FSE

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“I don't believe you," she said, holding the small vial between her fingertips. It seemed more glass than content, and if it were any smaller she would fear losing it in her purse.

“Then why would you come here?"

It was a fair question. Where could her mind be that she would willingly seek a place like this out, only to rebuff its claims? She felt a stab of guilt but quickly squashed it. No reasonable person could accept the offering without question. It was too good, too ideal for what she wanted.

“I'm sorry," she said, though didn't put much feeling behind it. “It's just that when my friend told me you'd have a solution, I figured it would be for me." Lacy honestly wasn't sure what she had expected, but it wasn't this.

The young man was smiling, his arms folded over his chest. His whole outfit was bizarrely professional and adult in contrast to the eccentric array of offerings and his youth. He wore black pants; creased trousers with a crisp white dress-shirt tucked into them and a red silk vest buttoned twice in front. He had shoes that looked like they were actually worth shining. Hell, the kid's wrists even had cufflinks of silver. Who wears cufflinks? He couldn't be more than seventeen or eighteen.

Oh, god. How had time flown so fast that she could be standing here being waited on by a teenager and thinking he looked too young to be working by himself? It felt like last summer she was celebrating her twenty first. Now she was thirty two and looking down her nose at a young man like he was some kind of child. She would have been pissed if someone looked at her in such a way at that age.

“You, him. It's for you both," he replied reasonably. “Your friend told me about the problem and I guarantee you'll be satisfied." He thumped a loose fist into his other palm as he said it, emphasizing the hard 'tee'. Confidence was written in every movement and heard in every word he spoke. It was a little strong for her tastes, though, and reminded her of a cocky car salesman.

It felt especially out of place in a shop like this one, whose products all dripped with the false promises of snake-oils masquerading as panacea. Jars hung from strings, filled with pickled roots, moldy cultures, tiny-boned skeletons, and greasy tinctures. Vials and ampules were nestled on red velvet in shallow boxes, and locked behind thick glass in broad, dark armoires. Newly pressed tomes that were anachronistically styled with thick binding and elaborately designed leather edges were piled five deep on two long tables and lined a recessed shelf behind the cashier's counter. Yellowed lighting illuminated a dark ceiling, several miniature chandeliers with dingy plastic diamonds twinkling. It was mid-October and very easy to assume this was a recently popped up novelty shop for the upcoming Halloween, but the place had been here for years.

“Look, I trust my friend, but you're trying to tell me this shit is…"

“Magic," he finished for her.

“Just go over it once more for me."

“Take that," he said with patience, pointing to the tiny vial in her hand. “Put it in four litres of purified water. That'll be your concentrate. When you want to use it, I suggest slipping a few drops to your man at least an hour beforehand. It actually works faster when applied topically, but it's kind of hard to do that on the sly," he went on, making a motion as if he were wielding a paintbrush, loosely applying it to the air in small swishes.

“And he won't notice," she reiterated. This whole endeavor really hinged on making sure Darren didn't know she was doing this. It would hurt his feelings deeply to think she was in some way dissatisfied with him in bed. It wasn't a matter of dissatisfaction that troubled her and brought her on this little sojourn.

“That's part of it, yeah. Most enchantments work like that. People think things are going the straight and narrow even as they're turning sideways. It's actually pretty fun to watch."

There was a mix of deep distrust and twisting excitement in her gut. She felt like she was on the edge of a pleasant dream, still feeling that flutter of happiness yet aware that wakefulness was coming to steal it away. It felt foolish to let herself get worked up over something that was so obviously a con. Miranda vouched for the place, however, and that carried a lot of weight. Her friend would not joke or yank her chain about something so important.

There was no point in not taking it. Miranda had paid for it in advance, the twat. She knew Lacy would have turned around and walked out if she saw the actual price of the item combined with its claims. The owner - surely not this young guy - was instructed to keep that price tag hidden from her, as well, which she found out quickly.

“Alright. Fine," she sighed, which prompted a bright smile from the boy. It irked her that she could not help thinking of him as a boy. She could easily remember how pissed she was when someone talked to her like a 'girl' when she was that age.

