A Djinn’s Solution to Marital Strife
by
Lorna Samuels

 

Sure, our marriage was in trouble, and part of that was probably my fault. Like many couples, over the years we simply drifted apart into our own worlds. The natural outcome was conflict, for which we were both to blame. Almost certainly Sharon had other objections, but the most preeminent was that I spent virtually every waking hour at the office.

But I had to make a living, didn’t I? After all, developing marketable software for business systems was challenging and labor-intensive at best, especially for a one-man operation like mine.

From my perspective, Sharon was equally at fault by stubbornly clinging to her traditional concept of marriage. She quit work after we married, to ‘be a good wifey’, as she put it, which was fine with me since my business’s profit level provided us with an upper-level income. But without the advent of children, domesticity soon palled for Sharon and she promptly pursued ‘outside interests’. Soon she was ‘into’ antiquities, invariably paying scandalous prices for someone else’s junk, then trying to convince me that they were ‘antiques’. Hell.., if that stuff was so valuable, why were they trying so hard to find shmucks like my wife who were willing to pay exorbitant prices for their worthless garbage. The least she could do is go back to work to offset the ruin she perpetrated on my hard-earned assets.

What’s worse, her so-called ‘passion for antiques and collectibles’ bordered on the insatiable! Seeing what she spent on other people’s offal always got me furious, resulting in a recurrence of the same argument every time I saw the checkbook. Sharon inevitably countered with ardent protestations of her own about my preoccupation with computers, ...and on... and on.. and on. Before long neither of us was listening anymore, while minor irritations merged rapidly toward hate.

Eventually, during an infrequent moment when our guards were down, and we actually communicated, we both realized two things: our marriage was in deep trouble; and we both cared! Amazingly, we had agreed on something for the first time in ages, that a long vacation together away from all the worldly influences that spawned our fights might help us rebuild our marriage.

"What about the business?" I balked. "We’re talking about a good deal of lost income."

"Well, then maybe its time you decided whether our marriage is worth the sacrifice?" Sharon argued.

Under the circumstances, further hesitation would have only fueled the flames of contention, so I agreed to the vacation.

Within a week Sharon found an agency that would guarantee a lush tropical island all to ourselves. It was a dream come true, with ample opportunity to patch together our fragmented relationship. Besides, it would be a wonderfully romantic adventure. We reserved the island paradise for an entire month!

But the travel agent never warned us that beach combing could have dire consequences!

From Bora Bora, we were shuttled to ‘our’ island in a small amphibious plane, a ride that lasted a tedious, cacophonous, and jarring two hours. My spirits soared, despite the non-too-gentle water landing between a dazzling white beach and a formidable reef two-hundred yards from shore over which the sea thrashed ominously. Within the reef’s ring, the blue-green water was so calm and crystal clear that you could almost count the oysters and crabs in the fifty-foot depths.

The island was larger than we had expected. Apparently formed by the combination of volcanism and reef-building, from the air the island was almost perfectly round, resembling a target with a central bull’s-eye, surrounded by a ring of azure ocean, then an outer circle of frothing reef. The land area comprised a central mound no more than one-hundred feet above sea level, and measuring somewhat over two miles across, completely ringed by a wide beach of sparkling white sand. The interior was overgrown with a lush tropical undergrowth of bamboo and fern beneath a forest of banana and coconut palms. (When first sighted from a distance, I reflected that the island very much resembled a large green nipple with a double-ringed areola, sitting upon a gigantic sapphire teat.)

Near the center crown, on a gentle slope with a western leeward exposure, stood a thatched bungalow. It had been built at the edge of a small clearing where the fronds and palms provided moderate protection from the elements. Sturdily constructed of thick stucco and thatch, the cottage appeared comfortably appointed, but lacked most modern amenities. Electricity was nonexistent, but a gas generator was available to power the ham radio used for the required weekly communication, and (God forbid) for emergencies. A hand-operated well pump in the kitchen area provided potable water, There was plenty of oil for the stove that doubled as a cooking stove and as a heater on chill nights. And the large pantry was filled with canned goods.

It wouldn’t be home, but we loved it anyway.

 

After mastering the culinary situation to our satisfaction, we determined to work things out between us, and the only way to do that was by doing things together. It only took a couple of days to acclimate ourselves, meanwhile exploring the island that would be our home until ‘pickup day’ in four weeks.

During the first few days we actually made a genuine attempt to work out our problems. While adjusting to the primitive conditions, we talked for hours, sharing our thoughts, dreams, and aspirations.

But it was so pleasant simply being with Sharon and sharing the peaceful island paradise that more and more of our time together was spent playing and simply enjoying ourselves, swimming, exploring the island, and walking for hours along the wide sandy beach that ringed our little hedonist’s dreamland. Unfortunately, despite my efforts to promote the obvious importance of sex in this situation, Sharon’s frigidity frustrated my efforts. After being consistently rebuffed, my enthusiasm waned, and was channeled elsewhere. Soon our original reason for coming there slipped further and further into oblivion as we buried ourselves progressively more deeply into indulging in the carefree experience of island living.

Late one evening, we sat at our favorite beach spot, backs braced against a tide-borne log, watching the magnificent tropical sunset.

"Honey?" Sharon asked softly, just as the red-orange sun touched the turquoise sea.

"Hmmm?" I wasn’t feeling very talkative at the moment. With Sharon nestled against my shoulder, it was hard to imagine a more romantic situation, and conversation would interfere with the moment. Especially if I suggested an activity that had been thoroughly shunned, but was being fierce demanded by the animal in my shorts.

Sharon continued, "Darrel, why haven’t you ever tried to appreciate, or even tolerate my interests?"

Her question dropped an icy cold bucket of water on my decidedly erotic musings. "Aww..., Sharon. Why’d you hafta bring that up now and ruin the moment? Can’t it wait?"

"No," she replied emphatically. "If we don’t work these things out now we never will. Well?"

Grudgingly, I was forced to admit, "Yea..., I suppose you’re right." I stared at the blazing half circle of the setting sun, suddenly seeing it as an angry ball of fire instead of a source of romantic warmth.

"Well, why don’t you...."

"Darling,"I admitted, turning abruptly to face her, "I know you need your own outside interests, but I can’t understand why you think it’s so much fun to spend our hard-earned income on other peoples junk!"

Her eyes narrowed at hearing my reiteration of the same oft-repeated question, and I could see in her eyes that she was restraining herself admirably, but her reply came through clenched teeth. "In the first place, I enjoy the diversion. Secondly, you make more than enough to support both our ‘hobbies’. And besides, I’m careful to buy only worthy items that might accrue value."

"Yea..., like that grandfather clock you paid a small fortune for, then turned around and GAVE it to a friend when she got married. That’s what I call a wise investment!" My snide retaliation was hardly helpful to the situation, but... damn it..., she’d thoroughly killed the mode.

Tears at the corner of her eyes caught the last glimmer of sunlight. "Oh...you’ll never understand. Dear God, how I wish you could..., but you never will," she lamented.

Obviously our exchange was swiftly deteriorating into a rehash of the heated dialogues that always developed whenever these matters surfaced, and which I was in no mood to repeat.

