.

"Not so fast," said the voice in his ear as the door was pulled out
of his grasp. "Now that you're here, we are going to go through with
it."

"There must be some mistake. My name isn't David, its Rusty."

"Now don't try to play dumb now," said the stranger. Rusty could
hear an undercurrent of menace in the man's voice. "If you had
legally changed your name, you certainly wouldn't have come back
here." The man pulled on Rusty's arm.

Rusty resisted. "I need to sit for a moment, get some water. I had a
bit of dizziness when I came through the door. My head is still
spinning a bit." While true, that last part was now more figurative
than literal.

"Sure. We've got a bit of time yet." The man guided Rusty to what
was probably the secretary's chair. "Sarah!"

A woman's head appeared from around the corner, "Yeah, Jack?"

"Could you get Dave a glass of water?"

"Sure thing." The head disappeared.

While they waited, Rusty looked around the office. Compared to the
cubicle warren that he had been fired from that morning, this place
looked like it was dripping in money. Instead of posters with
inspirational sayings on them, this place had actual paintings on
the walls. The desk he was sitting at looked to be real wood and
mahogany at that, not the Formica covered surface he had known so
long. Rusty reached his hand out to touch the wood.

It wasn't his hand.

The fingers were much longer. The hair on the back of the hand was
thick and blond, not sparse and brown. The arm was encased in a navy
suit, not in the expected office casual tan long sleeve tee.

Rusty felt a twist in his gut and the color drain from his face.

The secretary returned just then. She stopped short when she saw
Rusty's face. "You don't look so good. You even look a bit green."
She handed him the water. He drank eagerly.

Jack said, "Dave's just fine. Aren't you Dave." Rusty could hear the
forcefulness in that voice. "He's just a little worried about his
presentation to Henderson coming up in ten minutes."

The secretary didn't look convinced, but she disappeared behind the
corner.

Rusty didn't care to get on the wrong side of determination behind
that voice. The way those eyes glinted, Rusty could tell this was
a dude one didn't want to tangle with. He had no idea what was going
on, but it seemed safest to play along.

"Perhaps," said Rusty, "you should remind me what this meeting with
Henderson is all about. Whatever made me dizzy seems to have blanked
my mind."

"Selective memory, huh? Well, I'll be glad to refresh it for you."
The eyes glinted again. "You are going to calmly ask Henderson for
a half million dollars. When he asks why, you will threaten him with
revealing what you know about the Romelly account. If you manage to
get the money, you turn ninety percent over to me."

"And if I don't do all this?"

"I call the police and tell them about your embezzling activities.
I think they would ''fascinated'' with the discrepancies I've found
in over two dozen accounts."

Rusty took a stab at what was really going on, "I did not embezzle,"
he said with as much conviction as possible. "There is no such
evidence in those accounts."

"There is now," said Jack with a grin worthy of a shark.

Rusty sat there for a moment.

"Come on," said Jack. "We had better get into the conference room.
We'll wait for Henderson there."

As they walked, Rusty reviewed what appeared to be happening. It
didn't make a lot of sense, so he tried to stick with the facts.
One: He had been in a shoe store and had admired some wingtips. Two:
Though the shoes were not his size, they fit perfectly once they
were on his feet. Three: The owner had practically shoved him out
the door with those shoes on and once through the door, he had
seemed to jump into in someone else's body at the moment a crime was
about to happen.

Whatever was going on. Rusty didn't like it.

They had taken their seats as Rusty reviewed what the woman had said
once he got the shoes on. Something about walking a mile in the
shoes. Ah yes, if he hadn't walked a mile, he could just take the
shoes off. He certainly hadn't walked a mile in the office. It was
worth a try.

The conference door opened. As Rusty's partner in crime turned to
greet the new guy--must be Henderson himself--Rusty quickly pulled
one foot up, untied the shoe and slipped it off.

{{part|name=Chapter 2}}

He was hit with a moment of dizziness, then found himself sitting
in the shoe shop again. He glanced down to check that he was
wearing his own clothes and that his hands looked like his own
hands.

He turned to the shopkeeper. "What just happened?"

"Ah, you're back," she said. "Those shoes must not be for you."

"I step out your door and right into an embezzlement scheme. What is
going on here?"

She looked directly into Rusty's eyes for a moment. "I think you
figured it out."

"I see. How did you get those shoes."

"I imagine their owner stopped in to swap for a new pair. He got
tired of his life and wanted a new start. If I remember right, he
took a pair of moccasins and didn't come back."

"Can't we stop that embezzlement crime?"

"You could have, but you chose not to. Don't feel bad, the original
owner didn't either."

"Then we'll have to destroy those shoes!"

"Sorry. No. They may be the perfect pair for someone who can stop
the crime or who relishes the intrigue. You, on the other hand, are
now free to select another pair or leave my little shop."

Rusty pondered that for a moment. What he had seen was bad, but his
own life wasn't all that appealing either. He thought back to the
office politics of his former job. While he didn't think the
supervisors and managers engaged in embezzlement, office politics
could get pretty rough. They had no qualms about stabbing each other
in the back, trying to score points in some mysterious game with
those higher up. Rusty was suddenly grateful he hadn't gotten into
management and knew he would never want to wear wingtips again.

But here was a chance at a completely new life. What did he want to
do with it? What did he want to be when he grew up?

He wandered around the displays, thinking about the lives the shoes
represented. Snowshoes and ski boots were out. He didn't like cold
weather, at least not enough to live in it. The Japanese clogs and
the Ukrainian boots were out. The culture would be way too strange.
Firemen boots--too dangerous. Rhinestone shoes--ugh!

His eyes fell on a pair of workboots. A job in construction? If
management didn't suit him and working in an office warren was old
hat, why not go in the other direction? Take a job outside, get some
fresh air, use his body (and he might get a good one), be able to
see what he had accomplished during the day.

He chose a large pair, hoping that implied a large body. His size
was average now. Perhaps it was time to try what it was like being
big and maybe even intimidating.

He slipped the large boots onto his feet and walked confidently
through the door.

Rusty didn't feel dizzy this time. One moment he was striding
forward. The next moment he was waking up from a face plant.

He groaned. He was feeling quite sore. He opened his eyes and lifted
his head to see several pairs of workboots.

"Gus, are you there?" Rusty heard the voice coming from behind his
head. Glancing to the side, he could see a pair of workboots of
someone kneeling beside him.

He groaned again, then decided to roll over so that he could see the
kneeling figure better.

"Oh good," said the figure. "You're still with us." How many fingers
do you see?"

"Two," said Rusty. "What happened?"

"They never remember traumatic events." The figure sighed. "You fell
off that beam." He pointed upward. Rusty rolled to a sitting
position and looked up. The beam seemed to be a long way up. Rusty
felt the color drain from his face again. "The fall could have
killed you."

"All right you lazy bums. Get back to work!"

"Hold on a moment, Jack. Gus fell. He might be injured."

"Jack turned to Rusty. "Can you stand?"

"I think so."

"Then get back to work."

Jack straightened and addressed the whole group. "Did ''all'' of you
fall? No? Get back to work."

The crowd dispersed. The guy that talked back to Jack offered Rusty
a hand to help him up. "Are you really feeling OK?"

Rusty stretched as he stood. "I feel sore and have a headache, but
otherwise I think I'm OK. Your name escapes me just now." He worked
real hard to suppress a grin.

"Gus, this is Tony you're talking to. We've known each other for ten
months now." Tony peered at Rusty. "You can be infuriating
sometimes. I can't always tell when you are serious or teasing.
Better be safe than sorry. You had better stay on the ground for
a while, in spite of what Jack says. I'll run interference if there
is a problem."

"Thanks," said Rusty.

If there were men working "upstairs", finding a place in the shade
under the building wasn't a good idea. Rusty turned to the row of
pickup trucks. And stared. Each one was a vintage truck from the
1930s and '40s. How was it that a bunch of construction workers
each had a vintage truck? Then he noticed something else. These
trucks weren't in the pristine condition of a vintage car buff.
They were beat up and covered in dirt, about the way a construction
worker's truck should look. Why buy a vintage truck and subject it
to such abuse?

Rusty walked over to the line of trucks and gave them a good looking
over. He saw the license plates that didn't look like the ones he
knew for vintage plates, they looked like normal, every day plates--
except the date on them was 1947.

It wasn't until he passed a cab with a newspaper scattered across
the bench seat that reality sunk in. The paper was dated July 29,
1947. Rusty had resumed Gus's life fifty-five years in the past.

Rust felt his knees gave way. He sagged against the truck, then
slowly lowered himself to the ground. Well, Tony had said to take it
easy.

It was interesting to watch the men climb along the girders. They
looked like a well orchestrated team. Rusty noted how each man
quickly reattached his tether as he moved along, doing it in
smooth movements of long practice. Rusty was glad he wasn't up
there. He didn't think he could get that tether attached right
without a lot of practice.

While he sat there watching, Rusty thought over the situation. If
the former occupant of this body had fallen, what had caused it? Had
Gus really died? Did he--Rusty--get the shoes because someone had
given the shoes to the shoe shop after Gus's death? That was a
gruesome thought.

Rusty though that if he was in the body Gus had left behind, he had
better become familiar with it. He found he was dressed in a t-shirt
and jeans, which seemed to be the uniform of the construction crew.
He had a hardhat on his head, but it didn't seem to be as sturdy as
the ones he had seen from his own time.

His arms seemed to be long and muscular, the hands looked to be used
to manual work. The skin was darker than before and a check under
the sleeve confirmed not all of the darkness was due to the sun.
There wasn't much hair on the arm, though what was there was black.

The jeans looked to be much slimmer and longer than before. Pulling
up the cuff showed muscular legs and the same dark skin. Pulling
out the tail of his shirt revealed a slim waist and decently muscled
abs also covered with the same dark skin.

He tried to get a good look at himself in a reflection in the glass
of one of the trucks, but the light was all wrong. He did see he had
straight hair and that it was pulled into a ponytail. The ponytail
reached to the middle of his back. He also noticed a red headband.

He looked around for a sideview mirror, but discovered such things
weren't common in 1947. None of the trucks had one and he didn't
want to climb in one to use the rearview mirror.

Well, if he couldn't get a good look at himself in the windows,
maybe a driver's license would have a decent picture (though he
doubted a license picture from 1947 would have a chance of being
better than the poor photos used in 2002.

He found the wallet in the back left pocket, but there was no
driver's license. Figures. In a city one could use public
transportation. What he did find was a black and white photo. It
showed two Native Americans. The man looked to be tall, slim with
big shoulders, and a ponytail with a headband. He looked to be
barely out of high school. The woman also looked young. She came up
to the man's chin. Her hair was also long and dark. She was full
figured, but also looked very young. He turned it over and read the
inscription, "My dear Gus Nighthawk, Please return to me as soon as
you can. Love always, Lily." The date was September 15, 1946.

So I ended up in the body of an American Indian, thought Rusty. That
thought reminded him of reading about Mohawk Indians that were
highly prized construction workers as they weren't afraid of
heights.

Rusty studied the face of the man in the photo, presumably now his.
It was a strong face and rather pleasant. This may not be so bad.

"I thought I said to get to work, not moon over your girlfriend!"
Jack had a firm grip on Rusty's shoulder, pulling him up. "We have
deadlines to meet. I can't afford to have you lounging around,
even if you bumped your noggin'."

They were interrupted by a couple guys coming from the building. One
of them held up a piece of rope that looked quite worn. They were
shouting, "Hey Jack! Jack! Need a new tether. This one's about to
break." When they were close enough they shoved the worn part in
Jack's face.

"Come on, ya wimps. You should be able to do your job without that
silly tether. You know I don't keep extras around. They're too much
money."

They had attracted some attention and more of the men were walking
across to Jack. Now that he was looking for it, he could see that
two, maybe three, others were Mohawks.

"I'm not working without one," said the one holding the rope.

He and Jack glared at each other for a moment. The other man said,
"I found this where Gus fell." He held up a piece of rope with a
frayed end. "And I found this where Gus had been working." He held
up another piece with a frayed end.

A couple things were suddenly very clear to Rusty.

Gus had died from that fall.

Rusty had been put into his reanimated body.

Jack didn't care about safety.

"I quit," said Rusty.