He put the item in a wrapping of glossy paper, which then was tucked neatly into a small jewelry box. She slid it into her purse and took her leave of the shop, stepping out into the suddenly blinding daylight. It felt like ten at night in there; dark and moody. Like stepping out of a matinee showing, it was jarring to be reminded how early in the day it still was.

Taking a look back at the door she exited through, there was a brief moment of disorientation that washed through her. The store had seemed to have vanished, but only on first glance. There was no advertising for the place, nor windows to let people look in at merchandise. Red brick and chipped mortar of the old town building rose up three storeys in front of her, with a shoe-store to one side, a cellular outlet to the other and tall-windowed apartments above. The dull brown door with a silver handle looked like an emergency exit or loading point for one or both of them. No one would suspect it lead to a cramped little apothecary in the middle of downtown.

“Weird."

People walked by without a glance. She very likely walked by it herself countless times without noticing that simple brown door. Digging her hand into her purse, she pulled the small box out just to prove it was still there. Then she held her purse under one arm while opening it, poking through the paper, and confirming the little vial was just as real. It was. She read the tiny white tag once more.

Toon Ink.

Right.

--

On the way back to her apartment, Lacy reflected on the conversation she had with Miranda several days ago. The two of them had been hunched over a low folding table between their two desks, sorting receipts for the day's business. Everyone else in the office had gone home, leaving the two of them to chat about things only best friends do when in private.

“I hate it," Lacy said, scrunching her nose up.

“Hate-hate, or just sorta hate?" Miranda asked, smiling in amusement.

“This isn't new information, Andy. I can't stand having something in my mouth like that."

“So it isn't the taste or the smell or anything?" her friend asked further.

A small pile of little papers was growing to one side, becoming more and more precariously stacked as they talked.

“No. I love his smell! He's got this cologne, it's just… mm. He's got a manly smell, but he never gets rank. I love it. I just can't do oral. And he understands."

“Sure, they all say they understand at first."

“Come on, Andy. Really."

Lacy knew it was her friend's natural reaction to try and shift any sort of relationship issues she was having over to the man she was dating. She'd do the same in return. Protecting each other's feelings was always the first step when problems were talked about. As layers were peeled back to expose the real issues, though, the two of them didn't shy away from stabbing directly at each other's shortcomings or biases.

“Alright, alright. So he treats you right and he's handsome and strong and smart. He still treats each date like it was your first," Andy listed, adopting a mocking mimicry of Lacy's dreamy description. It earned a narrow-eyed glare and nasal scoff in reply.

“Don't be an idiot. He's legit. I love him." This made Miranda raise her brows, but Lacy doubled down. “I do. He makes me feel good to be me." It was true. She had said it in an off-handed way, defensive of him, but once it was out of her mouth she realized it wasn't a lie. It wasn't even an exaggeration. The thing had crept up on her so gradually, so easily, she hadn't realized she was in the thick of it until Andy was tossing lazy jabs at it. Darren made her feel good in a way she hadn't felt in a long time.

Andy gave her a dubious stare as she pressed the stack of crinkly papers down with her palm. Lacy could tell what her friend was thinking; they were too old, too self aware and too cynical to ever really feel love. Burned too many times, their tolerance for the opposite gender was quite low. They'd shared plenty of conversations about their mutual distaste of romantic relationships in the past and agreed emphatically they were far too mature for such childish notions, in not so subtle terms.

“What?" Lacy demanded curtly as Andy's silent judgment lingered.

“Nothing. Just surprised," she replied with carefully measured neutrality.

Lacy transferred a stack of receipts from the small table to the shoebox on her desk, lips pressed tight together. She looked back to Miranda for further reaction, but her friend had put all her attention to the task at hand, blue eyes scanning each receipt calmly before sorting it to one of the piles.

“So?"

“So what?" Andy asked back calmly.

“So, you aren't gonna give me shit for that?" Lacy fully expected more of a reaction. Her gut twisted with a sudden, horrible fright: what if Miranda was envious? The green devil often sank its claws into both of them over even trivial things, but rarely with each other. The idea that having genuine feelings for Darren might drive a wedge between her and Andy was terrible to consider.

“I want to," she answered with a wry smile. “But it might be hypocritical."

“Hypocritical?"

“I've been seeing someone."