"You know, Sharon, I could say the same," I charged. "But the only way either of us could ever realize THAT kind of understanding would be to get inside each other’s heads, and neither of us are psychologists, are we?" Before she could respond, I brandished an arm at the sky in frustration. "Look, debating this again won’t do any good. We know that all too well. Maybe after so many hours together, it’d be easier to work things out if we spent some time by ourselves, separate. I’m gonna take a long slow walk around the island." Even though it seemed diplomatic to make a hasty exit before the conversation turned ugly, I still knew it hurt Sharon that we couldn’t make any progress.

Rising and brushing sand from my shorts and legs, I had a sudden thought and turned back, hoping to soothe Sharon’s disappointment. "Honey..., I still love you.., really. I want you to understand me too. Besides, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? But we can’t just recycle all the old grievances. There’s gotta be another way. And if we both want it bad enough, it’ll happen."

The surf’s low murmur quickly drowned the sounds of her despair as I meandered down the beach. Before long I was alone in the darkness. On the eastern shore, a large promontory of dark lava rock jutted into the sea. Warm tropical water lapped gently at my ankles as climbed into a small saddle that formed a perfect (but hard) seat. Settling in, I gazed at the far-off horizon of blue-black ocean and sky, troubled thoughts dulling my appreciation of the surrounding beauty.

 

After what seemed like only minutes, I noticed a soft light in the eastern sky, and realized with a start that I had been sitting there all night! My mind had been virtually turned off, oblivious to the rising tide that now nearly lapped at my feet. Hours had passed with nothing accomplished. Here I was isolated on a remote isolated island with only my lovely wife for company, and a nagging ache in the heart of our marriage that needed immediate attention. But nothing at all had come to mind that could resolve our differences. For the first time since our arrival, I found myself wondering if divorce was in our future.

Rising stiffly, I stretched to loosen cramped muscles, and resumed my circum-navigation of the beach. If sitting couldn’t help me think, maybe walking could.

In the dim predawn light, my toe rammed painfully against something hard. Cursing at what I thought was a lump of driftwood hidden in the frothing surf, I hopped on one foot to knead relief back into the offended toes. Then I reached down to reek vengeance on the offender.

The object turned out to be a large sun-blued bottle that lay half buried in the sand. When I pulled it free, the glass appeared oddly shaped, somewhat like a wine carafe, but fatter at the base, with an elongated neck and flared spout that was firmly sealed by a cork stopper and wax. Dirt and sea-borne filth caked its surface, and a small barnacle had even found purchase one side. What small portion of the smooth exterior was exposed revealed opaque brownish-green glass. It was heavy, too, as though its contents had remained intact, but heavier than if it actually still contained a liquid like wine. A bit of cautious shaking produced no indication of what was inside, if anything.

It was terribly tempting to extract the cork immediately and satisfy my peeked curiosity, but that idea was canceled by another. Since our arrival, Sharon and I had passed countless hours walking those beaches, finding nothing more interesting than a few crabs, a mundane assortment of shells, and some rather ordinary driftwood, though not even much of that. So, even to my untrained eye, this bottle was obviously a perfect gift for my wife. Although I had deliberately spurned her ‘antique-itis’, I knew with a certainty borne of familiarity that she would simply drool over my little find like a Pavlovian dog. I was even actually sorry that she wasn’t there to share the initial discovery so I could enjoy watching her excitement at finding such a unique ‘treasure’ (at least from her perspective. To me it was simply a filthy old bottle whose origin was probably somebody’s yacht).

Not bothering to clean it up because I knew Sharon would enjoy doing that, I hefted the bottle and strode inland toward the bungalow.

By the time I arrived back at the bungalow, the sun had risen. Sharon had spread a blanket over the soft sandy ground and was stretched out for an early tanning session. My approach startled her enough that she neglected to retrieve her bikini top when jumping to her feet at my approach. The sight of her beautifully proportioned body and full breasts gave me even greater cause to make amends.

But she didn’t seem too eager to make up. "Why didn’t you come back last night, Darrel. I was worried sil.... What’s that?" Her countenance shifted dramatically upon noticing the bottle.

"Oh, just something my foot found on the beach," I quipped casually.

"Let me see," she insisted, reaching excitedly to seize it. Her exquisitely unencumbered breasts bounding deliciously with the motion, since she still had not retrieved her bikini top, despite her painfully puritanical inclinations.

After thoroughly examining every detail of the container for several seconds, she proclaimed, "It’s beautiful, and terribly old too, ...maybe even Persian! Dear Lord, Darrel, wherever did you find this?" Her eyes were wide as saucers by now, and I knew I’d scored points. How many would be decided soon enough. For now, it was important to fuel her zealot’s fire.

"I told you..., on the beach. It was buried in the sand and I practically dislocated my big toe stumbling over it."

She feverishly clutched that nondescript bottle against her lovely bosom like it was a long lost child. Ignoring my pointed reference to my ‘wound’, she headed seaward. "If we clean it up, maybe there’re some markings that’ll reveal its origin."

"Whatever," I shrugged.

There was little else going on at the moment, so I followed Sharon back on the beach, smirking at the realization that she had never even seemed to notice that her bikini top was left behind. I’d never seen her so preoccupied!

When we reached the shore she insisted on being shown exactly where I had found the bottle. The spot was not far, but we arrived only to find that tide had advanced a few yards and the spot was awash beneath two feet of surf.

"Oh well," she sighed, "it’s probably not very important anyway. But I sure wish I’d been there with you."

"Me too, Babe. Me too," I replied lovingly. And meant it!

Wading out a few feet, Sharon proceeded to rub at the encrusted grime, dislodging the barnacle along with most of the rest. When finished, the bottle still carried a few smears of stubborn crustaceous matter, but overall it was a passable job. The brown-green glass was almost fully exposed.

Sharon hefted it and squinted closely at the cork-and-wax plug. "I wonder if there’s anything interesting inside. Like a thousand- year-old brandy, maybe?" Mischief shown on her face, but she was absolutely serious.

"Let me get the wine glasses and we’ll see," I wisecracked.

Sharon dug at the seal with a fingernail without success. "Here, see if you can open it."

I wasn’t about to bore into that age-old seal with chewed fingernails, but there was an abundance of devices about that would work better. It was an easy matter to find a sharp sprig of sun-dried and -hardened driftwood of about the right diameter. Within seconds, I had the wax scraped away, but the cork was almost as hard as the wood, so it only came out in bits and pieces. Whatever was inside wasn’t going to remain there long.

With one particularly forceful jab, my makeshift corkscrew suddenly thrust through into the bottle, pushing about half the dislodged cork in with it. I was so intent on my task that it was a few seconds before I noticed that a weird blue-white vapor being issuing from the opening. Acting purely by defensive reflex, I threw the bottle into the sand like it was a venomous snake. No telling what noxious gas might was inside. Nevertheless, even though the mist hit me full in the face, I could sense no immediate effects. That didn’t rule out the hope that I wouldn’t die immediately. Meanwhile, the oddly colored vapor continued to vent, but did not disperse like it should. Instead, it concentrated into a thick sapphire-blue cloud that steadily grew while contorting as if trying to achieve some definite shape.

