Date: 5-7-97

Author: Annie Warren



Spells R Us: 2nd Greatest Wish



     Jake had looked for what must have been an hour and a half and was on

the edge of giving up and going home when he finally found the small shop in an

out of the way corner of the mall.   The sign and the door were all too easy to

miss, but, having found it, he approached the door, opened it and entered the

darkened room behind it.  



There were no bright lights, gleaming chrome, or pushy salesmen inside.  In fact

there seemed to be no one inside, so he began to scan the shelves noting how few

items were out.  There were some racks of costumes of various sorts and some

cabinets, but he looked first at the items on the open shelves.  There was nothing

spectacular or even all that interesting, but it was not a knick-knack that he was

after.  He began to ruffle through the dresses on the rack since no one was around.

Suddenly, he became aware of a presence and dropped the dress he was almost

caressing and turned to see a smallish man with a white beard and a mirthful grin.



"May I help you, Jake Williams?"



Jake did a double take.  "How did you know my name?"



"I know many things, Jake.  Aren't those nice costumes?  The dresses in particular;

don't you find them lovely to touch and admire?"



Jake was getting nervous.  This old man knew way to much about him.  It was

perhaps time to flee and not make any requests.  He turned towards the door.



"Didn't you have a request, a wish or something?  That is why you came here, is it

not?"



He turned back.  "I..  I..  I was told that you could grant certain wishes, had

special gifts and such..."  His voice sort of trailed off.  Then, as if to make

conversation he added hastily, "Your place here sure is hard to find."



The old man smiled again.  "Only those who have reason to find me will be able to. 

Now, the things and gifts we have here are only for the purchaser.  We cannot

alter other persons, although to various degrees we have been able to change their,

perception.  I cannot grant you your most desired wish but I can perhaps help you

with your second most desired wish." Then he more or less repeated himself as if

pointing out something of the wish, "Don't you think those dresses are beautiful?"



Jake couldn't help noticing how the old man had come back to the dresses.  Again

Jake was worried that this stranger knew of his desires to dress in women's

clothes.  He had done it in secret and now had come here to see if he could

somehow do it for a longer, more protracted time, perhaps even to pass in public

as a woman?  This was a wish of his that worried that this old man had hinted at in

his innuendos regarding the dresses on the costume rack.  How could he know?



"Yes, they are beautiful, but they are way out of my league."  He again fingered

the soft satin of a snow white princess dress with voluminous petticoats under the

long equally full skirt.



"Indeed, but for a small fee, you could be more convincing and have your wish

fulfilled in the bargain."  When Jake looked him in the eye, he could see that there

was a twinkle and just the hint of a smile on his narrow lips just visible in his white

beard. 



At this point Jake began negotiations and found that the old man was true to his

word, it was a modest fee, well within what he had brought with him in his pocket. 

Finally the bargain was struck and the old man went into the back room while Jake

went back to examining and fondling the soft cloths in the women's dress

costumes on the rack.  He heard some clinking and clanking and the old man

mumbling to himself as he did whatever he did.  He had almost finished his close

examination of all of the women's dresses when the curtain parted and the old man

came out carrying a small bottle that looked like a simple test tube with a screw on

cap.



If this was supposed to be a magic potion, then Jake was definitely disappointed. 

He had expected some sort of a fancy bottle for a fancy action.  "That is it?"



"Yes, my boy, this is it.  Not much to look at but I will guarantee that it will do

what I said.  It will grant you your second most desired wish and you'll know a lot

more about dresses and such.  That is what you want."



Jake was now somehow too embarrassed to really carry on with  that line of

thought.  He pulled out his money and gave it the old man who then gave him the

small container.  It felt warm and almost alive as Jake put it in his pocket.



"You said guaranteed?"



"Yes, my boy, guaranteed.  If it does not fulfill your wish, you can return and get

your money back."



With a glance at the old man, Jake had to put his hand into his pocket and feel the

warmth of the small bottle that hardly filled his palm.



"Any instructions?"



"Ah yes, it must be taken under the light of the moon  before the next full moon in

three days hence, giving you three evenings, counting today's.  If it is taken after

or during full moon, it will have no effect and the guarantee will be voided." He

had paused a bit and looked hi up and down and only then became a bit tongue

tied, ok, hesitant.  "Be sure you are dressed, uh, comfortably, uh like what you're

wearing now, if it is comfortable." 