It was Lacy's turn to be surprised, her eyes widening behind her thick glasses. A flurry of emotions raced through her, disbelief and betrayal speeding to the front before sudden understanding pushed them out of the way like a truck. Miranda could see the realization happening and actually felt herself flushing.

“You bitch," Lacy scolded her with a laugh. It made sense, now. Andy's ducking out of plans, the shifty and secretive behavior that's been nagging at Lacy's trouble radar for more than a month now. Her friend had been hiding it for the same reason she herself felt worried after expressing affection for Darren: protecting her from hurt.

Miranda tried her best to remain sheepish and contrite, but could not contain the smile that pulled on her cheeks. With only a hint of coercion, she launched into the details. Her name was Cynthia. They'd met at a club, like a couple of losers, trashing the in-house band together over a few beer. A drunken stumble back to her place later, they were taking advantage of each other for the rest of the night. Andy pressed for “more deets", which made Andy laugh.

“What, you gonna act like you don't know how I get my freak on?" Miranda's bisexuality and the specifics of such were much more of a deep curiosity back when they had met in college. It was old-hat. Plus, Lacy never asked for actual information about what happened under the sheets with a specific person, so Miranda was a little taken back by it.

“I didn't mean those deets," Lacy said quickly. She had, but it suddenly felt foolish.

“Yeah, you did," Andy accused, a smug smile on her face. “It's alright, Straight-Lace," she went on. “You can ask if you want."

“No, it's stupid."

The paperwork was nearing completion, the messy pile of receipts on one side having been mostly sorted into a series of cardboard folder boxes on their desks.

“Go ahead," Miranda encouraged.

“No, really. It's just that with Darren's… my problem… I'm really reaching."

They had circled back to what had been upsetting Lacy in the first place.

For a while they sat across from each other, putting the last few receipts away while Lacy stole glances at her friend's face, trying to get a read on things. She assumed Miranda's thoughtful silence and introspective frown was not having anything useful to say. However, just as the last piece of crinkly paper was lidded up and the boxes were ready for storing, Andy spoke up.

“I might have something for you. I mean, a friend of mine might. I don't know for sure, I gotta talk to him first, but he has things," she said with a wavering level of uncertainty, speaking slowly and reluctantly one moment and then blabbering on hurriedly the next. It was very unusual for Lacy to hear such irresolution from the normally blunt and confident Miranda.

“Things?"

“Yeah. Knick-knacks, toys, trinkets and things. I don't want to say outright unless I'm sure he can help. So, I'll give you a call later tonight, alright? Let you know."

The two women, three boxes in each arm, ferried the sorted papers to the storage room and helped each other find the right places on the multitude of shelves to slide them into. The storage room always gave Lacy the creeps, with its single yellowed bubble dangling from a chain above and the way the vent rattled. It was out of sync with the rest of the rather modern office building, nestled in the basement where files went in but never came out. Or so it seemed to her.

They gathered their coats, turned the rest of the lights off, and walked in near tandem to the back door. Once outside, Lacy tucked her scarf in close against the chill breeze while Andy made sure the door locked properly with a jangle of the handle.

“Okay, mystery woman. I'll talk to you in a few hours, I guess," Lacy said as the headed for their cars. Miranda just grinned and waved her a farewell before ducking into her tiny Corolla. Lacy watched her pull away while her own jalopy sputtered and coughed, warming up. The strange offer had almost left her memory by the time she was home, showered, and fed. A shrill chirping from her phone had her sprinting from her bedroom to the living room to scoop it up and answer.

“Alright, so here's the deal," Andy started. “There's a place downtown that sells stuff. It's not exactly legal. Nothing that would land you in jail," she added when she heard Lacy's sigh. “But you don't want to flaunt the stuff around, either. I've been going there for years."

“For what?" Lacy wanted to know.

“Ehh, I'll tell you all about it if you get into it. Otherwise you'll just think I'm a nutter. More than you already do. Anyway, I'll text you the address. I already worked something out with the owner, and we came up with a solution for your problem."

“Yeah? What is it?" She was starting to get excited. Illegal? She was no pearl-clutching belle that balked at the notion of doing something off the grid, but she neither did she have any vices that brought her there. The nature of her issue with Darren wasn't something she could fathom there being an easy and enjoyable fix for, no matter how hard she tried. That Andy's solution was somehow illicit or shady tickled her. What could it be?