While Sharon and I stared in open-mouthed amazement, the cloud molded itself slowly into a beautiful woman with chestnut hair that fell past her waist and a phenomenal figure. Her clothing, what there was of it, resembled a classic Arabic harem costume. Diaphanous translucent silk pantaloons secured at her high waist by a three-inch wide jewel-encrusted gold belt, and at her ankles by gold chains. The silver halter that supported her ample bosom was patterned in a swirling design of gold thread and jewels that spiraled around each cup in a whirlpool effect that made her breasts into pointed cones.

Suddenly, we were facing a specter that bore an uncanny resemblance to a gorgeous Arab belly dancer.

"Oooohhh..., MMMY GGGOD!" Sharon exclaimed. "J...Just like ‘I Dream of Jeannie’!"

"Uh huh...," I wheezed, then added with more emphasis, "either that bottle’s a lot older than you thought, or we’re both dreaming!" All I could do was stare and hope the dream wouldn’t end too soon.

The beautiful wraith knelt in the hot sand, extended her arms with hands clasped, and bowed ceremoniously. Her light musical voice sounded of tiny bells. "Moroshti netafra flasento..."

My jaw dropped so hard it hurt. "YOU’RE KIDDING, RIGHT?"

"This can’t be happening," Sharon groaned.

The lovely sprite looked up, then regained her feet and declared, "Ah..., Innngeelllisshh, no?" she observed. "I am at your service..., most esteemed Master and lovely Mistress. My name is Shawntise Avalorea Krastinjani Jakorla, but you may simply call me ‘Sasha’!" She accented her introduction by touching her right hand to her forehead in a classic Arabic gesture. Her dark sparkling eyes never strayed from their intense scrutiny of us. "I will be honored to do you Service."

"Uuuhhh..., Sasha?" I couldn’t get over how beautiful she was, and tried desperately not to sound like an idiot. "You’re not really a Genie, are you?" The question seemed foolish, considering that we had just seen her materialize from a cloud of mist discharged from that strange bottle. But even that fact in itself was too preposterous a concept. After all, we did live in the ‘enlightened’ 20th Century, didn’t we, when genie’s, trolls, and munchkins were constructs of fantasy and folklore.

‘Sasha’s’ winsome smile was totally captivating. "Yes...and No, Oh Wise and Perceptive Master. Genies are decidedly masculine," she corrected meekly, "while I, obviously, am not. My actual title is Sorceress Third Class, but if I serve my masters well, My Lord Askalarene has promised me advancement after only another century. Now, Master and Mistress, how may I be of service to YOU?"

Sharon found her voice again. "Wh..Where did you come from, young lady? ...A..An...And why are you here?"

"Your eyes do not deceive you, Mistress. I am from the bottle, as you saw. Since you two have freed me, I am yours to command. It will be my privilege to provide the Three Boons to which you are entitled."

"You’re gonna what?" Sharon retorted.

Sasha seemed rather annoyed by the continued skepticism. "It is always difficult at first, but do not doubt your own eyes. I am as real as this island or yourselves. In a way, I am very much like that pretty lady you mentioned, ...’Jeannie’ was it? Yes..., I have seen that television episode program. Rather quaint and predictable, but I enjoyed it very much. But my existence is very different from hers."

"You live in a bottle too, don’t you?" Sharon countered. "What’s so different about that?"

"Nothing, Mistress, except that our powers are vastly dissimilar. While she could conjure at will, I am considerably more limited. You are allowed only the Three Boons to which you are entitled. Upon their fulfillment, I must return immediately to my glass home and await the next ‘engagement’. Of course, while physically embodied, I will perform any task that is within my physical capacity. For instance, I am an expert masseuse, and a masterful epicurien chef."

Sharon’s pale blue eyes turned excitedly to me. "Honey..., this is the chance we’ve been looking for. With three...."

"Please," Sasha interrupted, "....there’s more. The rules by which I must function require that your situation be handled in a very specific way. Normally I serve only one Master, or Mistress. However, since you cooperated in my release, I will provide service to you equally by providing both of you with a single Boon, while the third will be by joint agreement."

"So we have one each, and one together?" I summarized impatiently. By now I had adjusted to the novelty of Shasha’s presence. She was a really cute piece, but her rule book must have rivaled the IRS’s tax codes!

"Exactly, Most Perceptive of All Masters. The only restriction is that you cannot use a Wish to cancel ..."

I was a step ahead of her for a change. "...Meaning that if I wish for something that Sharon doesn’t like, she can’t cancel it out with hers?"

"Most assuredly, Sahib," she beamed, folding her arms in anticipation. "You may make your wishes at anytime. I am ready to Serve."

"Don’t we get some time to think about it?" I queried.

"Of course, take as long as you need, Sir. When you’ve decided, simply call and I’ll attend to your desires straight away." She crossed her legs in mid-air, Indian fashion, then reverted to a vaporous form that was promptly sucked back into the bottle that still lay on the sand. Sasha gave new meaning to the term ‘mystique spirit’.

A long silence followed, punctuated only by the steady whisper of waves lapping the beach.

Sharon finally spoke. "Honey..., if this is genuine, maybe our joint wish should involve what we came here for in the first place. You know..., understanding... and all that?"

"Yea, you’re probably right," I admitted. It was almost as though we were being tested to see if we really were serious about repairing our crippled marriage by handing us a solution on a silver platter, so to speak. But I was far more concerned with the single wish I had coming, and which had already formed itself in my mind.

Sharon spoke up and took the words right out of my mouth. "Hmmmm..., it’s funny, but I know exactly what I want. "Sasha...," she called without another glance in my direction. "I’m ready!"

"Me too."

The fog ballooned from the flask and quickly solidified into Sasha’s delectable features. "Your wish is my command," she announced solemnly with a gracious bow that almost flattened her to the ground. Then she stood and crossed her arms. "Which is first, please?"

A thought suddenly occurred to me, and I saw no reason to delay asking, "Uh..., Shasha.., how does this work? Are your powers limited in any way? Is there any particular order required? What....?"

The pretty Djinn giggled sweetly. "When accomplishing my Master’s wishes, Sahib, my abilities are limitless. There is no particular order."

"Well, Sharon..., ladies first?" I suggested.

She seemed a bit hesitant, but quickly decided, "Yeah, why not. Uhhh.., I wish for Darrel to want children, and be able to produce them with me."

"Honey...!" I exclaimed, "You knew before we married that I abhor the thought of bringing children into this horrible world. That’s why I had a vasectomy. And raising someone else’s is just as distasteful."

"Yes, Dear, and I loved you too much to let that reason alone stand in the way of our happiness. But, regardless of how impossible it seemed, I’ve always wanted to have children with you, and continued to hope for a change in your attitude toward adoption. When I finally accepted the fact that my maternal instincts would be forever frustrated, I knew I’d go crazy if I didn’t divert my energies elsewhere. That’s why I got into antiquities so heavily. It was a diversion..., filling that gap in my life, at least superficially. Now, with Sasha’s help, your feelings will be ‘repaired’, along with your body, and I can...."