"If you do, you won't work in this town again. You can be sure I can
make that happen." Rusty had no doubt Jack could. "You'll never earn
enough money to see your squaw again. No, you can't quit." Jack
turned to the assembled crowd. "Now get back to work! All of you!"

A couple more things became clear in Rusty's mind.

As fine as this new body was and though it would be fun to play at
being an Indian, this wasn't going to work.

His knowledge of 21st century America wasn't going to get him a job
in mid-century society. There were computers around--a small number
of primitive machines--but no one was going to allow him near one.
The wonders he knew about wouldn't be accepted coming from an
Indian.

He couldn't get the money for training in any current profession. He
would be stuck in low paying jobs. An alternative would be to go to
an Indian reservation, which in mid-century was not a pleasant place
to be.

His options were to work for a guy who didn't care whether he lived
or join the ranks of the poor.

Rusty lowered himself to the ground and began untying a boot.

"What do you think you are doing?" yelled Jack. "Get back to work.
All of you. There is work to be done. A building to build. We can't
be standing around--"

"Jack!" It was Tony's voice, loud enough to cut through Jack's
tirade. Rusty kept his attention on his boot. "None of us are going
back up until we have proper safety equipment. You may think only of
money, but we want to be able to go home at..."

Tony's voice faded as dizziness overtook Rusty.

{{part|name=Chapter 3}}

Rusty sat for a moment in the shoe shop waiting for the world to
stop spinning. By then the shopkeeper had come over to him.

"The original owner of these boots died, didn't he." Rusty's voice
was full of accusation.

She didn't take the bait. "It is quite possible. I don't know where
most of these shoes have been and what happened to their owner. I
do know and what you apparently figured out that when you put on
their boots you take over as if they hadn't died. Whether that is a
good thing or not, I have no way of knowing."

She paused. Rusty didn't say anything. She said, "So have you
decided your original life isn't so bad after all or do you want to
try another pair of shoes?"

"I've entered into a life with a backstabbing colleague and one with
a greedy boss. But my original life had that as well. It wasn't any
better. I guess I'm still trying to get away from it."

"In what way was this boss greedy?"

"He valued money more than his workers lives."

"Ohhh," she said. "That's bad." She patted his hand. "The store will
be open as long as you need it."

Now what? Rusty wandered between the tables and racks of footwear
for several minutes. The shopkeeper seemed to ignore him.

His eye seemed to linger over the hockey skates. Nah. He found
hockey confusing. Football? Too prone to injuries. Track? Boring.

He paused for a moment. Why sports? Why was that attracting his
attention?

Well...

If he was transferred into someone else's body, he surely would be
able to play the sport. The body would be healthy and strong. Would
he find a segment of humanity he could get along with?

Perhaps yes. Rusty thought back to his high school days and his time
on the baseball team. They weren't a great team, but they did end
the season above .500 and he had enjoyed the camaraderie. Perhaps he
should choose baseball. At least he knew how to play the game.

Rusty continued his walking, looking for baseball shoes. As
expected, he saw many pairs. Which to choose? Was there a way to
find one pair from a life he might enjoy, where the previous owner
had been happy?

Alas, there was no way to know.

By this point, Rusty had passed up a dozen pair. He spotted a pair
a little different from the rest. There was a logo of an Indian on
the side of the shoes. Somebody from the Cleveland Indians had left
a pair of shoes here? Everyone on his high school team had dreamed
--at least for a while--about being in The Show, joining a Major
League team. What an opportunity!

Rusty slipped the shoes on and strode confidently to the door.

When the dizziness faded, Rusty found himself sitting on a bench in
a locker room facing what he assumed was his locker. From the way
one ankle rested on the other knee and from the position of his
hands, it was obvious he had come into this body as it finished
putting on the shoes.

Rusty looked around. The name above the locker he faced said "Darryl
Billingsley" but it was on a piece of cardboard in a bracket. The
locker room looked old and in need of paint, not what he expected of
a Major League team. The uniform he was wearing looked too worn to
be new this season, even if it was now October according to the
calendar on the wall, the kind with one page for each day.

Another player turned a bit so Rusty could see his back. Rusty
gasped. The unifirm had "Spokane Indians" on it! Not Major League
at all! This team was Minor League. The teams were filled with the
eager upstarts wondering why the had to toil in the Minors and with
the dregs of the sport, the older guys who couldn't admit they would
never make it to The Show.

He felt an arm on his shoulder. He looked up into a face that looked
like it hadn't come to terms with a dream that would never happen.
"Hey, Darryl. You Okay? For a moment you looked a little green. And
then you gasped like you were in pain."

Rusty reached up to put his hand over the hand on his shoulder and
smiled a little smile. "Thanks for the concern, buddy, but I'm
fine."

A note of teasing crept into the other man's voice. "You'd better!
I'll need you to close for me today. We wouldn't want our star
reliever to have a bad day this close to the playoffs!" The other
man's face grew serious. "You hadn't answered me yet. Are you in?"

"In what?"

"You don't remember our discussion from yesterday?"

How to cover for this one? "Um... I guess I put it out of my mind.
What was it about?"

The other man looked around and realized the coach was walking in.
"Sorry. Can't talk about it now."

What was that about? wondered Rusty.

Was he about to be caught in another unpleasant situation? The coach
was starting his pre-game motivation speech, but Rusty found he had
another more important issue to think about. How many times from the
dugout to the pitchers mound make a mile? Is there a designated
hitter in this league? How many times around the bases do I have to
allow for? How far is it from here to the dugout and the bullpen?
And the big question--''How long can I stick around before I lose my
chance of escape?''

Rusty tuned into the coach while pondering that last question. "This
is the big one, men. We win this one and we're in the playoffs. Lose
it and you will be left wondering what you could have done
differently, and those thoughts make for a long winter. I'm sure you
know that since this is an important game, there will be a lot of
Major League scouts watching to see how we handle the pressure. For
some of you, a win could mean more than a chance at the Minor League
playoffs."

The coach paused for a moment. "Everyone says a win over our
opponents from Great Falls should be a piece of cake. Don't let that
talk fool you into letting your guard down. Treat it like a walk in
the park and they just might break their losing streak. Now go get
'em!"

The team cheered and surged out to the field. Rusty hung back so
that he wouldn't look too stupid as he paused at the door to get his
bearings.

Rusty watched with interest during warm-ups and preliminaries. It had
been a while since he had attended any game and had never attended
a Minor League game. He was amused at the difference between the
young players trying to impress scouts and older players doing
things with a minimum of fuss. It was nice having such a great seat
for the game.

The game began with Roger McAllister on the mound, the guy that had
been so mysterious. He retired the side quickly. The Spokane hitters
responded with a single, an out, a double, and a sacrifice to bring
a runner home before the end of the inning.

Rusty was both amused and concerned when the Great Falls hitters
managed to get a runner in during the top of the second inning.

Spokane was scoreless in the bottom of the second and McAllister
retired three batters easily.

A run by Spokane in the bottom of the third was answered by a run
by Great Falls in the top of the fourth. The same thing happened
in the bottom of the fourth and top of the fifth. Once Spokane got
a run in the bottom of the fifth to finish the inning, the coach
pulled McAllister and sent Rusty in.

During his warm-up, Rusty noticed that this body seemed to remember
how to pitch. The motions were much more fluid and accurate than he
had ever managed in high school. He hadn't been in this body long
yet he was amazed at how well he could control it.

Though Rusty's body knew how to pitch, Rusty's mind hadn't kept such
things as strategy and hand signals from either the previous mind in
this body or from his youth.

He walked the first batter. The second got a single.

The catcher called time out and he and the coach came out to the
mound.

"Why aren't you following my signals?" said the catcher. "We usually
only yell at umpires for being blind."

Okay, thought Rusty, how do I get out of this mess? His pause made
the coach very interested in the reply. "Sorry," he finally said,
"I had a mental blank about what they mean."

"You've been pitching all summer and forgot what the hand signals
mean?" said the coach, shaking his head. "And you manage to do it
during an important game!" He turned and walked back to the dugout.

"A quick refresher, then," said the catcher. "One finger for fast,
two for slow, three for curve. I move my hand around to indicate
high or low, inside or outside." He put a bit of edge into his
voice. "Do you think that little peanut sized brain can remember all
that for more than ten seconds?"

"Yeah," said Rusty, "I got it."

Rusty struck out the next two batters though getting close to a full
count on both of them. He misread another hand signal and fed the
batter a pitch that was low and fast.

The better connected for a pop-up, which Rusty fumbled. One runner
scored.

The coach pulled him. Rusty sighed with relief.

Once Rusty was in the dugout, The coach barked, "McAllister!
Billingsley! With me." On the way past the batting coach, he brushed
his right eyebrow twice. The batting coach's smile vanished as he
nodded.

The two pitchers followed the coach to his office. He closed the
door, locked it, and turned to study them a moment. "I had to think
for a while to come up with why your performance was so bad today.
Then I noticed Jimmy Ganni sitting behind home plate. Suddenly it
all became clear."

The coach paused and glared at us each in turn. McAllister began
to fidget. He had rested one foot on the other knee and now was
running his fingers across the knot in his shoelace.

"You're throwing the game. Aren't you."

Rusty was pretty sure he saw rage, defiance, and denial flit across
McAllister's face before he brought it under control. McAllister
remained silent.

"That," raged the coach, "is the worst sort of betrayal I can
imagine. You may be making a ton of money from this, but you are
hurting your teammates. They will be denied the playoffs because
of your greed. They will be denied another chance to play in front
of scouts and perhaps a chance at The Show. The police should be
here any minute."

"But throwing a game isn't illegal!" said McAllister. "The only
penalty is expulsion from the league."

Rusty suddenly realized that McAllister was admitting to it. The
other pitcher's intent was to collect the reward and retire.

It seemed the coach did too as his eyes narrowed a bit. "Throwing a
game isn't why the police are coming. You committed fraud. You did
not put out your best effort as your teammates expected. The
victims of your fraud are your teammates."

McAllister began to look a bit panicky when there was a knock on the
door. The coach unlocked it and let in two policemen. The coach
said, "Ah. Come in. Please arrest these two men on the crime of
fraud."

The policemen closed in around Rusty and McAllister. "Can't we at
least take a shower?" said McAllister.

"No," said the coach. I want you seen in that uniform when the press
gets word. It is that uniform you disgraced."

As one of the policemen reached for Rusty's wrist, he said, "Just a
moment, officer, I have something in my shoe."

"Freeze!" shouted one of the policemen. "Hands on head." Rusty
complied. "I'll take the shoe off for you. Which one?"

"Left," said Rusty.

The cop undid the laces and tugged at the heel. Rusty was overcome
with dizziness.

{{part|name=Chapter 4}}

As soon has his head stopped spinning, Rusty opened his eyes--just
in time to see the left shoe drop to the floor. Rusty waited for the
shopkeeper to amble over. "Well?" she said.

"Baseball pitcher. A teammate threw the game. I didn't do well on
the pitcher's mound and was also accused. Before leaving the
stadium, I asked the cop to remove my shoe."

Rusty sat quietly for a moment, then said, "What happens to the
people left behind when I take off a shoe?"

"I really don't know," she said. "It probably depends on how I got
the shoe."

"Well, what happened to the cop that pulled off my shoe and I
vanished?"

"It sounds like you took over for a guy who was disgusted with his
life, so it would be as if you had never been there. If the guy
designated for relief isn't there, someone else has to do it.
Whether that person is arrested would depend on how well he played."

"What about the construction guy who fell to his death? That
happened way back in 1947. What about his sweetheart?"

I'm sure she would have made sure he got the proper funeral."

Rusty pondered that for a few minutes.

"Do you want another pair of shoes?" said the shopkeeper,
interrupting Rusty's reverie.

Conniving and greedy bosses, teammates willing to throw a game.
Humans could get downright nasty to each other. There had to be
some good people out there. Didn't there? There were some people
that knew right from wrong. Weren't there? Out of all these shoes
piled in this room, there had to be a pair that had belonged to
a person whom everyone loved, who had died a sudden death that
would allow him to take over.

It wasn't exactly a cheery thought--wishing some good person had
died suddenly so he could take over.