“You'll just have to trust me."

--

Intimacy with Darren had started out great. He respected her boundaries, he didn't push for anything she wasn't comfortable with, let her dictate the pace of things. She suspected he might react well to being told what to do in a much more focused manner, but that wasn't exactly something she had much experience or interest in. There were evenings the two of them cuddled on the couch and made out for hours, reveling in each other's warmth and touch and happy noises like a couple of teenagers. It felt intensely erotic to be teasing each other with growing arousal, feeling her body craving more, and his needy squirming into her touches, but never giving in. Part of her knew she was fooling herself to think he was as fine with the arrangement as she was.

Lacy had been dreading the moment when he would ask her if they could go further. She could have said no, and she knew he would not have gotten angry; not with her, anyway. He might go home and vent his frustration in whatever ways he could in private. The guilt was piling up in her, and as it did, she could imagine her old Female Literature professor staring down at her in disappointment. 'Ah, shove it, you old, loveless twat,' she thought at the apparition.

The night it happened was like the rest. After an early supper at a local tavern, they retired back to her apartment and continued their journey to watch the entirety of The West Wing, snuggled up on the couch together. Hands began to wander, light kisses applied to the side of her neck, and in short order he had her trapped against the cushions, her legs hooked around one of his. Her thigh pressed up against his groin and she delighted in feeling something both stiff and soft hidden from view, a mystery to tease herself with. The meat of his leg likewise nestled into her crotch and she grinded against it. The sound of their heavy breathing and the wet clicks of their kisses was all they could hear, the next episode confirmation hanging patiently on the TV.

She was used to his methods. A strong hand would reach down to apply pressure, to cup and squeeze at her groin through her jeans. That night, however, she felt a sudden loosening of her waistband as he deftly unbuttoned the fly. She met his gaze and he smiled down at her in that charming way of his. His eyebrows were raised with a heart-melting look of curious hope. There was no way she could deny it; at that moment, she did want it. She was craving something deeper and more fulfilling than their usual games of heavy petting. Her self-imposed game of just riding the tease was not cutting it. So she mirrored the motion, popping the button on his jeans and tugging the zipper down with their gazes still locked.

An hour later, she was laying on her back, her head on his outstretched arm, and he was sound asleep with a beautifully peaceful smile on his face. The love she felt for him just then was intense, and she knew he was the one that would fit with her more than anyone else she could imagine. Unfortunately, it was matched by an ache between her legs, and a discomforted knowledge that what had been so perfect for him had been something she had not enjoyed at all. Emotionally, she was overjoyed to connect with him, and to feel him be so happy with her, so thankful and desired and wanted. Physically, it hurt, and she hadn't had the heart to tell him. He was a big man, and the trend continued in his package. Bigger than she was expecting.

In the bathroom, she fought back tears and wrestled with the contradiction of heart and body. What a cruel joke. The risk she took in opening her body up to Darren was paid back with the exact fear she had been dreading. There was no physical pleasure for her in traditional sex, and worse than that, it actually pained her. So now what was she supposed to do?

Naturally she let him know none of this. It would have been a knife in her heart to let him think he hurt her in any way. The next morning, she was as bubbly and joyful as he was, and they shared breakfast before he left for work straight from her apartment. The skip in his step and the way he kissed her as he headed out solidified her resolve to fix this problem any way she could.

---

Miranda's offer was accepted, and after a visit to the strange old shop, she had herself a little vial of… of…

“This is stupid," she repeated to herself for what must have been the fifth time since leaving the store.

However stupid it felt, she was moving ahead with it. A jug of filtered water sat open on the kitchen table and she carefully brought the tiny bottle to its lip. The contents slipped from the little vial as if it were greased. A flash of mercurial colour, and the inside of the larger container started to darken. The frosted sides made it hard to see what was happening, but the clear water began to change colour against the plastic. Not in a uniform way, either, but in swathes and whorls of blue and red and white, yellow and green and purple. As if paints were being swirled together and refusing to mix or to churn. It was beautiful, and she suddenly wished she had found a clear jug to see it better.