"And, yes, it will have an odd flavor, so I suggest you take it with coffee, tea or

hot chocolate.  Heating it reasonably will have no effect on it, but you should take

it and then drink a hot drink.."  He looked piercingly into Jake's eyes as if looking

for something.  "Your apartment is small enough that it should take full effect

when done."  



When he was done speaking he turned his back, and Jake turned and left, his hand

still on the warm little bottle.



                       . . . . .



Jake could not take it that night nor the next.  On the third and last night, he finally

screwed up his courage.  Besides, he thought, it probably wouldn't work anyway. 

He'd be out a bit of money and back where he'd started.  He doubted, from what

had been said, that he'd find that place again.



As had been recommended, he was comfortably dressed in cutoffs, loafers, and a

short sleeved shirt over a t-shirt.  It was his "casual" outfit.  He thought of putting

on a bra or even dressing the whole way but ruled it out.  Anyway, from the old

man's actually unspoken promise, he'd be able to do that after anyway.  



He put a cup of water in the microwave and nuked it to hot.  Then he put some

instant coffee into it and a bit of sugar and a flavored cream to make it palatable. 

He had never gotten to like coffee all that much but could drink it when

"flavored".  As he stirred it, he went out into the living room where he had placed

the vial on his book shelf.  When he put the coffee down and reached for the vial,

he almost dropped it; incredibly the vial seemed to still be warm.  Maybe there was

more to this than he had given credit for.



He looked out the window at the moon.   It was up and shining in a cloudless sky. 

He could see the soft darkening of the edge that showed it was not really full.  He

looked at it for several minutes, the warm vial held firmly in his hand.  It was to be

done now or probably never.  He'd probably never get up enough nerve to go back

to that shop a second time, even if he could find it.  He walked over to his favorite

chair and sat down.  He unscrewed the cap off of the vial,  put the cap on the table,

and then picked up his coffee.  He sat there for what seemed the longest time, cup

in one hand vial in the other, pondering if he should even think of doing this thing,

much less actually do it, until resolve, floating about in his hand and mind, finally

came clear, and he emptied the vial into his mouth and, just as quickly, sloshed it

down with his coffee.



There was no lightning, no sudden rush.  In fact, he sipped his coffee a bit more,

feeling the warmth of it warming his stomach.  He was at the point of thinking that

he had made a fool of himself and had reached down and put his coffee on the

table, planning to go and get some of his "special" clothing to do a bit of dress up. 

Suddenly he discovered that he could neither stand nor even get out of his chair. 

He did try but his strength sort of abetted by a sudden lack of motivation seemed

to descend on him and he plunked back into the chair with his arms now firmly on

the soft, stuffed arms of his chair.  Then things began to happen.



There is no way that he could describe his internal fluctuations, but he noted easily

the changes he saw.  First he became aware of his cutoffs somehow drawing

together to form a single tube.  Then, even as he watched, unable to move, the

cloth changed color and texture to become a rather fashionable, sort of tomato

soup red, gabardine skirt that had nothing in common with his original cutoffs. 

The stuff in his pockets fell out into the chair as the pockets disappeared.



As he watched, he saw what must have been his metamorphosed socks creep up

his legs and under his skirt to form a wispy, glistening  "coating" of nylon hose. 

He also felt his feet take on a different angle, knowing, in the process, that his

shoes were no longer penny loafers.



He was then distracted as his hands and arms seemed to shrink slightly while his

fingernails grew longer and suddenly took on the bright gloss of a deep red nail

polish.  His new nails extended over  half an inch beyond his finger tips.  The hair

on his arms became thin, then sparse and then seemed to all but disappear.  He'd

find in due time that it was there, only greatly suppressed to a mere fuzz.  His

watch, a graduation present from his parents, now seemed to dwindle in size from

a massive chronograph to a dainty woman's watch with a slender strap.  During

these things his arms and legs felt odd, to say the least.  He could not exert any

force on arms nor legs.  He could move his head only enough to see the changes.



As the watch was changing, he felt a tingling in his scalp, and, moving his head

slightly, he felt the hair that had been on his shoulders seemed to no longer touch

them.  Was he going bald?  He hardly thought so, based on what else was

happening, but he could not see.  Then it seemed to be back as the tingling

continued. But now the tingling was augmented by weird sensations in his face

ears and neck.  But they were short lived as the focus shifted to his body as his

shirt became a soft, semitranslucent, white  nylon.  