Rusty wandered through the piles of shoes, touching a pair here and
there. Snowshoes, fur lined shoes, ice skates, and skis were out.
He didn't like the cold. He didn't want to struggle with another
language, so the Russian, Japanese, Greek, Dutch, and German Nazi
footwear could be bypassed. He didn't want the kind of life to which
the rhinestone shoes belonged. His recent experiences had eliminated
sport shoes, workboots, and anything that remotely looked like
office shoes. What kind of shoe hadn't he tried yet?

His eye fell on a pair of what looked like ballet slippers except
they didn't have the rounded toes of pointe shoes. This must be a
man's ballet shoe then, he decided. That brought to mind the few
(very few) times he had seen a ballet. The dancers had been
graceful, even the men. How could there be any ugliness in a life so
caught up in making beauty?

It was worth a try. Wasn't it?

Rusty put on the ballet shoes, guessing how the laces were to go.
This could be interesting. People could find themselves watching a
klutzy dancer. He carefully walked through the doorway.

Hoo Boy! As his vision cleared, Rusty found himself flat on his back
staring up at a circle of faces with one face very close. That face
spoke, "Oh good, Ivan, you're alive."

Wonderful, thought Rusty, I get to inhabit the body of a guy who just
died.

The voice went on. "Are you hurt? Can you get up?"

"I don't know yet," said Rusty. "What happened?"

"It appears you fell into the orchestra pit. You could have done
serious damage to yourself." You ain't kidding, thought Rusty. "It
is good to see you're okay."

Rusty did a mental inventory. He hurt a little bit, but not a lot.
Nothing seemed to be broken. He used his hands to push to a sitting
position. That went well. He slowly stood. The dancers around him
applauded. Well at least most of them.

He looked down. He was wearing a t-shirt and tights along with the
dance shoes. The body underneath the clothing looked to be in
mighty fine shape.

The one who had leaned over him appeared to be the one in charge.
"Okay, show's over. Back to work."

The crowd went back on stage and took up positions as for the start
of a dance. Along the way, he heard a voice from behind say, "Don't
think this is over, Korsakov." The turned to see who said it, but
couldn't tell who spoke.

Rusty wasn't sure what to do, so hung back. After a moment he
realized that the dancers formed a regular pattern and there was
an obvious gap. Rusty stepped into that place. Perhaps he could
blame the coming fiasco on being hurt in the head.

Much to his surprise, it didn't turn out that way. When the music
started, his body seemed to know what to do. It was invigorating to
dance like this. He felt graceful and that he was expressing deep
emotions he had never thought were there. He figured that muscle
memory was at work. He leaped. He spun. He expertly lifted and
supported his partner. He was having a wonderful time! He wished
the moment could go on forever and understood why dancers did what
they did.

Perhaps this is the life for me, thought Rusty, though things may be
a lot different when learning a new dance and someone referred to
the steps by name. He also thought about how many dance steps make a
mile. How soon would he need to decide whether to go or stay? But
the dance went on and Rusty began to put those thoughts out of his
mind.

Rusty felt something slam against his left knee, sending him
sprawling. Whatever had happened, his knee ''hurt''. He didn't dare
put weight on it. It hurt just to move, so he decided to simply
lie there.

He heard a collective gasp when he fell and within seconds, he was
surrounded again with anxious faces.

"That looks bad, Ivan," said a woman. "Don't move. Knees normally
don't bend that way."

The director--the person who had hovered over him before--came into
Rusty's view. She glanced at Rusty and pulled out a cell phone. "Hi.
We need an ambulance at the Regent Theater. It looks like a damaged
knee." She turned off the phone and turned to Rusty. "I'm so sorry,
dear. It really looks like your dancing days are over. This is a bad
one. And you were looking so good in this last dance."

''I was?'' thought Rusty. ''This last dance? That means it was me,
not the previous occupant of this body!''

She straightened up and used her I'm In Charge voice. "Mister
Tanayev! What were you doing out of position!"

"I was out of position?"

"Don't play innocent with me, buster!" She turned to the dark
auditorium, shielded her eyes from the stage lights and said,
"Tyler?"

"Yes, ma'am." The voice appeared to come from the light booth.

"Did you catch all that on video?"

"Sure did."

"Please take that cassette to my office." She turned to Mr. Tanayev.
"Would you like to explain it to me now or wait until the police get
here?"

"The police?"

"Yes. The charge will be assault and battery. I bet if we wound the
tape back far enough, we'll find that Mr. Korsakov didn't fall into
the orchestra pit, he was pushed. This wouldn't be a bit of
professional jealousy, would it?"

That certainly pushed a button. Mr. Tanayev went into a tirade. "I'm
a better dancer and he gets the good roles! I'm stuck in the
ensemble and he gets the solos! You call what he does dancing? He
could phone it in..."

Rusty tuned him out and turned to the ballerina sitting by his head.
"Could you pull my shoes off?" The grimace from pain was not faked.

"I'd hate to disturb your leg."

"Perhaps you could start with the other one. I've got an itch on
that foot and I doubt you could scratch it through the shoe."

Rusty endured a big stab of pain when she pulled the ties out from
under the leg and tried very hard not to show it. He was relieved
when a moment later the dizziness overtook him.

{{part|name=Chapter 5}}

Once his head stopped spinning, Rusty slumped in the chair. He
didn't hurt now, but the pain had been incredible. The memory of it
still lingered.

"It was bad, wasn't it," said the shopkeeper with sympathy in her
voice.

"Yeah," Rusty whispered.

"What happened?"

"Professional jealousy by another dancer. He killed the original
owner of the shoes by pushing him into the orchestra pit. When I
revived the body, he settled for a career ending injury. Oh man,
did that hurt!" Rusty winced in memory.

"You look like you could use a spot of tea. I'll be right back."

Rusty took the time to simply sit.

She returned sooner than Rusty thought possible, carrying a
steaming mug. It smelled wonderful, definitely herbal.

The shopkeeper busied herself while Rusty sipped the tea. When
she heard him set the mug down, she came over to him. "Have you
decided what you want to do now?"

"I've decided I'm tired of humanity. There is so much pain we
inflict on each other. I want to get away from all that pain."

"What about all the love that humans show to each other? What about
the selfless worker in the soup kitchen, the joy of children
playing, the satisfaction of a job well done, the simple helping
hand in a time of need?"

"It may be there, but I haven't found it."

"I'm sure there are those types of people in all the shoes here."

"Maybe so, but I can't bear any more pain in the attempt to look for
such a person."

"So how do you get yourself out of this mess?" She paused to collect
her thoughts. "You can walk out that door in your original shoes.
People have remade their lives before. You can too. You can leave
here determined to be the kind of person you are searching for." She
studied his face for a moment. "Or you can walk out that door wearing
someone else's shoes. I will not allow the third option of committing
suicide in this store." She said that last part in a voice that
allowed no compromise.

"I could be your assistant."

"Sorry, but no. You could not live the way I do."

Rusty sighed, the let his eyes wander around the little shop.
Russian shoes, Japanese shoes, Greek shoes, Roman shoes, sandals,
boots, pink, gold, brown. The mass of shoes dissolved into a blur.
Wingtips, loafers, saddle shoes, hiking boots, horseshoes, tap shoes,
hip waders.

Wait a minute.

Horseshoes?

Rusty stared at the horseshoes for several minutes. He was thinking
can I really do it? Can I give up my humanity? Is my humanity worth
keeping? As those thoughts churned through his brain, he moved
from display to display. He hadn't paid much attention to horses. It
just now struck him that horseshoes came in a variety of sizes.

"Could you tell me how many different size horseshoes you have?"

The shopkeeper rattled them off without taking her eyes from the
shoes she was sorting, "I have those available in pony, mule,
donkey, riding horse, and draft sizes."

"Has anyone ever put on a pair of horseshoes?"

"One. A guy named Bob."

"What happened to him?"

"I don't know. He stepped through the door and never came back.
Once a person steps through the door, I can't find out what happened
to them unless they come back and tell me."

"So you never hear of the happy endings?

"On occasion I do. Some people will verify that the shoes are what
causes the change by taking them off. They pop back in here. If it
has been a good experience, they'll slip the shoe back on quickly. A
few people will tell me a sentence or two before they slip the shoe
back on."

Rusty pondered the nearest horseshoe for a moment. "How did that Bob
guy wear a horseshoe?"

"He slipped nails through the shoes and held the nails between his
toes. He did it right in front of the door so he only needed to take
a couple steps.

By this time Rusty had lined up horseshoes of each size. He pondered
his selection. Racer? Draft?

The shopkeeper interrupted his musings. "I must warn you that you
must consider taking horseshoes as permanent."

"Don't I get to walk a mile in them first."

"That rule still holds. But please think about this. If you actually
become a horse you won't have the ability to take the shoes off. You
won't be able to ask a person to take them off. You may not even
have enough wits to think of doing it."

"Oh!" said Rusty. No, he hadn't thought of that. In his mind, he ran
over what she said. "Back up a bit. Is there a chance I might not
become a horse?"

"As I said, I don't know what happens. Ever since Bob went through
here, I've wondered about it. Mind you, my curiosity isn't great
enough to try it myself. But I've thought Bob could have become
everything from a human who gets off on pony shoes, to some blend of
human and horse, to full horse."

"Pony shoes?"

She tossed him a pair. They were black shoes that had a sole in the
shape of a hoof and also kept the heel high off the ground.

Rusty set them aside. "Way too kinky for me."

"But if you 'wear' the horseshoes, you might end up in a body that
thinks they aren't kinky enough."

Draft, Rusty decided. He wandered through the displays making sure
the pair of horseshoes he had in his hands were the largest
available. After spending time in a few other bodies, he understood
bigger was better.

Now that he had a pair of the largest horseshoes in the store, he
walked over to the door, leaned against the frame, and looked at the
metal in his hands, thinking. This one was for keeps. There would be
no turning back if he ran into a bad situation. If he was a horse,
he might have a cruel master. If he ended up in pony shoes, his
partner might be sadistic. If he was some blend of human and horse
in a human world, he might be a freak.

He glanced at the shopkeeper, who was busy sorting shoes. Rusty
suddenly realized that when she was not helping him, she was sorting
the shoes. It seemed to have absolutely no effect on the chaos on
the display tables.

Rusty walked over to her. "It appears that you collected all these
shoes," he swept a hand around to include the whole room, "from
people who have died or were unhappy and wanted a different life."

"Yes, that's right."

"Is the same true for the horseshoes?"

"No. It's not. I just like horseshoes and consider my collection to
be incomplete without them. The horseshoes around here have never
been used."

Well, that was a relief. There was a lower chance (certainly much
lower than the current 100%) of popping into a bad situation.

Rusty went back to lean against the door frame. Should he do it?
Could he do it? He thought about the lives he had visited and his
original life. Being human, to put it bluntly, sucked. The real
question now before him was actually straightforward. Would life as
a horse or horse hybrid have a better chance of being a good life?

Put that way, the choice seemed pretty easy. Life as a human seemed
to have a close to 100% chance of being miserable. Though the right
value was unknown, Rusty felt sure the percent chance of having a
miserable life as a horse was much less than a sure thing. There was
hope for a good life.

One part of his mind said, This is for keeps. Are you sure?

Another part responded, Ya got any better ideas? And when was life a
sure thing?

Rusty sat down in a chair by the door. He removed shoes and socks.

He walked over to the shopkeeper, hoping he didn't catch a sliver in
his toes. "Um, do you have any horseshoe nails?"

She held out her fist. It looked like there was something in that
fist, so Rusty slid the horseshoes over his forearm, cupped his
hands beneath hers. She dropped four nails into his hands.

He walked back to the chair by the door. He put his left foot on his
right knee, then held a horseshoe against his toes. He adjusted the
shoe a bit until two holes lined up between his toes. He slipped two
nails in and felt them slide between his toes. While keeping the
nails in place, he set the shoe on the floor. He did the same with
the right foot.

Rusty opened the door and used his toes to push the shoes to just
inside. He put his toes around the nails. It was obvious he wouldn't
have a good grip on the shoe or the nails, but that wouldn't matter,
at least not for long.

Very quickly, Rusty picked up his right foot. He closed his eyes.
And stepped.

The dizziness was much stronger and lasted much longer than it had
before. Rusty kept his eyes closed until he was sure the dizziness
was gone.