She took a curious sniff at the open top. The aroma was faint, but the flood of memories that came with it was almost overpowering. Flashes of sitting in a deep chair with a bowl of cereal. Lego bricks stacked up in random skyscapes. Heavy carpet tickling her bare feet, and the dog barking to be let out. The TV was bright, shining joyful illumination across her, while incoherent but distinct voices chatted and yammered from the kitchen.

Lacy drew back. For a minute there it felt like she was back in her childhood home, watching cartoons on a Saturday morning. It had been years since she had even thought of that old routine. Recalling it so suddenly and so clearly left her with butterflies in her stomach and a dizzy wave of nostalgia. The plastic top was screwed back on tightly, and she tucked the jug away under the sink.

Darren was due over for a date night in an hour. He was going to come straight from work to her place. The way his arrivals were growing so casual was welcome, as if this small apartment were as much his place as hers. Articles of his clothing already got thrown into the wash with her own more often than not, and she was starting to dedicate space in her drawer for his things.

Normally should would have cooked something up for him, but a sink full of dishes was not something she wanted to even tickle her thoughts tonight. A pizza would be arriving shortly before he did. Half of it would have - blech - anchovies. How he could stand to eat those gross little fish was beyond her. Still, it would make it easy to know which side of the pizza to mark. After an impatient last-minute tidying up of the apartment, the buzzer rang and she ducked down to retrieve it from the foyer.

“Just a drop," she said aloud, hovering the tip of a straw over one of the dark anchovies. Touching it, the tiny amount of liquid in the tube was wicked out. For a moment the fish glistened and glinted rainbow. She repeated the process on each slice of his side of the pizza, then tossed the straw away and put the jug back beneath the sink. Just in time, too. Once more the buzz of the intercom sounded and Lacy unlocked the door with a beep. A halo of condensation formed around her finger on the steel button. She was sweating, nervous.

Suddenly unsure what to do with herself, she backed into the kitchen and put her butt against the counter, hands to either side. An attempt to strike a casual pose must have come off as anything but, as Darren opened the door and poked his head around the corner to see her and immediately gave a small laugh.

“Are you trying for seductive or nonchalant?" he asked her.

He closed the short distance with his hands going for her waist. Lacy laughed back, grinning in a tight and sheepish way as she met him with a hug.

“Both, maybe?" she suggested.

Rising up to her toes to kiss him and feel the stubble tickle her lips, her cheek, she inhaled deeply. He smelled like Old Spice and engine oil. The stains on his sleeves and pant legs were common. Most of them would never come out, but he kept the clothes he liked, and that was that. No one would give him trouble over it at the auto shop where he worked.

The flutter of anxiety inside of her was constant. There was so much she was risking in this little endeavor. A large part of her knew it was wrong. The preemptive guilt was strong enough that she wrestled with the notion of calling it off right then. He was getting himself a drink, making a plate up with a few slices and telling her about his day. Normally she would be very attentive, making that extra effort to actually listen instead of just nodding along and offering vaguely agreeing noises. The distraction of whether to let him know what she was planning took up too much of her mind, however, and that's exactly what she ended up doing. Luckily, he took no notice of aberrant behavior and continued to tell her about the ignorance of some customers and the poor practices of other mechanics who took advantage of such naivety while he nibbled into his food.

“Uh huh," she said, nodding agreeably. Yes, poor decisions on their part, she thought absently. More importantly: was it worth risking his ire, or worse, his disappointment, to go ahead with her plan? If things went right, then it shouldn't be a worry at all. It was all so theoretical. It felt like she was still playing in a dream and assuming that whatever occurred, she would wake up sooner or later.

“Thanks for getting the 'chovies," he was saying, putting the crust down in the box. He never finished the crusts. “I know you hate 'em. We grew up on seafood so much, though, I'd put fish on my ice cream, if they'd let me. … Do you think they'd let me?" Darren waved a big hand in front of her, causing her to start out of her fretful contemplation. Her eyes were big, clearly not having fully processed his question.

“What? Oh! Oh, uhm. Well, no one would stop you, I don't think, but I know you wouldn't get any kisses outta me afterwards," she replied, which made them both laugh again.

“Fair deal. C'mon, let's drop on the couch and let me put my feet up."

