Part I

My eyes closed as his hands slid over what was left of my face, and I knew that they would never open again. It's funny, I still think of him as a man, even though in the last week or so, he's begun to look quite feminine, and even though he's surely not a human.

I was beyond panic as his hands slid over my lips and cheeks to my chin, then up over my breasts, gently massaging me, giving me intense pleasure by merely touching what little flesh I could still call my own, and then stopping, leaving me alone with no sensation. I was separated from the world, alone with my thoughts and memories.

My memories? At least I still had my own memory to draw on. I was Cheryl Anne Smith, I knew that, and I held onto it as the one personal posession I still owned. As long as I had my own name, my own identity, I was still there, no matter how little of the rest of me remained.

How long had it been since I had a proper body? It seemed like only yesterday that I'd gone out dancing, dressed to kill, and yet it must have been much longer. I remembered too many sunsets, too many long talks with Ron. How long had it been? What had happened to my sense of time?

How long had it been since I'd first set eyes on Ron as he stood by the edge of the dance floor? He'd been wonderfully handsome, attracting me from the moment I saw him. Had I really walked up to him and asked him to dance? He was a perfect handsome stranger, and when he spoke he was hypnotically romantic. I'd been so taken by him that I hadn't even asked his name until after I'd made up my mind to try to get him into my bed.

Thinking about our meeting made me want to scream, or at least it made me wish I could want to scream. There's too little of me left to actually scream, and worse yet, there's not enough of me left to even want to scream. It had all started so well. Perhaps I was foolish to bring him home with me when I left the bar, but it felt so good at the time, and who'd have imagined what he really was.

I'd gone out to pick up a guy and have a fun evening and some sex, and I remember thinking as I let Ron into my apartment that I'd done very well. Ron and I had sat down on my couch to talk, but we didn't talk for long. A comfortable romantic silence had fallen over us as we looked into each others' eyes. There's a turn of phrase that fits what we'd done, we'd undressed each other with our eyes. We'd done it silently, and then we'd gone on to undress each other with our hands.

Everything had seemed not merely normal but better than normal as he'd undressed me, gently unbuttoning my sheer blouse and peeling off the tight little miniskirt I'd worn. He'd carressed my body with such love, or at least, that's how it had seemed. He'd gently touched every part of me from fingers to toes as we'd played on my bed.

He'd said that he hungered for me, and I'd responded with such lust, pulling him to me after I stripped off the last of his clothing. Would something as simple as a condom have saved me? I'd cooperated with him; there was no doubt about that. Worse than that, I'd enjoyed it even after I discovered that things had gone awry.

That was the aweful thing. Even now, the memory is pleasant, now that I know exactly what he wanted from me. I can't help but enjoy it. After I'd undressed him, I'd pulled him to me on the bed, thrusting my hips at him, lusting for his penis within me. He'd entered me swiftly, and it had been wonderful. I'd never had multiple orgasms before, but that night I came as he entered me, and then I remember coming again and again, long into the night.

I must have blacked out with the pleasure, because the next thing I remember is the morning sun streaming in through my bedroom window. His penis was still deep inside me, and I was in mid climax. I remember his smile after he climaxed, and I remember eagerly clenching him to me with my legs, happy to keep him in me as we relaxed.

He rolled off me without pulling free, then helped me up into a sitting position on his hips. "Good morning," I remember saying. He smiled up at me as I enjoyed the sensation of his penis within me.

"Want to call in sick?" he'd asked, gently carressing my breasts with his fingertips.

I remember giggling as I sat on him, then calling the office from my bedside phone. I didn't want to let him out of me, and as I talked to Jeanne at the office, I remember idly rocking my hips on him, starting the two of us along the road to another orgasm.

I was startled back from my memories by the feel of his thighs against my cheeks. Was he walking? The rhythm was right, and then there was a pause and I felt myself start to gag. I felt the familiar pressure in my throat and moments later, I vomited. I was used to it, but it was horrible nonetheless. It wasn't so much the taste of it as it was the thought. What was I throwing up, how was I reduced? What could there possibly be left for me to throw up? He wiped my mouth, and then I felt the pace of his walk again.