"Ahumph...," Shasha interrupted, "Mistress.., you expressed TWO wishes when only one is allowed. That is now allowed."

"But I..." The Djinn’s shrug made her pause. "...Ok..., let’s see. AHA...that’s it.... Sasha, I wish for my husband’s vasectomy to be negated so that he can father children, but with the stipulation that he be endowed with a desire to procreate."

Shasha smiled broadly. "An excellent choice of words, Most Astute Mistress. Master, said capability and aspiration are restored to you." There was no mysterious waving of her arms, not even a ‘SPOING’ when she blinked (ala "Jeannie" of the TV series).

I felt nothing..., except resentment that Sharon would be so selfish, ignoring my feelings. I was being forced to submit to my wife’s edict, unable to cancel her Wish with my own. Well, I decided, that multi-million dollar bank account would have improved our situation immensely, but it would have to wait until another bottle turned up. I simply HAD to reciprocate, and knew immediately what had to be done.

"ALRIGHT, Sharon," I declared deliberately, "...if that’s the way you want it... Sasha, my wife has expressed a desire to have children, yet she has never been a particularly enthusiastic sexual partner. Therefore, it is my wish that you replace her passion for antiques with an equal or greater enthusiasm for sex, bordering on nymphomania, with the provision...," I glared at my wife, making sure she realized I was using the same tactic of getting a single wish, but with more than one part, "...that I am able to perform well enough to appease her near-insatiable desires."

My smug grin faded slightly upon observing Sharon’s exasperated expression. "You never complained before," she wailed.

"Well, neither did you, ...Darling," I countered pointedly.

"But that’s...."

"....different? How?"

"Well, it just IS!" She sat down in the warm sand, her breasts bouncing provocatively with the movement.

Again, I was amazed that she seemed totally oblivious to her nakedness, despite her raging modesty. Hell, she always insisted on making love with the lights off, and never in daylight! As if in response to my brooding thoughts, she crossed her arms over her bosom and began to rock back and forth, a posture she always assumed when wanting to be alone with her thoughts.

Just as she had done with me only moments before, Sasha was staring deliberately at her, apparently invoking MY wish.

Within seconds, Sharon’s musing was over. Looking up with glazed eyes, she murmured, "Darrel.., Honey, I don’t feel very good. Could we go back to the hut. I’d like to lie down."

"Sure, Hon. I guess our ‘joint’ wish can wait. Besides, maybe it’d be nice to see just how good a masseuse Sasha really is, eh?"

Sharon favored me with a hooded glance that spoke volumes about what she thought of THAT idea.

Sasha stepped forward a pace, and I noticed that she left no footprints in the sand. She was walking on six inches of air! "Sahib and Sahibin, it would be most convenient if you would declare your Third Wish at this time, as I am most anxious to proceed to my next fulfillment."

My conscious suddenly yanked at the roots of my soul, and I was prompted to make a concession toward our Third Wish.

But Sharon beat me to it, repeating her earlier suggestion. "Darrel, after what we’ve just done TO each other, do you think that maybe we could still agree on something..., like the very thing that brought us here in the first place?"

"Yea, maybe we can," I conceded. "Sasha, do you know why we’re here?"

"Of course, Master," she replied knowingly. "You sought seclusion for a most honorable and brave purpose -- to see if together you could repair your failing marriage."

Sharon rose, but her arms remained crisscrossed over her chest. "Uh..., Sasha? After having done even more damage to our relationship by making such selfish wishes, can you say whether we will ever be happy together?"

"Mistress, The Great ALA asserts that all things are possible. Almost certainly you may yet gain the bliss you both seek."

"That’s all I needed to know." Tears pooled in her eyes when she turned to me. "Honey, if being a nypho is the price I must pay for a family, so be it! Can you forgive me for my own selfishness?"

Damn, I was about to bawl too! "Sure, Babe. I guess having kids isn’t all that bad an idea anyway. Besides, now that you won’t be spending so much on junk furniture, we can afford ‘em, right?"

Her grin was lopsided, but sincere. "Yea, right."

Knowing what Sharon and I both wanted, it was easy to articulate. "Sasha, it may take all the power you can muster..., but we both want to salvage our marriage, or we wouldn’t have come here in the first place." At my side, Sharon nodded eager agreement. "So, it is our Joint Wish that we be given a thorough knowledge of and sensitivity to each other’s needs, desires, wants..., all that corny stuff."

Sasha smiled broadly. "That is a most wonderful and selfless of you two. However, to accomplish you desire I must retire and consult my Tomes as to the best method."

Her image was fading into the gathering fog when I asked, "How long before you return?"

"I will return at dawn to invoke your final Boon...." The last words faded as the final wisps of mist trailed into the bottle.

Grabbing the bottle with one hand, I took Sharon’s arm in the other and guided her inland toward the hutch.

 

That night was the most erotically magnificent of our married life. In fact, for me it was the best night we had spent together since our honeymoon!

It turned out that, instead of being sick Sharon was really horny, only she didn’t recognize the erotic sensations of which she had previously been ignorant. We were no more than halfway back to the cabin when she slowed and began to feverishly caress herself, oblivious to her surroundings. This was definitely uncharacteristic of Sharon, but I couldn’t resist a little self-satisfied smirk since, unlike her, I recognized what was happening and was not particularly concerned.

"What’s wrong with me?" she sighed unsteadily.

I grinned widely. "Can’t you recognize erotic cravings anymore, Darling?"

"Oh, mercy!" Her eyes widened with comprehension even as she responded quiveringly to the attention her magnificent breasts were receiving from her own hands. "Oh GOD..., Honey..., you’re right..., and I want you so bad it almost hurts. Let’s get back to the cabin and make love before I explode!"

With a sudden burst of energy, Sharon grasped my hand and we rushed headlong up the trail. The instant we arrived she pulled me impatiently toward the bed.

We made love all night.

Sharon’s inhibitions vanished entirely, and her appetite was unbelievable. To my great surprise and satisfaction, we also discovered that I had been given a phenomenal level of stamina and control, far beyond my previous capacity, allowing me to satisfy Sharon’s ravenous desires quite admirably. If she was a nymphomaniac, I was a satyr, and we were both incredibly busy for many hours.

"...I...I...I... could... make love... to you... forever...!", she gasped at one point, filling her mouth with my manhood between words. Most amazing of all, even above and beyond her enthusiasm, was that very early in our relationship I had suggested oral sex, and was promptly rebuffed by her revulsion at the prospect. Now she was playing popsicle with my shaft so hungrily that it was hard to believe this was the same woman who almost retched when I was obliged to explain the maneuver.

Seconds, minutes.., hours later, I pulled Sharon’s head away from my groin and climbed between her sweat-streaked thighs.

As the blissful night wore on, I began to detect differences in my own sentiments. The ability to prolong coitus almost indefinitely was wondrous indeed, especially when my performance allowed me to relish my expertise at driving Sharon to several orgasms before venting my own volcanic explosion deep within her receptive cavern.