He already ate it, Lacy belatedly realized with an even tighter squeeze in her stomach. Having no choice at all, now, she followed him into her small living room. Questioning her lack of pizza for herself, she told him she was going to wait a while. Her stomach wasn't feeling settled from lunch still. It was a small lie, but it added to the growing pile that she was picturing in her mind. A trash heap of guilt and garbage on her conscience that she could easily visualize.

Darren pursed his lips and then spread out into another of his charming smiles, scooping her close in his big arm and guiding her to the couch with him. They settled into the deep cushions, side by side, and he raised his feet up onto the coffee table with a sigh of relief. Lacy turned the TV on, which was still set to ESPN from the last time he was over, and she continued her education on the rules of football, basketball, and soccer from him.

The knot inside her went through cycles of loosening and tightening as they snuggled, talked, and watched. She told him about her day, minus the details of her talk with Miranda and the trip to the old store. Like herself, she knew he put in the effort to actually listen, which truly helped to shed the light stresses of her boring job that built up. Now and then he would shift position, or make a noise of mild discomfort, and she'd be as alert as a cat spotting a bird, tense as a coil. Nothing would come of any of it, however, and she would relax again.

Eventually she began to realize nothing was happening at all. It was a tremendous relief. Of course it was all a joke. A prank from Miranda. She knew the kid in the store, put him up to the act, and tomorrow she'd laugh at how gullible Lacy was for thinking there was a magic potion from a magic shop that sold magic items. It wouldn't be in character for Andy to do that to her, though. Too mean. Lacy would need to reiterate how much she hated pranks when they met again.

Well, it was all just a fantasy after all.

“You alright?" Darren asked her, his arm still looped behind her. She had her head on his shoulder and was sliding her hand across his stomach, back and forth, up and down, tugging his buttoned up shirt around, until it was tugged up from his belted waist.

“Yeah. Just daydreaming."

“We can put something else on. You said you wanted me to watch Breaking Bad, right?"

“No, no. I'm not bored or anything. I was just thinking something stupid." She unbuttoned the middle of his shirt and slid her hand under the material, stroking her fingers through the hair that covered his wonderfully muscled stomach. The dip of his navel was a favourite place of hers to explore. Her fingertips sought around for it. Lower. To the side. No, back here. She couldn't find it.

What the hell?

The texture of his hair felt curiously soft the lower her palm went, until she was having trouble feeling individual hairs. And there was no bellybutton to be found. Her heart skipped two beats.

“I don't know if you're capable of thinking stupid things," he told her, bringing his left hand to her brow and brushing it across her cheek, down to her shoulder. The way she was touching him, he knew where her mind was going. He turned his head, letting his lips touch her ear.

Her hand wandered. The hardness of his stomach muscles was less defined. Where there would be a series of lovely dips between his abs, she instead found a smoothness that was pliant to the touch. And if she was not mistaken, it was getting rounder. A look down confirmed it. His midsection was starting to gently push against his belt, nudging the sides of his shirt out while the waistband remained cinched. In the open space she made, she could see white. Something very soft was tickling her fingers.

He was still kissing her, his lips following the edge of her ear, pausing to give fleeting tugs between his lips. It would normally make her squirm, but at the moment the impossible texture under her fingers seemed to drown out all other sensations. She turned enough to extract her arm from behind him, putting both against his front. The last two buttons of his shirt were undone and she started tugging it fully out from his pants.

What she was greeted with pulled the breath from her chest. There was the olive skin she was used to, but it stopped just under his ribs and began to fade swiftly into pure whiteness. His middle was swelling into a far less sculpted shape, a more uniform roundness. She pushed the shirt further away with a spreading of her hands. It wasn't just white after all; there at his sides, he was blue. A pure cerulean that met the eggshell in a thin but wavering line that reminded her of a plucked guitar string. She could see, too, that his jeans were full in a way that was almost womanly. Resting her hand on his thigh, it was obvious that this softness was beneath the denim, as well.

This wasn't the normal pattern she followed with him as they became intimate, but there were no complaints from Darren. He was not as invested in routine as she, apparently. Lacy's hands were free to explore, and he was quite happy to return the favor. Those big and calloused fingers were on her shoulders, and he was turning more fully towards her to search for a proper kiss. The way she kept tilting her head, needing to keep this impossible change in sight, caught his attention eventually.

“Do you want me to go brush my teeth?" he asked, quite reasonably, while she was busy fully untucking the rest of his shirt.

