Spells ‘R Us - Winthrop Cranston             by: Vanessa Singer

 

Part 1

"Ah, perhaps this store..." The forty-something man in the brown tweed jacket and brown trousers said as he turned the corner and came face-to-storefront with the newest occupant of his local mall. It was a small, somewhat ramshackle store with the words "Spells ‘R Us" over the door. Winthrop Cranston stood outside the oddly named establishment, looking in the window curiously. There were all sorts of odd antiquities inside, which made this the sort of place where incredible treasures could be found.

Walking inside, Winthrop held his white linen handkerchief to his face. His allergies should have been bothering him immediately, with the apparent condition of the store. It looked dusty and unkempt, but somehow, he found he could breathe easily. The small bell over the door sounded upon his entrance, bring the proprietor of the store out from the back.

He was an old man of Asian extraction, Winthrop discerned, and of incalculable age. He was wearing a long robe that seemed neither suitable nor recently laundered, and he shuffled around as if he were floating on air. He ignored the old man for a time, preferring to inspect the store’s wares without interruption. After a few moments, though, Winthrop cleared his throat and introduced himself.

"My card, sir."

The old man took the small white card with ‘Winthrop Cranston, Ph.D.’ in large letters, with ‘Professional Numismatist’ in slightly smaller print below. He slipped the card into the pocket of his robe, smiling politely.

"How may I help you, Dr. Cranston?" Winthrop looks around the odd little shop, his trained eye scanning for anything of interest.

"I am a numismatist, sir. An aficionado of coins, if you will. Many stores such as yours have hidden treasures, and I am willing to make you a very reasonable offer for any coins of value that you might have," the stuffy man in the tweed jacket said, staring down his nose at the cluttered display case. The old man looked down at the case thoughtfully for a moment, and then returned his attention to his visitor.

"I’m afraid I don’t have many coins in stock, Dr. Cranston. I did just receive one this morning, but I don’t believe it is of much value at all."

"I shall be the judge of that, if you please," he said, dismissing the old man to retrieve the coin. The proprietor shuffled into the back of the store and returned a few moments later with a small box. Placing the box on the counter, he slid open the lid, exposing a small golden-toned coin sitting on a pillow of silk. Intrigued, Winthrop pulled a pair of gloves from his jacket pocket, slipped them on and began to meticulously inspect the coin.

"Fascinating . . ." The slender man placed a jeweler’s eye to his own, scanning every minute detail of the odd coin that this old man had presented to him. It had the dark metallic look of many ancient coins, but it was in incredibly good condition. On one side, embossed in the distressed metal, was the rough representation of a male figure standing before a rising sun. On the other, a woman bowing before a waning moon.

Without a word, Winthrop replaced the coin in its box when he was finished his inspection and rubbed his chin very academically.

"I’m embarrassed to say that I don’t know how much this particular coin would be worth," the old man said, closing the small box around its precious cargo. Winthrop slipped his gloves back into his pocket and shook his head.

"That coin is, I must admit, a curiosity to me. I would be willing to have it examined for a nominal fee. Let’s say, perhaps, $250?" If his intuition was correct, this coin could be worth millions.

"Two hundred and fifty dollars? I suppose that is reasonable," the old man said as he pulled out a small paper bag, slipping the box inside. Winthrop gave the old man a pair of hundreds and a fifty, and smiled as he walked out of the store. He didn’t feel at all bad about taking the old man. If he’d had any idea of what he was selling, he’d have charged him a hundred times what he did. If he was lucky, Winthrop thought, he could make nearly a million dollars on this at auction.

Winthrop got behind the wheel of his vintage Aston-Martin, driving out of the city towards home. He lived quite well, thanks to his inheritance. He was the last heir of a very wealthy family, and had enough money to do anything he desired. Having spent the majority of his life in academia, he was spending the rest in the lap of luxury. Some might have called his life wasteful, but Winthrop didn’t think so. He was enjoying his life, and if anything was missing, he didn’t know what it was.

Upon his return home, Winthrop retired to his study for an evening of fine wine and meditation. After lighting the large fireplace, Winthrop carefully removed the coin from it’s bag and placed it on a linen cloth. He wanted to just admire it for a while, before selling it. Its workmanship was impressive, and he couldn’t begin to age it.