He didn't know what pieces of his clothing did what, but his shirt became a blouse

with lace trimmed short sleeves and deep laced neckline.  Under it he felt and, by

dropping his chin a bit, saw his chest rise and rise and... rise! Under the whiteness

of his blouse where it made contact, he could make out the delicate laciness of the

cups of his expanding bra.  He thought he could even detect the shadow of the

spreading circles of his areolas around what must have been an very excited

nipples that seemed to want to poke out through both of the layers of dainty cloth. 

He also swore that his "custom" chair was becoming narrower at his hips until he

realized that it had remained the same; it was his hips that were expanding.



The metamorphosis was drawing to a close as the sensations slowly died down and

he found that he could again begin to move.  Then it were finally over, and he was

released with a lunge, almost like someone taking their hands off of him.  The first

thing he did was to stand, noting the new, higher angle of his feet but not looking

at the high heels he knew were now on his feet.  He wanted to look at the whole

image and so walked with a smoothness and grace he had never had before in heels

that high into his bedroom where he had a full length mirror.  After all of his

changes he would have expected the room to also have changed, but it was just as

he had left it to include some of his dirty, cotton  underwear that had missed the

box he used for laundry.  All was as it had been except for what was in the mirror

as he approached it.



The woman who looked out of the mirror was a real looker.  Long auburn hair

that flowed in soft curls onto her shoulders and below.  He hadn't gone bald but

had gained much more.  The momentary loss was probably due to the formation of

the curls.  The face, however, was different.  There was nothing in it that reminded

him of his former self other than in the eyes that he immediately recognized as

himself.  All else was somehow altered, and it was beautiful with exquisitely arched

eyebrows beneath almost razor sharp bangs, incredibly full, red, kissable lips, and a

pert nose proportioned just right for the rest of his face.  



In a feminine move he did not know he had, he put his head back and shook his

hair out to move it off of his shoulders and to see how it lay and, in doing so,

noticed the two dangling earrings that adorned each ear lobe; they were now

doubly pierced.  What had the old man done?  Yes, his head looked like a woman,

but with a glance at his excessively curvy and so well endowed figure with full, real

C-cup breasts, how would he ever get back to being himself?



The glance was not enough and his eyes went to examine more closely what had

happened to his body.  He now had a sexy, narrow waist, broad hips and a VERY

full bust line that he already knew was all him.  It was an luxuriously feminine

body, but it could  not be his or was it?  He gingerly reached up with his red

taloned fingers and hefted the breasts on his chest and felt them rise and fall,

feeling a sensitivity in his nipples that almost shook him to his knees.  The only

thing that marred the image was a slight paunch below the belt line of his red skirt. 

Well, he knew that women had an extra spare tire there, but he wished that potion

had left him with a "flat tummy".



His smooth gabardine skirt fell to within inches of his knees in a classic a-line form. 

Below it his nyloned and totally hairless legs dropped to a pair of matching red

high heeled shoes.  Turning a bit he confirmed that they were three if not four

inches in height.  Looking back up he had the impression from what was reflected

from behind him that the angle of what he was seeing in the mirror was somehow

wrong until he realized that he had also lost height.  He was probably no more than

five one or so.  He hadn't been tall before, but this was a blow, and raised again

the question of how was he going to change back? 



Before leaving the mirror, he found, however, that he just had to make one last

check.  Hiking up his skirt, he felt a smooth on smooth as the nylon liner moved

over his slip.  He then raised his slip up, noting the soft but bright red nylon liner

and equally red, lacy half slip he wore.  He continued pulling them up until he

exposed the soft red lacy trim of his equally bright red panties.  The juncture was

flat!  He reached with one of his long, blood red tipped fingers and felt that plane

and knew instantly that there was nothing hidden under his panties, there was

nothing there to hide, for what he felt were the soft folds of the labia of his vagina. 

This was going beyond a "wildest dream wish" to direst nightmare.  Again the

question of how to change back arose.  He knew he was going to have to find a

way; and he went back into his living room, again amazed a how easily he moved

in these very high heels..



Going to and picking up the bottle, he looked and reaffirmed that there was

nothing written on it.  The old man had said to just take it, and that was that.  How

was he going to be a man again?  He looked out the window at the silent moon

and then at his new, tiny watch.  The mall was still open.  He'd have to get there

and see what the old man had to say about it.