Yet, while recovering from my third such release, I found myself desperately anticipating that my discharges would achieve their goal and make us parents! This was a totally alien thought for me, having always loathed the prospect of parenthood. Now I was excitedly embracing the concept, even relishing the image that grew in my mind’s eye of Sharon’s belly growing more gravid with each passing week until I could sit by her side, hold her sweating hands, and coach her through the throws of birthing pains as our child emerged to be loved and cherished by its parents. Dear God, I wanted so desperately to be a father that my heart almost ached in anticipation.

"Will you help me make a baby, Darling?" I murmured softly into her shell-like ear.

"Oh YES..YES..YES..," she squealed, emphasizing her response with a crushing hug. A delicate hand reached down, grasped my solid pole, and pulled me into her body with an zeal that eclipsed all that had gone before.

When I finally succumbed to the enormous pressure and released yet another load deep into my wife’s body, a strange but confident certainty consumed me. For some unfathomable reason, I believed beyond all reason that we were in the process of procreating a human life. The emotions washing over me were so extraordinary that my erection never waned, and I almost immediately vented yet another and no less powerful geyser toward Sharon’s fertile womb.

Eventually, we collapsed together in a sweat-drenched heap, welcoming the oblivion of exhausted sleep that almost instantly overcame both of us.

 

Awakening slowly, a distinctively musky odor was assaulting my drowsy senses. By the angle of the sun, it must have been late morning, and the source of that pungent aroma was standing beside our bed.

Sasha stood over us with a self-satisfied grin plastered across her otherwise lovely features. "Master.., Mistress," she acknowledged, "I have returned as promised."

"Uhng..., whaaaa..., Oh!" Sharon stirred sleepily, but made no move to cover her voluptuous nudity. I didn’t mind either. Of course, in that climate sheets or blankets would have superfluous anyway.

"And...?" I prodded.

"I have researched the Tomes thoroughly for guidance in granting your Third Wish," the pretty Genie announced confidently. "They suggest a particularly appropriate resolution."

"All we want is to understand each other better," I recanted, then mirrored Sharon’s contented smile. "But if last night is any indication, we’re already a long way there."

"That may be quite true, Master, but it was your Third Wish to ‘be given a thorough knowledge of and sensitivity to each other’s needs, desires, wants’, and I shall comply with your desires!"

Raising her arms, Sasha’s slim fingers began inscribing complex patterns in the air, leaving little contrails of mist in their wake. It looked like she was building a latticework of colorful smokey webbing that formed a tight though seemingly insubstantial mesh about three feet above our prone forms.

The sight was thoroughly entrancing, her gesticulations almost mesmerizing, ....until I tried shifting position and found myself frozen in place. Not a single muscle would respond to my insistent command, except my eyes and voice.

"What’re you doing?" I demanded somewhat hoarsely.

Ceasing the bizarre pantomime, Sasha folded her arms across her chest. "Granting you Third Wish, of course," she replied in a smug tone that reflected her expression. "When the incantation is assimilated, I will have further instructions for you."

The psychedelic pattern of cloudy strings hung above the bed for a few seconds, before slowly but uniformly sinking toward us. Cringing involuntarily, I watched anxiously as the latticework descended, and cringed when it finally touched me. Then relief followed at the sight of those multicolored strands dispersing quickly into nothingness. There was a sensation of contact, but the gaseous fibers seemed to leave a strange cooling breeze in their wake.

"Now, will you both please rise?" Sasha was painfully polite, but the undertone was commanding.

We both climbed to our feet without hesitation. Although in my case it was not so much to do Sasha’s bidding as to stretch and gain a better command of the situation by virtue of my larger and more aggressive male presence. Besides, we were Sasha’s masters, right?

"Aren’t you....?" I began.

"I will soon be finished here," she declared. "Now, Mistress, please put on a pair of your husband’s briefs."

Sharon gawked at her. "Not on your life!"

Ignoring her reply, Sasha turned to me. Her tone was even, but the inflection was resolute. "And you, Master..., please do the same with your wife’s bikini."

Glancing toward Sharon, I shrugged. "Yeah, maybe she thinks we’ll improve our sensibilities by wearing each other’s clothes?"

"Not likely!"

"Your husband’s right, you know," Sasha interceded. "Remember the saying ‘to know another, walk a mile in their shoes’? Well, that’s exactly what you must do."

"Uh huh, I see..., I think," Sharon replied hesitantly, "but it seems so silly...., and unnatural!"

"Hey, how the hell do you think I feel?" I added.

"It will certainly seem strange at first, but you WILL get results, I assure you. Besides, this is what you wished for."

Sharon wasn’t convinced. "Maybe so, but you didn’t go to this much trouble last night when you granted our individual wishes. Can’t you just twiddle your fingers or flutter your eyelashes and spare us the embarrassment of having to become transvestites."

"I’m afraid it is not that easy, Ma’am. You must show a determination to cooperate if understanding and happiness are to flourish in your relationship. Please do as I ask," Sasha implored. "You will attain a level of mutual sensitivity that will astound you."

"Well?" I prodded Sharon.

"Oh...alright," she shrugged, while rummaging through the small dresser that contained our meager supply of clothing.

When she turned around it was apparent that she had retrieved more that just a pair of my shorts. Within seconds my wife was wearing my dark blue swimming suit, and looking pretty weird with the nylon fabric straining across her ample hips.

I wasn’t given much time to critique her appearance, since she threw something flimsy in my direction. What I caught was Sharon’s pale pink string bikini.

"AH...HON..." I balked.

"If I can do it, so can you," she insisted cynically.

It was a struggle, but Sharon’s bikini eventually strained itself about my person. The elastic strings stretched across my hips without much difficulty, but immediately rode up into the between my ass cheeks. The triangular crotch panel cut between my balls, which hung around it ludicrously, with my cock pressed firmly against my abdomen. Although pliant, the top’s elastic straps cut into my back, and neck strap, with the cups hanging loosely across my chest. I felt pretty stupid standing there, despite Sasha’s reassurances to the contrary!

"So, now what?" I demanded testily.

"I fulfill your Third Wish and leave," Sasha graciously replied. "But first you must promise me that immediately afterward you will return my bottle to the sea, so that I may proceed to yet another worthy circumstance."

"Yea.., okay. That’s easy. Anything else?"

A wry grin turned her cupid-bow mouth. "Only that you must remain in those suits for at least half an hour."

Sasha stood motionless for several seconds, staring at us alternately, but without seeming to do anything. Then she sighed deeply and exclaimed, "THERE..., your Third Wish is being realized."

She extended a hand palm up toward Sharon. It held a fresh cork stopper. "When I have returned to my bottle, please seal it securely with this, before returning it to the sea. This must be done during the waning tide, which starts in about ten minutes."

Abruptly, Sasha’s image began to fade into a murky blur that summarily retreated into the flask. While disappearing, her parting words came clearly. "Have a wonderfully uncommon life together, my Dears."

Staring in utter mortification at the bikini cutting into my flesh, I yelled, "HEY, you can’t just leave us here like this! What about....?"

There could be no response from the swiftly vanishing mist that receded into the bottle like a vacuum pulling in dust.