"Greek, perhaps, or northern Africa. Yes, I think this might be from one of the North African tribes," he said, jotting down some notes on this most unusual find. He was not good at African languages, but he knew a few people at the university who may be able to decipher the strange inscriptions surrounding the man and woman on the coin.

Suddenly, one of the logs in the fireplace popped violently. The sound was similar to a gunshot, only louder, and caused Winthrop to shudder. The cloth with the coin caught on the sleeve of his jacket and was pulled toward him, sending the old coin flying through the air.

"Good lord, no!" Winthrop cried, rushing after the whirling coin.

The coin landed on the hardwood floor, circling a few times before coming to rest with its female side facing up. Winthrop was over the coin in a flash, relieved that it was unharmed. His joy quickly turned to horror as the face of the coin began to glow with an unholy light.

"What is happening?" He said as the light grew brighter, burning his eyes. The entire room, including Winthrop, was suddenly bathed in a brilliant burst of pure white light. It quickly subsided, leaving Winthrop Cranston feeling strangely different. The intense light had left his skin lightly tanned. However, to his shock and growing terror, even without the light, he was continuing to darken.

"My hands!" He cried, watching the skin on the back of his hands darken to a deep brown color. His hands also seemed smaller than before. His fingers looked more delicate and his wrists more slight. As his pigment shifted, he felt his stomach grow tight and his body twisting in on itself. His penis, which could have been dusty from lack of use, grew hard at the coin’s beckoning. He fell to the floor, doubling over not in pain, but from pleasure. A large wet spot appeared on his trousers as a load of semen sprayed from his rock-hard cock.

Moaning louder, Winthrop’s sharp waspish features melted away. His nose broadened as his lips swelled and darkened. His cheekbones rose, lifting his forehead and arching his tapering brows. His tear-filled eyes slowly darkened, changing from icy blue to a warm brown. His thinning brown hair grew thicker and developed a slight, but definite curl. The rapture continued to grow as his body changed and more semen poured from his body.

"Oh! Oh God!" Winthrop screamed as strange forces continued to molest him. Tearing at his white button-down, he felt a pressure in his chest building while his shoulders and arms grew numb. He felt tremendously weak, like he was aging years in seconds. His voice continued cracking with each moan that escaped his lips, rising slowly in pitch while he experienced orgasm after orgasm in violently rapid succession.

Ripping his custom-tailored shirt away in a shower of buttons, Winthrop saw two dark mounds puffing up beneath his flesh. His nipples, once a slightly reddish color, were now much larger and were the color of chocolate. His chest grew tighter, forcing the strange new growths higher while shrinking his stomach. His waist felt as if an invisible corset was constricting him, pressing his organs into a tighter, aching space.

Unknown to the poor numismatist, the large sticky spot covering his groin and thighs was no longer composed of simply semen. A new fluid appeared as the magic took hold of his manhood and forced it back into him. His hips painfully spread as each centimeter of his penis vanished, leaving a small cleft in its place. Behind him, the narrow buttocks his trousers had covered were growing rounder, giving his body an undeniable curvature. As Winthrop flailed helplessly on the floor, the wet, oozing fissure continued to deepen as a pair of thick brown lips erupted between his thickening thighs.

Impulsively, he spread his legs, feeling the bones and muscles shifting beneath the brown fabric. The huge sloppy mess flowing from him ran down his thighs and began to pool beneath him. His feet, encased in brown penny loafers and black socks, grew smaller and more petite as a final orgasm washed over him, splashing a final burst of fluid from his new sex. Spent, Winthrop Cranston collapsed on the floor, a giddy smile stretched across his new pouty lips.

The ringing of the telephone was the only thing that roused Winthrop from his slumber. It rang once before his eyes fluttered open and, almost by instinct, he crawled to the desk and reached up to grab the receiver. It fell to the floor with a crash and the sound of a familiar voice.

"Hello? Cranston, are you there?"

"Hello. Yes, I’m here," Winthrop said, holding his head as he rested against the oak desk. His brain was still half-asleep and unable to feel the strange new sensations that his body was sending it.

"Who is this?" The voice asked hostilely. Winthrop immediately recognized the caller as Reggie Partridge, a fellow member of the upper class and amateur numismatist.

"It’s me, Reggie. Winthrop. What’s the matter with you?" To Reggie Partridge, though, the voice on the other end was much too feminine to be his colleague and sometimes friend.