I returned to my dreams, remembering the moment I'd discovered that Ron had trapped me. It had been shortly after I'd called the office, and we were talking quietly on the bed, still locked together as we worked our way towards another orgasm. I'd been on the bottom at the time, and I laughed as I pushed him up and rolled us over so I was sitting on his hips.

"I've never met anyone who was so good at staying in a girl before," I'd said, smiling down at him.

"It comes naturally with me," he'd said, returning my smile.

"Want breakfast?" I'd asked, pulling away from him. I'd asked it more from habit than from hunger, but as I pulled, I discovered that I couldn't pull free of his penis.

"Hey! I'm stuck!" I remember saying.

"Yup," he'd said, still smiling, and then driving me to another orgasm. The orgasm hadn't peaked like a normal one; instead, I remember it continuing to rise in intensity forever, driving through my body with ever increasing waves of pleasure, making any questions I might have seem completely irrelevant in the face of such a total and immediate experience.

How long did he keep me under? I can't say, but the next thing I remember, it was dark outside as he held me in his arms. "You're still in me?" I remember asking.

"We're joined forever," he'd said.

I remember laughing. "Don't joke," I'd said, "we've made love all day. Let's take a break, wash up, go out for dinner."

"We can't," he'd said, and I lost track of time again as a wave of intense pleasure swept from between my legs and crashed through me.

He touched me, startling me back to the present as I felt his fingers on my breasts. I felt myself ache with anticipation as he gently touched my sensitive areolas. There was so little of me left that any touch, any sensory stimulus was heavenly, and as his hands left my breasts and slid down what was left of my chest to my clitoris, I lost all interest in what I was and how I'd gotten there.

It was over too soon, though, and I thirsted for more. I was hungry for orgasm, and it wasn't the same anymore. Why? Was there too little of me left? I wanted the intense love Ron had given me in our first days together, and he wouldn't or couldn't give it to me anymore.

It took me a while to get over my disappointment, and then I drifted back to dreaming. When had I first understood what Ron was doing to me? I remember drifting back from an orgasm, lying face to face with him as I slid my hand down his body to where our hips were joined.

I'd thought he was asleep at the time, so I slid my finger down between our bodies to see if I could dislodge his penis. I remember being confused for a moment about what I found. I couldn't find my vagina! Where his penis entered my body, it had felt like his skin simply blended into mine. I remember finding my clitoris, and below it, the skin had simply folded back to became the skin of his belly.

I don't think I screamed, but I remember gasping, startled, and then he'd touched my arm and slid his hand down to join mine, feeling what I was feeling.

"It's fun, isn't it?" he'd asked, grinning.

"But how do we ..." I'd begun to ask.

"We don't," he'd answered, pulling me to him and silencing me with a kiss as he gave me yet another overwhelming orgasm.

"It is fun, isn't it?" he'd asked, when the orgasm ended.

"Yes," I'd said, terrified but speaking honestly.

"Good. It always is, you know."

"What's happening to me?" I asked.

"We're one, joined in body and soon in soul," he'd said, sliding his hand down my side to my hip and then off.

I remember looking down at our hips some time later. I'd rolled myself, onto him, it was daylight again, and I'd just called the office to say that I was still very sick. That was the first time that I could really see that our bodies were merging. The area of attachment between us had grown much larger than the size of his penis, and as I looked down, I remember being startled to see the smooth blending of our bodies.

Why didn't I object? Why did I call my office regularly, why didn't I struggle? Looking back on it, there are so many things I could have done that might have changed the outcome, but I'd done nothing.

Looking back on it, it's easier to measure time by how we were attached to each other than by what day it was. For example, it wasn't until my thighs were joined to him all the way to the knees that I asked why I wasn't hungry. It was a question I should have asked far sooner, but it was hard to think coherently when I was constantly interrupted by such glorious orgasms.

I was sitting on Ron when I asked the question. We were in what had come to be our usual daytime resting position; he was on his back with me squatting over him, my ankles by his hips and my knees beside his ribs. At first, there'd been other possible positions, but once my thighs had begun to bond to him, it was the only position.

"Why don't we eat?" I'd asked I idly traced a finger along the joint between our bodies. "Shouldn't I be hungry? For that matter, why don't I need to go to the bathroom?"