What was happening to him was something beyond a change in shape. The white of his belly, the blue of the sides, they were too well defined. The light touched him in a far more binary way than the softly shaded and natural gradients of everything else. There were degrees of shadow, and clear edges where one shade met another. Like a cartoon. It bothered her eyes at first, but the impossibility of it insisted on existing and it turned into a dizzying novelty of sensation.

It's working, Lacy thought with a headiness that threatened to sweep her away. It's actually working. Drawing her fingers over his softened and curved belly, lines were left in his… well, she wasn't sure. Fur? No. No, the way the edges bunched and moved, it reminded her of...

“Feathers," she said aloud, bemused.

“What?"

Darren was looking at her with a calm curiosity. Still holding her shoulders, still brushing his thumbs back and forth; one of her short sleeves was tugged up in a roll beneath it. Lacy met his gaze and suddenly pushed herself up to kiss firmly, deeply. The forwardness surprised him, but he had no complaints. He returned the gesture with a tilt of his head, arms starting to circle her shoulders more fully as he drew her against him. A leg swung over his lap and she was straddling him.

Oh my god, he's so soft. Whatever was in his jeans, it felt far more like riding the lap of a stuffed animal than a grown man. Her thighs squeezed and he made a noise into her mouth. As he held her, she was unbuckling his belt, hands pressed between her belly and his. The pants let out as it came undone, and she was quick to pop his fly open, tug the zipper down. She felt his hips and waist push out into the extra space, felt the softness pushing into her fingers like downy rolls of warmth. It wasn't without resistance. If he was stuffed, it was with something very heavy.

The eagerness to have him strip was new for her. Lacy usually took a while to warm up before their hands started finding each other's groins. She could feel his smile as they meshed lips, and see the delight in his eyes as her own fluttered with a lusty half-lidding. Clearly, it was not a change of pace that bothered him.

While he slipped his hands under her shirt and began to unfasten her bra, and she kept nudging his pants further down. Palms flat to his soft hips, she pushed and spread, and his swelling body was thankful for the extra room. There was an almost womanly roundness being revealed as his pants rolled down his thighs. Finally he lifted his ass and made the rest easy. Grabbing the crotch of the jeans, she shoved them down between his knees while he shimmied and kicked to remove them completely.

Lacy broke the kiss, both hands planted against his broad shoulders. Darren chased after her lips with an adorable pucker, then fluttered his eyes open. They smiled at each other, flush in the face and hearts racing. Her eyes wandered down to where his shirt had rolled up over a plush white belly. Below, there was no longer a pinch in the skin from years of wearing pants. Instead, his belly smoothly curved into his groin, an expanse of feathery white. His hips were wider than her own, his thighs expanded with voluminous feathers. Those feathers ended just above his knee, however. Human skin emerged from under the cartoonishly styled thighs as if he were wearing shorts. The skin rose to meet the change, a merging of flesh and ink. A similar border was just under his ribs.

“You're eager," Darren said needlessly, his calloused hands resting on her waist.

Lacy was feeling dizzy. Her arousal was intense and her desire for him palpable. What she had done was impossible, yet she was pressing herself against the reality of it. That inked, animated belly was soft, textured like plucked silk, and tickled her nethers. What truly made her head spin, however, was the way Darren was looking at her. His smile was wide and excited, eyes bright with adoration. What was missing was any sense of shock, confusion, or bewilderment. It was as if he hadn't noticed any change in himself at all. There was no way he couldn't, though.

When he moved his hips in a needy gyration, she responded in kind.

“Yeah. I am," she replied, sliding her hands down to his belly, pressing in firmly. It yielded to her fingers like a firm pillow. “Did you want to… do anything with me?" she asked him, looking through her lashes and biting her lip in a girlish fashion.

Darren's smile widened and he scooped her up by the ass, lifting her easily into his arms as he stood. She laughed, wrapping her legs around his wide middle, her arms around his shoulders. It was then she noticed behind him a handsome fan of blue feathers spreading out. This was a pattern she recognized, suddenly. A blue jay. White in front, blue along his sides and back, and that tail with bands of grey running through the blue. Even written in cartoonish style, it couldn't be mistaken.