"Whoever you are, please stop these foolish games and put Winthrop Cranston on the line," Partridge snapped snobbishly. Suddenly, like a light going on in his head, Winthrop could hear himself and recognized the source of Reggie’s confusion. He really didn’t sound like himself. And, from the small dark hand holding the handset, he was sure he didn’t look like himself either. Winthrop dropped the phone to the floor with Reggie’s chatter still in his ear and scrambled toward the door, nearly falling over as he ran.

Kicking his huge loafers away, Winthrop raced down the hall in just his stocking feet. Something very slick and sticky was covering his thighs and causing his pants to stick to his buttocks. Moving as fast as he could, revulsion overwhelmed him as the rest of the slick fluid ran down his legs, stopping at the top of his socks.

At the far end of the darkened hallway, the full-length mirror, a gift to his grandfather from the King of England, reflected something unbelievable. He wasn’t sure what was the most shocking. The fact that he looked twenty years younger, or that he was now apparently a woman, or that he was now apparently a black woman. They were all true, though, since staring back at him from the antique looking glass was a young black woman dressed in his ill-fitting clothes.

"What happened to me?" Winthrop squeaked in a little girl’s voice, pulling the tattered remains of her shirt down around her waist to reveal a healthy, but not enormous, bosom. The new Winthrop Cranston was about the same height as the original, if not slightly taller. She had coal black hair that curled slightly about her shoulders and she was, much to Winthrop’s chagrin, quite attractive. She had one of those faces that defied racial stereotypes, and appeared to encompass the best of all cultures.

Her hands moved down into her clammy, soiled pants to find what she knew would be waiting for him. A set of female genitals now rested between legs that were not, should not, be hers. She ran a single finger over the pair of warm, sticky lips and remembered the mind-ravishing joy that he’d felt as they replaced her manhood. An overpowering smell of sex wafted through the air as she jerked her hand out of her pants and sniffed it curiously. Semen and something else. Something female that had come from her body.

Winthrop just stared at herself, for what felt like an eternity. What could have done this to her? It was impossible. Every rational bone in her body told him that, and yet, here she was. She looked, sounded, and felt like a woman, but she wasn’t. She was a man. She was a rich, educated man who had a leisurely life which she had no intention of abandoning. But something was trying to strip all that from her. That coin!

Turning to return to the study, sure that the coin held the secret of her transformation, a loud thud reverberated through the old house. She jumped at the two louder thuds that followed. It was the front door. This, she knew, was the worst possible moment for visitors. Jogging quickly to the front of the house, Winthrop held her chest to keep her new breasts from shaking all around. Instinctively switching on the large foyer light, the slender woman that had been Winthrop Cranston tiptoed toward the large oak door.

Closing one eye, Winthrop looked through the small peephole to see two police officers standing on her front stoop. They were chatting to themselves before the one closest to the door knocked again. The officer pushed the intercom button and spoke.

"Open up! It’s the police!" Winthrop moved a shaking finger to her own TALK button and pressed it.

"Go away, please. There’s nothing going on here, officers."

After a moment, the knocking grew louder and more determined. The former man peered out and saw the officers again. One of them caught sight of Winthrop’s eye against the peephole and knocked on the door with his Billy club.

"Open the door NOW."

"No. Please, go away. Please," Winthrop said softly, falling to her knees and bursting into tears. The events of the night were finally crashing in on her, and she felt like she was coming apart at the seams. The pounding grew louder and louder, like drums in her head, until finally she couldn’t take it anymore. She stood up on wobbly legs and slowly opened the large oak door. The pair of police officers stared at the young woman in the tattered outfit as they stepped inside, trying to quickly assess the situation.

"We received a call that someone had broken into this home tonight, ma’am. Are you the owner?" The taller officer, a blond-haired man who looked fresh out of high school, said as his partner, a stockier black man walked around, looking up the staircase and around the vestibule. Winthrop, suddenly cooled by the night air from outside, crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head.

"Really?" The second officer, Ron Davidson, asked suspiciously. His partner, Carl Paulson, moved closer, making Winthrop very nervous.

"We thought a man named Winthrop Cranston was the owner of this house. Forty-five years old, brown hair and blue eyes. Right, Ron?" The black officer nodded in agreement. "Would you know where Mr. Cranston is?"

"Dr. Cranston," Winthrop said sharply, then remembering who she was and where she was, slowly shook her head. "He’s not here."