Seconds later, Sharon had picked up the decanter and wedged the cork securely into the neck.

"Shall we send her off together?" She headed down the trail toward the beach without waiting for my reply, still wearing my trunks, and nothing else.

The short walk to the beach was at least a little entertaining, as watched her womanly girth sway within the roomy suit. But I was decidedly uncomfortable wearing her woefully under-sized bikini. Every step seemed to make the straps cut more deeply into my hips, shoulders, and chest. By the time we reached those strips of material were digging painfully into my flesh.

Gritting my teeath against the discomfort, I watched in melancholy silence as Sharon waded out to about knee depth, drew back her arm, and pitched Sasha’s bottle into the light surf. It bobbed over several waves before we noticed it slowly retreating with the ebbing tide.

Suddenly, a vicious cramp screamed through my chest, spreading rapidly into my groin, legs, and arms. Within seconds my vision was blurred by the reddish haze of pain that racked my entire body.

"ARRGGHHH!" I groaned, doubling over and collapsing into the sand.

"What is it, Darrel?"

"Oooo..., ooohhh...... Looks...like its (gasp)...my turn to ...have the...aches...and pains....." I smiled wanly, but that hurt too!

Leaning close, Sharon hooked her hands under my arms. "Let’s get you back to the cabin, uh?"

It was hard work for both of us, and took far longer than last time since Sharon couldn’t carry me. Hell, she was having enough trouble just helping, and since I was doubled over in pain her efforts were not particularly effective. By the time I dropped helplessly onto the bed, we were both exhausted.

"I’ll get you some aspirin from the first-aid kit, then you better rest."

I took three, but waiting for the pills to work was torture. The pain wouldn’t let me get comfortable. It seemed to take forever for the aspirin to have enough effect that I could curl up in a fetal position and relax. Without realizing it, I fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

 

When I awoke, a stranger was sleeping beside me. It was another man, and he was sound asleep! A quick scan of the cabin found no sign of Sharon, but something strange was nagging at the edges of awareness.

Pushing hair from my eyes, I gripped the intruder’s shoulder and shook. "Hey, who the Hell’re you? And how’d...? WHAT THE...?"

Was that my voice? Hell..., I sounded like a Vienna Choirboy, or worse..., a girl!

"Hey, you?" I tried again, but my vocal cords wouldn’t form the words properly.

I reached up to knead my misbehaving throat, but stopped short when a rush of panic wrenched at my soul at their appearance. Attached to MY wrists were amazingly small hands, with thin tapered fingers, and long manicured nails. In fact both of my arms seemed to have been dipped in whitewash.

Bounding from the bed was a terrible mistake, because my tenuous grip on sanity was almost lost. Long honey blonde hair streamed down my back and over my shoulders, and kept getting into my mouth and eyes. That’s when I realized that I was still wearing Sharon’s bikini, but it no longer strained at my torso. In fact, it fit perfectly, and now, the reasons were all too obvious through the cloud of long thick hair that thoroughly obstructed my vision.

I HAD TITS, and more! Bulbous lumps of flesh protruded from my chest. Their massive twin pillars strained ponderously against the bikini’s tenuous grip. Instead of a developing paunch, my waist was so narrow I couldn’t even see my navel past the corpulent barrier of my burgeoning chest. My hips had expanded into shelf-like protrusions upon which the high-cut bikini bottom firmly rested. In between, the material hid most but not all of the triangular dark-blonde thatch that carpeted my groin. Below there was no longer anything in my crotch for the elastic to cut, except soft fleshy folds.

Somehow, during my nap, I had been transformed into a WOMAN!!

"OH DEAR GOD...! What’s happened to me?" I moaned pitifully with a voice two octaves too high.

A low grunt issued from the stranger still lounging on the bed. "Awe, come on, Honey, try to sleep it off. You’ll.....What the....?" The low male tone changed pitch and volume in mid-sentence, as the man stirred excitedly, then turned toward me.

Deep down, I somehow knew who this person was, but the shock of seeing that all-too-familiar face from such a different perspective was a paralyzing experience. My emotions seemed to be reflected in the expression on the man’s expression as he rose cautiously.

I was looking at myself! "You...WE....uh..., OH DEAR GOD, Sharon! Look what she did to us!"

Inspecting ‘himself’ thoroughly, I saw shock, dismay, awe, terror, and finally realization cross ‘Sharon’s’ face in rapid succession. "So this is the result of our third wish? No wonder Sasha needed a while to set it up. Jeez...., this feels weird." ‘His’ thick hand was grasping the crotch of my former trunks.

"Look, we’ve gotta catch Sasha and get this undone. Shit..., I can’t live like this," I anguished, clutching desperately at the two fleshy balloons that were so firmly attached to my chest. "What the Hell do I do with these? And what if we’re not changed back by the time we’re picked up?"

Under the circumstances, ‘Sharon’ seemed far too calm, and that damned lopsided smile was not the least bit reassuring. "Why worry about all that now? Don’t you realize what Sasha has done? In granting our wish for mutual understanding she furnished the most logical means for doing so: we get to live as each other for a while. ‘Walk a mile in the other’s shoes...’, right?" ‘His’ eyes wandered over both our bodies with an enthusiasm that gave me pause to consider just exactly what might be brewing behind their fixed gaze.

"Don’t you’re DARE think what I think you’re thinking," I asserted. "And if you do, just FORGET IT!"

"But don’t you realize the opportunity we’ve been given? We can actually experience each other’s physical reality first hand. Why, it’s empathy taken to a logical conclusion," ‘he’ mused, making a fist and flexing his arms. "My God, the strength in these muscles is incredible. I never realized how much power men actually have in their body."

"And I feel like the Pillsbury Doughboy!" I replied caustically. "This damned body’s so weak I can hardly even lift my arm over my head. How the hell do women manage in such a weakened condition?"

Struggling to see through the dense curtain of hair, I ran dainty fingers over my thick thighs, expansive hips, narrow waist, and the ten-pound sand bags fastened to my chest. Everything I touched was too big, too small, too smooth, too strange, and definitely too female.

Glancing toward the sea, my shrill woman’s voice desperately moaned, "Dear Lord, this is simply unbearable! I hope Sasha comes back soon."

Sharon shook ‘his’ head. "I don’t think so, Dear. In fact, unless the tide brings her back, I suspect we’ll never see Sasha again." A heavy and very hairy arm looped over my shoulder. Ignoring my feeble resistance, ‘he’ pulled me into a firm embrace. The heavy male tone was far from soothing. "Tsk, tsk..., is my darling having a hard time?"

Cuddling into those sturdy unyielding arms was so reassuring that I was reluctant to spoil the moment. Suddenly nothing else mattered except enjoying and savoring this tender moment. The awful tension that had built so rapidly while discovering and trying to deal with our sudden transformations was soothed away almost before I could realize it was gone. Holding each other tightly was incredibly comforting, and a glow of soothing warmth quickly grew from a spot somewhere in my groin until it felt like my entire body was consumed by a raging inferno. The globular masses on my chest felt like pent-up volcanoes about to erupt, with the huge nipples forming rigid thumbnail-sized knobs that strained against the bikini’s insubstantial fabric.