Looking about, he saw on another chair, where he had left his somewhat ratty levi

jacket, there was now a beautiful, matching red gabardine suit coat to match his

skirt.  Going to his chair as if by instinct, he reached down and picked up the

matching red purse that his pocket stuff had changed into.  He opened it quickly

and saw some makeup, his wallet (now red and much more feminine), some

tampons, a lacy handkerchief and a set of keys. Pulling out the wallet he opened it

and looked at his driver's licence.  After the thoroughness of his transformation, it

was as he expected; there was his picture, showing off his long, curly red hair with

their almost puffy bangs, double pierced ears, high cheek bones, and all.  It looked

exactly like what he had just seen in his mirror.  Now, however, the name said

"Pamela Williamson", the sex was "F", the height 5' 1 « inches, eyes green, and

weight 105 pounds.  Damn!  He was now petite!  He knew he had lost his old

identity, but what else not shown there?  He wished he had not looked.



He tossed the wallet back into his purse, strode over and put on his jacket, put the

purse over his shoulder and went out the door.  He went to his car and got in.  It

was now clean inside and not full of all of the stuff he usually had in it.  He wasn't

that concerned as he got out his keys and started it up with a roar that sounded

strange.  Basically he knew with full conviction that it was HIS car; however, it

was not the old used car he had driven for two years but a newer model.  He

wasn't about to argue these points as he focused on the old man while driving

straight to the mall where he parked.  After quickly checking the perfection of his

makeup followed by a quick light touch up of his almost glowing red lipstick, he

got out and started looking.



The old man had been right.  If there was no reason to find his shop you wouldn't. 

Although Jake thought he had a good reason, he found himself clicking  in his

noisy high heeled shoes up and down on the concrete passage ways of the mall

past innumerable stores that he kept passing over and over again in his hunt

without seeing the one he wanted to.  If he were ever to change back, he'd have to

find the old man!  He wanted to dress and pass as a woman, not really BE one!



He didn't know how long he paced past all of those stores, sometimes quickly

sometimes slowly, but THE store front never reappeared.  It was getting towards

the time for the mall to close, and it was emptying out when he spied not the shop

but the old man himself moving leisurely towards one of the doors of the mall.  He

clicked as fast as his high heels would let him; for some reason he did not want to

run even though he could have in that skirt and even in those heels.  He felt an

need, totally unknown before then, to be decorous, one that he also did not

understand.  He caught up to the old man just as they both exited the mall.  He

touched the old man's arm.



"Excuse me, sir."  Sir?  When had he ever become so polite?  He was also

surprised by the almost musical tinkle of his soft, soprano voice. The old man

turned and smiled.



"Ah yes, Pamela, how ARE you doing?"



"Doing?  You snookered me into doing a sex change, that's how I'm doing.  How

am I ever going to go back to being a man with these tits, a vagina and all the

rest?"  He had a hard time holding his somewhat distraught voice down among the

crowds exiting the mall.



"Go back to being a man?  Why would you ever want to do that?  I gave you your

second most deeply desired wish.  I can't take it back; you must fulfill it."



"My second most wish?  I thought that was to be able to dress and pass as a

woman whenever I wanted.  If you gave me my second wish, what was my first?"



"My dear young woman, your first wish was to be a father.  But we cannot cast a

spell that will alter someone else like that without their direct and explicit

permission."



He was stopped cold.  Yes,... he had dreamed for years of being a father, having

children, playing with them, watching them growth and all.  But that was now

shattered beyond the remotest possibility.  He had to ask..



"If that was my first wish, what was my second?"



"Have you looked at your licence, dear, your driver's licence?"



"Yes.  It now says I am  Pamela' and a woman."



"Look again."



He fished out his wallet and opened it to his licence.  All was exactly the same

except for the name and address.  The name now said "Mrs.  Pamela W.  Grant". 

He looked up at him, wide eyed.



"You must be getting home to your husband, my dear.  He will be waiting.  You

see, Jake, and this is the last time you will ever hear and recognize your old name,

your second greatest wish was to be a mother."  He smiled and left Jake standing

there looking at his licence.  He then knew that he DID have to get home.  John

would be worried.  He put his wallet back into his purse and looked down at the

swelling of his abdomen and thought to himself, "Pamela, dear, you are the

luckiest woman on the face of the earth; I only hope John appreciates the

difficulties I went through to achieve my motherhood."  He then thought for a

moment what that had meant and quickly forgot it as he too left.



He then went back to his car, noting the licence plate "MOMI  PAM", how

appropriate.  Elsewhere, the old man chuckled to himself as he wended his way

homeward.