Even before he opened his eyes, Rusty noticed the aroma. It was
''wonderful!'' It smelled like he was in the middle of a garden on a
beautiful day in mid May in which everything was in bloom at once.
On opening those eyes, he was pleased to see his nose hadn't been
wrong. It was a garden and quite a large one. He couldn't see
anything that marked its end either straight ahead or to the left or
right. Rusty noticed something strange, at least to his limited
knowledge of botany. Many trees appeared to have both blooms and
ripe fruit.

Since he wasn't waking up to a face plant and wasn't surrounded by
others, Rusty had time to look over the body he now wore.

The first thing he noticed was that his mind did not appear to be
diminished. He had thought about "flowers" and "fruit" using words.
A quick mental count to ten settled the matter. Second, he didn't
have a muzzle. He could judge distances as well as before, his
field of vision was the same, and the nose between his eyes looked
to be human normal. He could see one difference without a mirror--the
hair on his upper lip was blond and a lot thicker.

He put a hand to his face to feel for any other changes. As the
fingers came into view, he realized at least I have a hand. These
fingers were longer than before. He ran his fingers through the
thick mustache then over his mouth to his chin. Yep, he had an
equally thick beard. Tugging on a few hairs, he could see it was
blond. The rest of his head felt normal. There was no bald spot.

He glanced downward. He had a very human chest and abdomen with
the human normal amount of blond hair over some impressive muscles.

But what was below that was very much not human. The lower parts
of his abdomen were covered with blond fur and below that were two
solid looking legs, the portion below very knobby knees sported long
pale blond hairs which obscured, he was sure, hooves. Lifting one up
and shaking it did indeed reveal a large hoof.

He had a brief moment of panic when he realized his manhood did not
hang between those legs. A twist of his shoulders and a glance
behind him showed the rest. There were two more legs and a tail.

With a tiny bit of concentration he could make those hind legs move
and swish the tail.

Centaur. The word suddenly came to his mind. He was now a centaur.

The idea both pleased him and annoyed him. This body was built for
strength and the images of centaurs he remembered depicted a
wonderful nobility. As a body it looked to be a fine one. He had
kept what he felt were the necessary human parts--the brain and
hands. And if he was to be blended with an animal, the horse was as
good as any and a lot better than most. It was obvious he had
strength and he probably had a good deal of speed.

But he was now a freak among humans.

A rumble from his horse part reminded him that he hadn't eaten in
several lifetimes. All of the fruit on the surrounding trees looked
delicious, even if he couldn't put a name to many of them. The apple
tree was closest, so he started there.

After working through two apples, he started towards another tree.
It was then he heard noises. It sounded very much like happy humans.
He could hear talking and singing and it sounded like someone had
some type of flute.

Rusty knew that those happy sounds could change in a moment,
especially if the sounds came from humans calculating how to make
money off a centaur, either by making him part of a circus act or
issuing fines for stealing fruit. He glanced around for a hiding
place, but there didn't seem to be one. The trees weren't close
enough together to offer seclusion for this large body. Maybe he
could get a human to pry off a horseshoe before going too far.

Before he could think of alternatives, he could see the group
through the trees in the distance.

They were centaurs! He wasn't a freak. He was just one of many.

A moment later, he heard a shout and the flute player stopped
playing. Evidently he had been spotted as the other centaurs
changed course to meet him. He knew he didn't want to hide from
everyone for the rest of his life (how long did centaurs live?)
so he might as well meet them now.

There were five in the group that approached, two females and three
males. He had plenty of time to study them as they came closer.

One female looked like she had just reached adulthood. She was a
beauty, with curves in all the right places. Her fur was the same
dark red as the hair on her head. She had shaggy white hair on her
lower legs that covered her hooves.

The other female looked like she could have been the young female's
mother, though her fur and hair was a lighter red.

The horse part of the largest of the males looked like a Clydesdale
with chocolate fur and shaggy white stockings. His beard was thick
and brown. Rusty wondered if he was the young female's father.

A second male looked like the young female's little brother, at
about the age when little brothers become pesky. He had a hint of
a mustache.

The last member of the group was the one holding the flute. His fur
was full of white and tan patches that extended down to his knees.
Below that, the fur was white and short. His thick beard was the
same color as his tan patches. Rusty guessed he was a bit too old to
be the oldest male's son.

"Hello," said the young female, holding out her hand. "You must be
new here. I'm sure I know all of the centaurs and yet you don't look
familiar."

Rusty shook her hand and said, "Yes, I just arrived."

"But how did you get here?" she asked.

Before Rusty could reply her father said, "Probably the same way I
did, Calla." He now faced Rusty and held out his hand. "Hi. I'm Bob,
though I'm known around here as Posti." Rusty shook the offered
hand. "Please pardon my daughter's bluntness. Other than births, you
are the first new person she has seen." He put his arm around his
daughter's shoulders. "My guess is that you were in a strange shoe
store just before you came here."

"How did you ... Ah yes, the shopkeeper did mention a guy named Bob
that had tried on the horseshoes."

"Yep, that's me. Though when I did it I wanted to be a complete
horse. Mind you, I'm not complaining about the results."

"Dad," the young male patted his father's flank. "You just used a
buncha words I don't know yet."

"And those words are?"

"Shopkeeper and horseshoe."

"I'll make it easy for you," said Posti. "There aren't any shops or
shopkeepers around here, so it might take a while to explain that
one. As for horseshoe ..." He turned to Rusty. "Could you raise a hind
leg?"

"Sure," said Rusty, though he was a bit mystified.

Posti and the two youth circled around behind Rusty. Rusty raised
a leg and felt Post grab it and tilt it so they could see the bottom
side. "That is a horseshoe," said Posti.

"Doesn't it hurt?" said the boy. "Why is it there?" said Calla.

"No it doesn't hurt," said Posti. "And it is part of the magic that
brought him here. After we've traveled a while, we'll help him take
it off. He won't need it here." Rusty felt the hand let go of his
leg and he set it down.

Posti said, "Would you like to join us? Since you are new here, I'm
sure you don't have family. I could tell you about this place along
the way"

"Where are you going?" asked Rusty.

"Off to visit friends. I'm sure they'd love to meet you. The
important thing for you is they are more than a mile away."

"Dad, what's a mile."

"A very old measure of distance."

"Sure, I'll join you," said Rusty. They resumed their journey. "And
you've got me very curious. Where are we? I don't know any place on
earth that is good for growing both apples and oranges."

"Would you believe we're not on Earth?" said Posti.

Rusty turned and stared. "We're not? How do you know?"

"The star patterns are quite different. There's no Big Dipper in the
north. We call the pattern the Northern Necklace."

"So where are we?"

"I don't know in relation to Earth. I just think of this place as
Eden or Paradise. You won't find much of the conflict, the greed and
backstabbing you find on earth." Rusty shivered at the thought of
what he had found during his body-hopping. "This is an idyllic place
to live."

"I could use an idyllic place. And to find such a place while in a
body like this is, as you say, Paradise."

Posti stopped and turned to Rusty with a twinkle in his eye. "Shall
we pry off that horseshoe now or do you first want to walk a mile?"

The answer to Rusty was obvious. He winked at Calla.
[[Category:Story|Just the Right Shoes for This Life]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Just the Right Shoes for This Life}}

User:Erastus/Just the Right Shoes for This Life

2007-07-24T17:44:46Z

Erastus: Added parts to get it under the 32Kb limit for an edit window

This is set in Posti's Walk-A-Mile Universe, with his blessings.

His original story is [http://tsa.transform.to/misc/walkamile.html here.]

-----------

Just the Right Shoes for This Life

by Erastus Centaur

Great! Just Great!

The boss was droning on, but Rusty hardly heard him. Rusty was too
preoccupied with endlessly repeating in his head the last thing he
did hear the boss say.

"Sorry, Rusty, we have to let you go."

How could they? It was the ideal job for me, Rusty thought. I liked
the work. It paid the bills. What's more, it paid the alimony. He
just couldn't be out on the street now!

"... let you go ... let you go ..."

How was he going to pay alimony now? He and Cheryl and come to an
amicable understanding that the marriage was not working. He had
thought that meant they could have an amicable divorce. It had
caught him completely by surprise that Cheryl had turned the divorce
proceedings into an opportunity to fleece him. Her lawyer had even
managed to include the clause that he still had to pay alimony even
if Rusty lost a job, the rotten guy.

"... let you go ... let you go ..."

Cheryl kept the house. Rusty made do with a small apartment. Small
was good. He didn't have much to put in it. Cheryl had kept the
furniture too.

Without a job, how was he going to keep even this little bit of
shelter? One missed rent payment and he would be out on the street.
For that matter, one missed alimony payment and he would likely be
in jail, given Cheryl's current predatory practices. At least in
jail he would have a roof over his head.

"... let you go ... let you go ..."

The company had already downsized so much due to the stock bust and
ongoing recession. If they have to lay me off, Rusty thought, it can
only mean one thing. The company is about to fold. Just great. As
thanks for his loyalty, he loses his job after everyone else so he
has to contend with hordes that are already unemployed and had first
crack at the few jobs still available. Besides, all these newfangled
startups consider anyone over the age of 33 to be ''old'', a has-been,
a fossil, washed up, an old dog that can't be taught new tricks.
Might as well take a shovel and pile on six feet of dirt. And Rusty
was 35.

Rusty realized his boss had stopped talking. He looked up. His boss
had his hand out. As Rusty shook it, the big guy said, "I'm sorry it
had to end this way. Take care of yourself."

''Yeah, right. Take care of yourself, he says'', thought Rusty. There
aren't any jobs out there. My ex had drained my savings and made
sure I won't ever get any savings. And I'm about to be tossed into
the street for missing my rent, if not into jail for missing an
alimony payment.

Rusty gathered up his few personal possessions and left. He drove to
the apartment and parked the car. He didn't bother to take the stuff
inside. He needed to walk. Just walk.

Rusty walked for hours. He didn't bother eating as his gut was too
tangled in knots. He wandered, stopping to look at whatever
penetrated his foggy brain, and very little did. Yeah, there were
the ducks along the pond in the park and a gaudy display at the
clothing store, but that was about it.

It was late afternoon when Rusty realized he had been sitting on a
bench at a bus stop and another bus driver had pulled away after
glaring at him through the open door. He didn't know how many other
buses there had been before this one. He looked around and realized
he didn't know where he was. Not that it mattered.

He got up from the bench and wandered away. Within a block he found
something that caught his attention. Why did a shoe store include
horseshoes in its display?

He looked over the display. It was vast! There didn't be any
unifying theme to the shoes, other than they were all shoes. He had
never seen so many shoes in one place, nor had he seen such a wide
variety. And that was just what he could see through the window. He
couldn't see to the back of the shop through the grime on the
window.

Rusty had never thought of shoes much, but this place almost looked
like a museum for shoes--except it was too disorganized. Rusty--
truly--had no place else to go. Why not spend a little time
browsing?

On his way in the door, Rusty found the name of the place and had to
laugh. "Walk a Mile," it said. What a cute takeoff on that old
proverb!

"Hello dear," said a woman. She was busy at one of the piles of
shoes, though her efforts didn't seem to have any effect on the
chaos there. Amazingly, though the pile was jumbled, pairs managed
to stay together. The woman wore what could have been described as
a housedress, though it wasn't new. Her hair had a hint of gray in
the brown and she looked to be... Well, Rusty realized that she had
a face such that it wasn't possible to tell how old she was. "Feel
free to browse," she said, waving an arm at him. "I'll be glad to
help if you need anything. Go ahead and try on anything you like."

I'm not in the market for shoes, Rusty firmly told himself. I can't
afford it. The phrase, "Let you go" echoed around his brain for a
moment, until he firmly reminded himself, ''that's enough!'' It
won't do to dwell on that anymore.