He'd smiled and pulled me to him to kiss me, then let his hands slide down my chest to finger my breasts.

"I never eat," he'd answered. "Right now, I'm adsorbing you."

I remember wanting to scream as his answer hit home, but I knew that there was no point to it, and he rewareded my patience by pulling me to him and gently kissing me before bringing me to another orgasm.

He'd kept me up, cresting from one orgasm to another for what must have been at least a full day after that, preventing me from asking questions or learning more about my fate. At that point, I can't imagine that either of us had much left in the way of genitals, other than my clitoris which was still exposed at the point where our bodies joined, but it didn't seem to have any effect on my ability to experience wonderfully intense orgasms.

My attention was wrenched back to the present by a growing pressure in my throat. I had to vomit again. Judging by the feel of his thighs on my cheeks, he was just sitting down, probably on the toilet. Why hadn't I noticed him walking to the bathroom, had I slept? Had I been so intent on my memories? Quite some time must have passed.

I vomited, and then, as he gently wiped my lips, I remembered the first time it had happened. "You've got to go to the bathroom," he'd said, pulling me up into a sitting position on him, then shifting his legs over the edge of the bed. "It's OK, I know how to do this," he'd said, and then he'd stood up, holding his hands under my armpits to support me as he carried me to the toilet.

His comment about my needing to go to the bathroom hadn't mad sense to me at first. As far as I knew, I was incapable of it because he'd adsorbed that part of me. I'd reached the point where my legs were almost gone. My hips emerged from the front of his, and somehow, it had begun to look almost natural, as if we were supposed to be joined that way.

With the bulk of my legs gone, I guess I was easy to carry, and the way he held me was even comfortable, but as he knelt by the toilet, I was overcome with the need to vomit. It had started as a barely noticable pressure in my gut, but it expanded almost instantly into severe nausea. I remember him helping to turn my head moments before I vomited, and then my memory fades. I have only dim memories of the next few minutes, but it seemed that I emptied myself of gallons of creamy yellow liquid before he helped me rinse my mouth and drink glass after glass of water.

"Better?" I remember him asking as I recovered.

"Yes," I'd said, "but I feel dirty."

He'd smiled at me, then sat on the edge of the tub and began filling it. For the next hour, I remember having a very enjoyable bath. I washed him, he washed me, we combed each others' hair, and generally behaved like childish young lovers, alternating useful cleaning with sex games.

It was like that for what could have been another week. I suspect that I was physically addicted to the wonderful orgasms he could give me, and I suspect that his body was taking control of my hormones, preventing me from feeling any sense of panic, terror, or anger. Intellectually, by then, I'd gotten used to being bound to him. I can't say that I accepted my fate, but I could face it calmly. I remember feeling twinges of regret about projects I knew I'd never be able to finish, but they were only twinges.

At night, we slept and made love, and during the daytime, we talked, danced, made love, and kept the apartment in shape. A few times, very early in the morning, we'd even gone down to the apartment mailbox and collected my mail, and then I remember spending enjoyable days looking things over, paying bills, reading magazines, and generally, keeping up the pretense that I was still a person.

I genuinely enjoyed that week, even as I noticed the changes in what was left of my body. My waist grew slim, until it was no thicker than my neck, rising from between his thighs almost like a huge penis. Ron never hesitated to let me see what was happening to myself, but whenever I questioned it, whenever I objected, he silenced me with his universal answer, another orgasm.

I was pulled back to reality by a splash of water on my mouth, and then the water entered me briefly. What was it? I tried to guess what was going on, and then it was obvious. Ron was taking a bath. I felt the water lap up over my nipples, and then I felt his soapy hands slide over them as he relaxed in the tub.

Another bath? How much time had passed? Why was he keeping my breasts? Why wasn't he adsorbing my mouth and cheeks? For that matter, why was I still alive at all? What perverse purpose was served by what was left of my body?

And then it dawned on me as his fingers slid down to my clitoris and touched my lips. He was using me to become a female! The way he'd adsorbed my body had let my chest fold back against his abdomen, with my head sinking slowly, over the days, into his crotch. Now, my mouth was where a vagina belongs, my chin was becoming his pubic bone, my clitoris was almost in place, slipping slowly towards my lips, and I suddenly knew that my breasts were sliding slowly up his body to grace his chest.