"Dr. Cranston, of course. Then, you know the man," Officer Davidson asked. Winthrop nodded, not sure how to answer these questions. She wanted to tell them what had happened, how that damn coin had changed her, but she knew how it would sound. And she knew what would probably happen to her if she did it.

"And, how did you get in here, miss?" Officer Davidson asked again. Winthrop, now completely intimidated by the officers, simply backed away. She wanted to run away from all this, but these two huge men were blocking her way.

"You have to go. Please, leave. I have to be alone. Please. You don’t understand," Winthrop turned away, her eyes filling with tears, but officer Paulson reached out and grabbed her.

"Please, you don’t understand," Winthrop pleaded as Paulson held her bare arm, bruising the soft new flesh. She winced in pain and, for the first time since her change, realized how weak and ineffectual she was.

"Stop it! You’re hurting me!" She cried, grabbing at the officer’s hand. The man jerked Winthrop closer. Winthrop fell against the man’s side, banging her chin on the butt of his gun.

"Watch out, Carl. She’s…" Davidson yelled, putting his hand on his own gun. As Paulson reached for his, Winthrop found herself suddenly free of the large man’s grasp and, taking that opportunity, she scurried away toward the hall.

"Stop!" The pair said in unison as Winthrop darted around the corner. She could hear them pursuing, but she knew she had an advantage. She knew her surroundings. She couldn’t be caught now. Things had gone too far.

Winthrop raced into the darkened hallway, her breasts bouncing wildly beneath her tattered shirt. She moved quickly through the large house, taking advantage of her knowledge to circle back around to the front door while the officers were still at the far end of the house. Racing out the open door, Winthrop moaned as the asphalt driveway dug into her socks, tearing them and leaving her tender soles of her feet exposed. But, she couldn’t stop. She had to keep running until she couldn’t run anymore. Until she was free of those cops. Until this nightmare was far behind her.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Winthrop ran as she had never run before, across her front lawn and down into the housing development known as Woodland Hills. Her feet felt like they were on fire as she ran, and her shirt had collapsed around her waist and over her buttocks. Her breasts flopped wildly upon her bare chest, but she couldn’t slow down. She desperately wanted to turn around, to see if the men were still chasing her, but she was too scared. She just had to keep going.

Only after nearly ten minutes of frantic running and falling did the woman who knew that she was Winthrop Cranston stop and take a breath. She looked around and didn’t recognize the location. It wasn’t far from her house, but she’d never really paid any attention to it. She was on the side of a large two-lane road with virtually no traffic. Around her wrist, hanging limply was her old Rolex that read 11:34 PM. She stood on the edge of the asphalt, stamping her feet in frustration and then crying from the pain.

"Why me," she moaned softly. She could not stand the sound of her new voice. It was not breathy or cultured. Words squeaked out of her throat, making her sound like an overdeveloped ten-year-old girl.

Walking slowly down the road, Winthrop was nearly blinded by the headlights of a small car racing toward her. At first she thought it might be the cops, but there was loud music pouring from the vehicle’s open windows. It whipped past, causing her hair to fly forward, and then stopped about five hundred feet ahead. Winthrop stopped as the car just sat there, idling for a moment, and then a door opened.

Cranston moved quickly off the road and down into the woods, taking off like a scared rabbit. She ran again, away from the road until she finally lost her footing and fell down into a small patch of open land. In the dim light, Winthrop could make out an aboveground swimming pool and the lights of a small house. She had fallen into somebody’s backyard.

Tip-toeing across the grass, Winthrop hid behind the pool, listening for anyone outside. It was past eleven o’clock, but she still couldn’t be too careful. She peered over the rim of the pool and saw no lights except for a pair that lit the porch. Also catching her eye was the swimwear hung across the rim of the pool to dry.

The family that lived in the house, Winthrop figured, was a man and a woman with two daughters. The daughters were teenagers, and one obviously had a weight problem. The one that was slender, however, seemed to be just about Winthrop’s womanly size. Going against every conservative bone in her body, she hatched a simple but effective plan to make her life just slightly easier.

Stripping down to her bare skin, Winthrop took her old clothes and tossed them into the woods. Carefully and very quietly, she pulled herself up onto the pool’s rim and slowly slipped into the cool water. Her brown skin glistened in the moonlight as the water caused goose pimples to appear all over her. She covered her nipples as she dipped up to her neck, letting the water clean all the excess fluids from her lower body. After three minutes, she carefully climbed out of the pool and gathered up a few items from the family’s drying clothes.