Now that he was in amongst them, Rusty could see the wide variety of
shoes. There were workboots, dress shoes, sandals, track shoes, golf
shoes, cowboy boots, penny loafers, children's sneakers, high tops,
hiking boots, shoes with ties, shoes with buckles, slip-ons, Earth
shoes, gardening clogs, dancing slippers, Dutch wooden shoes, tap
shoes, moccasins, slippers that covered just the toes, slippers that
looked like rabbit heads, ballet pointe shoes, knee high boots in
a garish red leather, flip-flops, platform shoes, Japanese clogs,
rhinestone studded shoes. He could identify shoes from many eras.
Roman sandals that tied up the leg, shoes a German prince might
wear, boots of a Nazi SS guard, those of a medieval serf, an
American flapper, a Russian peasant, a Canadian Inuit. There were
snow shoes, ice skates, ski boots from a variety of ages, baseball
cleats, fisherman's hip waders. Shoes that were white, black, brown,
red, blue, tan, green, pink, gold, leather, suede, velvet (''velvet?''),
covered in fur, lined with fur, made of rubber, plastic, silk. There
were tiny baby shoes all the way to a pair of army boots that
declared their size to be 22E. There were...

By this time, Rusty's mouth hung open in astonishment. "Excuse me."

"Yes?" said the woman.

"Where... how did you get so many different kinds of shoes?"

"Some I buy from people that don't need them anymore. Some I take
in trade. But most I collect them just because they strike my
fancy."

"Does that explain the horseshoes?"

She had a slight twinkle in her eye. "Yeah. I love ''all'' kinds of
shoes. It's too bad that the only animal that wears shoes is the
horse."

Rusty began think this woman must be--just a little bit--strange.

His mind went through what she had said, "You take shoes in trade?"

"That's what I said."

"What are your terms?"

"You give me a pair of shoes. I give you a pair of shoes."

"What about the discrepancy in price? Some of these shoes have to be
worth lots of money!"

"Doesn't matter."

Rusty looked at her a moment. She seemed absolutely sincere.

Rusty glanced at the shoes on his feet. They were nondescript shoes
for wearing around an office. Rusty'd had them for years and they
looked it. Maybe he was in the market for new shoes after all. If he
could find a pair of shoes that were suitable for a job interview
and not drain the bank account.

"Where I might find some office shoes in size seven-and-a-half,
triple E?" Rusty hated having feet that small and wide. Most stores
carried sized only down to 8D.

"I'm sorry, but you have to pick out the perfect shoes on your own.
And don't worry about size. I'll have it fit you."

Rusty gazed across what seemed like acres of shoes in huge random
piles. "How am I going to find office shoes in all that?" He waved
an arm, taking it all in. "Don't you believe in customer
assistance?"

She turned to face him with a hint of fire behind the eyes. Even so,
when she spoke, it was with unfailing kindness and patience. "I'm
sorry that I can't help you with your search. If I did so, I would
have to charge you for my time. If you need customer assistance, I
can recommend many fine shoe stores nearby."

Rusty realized he could run up quite a bill for even a small hourly
rate. Money he didn't have. Time he had. Lots of it.

Rusty sighed. This could take a while.

He started down between the rows of tables and display racks,
marveling that in the jumble each shoe was next to its mate.

Rusty's eye caught a classic wing-tip. He never considered the style
much before, but maybe he should leave the menial work behind and go
into management? This is the management shoe that was almost a
cliche. He picked it up and looked it over. Rats. It was a 12D, much
too large. He set it down.

"I said I can fit it."

"Huh?" He glanced at the woman. She had her back to him and hadn't
appeared to interrupt whatever she was doing at the table.

"I said I can fit it." She turned around and faced him. "If it is a
shoe you like, try it on. Don't worry about the fit."

"But it will be too big!"

"Some people never listen," she muttered, striding over to him.
"Have a seat." She pointed to a nearby bench. "And take your shoes
off."

Rusty sighed. He pulled his left shoe off. She gently, but firmly,
slipped the wingtip over his foot. It was obvious she had done this
many times before. A few quick flicks of her fingers and the bow was
neatly tied.

"But it doesn't..." was out of his mouth before he considered what
his foot is feeling. "But it does fit!" That's amazing! He looked at
the two feet side by side, each in a different style of shoe. The
left one looked noticeably larger than the right. Yet each foot felt
it was in a shoe of the proper size. How did she do it?

"Let's try the mate, shall we?" Before Rusty had a chance to say
anything, she slipped off his old right shoe and put the wingtip on
his foot, tying the bow as deftly as she had before. "There. How
does that feel?"

"Amazingly, it feels just fine." Rusty said. This was all a bit too
much.

"Well, then, why don't you step outside and walk around a bit. I
have only one rule. If you walk less than a mile by the time you
take them off, you can have your old shoes back. If you walk more
than a mile, they're yours and I keep your old ones in trade."

As he stepped through the door, Rusty felt his head spin for a
moment. He closed his eyes.

As the spinning settled, Rusty heard an unfamiliar man's voice.
"Well, well, well. David has decided to do his duty after all.
You're just in time."

Rusty's eyes snapped open to see a youngish man dressed in a suit
staring at him. Rusty looked around and found he was standing in
an office, not at all like the urban street just outside the shoe
store's door that he expected. How did he get here?

He realized he still had his hand behind his back holding the door
handle. If he stepped through a door and ended up in an office
instead of on the street, shouldn't he be able to step back through
the door and be back in the shop?

He turned around to do just that. The door didn't say, "Walk a
Mile." The letters spelled out, "Henderson and Wylie Financial
Services" across the glass (though backward from his view). He
opened the door and saw a small open area with elevator doors.

"Not so fast," said the voice in his ear as the door was pulled out
of his grasp. "Now that you're here, we are going to go through with
it."

"There must be some mistake. My name isn't David, its Rusty."

"Now don't try to play dumb now," said the stranger. Rusty could
hear an undercurrent of menace in the man's voice. "If you had
legally changed your name, you certainly wouldn't have come back
here." The man pulled on Rusty's arm.

Rusty resisted. "I need to sit for a moment, get some water. I had a
bit of dizziness when I came through the door. My head is still
spinning a bit." While true, that last part was now more figurative
than literal.

"Sure. We've got a bit of time yet." The man guided Rusty to what
was probably the secretary's chair. "Sarah!"

A woman's head appeared from around the corner, "Yeah, Jack?"

"Could you get Dave a glass of water?"

"Sure thing." The head disappeared.

While they waited, Rusty looked around the office. Compared to the
cubicle warren that he had been fired from that morning, this place
looked like it was dripping in money. Instead of posters with
inspirational sayings on them, this place had actual paintings on
the walls. The desk he was sitting at looked to be real wood and
mahogany at that, not the Formica covered surface he had known so
long. Rusty reached his hand out to touch the wood.

It wasn't his hand.

The fingers were much longer. The hair on the back of the hand was
thick and blond, not sparse and brown. The arm was encased in a navy
suit, not in the expected office casual tan long sleeve tee.

Rusty felt a twist in his gut and the color drain from his face.

The secretary returned just then. She stopped short when she saw
Rusty's face. "You don't look so good. You even look a bit green."
She handed him the water. He drank eagerly.

Jack said, "Dave's just fine. Aren't you Dave." Rusty could hear the
forcefulness in that voice. "He's just a little worried about his
presentation to Henderson coming up in ten minutes."

The secretary didn't look convinced, but she disappeared behind the
corner.

Rusty didn't care to get on the wrong side of determination behind
that voice. The way those eyes glinted, Rusty could tell this was
a dude one didn't want to tangle with. He had no idea what was going
on, but it seemed safest to play along.

"Perhaps," said Rusty, "you should remind me what this meeting with
Henderson is all about. Whatever made me dizzy seems to have blanked
my mind."

"Selective memory, huh? Well, I'll be glad to refresh it for you."
The eyes glinted again. "You are going to calmly ask Henderson for
a half million dollars. When he asks why, you will threaten him with
revealing what you know about the Romelly account. If you manage to
get the money, you turn ninety percent over to me."

"And if I don't do all this?"

"I call the police and tell them about your embezzling activities.
I think they would ''fascinated'' with the discrepancies I've found
in over two dozen accounts."

Rusty took a stab at what was really going on, "I did not embezzle,"
he said with as much conviction as possible. "There is no such
evidence in those accounts."

"There is now," said Jack with a grin worthy of a shark.

Rusty sat there for a moment.

"Come on," said Jack. "We had better get into the conference room.
We'll wait for Henderson there."

As they walked, Rusty reviewed what appeared to be happening. It
didn't make a lot of sense, so he tried to stick with the facts.
One: He had been in a shoe store and had admired some wingtips. Two:
Though the shoes were not his size, they fit perfectly once they
were on his feet. Three: The owner had practically shoved him out
the door with those shoes on and once through the door, he had
seemed to jump into in someone else's body at the moment a crime was
about to happen.

Whatever was going on. Rusty didn't like it.

They had taken their seats as Rusty reviewed what the woman had said
once he got the shoes on. Something about walking a mile in the
shoes. Ah yes, if he hadn't walked a mile, he could just take the
shoes off. He certainly hadn't walked a mile in the office. It was
worth a try.

The conference door opened. As Rusty's partner in crime turned to
greet the new guy--must be Henderson himself--Rusty quickly pulled
one foot up, untied the shoe and slipped it off.

He was hit with a moment of dizziness, then found himself sitting
in the shoe shop again. He glanced down to check that he was
wearing his own clothes and that his hands looked like his own
hands.

He turned to the shopkeeper. "What just happened?"

"Ah, you're back," she said. "Those shoes must not be for you."

"I step out your door and right into an embezzlement scheme. What is
going on here?"

She looked directly into Rusty's eyes for a moment. "I think you
figured it out."

"I see. How did you get those shoes."

"I imagine their owner stopped in to swap for a new pair. He got
tired of his life and wanted a new start. If I remember right, he
took a pair of moccasins and didn't come back."

"Can't we stop that embezzlement crime?"

"You could have, but you chose not to. Don't feel bad, the original
owner didn't either."

"Then we'll have to destroy those shoes!"

"Sorry. No. They may be the perfect pair for someone who can stop
the crime or who relishes the intrigue. You, on the other hand, are
now free to select another pair or leave my little shop."

Rusty pondered that for a moment. What he had seen was bad, but his
own life wasn't all that appealing either. He thought back to the
office politics of his former job. While he didn't think the
supervisors and managers engaged in embezzlement, office politics
could get pretty rough. They had no qualms about stabbing each other
in the back, trying to score points in some mysterious game with
those higher up. Rusty was suddenly grateful he hadn't gotten into
management and knew he would never want to wear wingtips again.

But here was a chance at a completely new life. What did he want to
do with it? What did he want to be when he grew up?

He wandered around the displays, thinking about the lives the shoes
represented. Snowshoes and ski boots were out. He didn't like cold
weather, at least not enough to live in it. The Japanese clogs and
the Ukrainian boots were out. The culture would be way too strange.
Firemen boots--too dangerous. Rhinestone shoes--ugh!

His eyes fell on a pair of workboots. A job in construction? If
management didn't suit him and working in an office warren was old
hat, why not go in the other direction? Take a job outside, get some
fresh air, use his body (and he might get a good one), be able to
see what he had accomplished during the day.

He chose a large pair, hoping that implied a large body. His size
was average now. Perhaps it was time to try what it was like being
big and maybe even intimidating.

He slipped the large boots onto his feet and walked confidently
through the door.

Rusty didn't feel dizzy this time. One moment he was striding
forward. The next moment he was waking up from a face plant.

He groaned. He was feeling quite sore. He opened his eyes and lifted
his head to see several pairs of workboots.

"Gus, are you there?" Rusty heard the voice coming from behind his
head. Glancing to the side, he could see a pair of workboots of
someone kneeling beside him.

He groaned again, then decided to roll over so that he could see the
kneeling figure better.

"Oh good," said the figure. "You're still with us." How many fingers
do you see?"

"Two," said Rusty. "What happened?"

"They never remember traumatic events." The figure sighed. "You fell
off that beam." He pointed upward. Rusty rolled to a sitting
position and looked up. The beam seemed to be a long way up. Rusty
felt the color drain from his face again. "The fall could have
killed you."

"All right you lazy bums. Get back to work!"

"Hold on a moment, Jack. Gus fell. He might be injured."

"Jack turned to Rusty. "Can you stand?"

"I think so."

"Then get back to work."

Jack straightened and addressed the whole group. "Did ''all'' of you
fall? No? Get back to work."

The crowd dispersed. The guy that talked back to Jack offered Rusty
a hand to help him up. "Are you really feeling OK?"