Suddenly, Sharon’s firm weathered hands were describing long sweeping arches across my back and along my spine; fueling the raging flames that threatened to consume me entirely.

"I always enjoyed getting my back rubbed," ‘he’ whispered. "Why don’t you lay down so I can do it right?"

"Mmmmmm..." I agreed. It was so easy to simply turn and collapse onto the bed, practically swooning from the loss of contact when we separated. But that was a mistake.

Landing on my stomach like that, I was pointedly reminded of the rampant feminine existence that had been forced upon my person. A mass of long, thick, flowing hair blanketed the sheets, and those monumental breasts dangled beneath my body as I stretched out onto my stomach. Which was a dreadful mistake! It was like lying on top of two dense balls of foam whose volume was displaced only slightly to either side as I pressed into the mattress. Crushed beneath those substantial globes, my nipples felt like hard, throbbing lumps that itched intensely. When I scratched at them my elongated nails only to aggravated the situation further.

GOD..., those monstrous boobs were sensitive!

I was about to flop back onto the bed, hoping to ease the sense that my nipples were six-inches thick and as sensitive as a man’s raging erection, when the bikini’s support was suddenly withdrawn and those globular masses sprang free in all their prodigious splendor.

"Can’t give you a good massage with that in the way, now can I?" Sharon explained playfully while pulling the straps from my limp arms and dropping the scanty top on the floor.

Even that insubstantial fabric had been some protection. Now, fully exposed and unfettered, from my perspective those breasts appeared even more monumental. Intellectually, I knew that my body was now an exact copy of my wife’s former succulence, and as her husband I had always considered Sharon’s proportions quite magnificent. Of course, my tastes did tend toward the bustier variety, but it never occurred to me that her assets were particular monstrous. However, the corpulent bags now suspended from MY chest appeared enormous, and were too, because it took both my hands together to engulf just one of them!

But I was left little time to contemplate these matters, except briefly. A firm but gently hand pushed me down and began rubbing soothing warmth and delicious relaxing pleasure into my back. Before long the only things I noticed were the irritating itchings in my rigid nipples, the pounding of my heart that reverberated through my breasts, and the soothing action of Sharon’s hands across my shoulders and lower back. The only trouble was that my head was buried beneath a mass of blonde locks that tickled my nose and eyes, and kept trying to get into my mouth.

Under these combined sensory onslaughts, conscious thought was virtually impossible. Wonderful perceptions roiled through my mind and consumed me until only the pleasant sensations mattered.

After a long but active silence, Sharon paused. "Well, Honey, do you recognize the erotic needs of your woman’s body?"

"HUH...?" I replied from far away.

"Remember yesterday? You accused me of not realizing when I was horny? Well..., what about you? I’ll bet that until now it hadn’t occurred to you that your new body is telling you something.... And it’s not about to be ignored either."

Judging by the sensations that threatened to immerse my mind and body in carnal euphoria, I realized that she might be disturbingly correct. Once identified, the throbbing ache in my breasts, the twitching within my groin, and the yearning sense of incompleteness, confirmed Sharon’s ‘diagnosis’ all too conclusively.

But I was not at all prepared for dealing with female sexuality, and strained to counteract those thriving sensations.

Turning, I tried responding with a snide reparté. Instead, a muffled gurgle clogged my throat when Sharon firmly grasped my exposed breasts in her large hands and pinched both turgid nipples. An instant later I was writhing and moaning like a wanton slut, reveling in the scrumptious pleasure those fingers were generating in my massive tits.

Eyes closed in a submissive swoon, I felt one hand shift beneath a breast to heft and uplift the heavy flesh toward the sky. I vaulted another high step into the stratosphere when moist warm lips engulfed my hyper-sensitive nipple and started a slow, deliberate suckling. It felt like the swollen point was a volcanic peak that had erupted violently. Soon ‘his’ attention turned to the other nipple, resulting in the same riotous explosion of prurient passion that reached almost unbearable heights when both nipples were consumed and sucked HARD! Through a stupor of sensation I found myself wishing that those turgid lumps could actually produce sustenance so I could feel my own essence flow from my body into that delicious nursing maw.

Unexpectedly, with the force of a runaway roller-coaster I was hurdled a towering pinnacle of eroticism, then slid slowly downward. Oh my God, I observe nervously, that was an orgasm! And it felt wonderful! My body was totally beyond my control, as I sighed ecstatically from the delirious joy of every touch, squirming like a beached whale beneath Sharon’s ministrations.

Again, I was climbing, and it promised to be an even loftier height. Such a euphoria of titillation was so overwhelming that I prayed it would never end.

Those deliciously strange and wondrous sensations emanating from the stout tips of my heaving breasts that I hardly noticed when Sharon shifted position. Firmly, but very astutely, ‘he’ pushed ‘his’ legs between mine, then rolled on top without slowing ‘his’ suckling pace.

Through a haze of orgiastic delight, my mind gave only casual attention of the realization that there was a huge pole of flesh rubbing against my inner thigh. A slight intimation of disgust flitted past my conscience and was gone almost before it could be noticed. In its place, the roiling sensations of womanly sexuality that consumed my groin had already appraised the tumescent presence, then welcomed its advance toward the center of my world. When the dull point of flesh insinuated upon the newly acquired portal between my thighs, I eagerly accepted the impaling pole until its thick shaft stuffed my humid tunnel almost to overflowing, and was knocked at the very gateway to my inner being.

Riding that throbbing, pumping lance was the most magnificent experience of my life. Meeting each pelvic thrust with my own, our union seemed continue interminably. Incredibly, my orgasms grew in strength and intensity, despite the fact that each summit felt impossible to surpass.

By the time Sharon finally stiffened in ‘his’ own orgasmic throes, countless cataclysms had already swept carried me up an ever-rising spiral to heights that I never dreamed could be reached. I had just attained a monumental crest when the pumping suddenly stopped. Deep within the cock-filled chasm that now occupied my groin, those wonderful new ‘love muscles’ perceived the distinct rhythmic palpitations of my lovers volatile detonation.

 

After that first phenomenal coupling, I couldn’t get enough. Sexual congress with my new and marvelously erogenous female body was so spectacular that nothing could prevent my making every effort to repeat it as often as possible, and once again climb to those awesome heights. Every minute that passed without sex was endured only by anticipating the wonder of our next fusion. And I was delighted to find that for once we shared this passion.

As a consequence of ‘Darrel’s’ comparable reaction to ‘his’ own experience, and with ‘his’ incredible capacity to control ‘himself’, we humped like a pair of freaked-out rabbits almost continuously for several days. Our stamina, especially ‘Darrel’s, was remarkable, and we passed long hours enjoying each other’s bodies and our own sensations.

Only when coupling were my thoughts at all coherent or rational. I wasn’t too sure about ‘Darrel’, but it seemed that ‘he’ was coping with our situation considerably more easily that I did. Other than the thoroughly enjoyable sexual benefits, I had to face the fact that, at least until Sasha returned to reverse or cancel her spell on us, I was stuck with this curvateous female body. Which meant that I learn to tolerate (and occasionally enjoy?) my newly acquired womanhood. Resolving to adjust to and accept the reality of my new shape turned out to be was a major chore. I had to consciously practice at being female.