Over her chest, Winthrop wore a blue-and-white tank top that left her belly exposed. It was a little small for her and uncomfortably hugged her breasts, which felt enormous on her willowy frame. Her dark nipples were poking obviously beneath the shirt, which had the words "Sweetie!" across the front in glittery pink letters. Sighing, Winthrop wondered if the evening could get much worse.

Stepping into a pair of homemade cut-offs, she found herself showing more leg than she wanted, but what choice did she have? She could see a group of flip-flop sandals on the porch near the house, and almost walked over to grab a pair, but decided against it. It was too risky, she thought, and not worth it. So, as quietly as he’d arrived, Winthrop Cranston disappeared into the night with her stolen clothing.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Checking her watch again, Winthrop discovered she’d been walking for almost two hours after her quick skinny-dip in some local family’s pool. After leaving their subdivision, he’d made her way back to the two-lane blacktop and headed toward town. She cursed the fact that she lived so far from the city, and would give anything to get behind the wheel of her old Aston-Martin. But, she couldn’t do that. Not anymore. Cops were probably swarming all over the place.

In the distance, just around a small bend, Winthrop’s eyes caught sight of a gas station. She’d stopped at this same Exxon station at this morning, before her fateful trip to the mall. And from the gurgling sound in her belly, she thought it might be a good idea to stop. She’d been walking and running all night without anything to eat or drink.

Hoping against hope, Winthrop searched the cutoffs she'd stolen from the pool. She gasped, discovering the pockets were not entirely empty. She found a pair of crumpled dollar bills, two quarters, a white Tic-Tac breath mint and a ball of lint. Tossing the mint and lint aside, she walked off the road and under the bright lights of the station. There were no cars out front, and no one except the young man who worked inside, which was just fine with Winthrop.

Approaching the door, Winthrop could vaguely make out her reflection moving toward her in the glass. She looked so young and so different, and these clothes were so …so girly! Pushing open the door, a tiny bell dinged, announcing her entrance to the store. The young man behind the counter, his headphones turned up so loud that Winthrop could hear them at the door, looked over to see which pump was being used. Seeing no car and a nubile young woman standing in his store, he quickly pulled the headphones off, letting them rest around his neck.

"Hey, babe. Nice night, huh?" He said, soaking in every inch of Winthrop’s body with his eyes. The young man was paler than Winthrop had been, and had short spiky blonde hair. He wore baggy clothes under his Exxon vest, and sunglasses at one o’clock in the morning. Heavy bass poured from the headphones as Winthrop nodded, passing the register to get to the snack aisle.

"Mmmm-hmmm. Baby’s got some junk in the trunk," the clerk said with a laugh as Winthrop turned down the aisle.

"Pardon me?" Winthrop asked, turning to glare that this brazen boy.

"You, babe, have got one nice ass! That’s what I’m saying," she said with a smile. Winthrop could see a fake gold tooth gleaming in the fluorescent light before turning around, disgusted.

"You go to Pinebrook or one of the city schools," he asked, trying to maintain what passed for conversation. Winthrop picked up a Snickers bar from the box and checked the yellow price label, trying to ignore the boy.

"You look like one of those fine Piney cheerleaders. You are, aren’t cha?" He said, leaning over the plastic counter.

"No. I am not a ‘Piney’ cheerleader! Now, please, leave me be," Winthrop sharply said, grabbing another Snickers and turning back toward the wall of refrigerators where sodas were cooling. She was going to grab a sparkling water, but seeing the price and doing some quick math in her head, she settled with an RC cola. Her not-so-secret admirer continued to stare lecherously at her from behind the register.

"I’ll take these three items," Winthrop said in her squeaky little voice. The boy’s eyes remained planted on the glittery letters between her rather prominent breasts before taking the items, running them through the price scanner. The total came to $2.57 including tax. Winthrop’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she looked down at her money on the counter.

"I’m afraid I don’t have that much," she said quietly.

"Sorry ‘Sweetie’, I guess you’ll have to put something back," he said with a smirk. Winthrop’s lips curled into a pout as she looked down at the soda and candy bars. She couldn’t afford three damn things from a gas station! Pushing one of the candy bars aside, she moved the other two items toward the cashier.