Rusty stretched as he stood. "I feel sore and have a headache, but
otherwise I think I'm OK. Your name escapes me just now." He worked
real hard to suppress a grin.

"Gus, this is Tony you're talking to. We've known each other for ten
months now." Tony peered at Rusty. "You can be infuriating
sometimes. I can't always tell when you are serious or teasing.
Better be safe than sorry. You had better stay on the ground for
a while, in spite of what Jack says. I'll run interference if there
is a problem."

"Thanks," said Rusty.

If there were men working "upstairs", finding a place in the shade
under the building wasn't a good idea. Rusty turned to the row of
pickup trucks. And stared. Each one was a vintage truck from the
1930s and '40s. How was it that a bunch of construction workers
each had a vintage truck? Then he noticed something else. These
trucks weren't in the pristine condition of a vintage car buff.
They were beat up and covered in dirt, about the way a construction
worker's truck should look. Why buy a vintage truck and subject it
to such abuse?

Rusty walked over to the line of trucks and gave them a good looking
over. He saw the license plates that didn't look like the ones he
knew for vintage plates, they looked like normal, every day plates--
except the date on them was 1947.

It wasn't until he passed a cab with a newspaper scattered across
the bench seat that reality sunk in. The paper was dated July 29,
1947. Rusty had resumed Gus's life fifty-five years in the past.

Rust felt his knees gave way. He sagged against the truck, then
slowly lowered himself to the ground. Well, Tony had said to take it
easy.

It was interesting to watch the men climb along the girders. They
looked like a well orchestrated team. Rusty noted how each man
quickly reattached his tether as he moved along, doing it in
smooth movements of long practice. Rusty was glad he wasn't up
there. He didn't think he could get that tether attached right
without a lot of practice.

While he sat there watching, Rusty thought over the situation. If
the former occupant of this body had fallen, what had caused it? Had
Gus really died? Did he--Rusty--get the shoes because someone had
given the shoes to the shoe shop after Gus's death? That was a
gruesome thought.

Rusty though that if he was in the body Gus had left behind, he had
better become familiar with it. He found he was dressed in a t-shirt
and jeans, which seemed to be the uniform of the construction crew.
He had a hardhat on his head, but it didn't seem to be as sturdy as
the ones he had seen from his own time.

His arms seemed to be long and muscular, the hands looked to be used
to manual work. The skin was darker than before and a check under
the sleeve confirmed not all of the darkness was due to the sun.
There wasn't much hair on the arm, though what was there was black.

The jeans looked to be much slimmer and longer than before. Pulling
up the cuff showed muscular legs and the same dark skin. Pulling
out the tail of his shirt revealed a slim waist and decently muscled
abs also covered with the same dark skin.

He tried to get a good look at himself in a reflection in the glass
of one of the trucks, but the light was all wrong. He did see he had
straight hair and that it was pulled into a ponytail. The ponytail
reached to the middle of his back. He also noticed a red headband.

He looked around for a sideview mirror, but discovered such things
weren't common in 1947. None of the trucks had one and he didn't
want to climb in one to use the rearview mirror.

Well, if he couldn't get a good look at himself in the windows,
maybe a driver's license would have a decent picture (though he
doubted a license picture from 1947 would have a chance of being
better than the poor photos used in 2002.

He found the wallet in the back left pocket, but there was no
driver's license. Figures. In a city one could use public
transportation. What he did find was a black and white photo. It
showed two Native Americans. The man looked to be tall, slim with
big shoulders, and a ponytail with a headband. He looked to be
barely out of high school. The woman also looked young. She came up
to the man's chin. Her hair was also long and dark. She was full
figured, but also looked very young. He turned it over and read the
inscription, "My dear Gus Nighthawk, Please return to me as soon as
you can. Love always, Lily." The date was September 15, 1946.

So I ended up in the body of an American Indian, thought Rusty. That
thought reminded him of reading about Mohawk Indians that were
highly prized construction workers as they weren't afraid of
heights.

Rusty studied the face of the man in the photo, presumably now his.
It was a strong face and rather pleasant. This may not be so bad.

"I thought I said to get to work, not moon over your girlfriend!"
Jack had a firm grip on Rusty's shoulder, pulling him up. "We have
deadlines to meet. I can't afford to have you lounging around,
even if you bumped your noggin'."

They were interrupted by a couple guys coming from the building. One
of them held up a piece of rope that looked quite worn. They were
shouting, "Hey Jack! Jack! Need a new tether. This one's about to
break." When they were close enough they shoved the worn part in
Jack's face.

"Come on, ya wimps. You should be able to do your job without that
silly tether. You know I don't keep extras around. They're too much
money."

They had attracted some attention and more of the men were walking
across to Jack. Now that he was looking for it, he could see that
two, maybe three, others were Mohawks.

"I'm not working without one," said the one holding the rope.

He and Jack glared at each other for a moment. The other man said,
"I found this where Gus fell." He held up a piece of rope with a
frayed end. "And I found this where Gus had been working." He held
up another piece with a frayed end.

A couple things were suddenly very clear to Rusty.

Gus had died from that fall.

Rusty had been put into his reanimated body.

Jack didn't care about safety.

"I quit," said Rusty.

"If you do, you won't work in this town again. You can be sure I can
make that happen." Rusty had no doubt Jack could. "You'll never earn
enough money to see your squaw again. No, you can't quit." Jack
turned to the assembled crowd. "Now get back to work! All of you!"

A couple more things became clear in Rusty's mind.

As fine as this new body was and though it would be fun to play at
being an Indian, this wasn't going to work.

His knowledge of 21st century America wasn't going to get him a job
in mid-century society. There were computers around--a small number
of primitive machines--but no one was going to allow him near one.
The wonders he knew about wouldn't be accepted coming from an
Indian.

He couldn't get the money for training in any current profession. He
would be stuck in low paying jobs. An alternative would be to go to
an Indian reservation, which in mid-century was not a pleasant place
to be.

His options were to work for a guy who didn't care whether he lived
or join the ranks of the poor.

Rusty lowered himself to the ground and began untying a boot.

"What do you think you are doing?" yelled Jack. "Get back to work.
All of you. There is work to be done. A building to build. We can't
be standing around--"

"Jack!" It was Tony's voice, loud enough to cut through Jack's
tirade. Rusty kept his attention on his boot. "None of us are going
back up until we have proper safety equipment. You may think only of
money, but we want to be able to go home at..."

Tony's voice faded as dizziness overtook Rusty.

{{part}}

Rusty sat for a moment in the shoe shop waiting for the world to
stop spinning. By then the shopkeeper had come over to him.

"The original owner of these boots died, didn't he." Rusty's voice
was full of accusation.

She didn't take the bait. "It is quite possible. I don't know where
most of these shoes have been and what happened to their owner. I
do know and what you apparently figured out that when you put on
their boots you take over as if they hadn't died. Whether that is a
good thing or not, I have no way of knowing."

She paused. Rusty didn't say anything. She said, "So have you
decided your original life isn't so bad after all or do you want to
try another pair of shoes?"

"I've entered into a life with a backstabbing colleague and one with
a greedy boss. But my original life had that as well. It wasn't any
better. I guess I'm still trying to get away from it."

"In what way was this boss greedy?"

"He valued money more than his workers lives."

"Ohhh," she said. "That's bad." She patted his hand. "The store will
be open as long as you need it."

Now what? Rusty wandered between the tables and racks of footwear
for several minutes. The shopkeeper seemed to ignore him.

His eye seemed to linger over the hockey skates. Nah. He found
hockey confusing. Football? Too prone to injuries. Track? Boring.

He paused for a moment. Why sports? Why was that attracting his
attention?

Well...

If he was transferred into someone else's body, he surely would be
able to play the sport. The body would be healthy and strong. Would
he find a segment of humanity he could get along with?

Perhaps yes. Rusty thought back to his high school days and his time
on the baseball team. They weren't a great team, but they did end
the season above .500 and he had enjoyed the camaraderie. Perhaps he
should choose baseball. At least he knew how to play the game.

Rusty continued his walking, looking for baseball shoes. As
expected, he saw many pairs. Which to choose? Was there a way to
find one pair from a life he might enjoy, where the previous owner
had been happy?

Alas, there was no way to know.

By this point, Rusty had passed up a dozen pair. He spotted a pair
a little different from the rest. There was a logo of an Indian on
the side of the shoes. Somebody from the Cleveland Indians had left
a pair of shoes here? Everyone on his high school team had dreamed
--at least for a while--about being in The Show, joining a Major
League team. What an opportunity!

Rusty slipped the shoes on and strode confidently to the door.

When the dizziness faded, Rusty found himself sitting on a bench in
a locker room facing what he assumed was his locker. From the way
one ankle rested on the other knee and from the position of his
hands, it was obvious he had come into this body as it finished
putting on the shoes.

Rusty looked around. The name above the locker he faced said "Darryl
Billingsley" but it was on a piece of cardboard in a bracket. The
locker room looked old and in need of paint, not what he expected of
a Major League team. The uniform he was wearing looked too worn to
be new this season, even if it was now October according to the
calendar on the wall, the kind with one page for each day.

Another player turned a bit so Rusty could see his back. Rusty
gasped. The unifirm had "Spokane Indians" on it! Not Major League
at all! This team was Minor League. The teams were filled with the
eager upstarts wondering why the had to toil in the Minors and with
the dregs of the sport, the older guys who couldn't admit they would
never make it to The Show.

He felt an arm on his shoulder. He looked up into a face that looked
like it hadn't come to terms with a dream that would never happen.
"Hey, Darryl. You Okay? For a moment you looked a little green. And
then you gasped like you were in pain."

Rusty reached up to put his hand over the hand on his shoulder and
smiled a little smile. "Thanks for the concern, buddy, but I'm
fine."

A note of teasing crept into the other man's voice. "You'd better!
I'll need you to close for me today. We wouldn't want our star
reliever to have a bad day this close to the playoffs!" The other
man's face grew serious. "You hadn't answered me yet. Are you in?"

"In what?"

"You don't remember our discussion from yesterday?"

How to cover for this one? "Um... I guess I put it out of my mind.
What was it about?"

The other man looked around and realized the coach was walking in.
"Sorry. Can't talk about it now."

What was that about? wondered Rusty.

Was he about to be caught in another unpleasant situation? The coach
was starting his pre-game motivation speech, but Rusty found he had
another more important issue to think about. How many times from the
dugout to the pitchers mound make a mile? Is there a designated
hitter in this league? How many times around the bases do I have to
allow for? How far is it from here to the dugout and the bullpen?
And the big question--''How long can I stick around before I lose my
chance of escape?''

Rusty tuned into the coach while pondering that last question. "This
is the big one, men. We win this one and we're in the playoffs. Lose
it and you will be left wondering what you could have done
differently, and those thoughts make for a long winter. I'm sure you
know that since this is an important game, there will be a lot of
Major League scouts watching to see how we handle the pressure. For
some of you, a win could mean more than a chance at the Minor League
playoffs."

The coach paused for a moment. "Everyone says a win over our
opponents from Great Falls should be a piece of cake. Don't let that
talk fool you into letting your guard down. Treat it like a walk in
the park and they just might break their losing streak. Now go get
'em!"

The team cheered and surged out to the field. Rusty hung back so
that he wouldn't look too stupid as he paused at the door to get his
bearings.

Rusty watched with interest during warm-ups and preliminaries. It had
been a while since he had attended any game and had never attended
a Minor League game. He was amused at the difference between the
young players trying to impress scouts and older players doing
things with a minimum of fuss. It was nice having such a great seat
for the game.

The game began with Roger McAllister on the mound, the guy that had
been so mysterious. He retired the side quickly. The Spokane hitters
responded with a single, an out, a double, and a sacrifice to bring
a runner home before the end of the inning.

Rusty was both amused and concerned when the Great Falls hitters
managed to get a runner in during the top of the second inning.

Spokane was scoreless in the bottom of the second and McAllister
retired three batters easily.

A run by Spokane in the bottom of the third was answered by a run
by Great Falls in the top of the fourth. The same thing happened
in the bottom of the fourth and top of the fifth. Once Spokane got
a run in the bottom of the fifth to finish the inning, the coach
pulled McAllister and sent Rusty in.