Everything felt odd, was certainly shaped different, and moved strangely. I had to practically relearn some of the simplest things, like walking, and where to put my hands. Dictated by indisputable physiology, my previous lumbering male stride quickly adjusted to a mincing swivel-hip gait, which felt pretty strange, particularly when an arm brushed against the bulging side of a breast and hip. I had always wanted a leaner, more svelte physique, but having a twenty-four inch waist made me feel like I had been pinched almost in half.

Having never found nudity particularly palatable, even in a tropical paradise, I dreaded the necessity of wearing women’s clothes. However, since we had brought few clothes to the island other than those suitable for the equatorial climate, the ordeal never fully materialized. Of course, there were low points, but overall the strain was less than expected.

Panties resembled their male equivalent enough to assuage my reservations. Unfortunately, in both underwear and swimming apparel, Sharon had a penchant for the briefer variety (with my hearty concurrence, that I now regretted), so I was obliged to wear lacy bikini styles that stretched high over my hips and crawled between my ass cheeks. The only real problem I had was in the way the material lay so snybly flat against my crotch. After having spent a lifetime with genital ‘clutter’ between my legs, their sudden abscence was distracting, to say the least.

Containing my massive breasts was another matter. Whenever I made the smallest move or gesture they jostled heavily like thick gelatin. Walking braless was particularly disconcerting when they bounced and thumped on my chest, flopping against my arms like two fish out of water. Running was out of the question, unless I wanted to beat myself to death with my bazzooms! With no REAL brassieres available, at least not the typical white cotton over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder variety (all of which had been left behind), I was reconciled to wearing bikini tops or halters to discourage my breasts from careening about whenever I so much as walked slowly.

Then there was the constant bother of controlling the mass of hair that sprouted from my head. Here again I quickly regretted my masculine predilection to consider long-haired women sexier. No matter how sexy it may be, I soon discovered that long thick hair is a real bitch to maintain. It was a terribly time-consuming and labor-intensive chore to care for such a massive mane. Under ‘Darrel’s’ strict tutelage, I must have spent hours combing, brushing, curling, and washing my lush tresses, then working the soreness and cramps out of my over-worked and under-muscled arms and hands. But having my hair thoroughly brushed was incredibly soothing, and an almost sensual experience.

With our preoccupation for prurient diversions, little conversation transpired. Of course, we had certainly been given a extraordinary opportunity to develop empathy for each other. But communication, possibly the most important part of that process, was virtually nonexistent. The only things we did accomplish on any sort of communicative level involved helping each other adjust to and deal with our transposed realities, and we sorted out the confusing issue of names and pronouns. After several rather laughable episodes, we finally reconciled ourselves to the obvious. At least until Sasha returned (if ever) to ‘correct’ the situation, I was now Sharon/wife/she/her, and my lover/mate was Darrel/husband/he/him. Calling ‘him’ Darrel was dreadfully awkward, but as with all things, time and practice healed our qualms until we were both almost comfortable with the way things were. After all, we were alone, we had each other, and, despite the reversal of roles, and our love making was far and away superior to anything either of us had experienced before.

 

Days and nights often converged into indistinction during flurries of sexual tumult, generally interrupted only briefly by restive pauses for sleep, short ‘training’ and ‘tutoring’ sessions, or short relaxing strolls along the beach. And, more often than not, the latter ventures to ‘commune with nature’ were suspended in favor of ‘conjugating au naturel’.

Two days before the plane was scheduled to retrieve us, I sat on my favorite ‘rock seat’, watching the surf roll over the ivory brilliance of the sandy beach, and considered the future. Staring numbly at the tidal flow that and borne Sasha away, I faced the frightening likelihood of living out the rest of my days as a voluptuous nymphomaniac, ....and MORE!

	Clinging to my favorite rock chair overlooking the sea, I despairingly scanned the watery vastness before me in search of Sasha.  I now faced the bizarre likelihood of forever remaining encased in this voluptuous body!

Just hours before, after making slow delicious love on the beach, Darrel offered a blindingly simple observation that shocked us both to the core of our souls. "Honey, I don’t mean to put a damper on things, but I just thought of something that’s probably important."

"Hmmm?" I sighed softly, snuggling into his firm embrace and running my dainty fingers through the dark mat of his chest that tickled my nipples so deliciously whenever we embraced.

"I..uh...," he continued uneasily, "....as Sharon, my last period ended just before we arrived here. Uh..., so, since you now apparently have my old body, ...and assuming that you would be as regular as I was..., ..uh..., ...well..., ...you should have started three days ago." His worried tone spoke far more than did his words, but there was an rather disconcerting undertow of delight and gratification.

Suddenly remembering Sharon’s wish to produce her own family, I did a classic double-take. In the grip of a pervasive panic, I pushed myself away from him like he was a horrible disease, and jumped up to my feet like a scalded cat.

"Oooohhhhh....sssshhhhhiiiittttt! "Th..Th..that ..m..m..means!" My struggling mind contorted at the convoluted memories of so many hours of blissfully satiating coitus, and the massive accumulation of gism with which my womanly viscera had been so zealously inundated.

Considering the overwhelming evidence, I was almost certainly PREGNANT!

"Dear GOD..., Sasha better show up soon!" I screamed insanely.

 

Of course, she didn’t.

Darrel spent every waking moment of those two remaining days trying to calm me down. But it wasn’t easy, and I wasn’t about to make it so either.

But the likelihood that I would be obliged to remain female and bare the child became incredibly enticing once I accepted even the remotest possibility that Sasha might not return. Having passed that point of acceptance, I found myself focusing almost entirely on the miraculous event occuring beneath my navel. As the natural course of events played itself through my mind, I was soon relishing the prospect of carrying that developing life within my body. Ignoring rational thought, I imagined that I could already perceive faint stirrings, and looked forward to giving it life. Visualizing myself nurturing my own child by supplying milk from my own breasts to provide it with life-giving essence caused a rush much akin to orgasmic delight, only more fulfilling!

The plane arrived only two hours late to retrieve us, along with our meager belongings, and provide transport back to civilization.

Darrel and I both knew that difficulties lay ahead. In fact, the prospect of adjusting to life as a housewife and mother was terrifying, at best. Hell..., I’d have to learn about cosmetics, women’s clothes..., and go to a beauty parlor at least twice a week. Having to wear a dress and high heels seemed totally absurd, too. But we had already agreed that, to whatever degree possible, we would help each other settle into our new transposed lives.

With a sudden rush of comprehension we both realized that, after all those years of frustration and anger, we were finally communicating on a meaningful level. Too bad it took a Djinn’s enchantment to make it happen.

During the long flight home, I drifted into a fitful sleep with Darrel’s large fingers intertwined with mine and nestled across my abdomen. In my dream our child suckled enthusiastically at my copious breasts, and I was the happiest mother in the known universe.

 

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© 2001 by Lorna Samuels. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.