I felt a wave of anger, but I was horny; it had been a long time since I'd had an orgasm, and he gave me one, sliding his hand to what had been my chin, pressing on my clitoris, then sliding a finger to my mouth where I kissed it. He drove me to an orgasm, but it seemed like a hollow ring of what I wanted. Deep in what was left of me, I felt a growing hunger for something more.

I felt his touch again as he toweled himself dry, and then I felt his thighs move against me as he walked to bed. What would Ron call himself as a woman, I wondered. He'd never told me more than Ron, and that could as easily be Ronda as Ronald. What would Ron do as a woman?

The answer to the last question swept over me without warning. Ron was hungry, it was time to find a new person to consume. That explained my own deep hunger, and for a moment, the thought froze in my mind. Part of me wanted to die before participating in such an awful act. I wanted no part in consuming Ron's next victim. Or did I? Ron didn't victimize people, when Ron consumed someone, it was a wonderful experience, and I suddenly felt certain that part of every person Ron had ever consumed was still there, somehow, inside him the way I was inside him.

I drifted off to a dreamless sleep, and then it was morning. I knew it was morning even before I felt anything, and then I felt motion against my cheeks, and I knew it was time go get out of bed. What had changed? The answer came to me not as words, but as certain knowledge. My brain was being consumed. It was now attached to his nervous system, being blended into him as thoroughly as my body had been blended with his body, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I still had no sensation other than on my breasts, clitoris, lips and cheeks, but I knew. It was morning, Ron walked over to my bedroom mirror and looked at the reflection there. I knew that Ron was a beautiful woman, slim, intensely desirable, and hungry for a man. I knew that Ron stood in front of the mirror approving her looks as she combed her hair. I suddenly knew that it had been a full month since Ron had started consuming me! It had been August when we'd met, now it was September.

Ron walked to my closet and began to consider my clothing, pulling out dresses and looking at them. I felt it as she pulled on a skirt, and suddenly, it came over me that she was pulling on the very skirt I'd worn on that fateful evening when we'd met.

I felt the skirt slide tightly over what had been the skin of my neck and cheeks, but now that skin was on her belly and fanny, and then I felt the light touch of a blouse against my breasts. Was it the same sheer blouse I'd worn that night a month ago?

It was, I knew it, and I was powerless to do anything about it. I knew that Ron was stepping into my shoes, and then she stood at the mirror, admiring herself as she buttoned my blouse and tucked it into the elastic waistband of my skirt. She turned, smiled at her profile, then decided to shorten the skirt, pulling the elastic fabric up a few inches and turning the excess under at the waist.

Suddenly, I understood that the woman Ron had become looked like me. Ron had lost weight, moulding her body until it had my proportions, sculpting her face to have my looks, and even changing her voice to be my voice. Had she done it deliberately or was it a natural consequence of consuming me?

I could feel her hunger for a man, and I knew that hunger. I was desparate for the orgasms I knew she could give, I was desparate to feel a man's penis within my mouth, and I felt no remorse. Part of me wanted me to feel remorse, part of me wanted me to feel angry, but I couldn't.

She took a last look in the mirror, admiring the way my blouse almost hid my breasts, yet drew attention to them by the very fact that they weren't entirely hidden. She checked the hemline of my skirt, noting that it was almost indecently short, then she reached down and gently patted what had been my chin.

"Cheryl Anne Smith, let's go get us a man," she said. I didn't hear the words, but I knew what she was saying.

We walked out of my apartment, and I knew that we'd never return. I wondered how she'd go about adsorbing a man, and she answered my question, letting the knowledge flood into my mind. She'd adsorbed countless men in her long life. If a man chose to have sex with her orally, she could adsorb him head first, allowing her to keep his legs and genitals and adsorb her own if she wanted.

If she had conventional intercourse with a man, she could adsorb him the way she'd adsorbed me. She preferred to do it that way because it was more fun, allowing for weeks of pleasant conversation and play. The knowledge washed over me. I knew that the middle weeks were best. The first week with a new partner was solid orgasm, a necessary part of taming her victim. Then there were two weeks of fun, and finally, a week of adsorbing the last of her partner and preparing for the next.