During his warm-up, Rusty noticed that this body seemed to remember
how to pitch. The motions were much more fluid and accurate than he
had ever managed in high school. He hadn't been in this body long
yet he was amazed at how well he could control it.

Though Rusty's body knew how to pitch, Rusty's mind hadn't kept such
things as strategy and hand signals from either the previous mind in
this body or from his youth.

He walked the first batter. The second got a single.

The catcher called time out and he and the coach came out to the
mound.

"Why aren't you following my signals?" said the catcher. "We usually
only yell at umpires for being blind."

Okay, thought Rusty, how do I get out of this mess? His pause made
the coach very interested in the reply. "Sorry," he finally said,
"I had a mental blank about what they mean."

"You've been pitching all summer and forgot what the hand signals
mean?" said the coach, shaking his head. "And you manage to do it
during an important game!" He turned and walked back to the dugout.

"A quick refresher, then," said the catcher. "One finger for fast,
two for slow, three for curve. I move my hand around to indicate
high or low, inside or outside." He put a bit of edge into his
voice. "Do you think that little peanut sized brain can remember all
that for more than ten seconds?"

"Yeah," said Rusty, "I got it."

Rusty struck out the next two batters though getting close to a full
count on both of them. He misread another hand signal and fed the
batter a pitch that was low and fast.

The better connected for a pop-up, which Rusty fumbled. One runner
scored.

The coach pulled him. Rusty sighed with relief.

Once Rusty was in the dugout, The coach barked, "McAllister!
Billingsley! With me." On the way past the batting coach, he brushed
his right eyebrow twice. The batting coach's smile vanished as he
nodded.

The two pitchers followed the coach to his office. He closed the
door, locked it, and turned to study them a moment. "I had to think
for a while to come up with why your performance was so bad today.
Then I noticed Jimmy Ganni sitting behind home plate. Suddenly it
all became clear."

The coach paused and glared at us each in turn. McAllister began
to fidget. He had rested one foot on the other knee and now was
running his fingers across the knot in his shoelace.

"You're throwing the game. Aren't you."

Rusty was pretty sure he saw rage, defiance, and denial flit across
McAllister's face before he brought it under control. McAllister
remained silent.

"That," raged the coach, "is the worst sort of betrayal I can
imagine. You may be making a ton of money from this, but you are
hurting your teammates. They will be denied the playoffs because
of your greed. They will be denied another chance to play in front
of scouts and perhaps a chance at The Show. The police should be
here any minute."

"But throwing a game isn't illegal!" said McAllister. "The only
penalty is expulsion from the league."

Rusty suddenly realized that McAllister was admitting to it. The
other pitcher's intent was to collect the reward and retire.

It seemed the coach did too as his eyes narrowed a bit. "Throwing a
game isn't why the police are coming. You committed fraud. You did
not put out your best effort as your teammates expected. The
victims of your fraud are your teammates."

McAllister began to look a bit panicky when there was a knock on the
door. The coach unlocked it and let in two policemen. The coach
said, "Ah. Come in. Please arrest these two men on the crime of
fraud."

The policemen closed in around Rusty and McAllister. "Can't we at
least take a shower?" said McAllister.

"No," said the coach. I want you seen in that uniform when the press
gets word. It is that uniform you disgraced."

As one of the policemen reached for Rusty's wrist, he said, "Just a
moment, officer, I have something in my shoe."

"Freeze!" shouted one of the policemen. "Hands on head." Rusty
complied. "I'll take the shoe off for you. Which one?"

"Left," said Rusty.

The cop undid the laces and tugged at the heel. Rusty was overcome
with dizziness.

As soon has his head stopped spinning, Rusty opened his eyes--just
in time to see the left shoe drop to the floor. Rusty waited for the
shopkeeper to amble over. "Well?" she said.

"Baseball pitcher. A teammate threw the game. I didn't do well on
the pitcher's mound and was also accused. Before leaving the
stadium, I asked the cop to remove my shoe."

Rusty sat quietly for a moment, then said, "What happens to the
people left behind when I take off a shoe?"

"I really don't know," she said. "It probably depends on how I got
the shoe."

"Well, what happened to the cop that pulled off my shoe and I
vanished?"

"It sounds like you took over for a guy who was disgusted with his
life, so it would be as if you had never been there. If the guy
designated for relief isn't there, someone else has to do it.
Whether that person is arrested would depend on how well he played."

"What about the construction guy who fell to his death? That
happened way back in 1947. What about his sweetheart?"

I'm sure she would have made sure he got the proper funeral."

Rusty pondered that for a few minutes.

"Do you want another pair of shoes?" said the shopkeeper,
interrupting Rusty's reverie.

Conniving and greedy bosses, teammates willing to throw a game.
Humans could get downright nasty to each other. There had to be
some good people out there. Didn't there? There were some people
that knew right from wrong. Weren't there? Out of all these shoes
piled in this room, there had to be a pair that had belonged to
a person whom everyone loved, who had died a sudden death that
would allow him to take over.

It wasn't exactly a cheery thought--wishing some good person had
died suddenly so he could take over.

Rusty wandered through the piles of shoes, touching a pair here and
there. Snowshoes, fur lined shoes, ice skates, and skis were out.
He didn't like the cold. He didn't want to struggle with another
language, so the Russian, Japanese, Greek, Dutch, and German Nazi
footwear could be bypassed. He didn't want the kind of life to which
the rhinestone shoes belonged. His recent experiences had eliminated
sport shoes, workboots, and anything that remotely looked like
office shoes. What kind of shoe hadn't he tried yet?

His eye fell on a pair of what looked like ballet slippers except
they didn't have the rounded toes of pointe shoes. This must be a
man's ballet shoe then, he decided. That brought to mind the few
(very few) times he had seen a ballet. The dancers had been
graceful, even the men. How could there be any ugliness in a life so
caught up in making beauty?

It was worth a try. Wasn't it?

Rusty put on the ballet shoes, guessing how the laces were to go.
This could be interesting. People could find themselves watching a
klutzy dancer. He carefully walked through the doorway.

Hoo Boy! As his vision cleared, Rusty found himself flat on his back
staring up at a circle of faces with one face very close. That face
spoke, "Oh good, Ivan, you're alive."

Wonderful, thought Rusty, I get to inhabit the body of a guy who just
died.

The voice went on. "Are you hurt? Can you get up?"

"I don't know yet," said Rusty. "What happened?"

"It appears you fell into the orchestra pit. You could have done
serious damage to yourself." You ain't kidding, thought Rusty. "It
is good to see you're okay."

Rusty did a mental inventory. He hurt a little bit, but not a lot.
Nothing seemed to be broken. He used his hands to push to a sitting
position. That went well. He slowly stood. The dancers around him
applauded. Well at least most of them.

He looked down. He was wearing a t-shirt and tights along with the
dance shoes. The body underneath the clothing looked to be in
mighty fine shape.

The one who had leaned over him appeared to be the one in charge.
"Okay, show's over. Back to work."

The crowd went back on stage and took up positions as for the start
of a dance. Along the way, he heard a voice from behind say, "Don't
think this is over, Korsakov." The turned to see who said it, but
couldn't tell who spoke.

Rusty wasn't sure what to do, so hung back. After a moment he
realized that the dancers formed a regular pattern and there was
an obvious gap. Rusty stepped into that place. Perhaps he could
blame the coming fiasco on being hurt in the head.

Much to his surprise, it didn't turn out that way. When the music
started, his body seemed to know what to do. It was invigorating to
dance like this. He felt graceful and that he was expressing deep
emotions he had never thought were there. He figured that muscle
memory was at work. He leaped. He spun. He expertly lifted and
supported his partner. He was having a wonderful time! He wished
the moment could go on forever and understood why dancers did what
they did.

Perhaps this is the life for me, thought Rusty, though things may be
a lot different when learning a new dance and someone referred to
the steps by name. He also thought about how many dance steps make a
mile. How soon would he need to decide whether to go or stay? But
the dance went on and Rusty began to put those thoughts out of his
mind.

Rusty felt something slam against his left knee, sending him
sprawling. Whatever had happened, his knee ''hurt''. He didn't dare
put weight on it. It hurt just to move, so he decided to simply
lie there.

He heard a collective gasp when he fell and within seconds, he was
surrounded again with anxious faces.

"That looks bad, Ivan," said a woman. "Don't move. Knees normally
don't bend that way."

The director--the person who had hovered over him before--came into
Rusty's view. She glanced at Rusty and pulled out a cell phone. "Hi.
We need an ambulance at the Regent Theater. It looks like a damaged
knee." She turned off the phone and turned to Rusty. "I'm so sorry,
dear. It really looks like your dancing days are over. This is a bad
one. And you were looking so good in this last dance."

''I was?'' thought Rusty. ''This last dance? That means it was me,
not the previous occupant of this body!''

She straightened up and used her I'm In Charge voice. "Mister
Tanayev! What were you doing out of position!"

"I was out of position?"

"Don't play innocent with me, buster!" She turned to the dark
auditorium, shielded her eyes from the stage lights and said,
"Tyler?"

"Yes, ma'am." The voice appeared to come from the light booth.

"Did you catch all that on video?"

"Sure did."

"Please take that cassette to my office." She turned to Mr. Tanayev.
"Would you like to explain it to me now or wait until the police get
here?"

"The police?"

"Yes. The charge will be assault and battery. I bet if we wound the
tape back far enough, we'll find that Mr. Korsakov didn't fall into
the orchestra pit, he was pushed. This wouldn't be a bit of
professional jealousy, would it?"

That certainly pushed a button. Mr. Tanayev went into a tirade. "I'm
a better dancer and he gets the good roles! I'm stuck in the
ensemble and he gets the solos! You call what he does dancing? He
could phone it in..."

Rusty tuned him out and turned to the ballerina sitting by his head.
"Could you pull my shoes off?" The grimace from pain was not faked.

"I'd hate to disturb your leg."

"Perhaps you could start with the other one. I've got an itch on
that foot and I doubt you could scratch it through the shoe."

Rusty endured a big stab of pain when she pulled the ties out from
under the leg and tried very hard not to show it. He was relieved
when a moment later the dizziness overtook him.

{{part}}

Once his head stopped spinning, Rusty slumped in the chair. He
didn't hurt now, but the pain had been very bad. The memory of it
still lingered.

"It was bad, wasn't it," said the shopkeeper with sympathy in her
voice.

"Yeah," Rusty whispered.

"What happened?"

"Professional jealousy by another dancer. He killed the original
owner of the shoes by pushing him into the orchestra pit. When I
revived the body, he settled for a career ending injury. Oh man,
did that hurt!" Rusty winced in memory.

"You look like you could use a spot of tea. I'll be right back."

Rusty took the time to simply sit.

She returned sooner than Rusty thought possible, carrying a
steaming mug. It smelled wonderful, definitely herbal.

The shopkeeper busied herself while Rusty sipped the tea. When
she heard him set the mug down, she came over to him. "Have you
decided what you want to do now?"

"I've decided I'm tired of humanity. There is so much pain we
inflict on each other. I want to get away from all that pain."

"What about all the love that humans show to each other? What about
the selfless worker in the soup kitchen, the joy of children
playing, the satisfaction of a job well done, the simple helping
hand in a time of need?"

"It may be there, but I haven't found it."

"I'm sure there are those types of people in all the shoes here."

"Maybe so, but I can't bear any more pain in the attempt to look for
such a person."

"So how do you get yourself out of this mess?" She paused to collect
her thoughts. "You can walk out that door in your original shoes.
People have remade their lives before. You can too. You can leave
here determined to be the kind of person you are searching for." She
studied his face for a moment. "Or you can walk out that door wearing
someone else's shoes. I will not allow the third option of committing
suicide in this store." She said that last part in a voice that
allowed no compromise.

"I could be your assistant."

"Sorry, but no. You could not live the way I do."

Rusty sighed, the let his eyes wander around the little shop.
Russian shoes, Japanese shoes, Greek shoes, Roman shoes, sandals,
boots, pink, gold, brown. The mass of shoes dissolved into a blur.
Wingtips, loafers, saddle shoes, hiking boots, horseshoes, tap shoes,
hip waders.

Wait a minute.

Horseshoes?