“I'd really love a repeat performance," he told her, striding to her bedroom door and stepping inside the darker room. The way he said it, as if he were asking for an enormous favor, made her giggle. He wants to have sex again. Oh, god, this isn't going how she expected. Or is it? Suddenly she realized just how much of all this was unplanned. It was a nebulous idea to from the start, one she remained flabbergasted at her own willingness to go through with. What to do if things actually worked was a blank spot in her mind; she didn't expect to get this far.

“I'd love that, too," she said out loud as he set her bare ass onto the bed. She scooted back a few feet to let him up. He shrugged out of his shirt, exposing his wide and muscled chest, the hairy expanse of tight skin that she loved to scrape her nails across. The way all that chiseled flesh met his changed midsection was bizarre, but it rained hammers down on buttons she didn't know she had.

Unsure what to expect, she let him lead things. He crawled closer, between her spreading legs, and leaned over her much smaller body. She could smell his deodorant, his musk, his slightly fishy breath. Damn anchovies. Then he was kissing her, and she was returning it with interest. He began to roll his hips, tail feathers spreading out and downwards, brushing over the sheets and his own feet. The warmth of his underbelly rubbed into her groin as she lifted herself to meet him, and the caress of feathers across her nethers made her shudder. Oh, god, that feels so good. She foot hooked behind him, digging her heel into the nub of his avian tail.

The novelty of the experience was beyond anything she had felt before. Her hands ran over his shoulders, up into his hair, back down across his strong arms. The sound of his heavy breathing competed with the small, strained noises of pleasure that were starting to form in her throat. The bed creaked with each roll of their bodies. An orgasm was already building inside of her, the external stimulation more than enough. He gripped her breast, squeezed, her nipple trapped between his knuckles.

How long it took before she reached her first orgasm, she couldn't say. Or her second. It didn't feel that long, though. The both of them had only just started to really perspire when she cried out for the second time in ecstasy. Her legs squeezed, and she could not help but delight in just how easily his changed body warped in her grip. Her fingers trailed up to where ink met skin, feeling the softness abruptly turn firm, the delicate faux-feathering become human skin. Everything about it drove her mad in the best way.

Darren lowered to his side, sliding an arm under her head as she nuzzled up against him. Both still catching their breath, they lazily traced fingertips over each other's bodies. Lacy could hear the rustle of his tail feathers as he adjusted his position to sliding a knee across her lap.

For a while she lay there staring up at the ceiling and basking in the post orgasmic bliss. What started as idle whimsy had become real. The magic Miranda directed her to was real. There were enchanted anchovies in her kitchen, right now. The thought made her laugh, and she began to giggle and snicker into Darren's chest.

“Do I amuse you?" he asked her with a laugh of his own.

“Yes. No! I mean… I'm just happy." Suddenly she realized something else. “Are you?"

“Well, yeah," he replied, surprised by the question. “Of course I am."

“I mean, do you feel satisfied? By me? By this?" Her hand roamed over his plush stomach and lower, across the expanse of featureless groin. As far as she had noticed, he didn't orgasm. The whole time, he was huffing and groaning with her. Yet only now that she had calmed down did she make note of how evenly paced his mood was, while she rose and fell in tactile ecstasy several times. There was no way for him to ejaculate, unless this cartoon section of his body was merely an overlay, a veneer.

“Lacy, you make me more satisfied than I ever thought I could be," he said with an earnestness that made her blush. She ran her fingers along the border of animated feathers and skin, felt the way it rose, the curious transition of real to cartoon. It wasn't a suit. The change was inside and out.

“Is there anything else I can do? To make you feel good?" That guilt was starting to resurface, the deception of magical proportions mixing with the notion that she was cheating him of basic sexual pleasure to achieve her own.

His rough fingertips ran down her back, drawing goosebumps, and eliciting a shiver from head to toe. He gripped her backside, squeezed once, pulling her smaller body tight to his own. She felt his upper thigh dimple against her knee like thick foam over a thin frame.

“Just having you with me, seeing you so happy, is more than enough. We can do whatever you want, babe."

With that, she put her head back down on his chest, still shining with perspiration, and closed her eyes. What she wanted right now was to drift off. She felt him draw the blankets up and over the two of them, and she lost track of the boundary between dream and real.