While I grappled with this flood of knowledge, I knew that she was walking down the street, enjoying the approving glances of the men she passed on the sidewalk, drawing on centuries of experience in the art of attracting a new partner.

It was important to find the right man, someone who could provide a secure house for a month, someplace where there wouldn't be any interruptions. I knew that physical security wasn't enough, though. She wanted company while she adsorbed her next partner, so she needed a man she could like, someone fun to talk to. If she liked her partner enough, I knew that she'd keep part of him and integrate it into her own personality.

Was that what she was doing with me? The answer was obvious even before the question came to mind. Yes. Part of me wanted to back out, to die, to accept any end other than merger with this monster that consumed people. I knew what she was doing, though, I knew that she was slowly digesting that part of me, burning my flesh for energy until all that remained offered no resistance to a complete merger.

It was still before noon, and I felt her decide to visit the university. She walked there, arriving around lunchtime, and then she took a seat on a bench in the shade of an old oak tree. I knew this without seeing. I could feel the bench pressing comfortably against what had been my cheeks as she relaxed and watched the early fall crowds on the campus sidewalks, but it seemed like I could feel more, my sensation wasn't confined to what had been my own skin.

I knew that she didn't want a student, students couldn't meet her need for privacy and security during the time it took to adsorb them. She wanted a single faculty member, or even better, someone from the research staff, someone who lived alone but was old enough to own a small house.

Her glance fell on a good prospect, and she smiled politely as her eyes met his. I could feel the anticipation as he walked over to talk, and even though I couldn't see him, I knew that he was wonderful looking, a man to lust after.

As they talked, he mentioned his roommate, and that made him a poor prospect. Part of me cheered as a victim escaped, but that part felt smaller every time I noticed it. The larger part of me shared her disappointment as the man got up to leave. More and more, it was our shared hunger that I felt, not her hunger but ours.

As afternoon came, we met others, and our feeling of need heightened. I knew that Ron could adsorb any mammal, in desparation, but she preferred to hunt by stealth, finding partners she could enjoy instead of merely flesh to consume. How had she begun? There was no answer. Her oldest memories were only a few centuries old, and there were few from before my lifetime. She was a composite of her partners, yet there must have been something from before. I slowly became conscious of the fact that others among her many partners had speculated about what she was, and none of them had ever found a good answer.

My attention was pulled back to the present. She'd caught sight of a man I recognized, Roger Stearns. I'd dated him a few times and gone to bed with him once. A tiny part of me wanted to yell at him to turn away, but he was such a nice guy, such a good lover, and there was nothing I could do.

"Roger?" I called, as the last shred of resistance fell away from me.

He turned my way and then looked surprised. "Cheryl?"

"That's me!" I said, getting up from the bench and walking up to him.

"I heard you were sick," he said, looking concerned.

"I was," I said, smiling, rewarding him for his concern. "I was out of work for a month, but I'm OK now."

I knew what Roger liked. I knew him, and I'd had years, lifetimes of experience with other men like him. In no time, he offered to drive me to his place for dinner. All the while, his eyes were on me, entranced by my face, by my short skirt, and by my breasts. In the car on the way to his house, I set my hand on his thigh, and by the time we reached his house, he'd already found out that I didn't have on any underwear.

"Want to make love before we eat?" I suggested as he held open the door for me.

He said nothing, but led me into his loft bedroom and pulled back the bedspread from the satin sheets covering his waterbed. The feeling of anticipation sweeping through me was intense as I helped him undress, and as I freed his penis, I kissed it, full in the knowledge that if I wanted to, I could join with him right then and adsorb him through my mouth.

That wouldn't be fun, though, so even as the animal deep within me called on me to bond with him on the spot, I pulled back and finished undressing him, then let the desire build to almost orgasmic intensity as he undressed me. We laughed as he sat in the center of his waterbed and invited me into his lap, and then I came to him, squatting over him and taking his penis into me.

We bonded as he entered, and then I sat in his lap, gently stroking his wonderful body, content in the knowledge that it was now mine. My clitoris pressed firmly against his pubic bone, sending a thrill through my body, and then I pulled him to me and kissed him as we shared what I knew was only the first of many wonderful orgasms.