Rusty stared at the horseshoes for several minutes. He was thinking
can I really do it? Can I give up my humanity? Is my humanity worth
keeping? As those thoughts churned through his brain, he moved
from display to display. He hadn't paid much attention to horses. It
just now struck him that horseshoes came in a variety of sizes.

"Could you tell me how many different size horseshoes you have?"

The shopkeeper rattled them off without taking her eyes from the
shoes she was sorting, "I have those available in pony, mule,
donkey, riding horse, and draft sizes."

"Has anyone ever put on a pair of horseshoes?"

"One. A guy named Bob."

"What happened to him?"

"I don't know. He stepped through the door and never came back.
Once a person steps through the door, I can't find out what happened
to them unless they come back and tell me."

"So you never hear of the happy endings?

"On occasion I do. Some people will verify that the shoes are what
causes the change by taking them off. They pop back in here. If it
has been a good experience, they'll slip the shoe back on quickly. A
few people will tell me a sentence or two before they slip the shoe
back on."

Rusty pondered the nearest horseshoe for a moment. "How did that Bob
guy wear a horseshoe?"

"He slipped nails through the shoes and held the nails between his
toes. He did it right in front of the door so he only needed to take
a couple steps.

By this time Rusty had lined up horseshoes of each size. He pondered
his selection. Racer? Draft?

The shopkeeper interrupted his musings. "I must warn you that you
must consider taking horseshoes as permanent."

"Don't I get to walk a mile in them first."

"That rule still holds. But please think about this. If you actually
become a horse you won't have the ability to take the shoes off. You
won't be able to ask a person to take them off. You may not even
have enough wits to think of doing it."

"Oh!" said Rusty. No, he hadn't thought of that. In his mind, he ran
over what she said. "Back up a bit. Is there a chance I might not
become a horse?"

"As I said, I don't know what happens. Ever since Bob went through
here, I've wondered about it. Mind you, my curiosity isn't great
enough to try it myself. But I've thought Bob could have become
everything from a human who gets off on pony shoes, to some blend of
human and horse, to full horse."

"Pony shoes?"

She tossed him a pair. They were black shoes that had a sole in the
shape of a hoof and also kept the heel high off the ground.

Rusty set them aside. "Way too kinky for me."

"But if you 'wear' the horseshoes, you might end up in a body that
thinks they aren't kinky enough."

Draft, Rusty decided. He wandered through the displays making sure
the pair of horseshoes he had in his hands were the largest
available. After spending time in a few other bodies, he understood
bigger was better.

Now that he had a pair of the largest horseshoes in the store, he
walked over to the door, leaned against the frame, and looked at the
metal in his hands, thinking. This one was for keeps. There would be
no turning back if he ran into a bad situation. If he was a horse,
he might have a cruel master. If he ended up in pony shoes, his
partner might be sadistic. If he was some blend of human and horse
in a human world, he might be a freak.

He glanced at the shopkeeper, who was busy sorting shoes. Rusty
suddenly realized that when she was not helping him, she was sorting
the shoes. It seemed to have absolutely no effect on the chaos on
the display tables.

Rusty walked over to her. "It appears that you collected all these
shoes," he swept a hand around to include the whole room, "from
people who have died or were unhappy and wanted a different life."

"Yes, that's right."

"Is the same true for the horseshoes?"

"No. It's not. I just like horseshoes and consider my collection to
be incomplete without them. The horseshoes around here have never
been used."

Well, that was a relief. There was a lower chance (certainly much
lower than the current 100%) of popping into a bad situation.

Rusty went back to lean against the door frame. Should he do it?
Could he do it? He thought about the lives he had visited and his
original life. Being human, to put it bluntly, sucked. The real
question now before him was actually straightforward. Would life as
a horse or horse hybrid have a better chance of being a good life?

Put that way, the choice seemed pretty easy. Life as a human seemed
to have a close to 100% chance of being miserable. Though the right
value was unknown, Rusty felt sure the percent chance of having a
miserable life as a horse was much less than a sure thing. There was
hope for a good life.

One part of his mind said, This is for keeps. Are you sure?

Another part responded, Ya got any better ideas? And when was life a
sure thing?

Rusty sat down in a chair by the door. He removed shoes and socks.

He walked over to the shopkeeper, hoping he didn't catch a sliver in
his toes. "Um, do you have any horseshoe nails?"

She held out her fist. It looked like there was something in that
fist, so Rusty slid the horseshoes over his forearm, cupped his
hands beneath hers. She dropped four nails into his hands.

He walked back to the chair by the door. He put his left foot on his
right knee, then held a horseshoe against his toes. He adjusted the
shoe a bit until two holes lined up between his toes. He slipped two
nails in and felt them slide between his toes. While keeping the
nails in place, he set the shoe on the floor. He did the same with
the right foot.

Rusty opened the door and used his toes to push the shoes to just
inside. He put his toes around the nails. It was obvious he wouldn't
have a good grip on the shoe or the nails, but that wouldn't matter,
at least not for long.

Very quickly, Rusty picked up his right foot. He closed his eyes.
And stepped.

The dizziness was much stronger and lasted much longer than it had
before. Rusty kept his eyes closed until he was sure the dizziness
was gone.

Even before he opened his eyes, Rusty noticed the aroma. It was
''wonderful!'' It smelled like he was in the middle of a garden on a
beautiful day in mid May in which everything was in bloom at once.
On opening those eyes, he was pleased to see his nose hadn't been
wrong. It was a garden and quite a large one. He couldn't see
anything that marked its end either straight ahead or to the left or
right. Rusty noticed something strange, at least to his limited
knowledge of botany. Many trees appeared to have both blooms and
ripe fruit.

Since he wasn't waking up to a face plant and wasn't surrounded by
others, Rusty had time to look over the body he now wore.

The first thing he noticed was that his mind did not appear to be
diminished. He had thought about "flowers" and "fruit" using words.
A quick mental count to ten settled the matter. Second, he didn't
have a muzzle. He could judge distances as well as before, his
field of vision was the same, and the nose between his eyes looked
to be human normal. He could see one difference without a mirror--the
hair on his upper lip was blond and a lot thicker.

He put a hand to his face to feel for any other changes. As the
fingers came into view, he realized at least I have a hand. These
fingers were longer than before. He ran his fingers through the
thick mustache then over his mouth to his chin. Yep, he had an
equally thick beard. Tugging on a few hairs, he could see it was
blond. The rest of his head felt normal. There was no bald spot.

He glanced downward. He had a very human chest and abdomen with
the human normal amount of blond hair over some impressive muscles.

But what was below that was very much not human. The lower parts
of his abdomen were covered with blond fur and below that were two
solid looking legs, the portion below very knobby knees sported long
pale blond hairs which obscured, he was sure, hooves. Lifting one up
and shaking it did indeed reveal a large hoof.

He had a brief moment of panic when he realized his manhood did not
hang between those legs. A twist of his shoulders and a glance
behind him showed the rest. There were two more legs and a tail.

With a tiny bit of concentration he could make those hind legs move
and swish the tail.

Centaur. The word suddenly came to his mind. He was now a centaur.

The idea both pleased him and annoyed him. This body was built for
strength and the images of centaurs he remembered depicted a
wonderful nobility. As a body it looked to be a fine one. He had
kept what he felt were the necessary human parts--the brain and
hands. And if he was to be blended with an animal, the horse was as
good as any and a lot better than most. It was obvious he had
strength and he probably had a good deal of speed.

But he was now a freak among humans.

A rumble from his horse part reminded him that he hadn't eaten in
several lifetimes. All of the fruit on the surrounding trees looked
delicious, even if he couldn't put a name to many of them. The apple
tree was closest, so he started there.

After working through two apples, he started towards another tree.
It was then he heard noises. It sounded very much like happy humans.
He could hear talking and singing and it sounded like someone had
some type of flute.

Rusty knew that those happy sounds could change in a moment,
especially if the sounds came from humans calculating how to make
money off a centaur, either by making him part of a circus act or
issuing fines for stealing fruit. He glanced around for a hiding
place, but there didn't seem to be one. The trees weren't close
enough together to offer seclusion for this large body. Maybe he
could get a human to pry off a horseshoe before going too far.

Before he could think of alternatives, he could see the group
through the trees in the distance.

They were centaurs! He wasn't a freak. He was just one of many.

A moment later, he heard a shout and the flute player stopped
playing. Evidently he had been spotted as the other centaurs
changed course to meet him. He knew he didn't want to hide from
everyone for the rest of his life (how long did centaurs live?)
so he might as well meet them now.

There were five in the group that approached, two females and three
males. He had plenty of time to study them as they came closer.

One female looked like she had just reached adulthood. She was a
beauty, with curves in all the right places. Her fur was the same
dark red as the hair on her head. She had shaggy white hair on her
lower legs that covered her hooves.

The other female looked like she could have been the young female's
mother, though her fur and hair was a lighter red.

The horse part of the largest of the males looked like a Clydesdale
with chocolate fur and shaggy white stockings. His beard was thick
and brown. Rusty wondered if he was the young female's father.

A second male looked like the young female's little brother, at
about the age when little brothers become pesky. He had a hint of
a mustache.

The last member of the group was the one holding the flute. His fur
was full of white and tan patches that extended down to his knees.
Below that, the fur was white and short. His thick beard was the
same color as his tan patches. Rusty guessed he was a bit too old to
be the oldest male's son.

"Hello," said the young female, holding out her hand. "You must be
new here. I'm sure I know all of the centaurs and yet you don't look
familiar."

Rusty shook her hand and said, "Yes, I just arrived."

"But how did you get here?" she asked.

Before Rusty could reply her father said, "Probably the same way I
did, Calla." He now faced Rusty and held out his hand. "Hi. I'm Bob,
though I'm known around here as Posti." Rusty shook the offered
hand. "Please pardon my daughter's bluntness. Other than births, you
are the first new person she has seen." He put his arm around his
daughter's shoulders. "My guess is that you were in a strange shoe
store just before you came here."

"How did you ... Ah yes, the shopkeeper did mention a guy named Bob
that had tried on the horseshoes."

"Yep, that's me. Though when I did it I wanted to be a complete
horse. Mind you, I'm not complaining about the results."

"Dad," the young male patted his father's flank. "You just used a
buncha words I don't know yet."

"And those words are?"

"Shopkeeper and horseshoe."

"I'll make it easy for you," said Posti. "There aren't any shops or
shopkeepers around here, so it might take a while to explain that
one. As for horseshoe ..." He turned to Rusty. "Could you raise a hind
leg?"

"Sure," said Rusty, though he was a bit mystified.

Posti and the two youth circled around behind Rusty. Rusty raised
a leg and felt Post grab it and tilt it so they could see the bottom
side. "That is a horseshoe," said Posti.

"Doesn't it hurt?" said the boy. "Why is it there?" said Calla.

"No it doesn't hurt," said Posti. "And it is part of the magic that
brought him here. After we've traveled a while, we'll help him take
it off. He won't need it here." Rusty felt the hand let go of his
leg and he set it down.

Posti said, "Would you like to join us? Since you are new here, I'm
sure you don't have family. I could tell you about this place along
the way"

"Where are you going?" asked Rusty.

"Off to visit friends. I'm sure they'd love to meet you. The
important thing for you is they are more than a mile away."

"Dad, what's a mile."

"A very old measure of distance."

"Sure, I'll join you," said Rusty. They resumed their journey. "And
you've got me very curious. Where are we? I don't know any place on
earth that is good for growing both apples and oranges."

"Would you believe we're not on Earth?" said Posti.

Rusty turned and stared. "We're not? How do you know?"

"The star patterns are quite different. There's no Big Dipper in the
north. We call the pattern the Northern Necklace."

"So where are we?"

"I don't know in relation to Earth. I just think of this place as
Eden or Paradise. You won't find much of the conflict, the greed and
backstabbing you find on earth." Rusty shivered at the thought of
what he had found during his body-hopping. "This is an idyllic place
to live."

"I could use an idyllic place. And to find such a place while in a
body like this is, as you say, Paradise."

Posti stopped and turned to Rusty with a twinkle in his eye. "Shall
we pry off that horseshoe now or do you first want to walk a mile?"

The answer to Rusty was obvious. He winked at Calla.
[[Category:Story|Just the Right Shoes for This Life]]
[[Category:Erastus Centaur]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Just the Right Shoes for This Life}}