"No, sweetie. Put it back. Where you got it," he said, pointing to the candy aisle. They both knew what he was doing. Just getting some petty kicks out of embarrassing the girl who had dissed him. Winthrop grabbed the candy bar and took it back, returning it to its box. She then walked back to the counter, where her receipt and change awaited her.

"Ya know if you’d been a little nicer, you stuck-up bitch, I might have let you slide," the boy behind the counter sneered as he slapped his headphones back over his ears. Winthrop took her snacks and left the store, stopping on the curb to sit down for a few minutes. She made sure she moved somewhere the cashier wouldn’t see her, sitting her newly cushioned rear down on the cool cement.

Leaning against the handicapped parking sign, Winthrop popped open the soda and began to nibble at her Snickers bar. He’d never really liked the taste of chocolate, but she was famished and would eat anything. Indeed, it was filling her empty belly and she could almost feel the caffeine rushing into her blood, giving her a much-needed boost.

Finishing her meal, Winthrop rested against the sign, rubbing her bare belly as she wiggled her small toes against the blacktop. Her entire body felt so alien to her. She still felt human, but nothing like she had before. She could never have walked so far or so quickly when she was a man. Her legs were so long, and had a very pleasing look to them. She’d never found herself particularly attracted to black women, but she’d loved the look of a deep, healthy tan on the ladies she’d dated in the past. Now, her legs were long, supple and definitely tanned. Just like theirs had been.

And her chest. The little tank top with "Sweetie!" written across it did very little to hide the changes that had taken place there. She could see very clearly between her breasts through to the midriff that her short little shirt left bare. They were very nice breasts, she thought to herself. They weren’t too large or too small. However, she really wished they were on someone else. But the only way that would change was to find that old man and make him change her back.

Standing up and wiping the dirt from her butt, Winthrop continued on her journey, leaving the well-lit oasis behind for the dark road that led to the city. With each step, she cursed not getting any shoes. The soles of her feet were scuffed and raw from the hours of walking, even staying on the softer dirt to the side of the road. She hadn’t really noticed it, but he’d grown accustomed to the more pronounced swagger that this body had when it walked. Her hips were so broad and her legs so long that it was impossible to hide, but she didn’t even notice it anymore. The thought of actually getting used to this body was not one she wished to entertain.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

A couple of miles from the Exxon, Winthrop knew she’d find a tiny motel called the Woodland. She remembered seeing, from behind the wheel of her little sports car, men and women going in for the special "hourly" rate. As much as she hated the idea of spending the night there, it was the only thing available. She either stayed there, or spent the night in the woods, sleeping under the stars with the bugs and the animals.

Walking into the lobby, Winthrop found herself face-to-face with a very dirty old man that demanded $10 an hour for a room. Ten dollars or ten thousands dollars wouldn’t matter to Winthrop since she was flat broke, but he took an interest in that wonderfully shiny Rolex on her wrist. Desperate, she handed it to him in exchange for a whole night, taking the key to room six.

Her room was small and smelled of fresh sex. How long had it been since some horny man and some whore had come here for a midnight rendezvous? Her skin crawled at the thought, but she fought her revulsion and went into the bathroom. She could finally get a real shower and lie down in a real bed. Even if she wasn’t in her real body.

Stripping out of her shirt and shorts, Winthrop drew herself a bath. Unwrapping the last unused bar of soap, she slid down into the tub and let the warm water relax her. After a night like this, she could hardly believe how much better a nice hot bath made her feel, but for the first time in a long time, she felt like she might live through this. Soaping up her sweaty skin, she thought about how she could get back to the house, get the coin and somehow, use it to get back into her original body. Or, at the very least, become male again. Resting her head on the edge of the tub, she felt her eyelids growing heavy.

"Just a second. One little nap," she thought as she slipped into a deep, sound sleep. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep, but Winthrop woke up immediately as her head slid below water. Coughing loudly, she shook her head and crawled out of the tub, lucky to be alive. Her fingers and toes were all shriveled like prunes, which meant she’d been in there a while. But, at least after this night that had felt like an eternity, Winthrop felt somewhat refreshed. Wrapping her hair up in one towel and her body in another, she stepped out of the bathroom and looked around the meager room. It was tiny, but would definitely serve her purposes.

Walking past a pair of large mirrors, she intended to collapse on the bed and sleep for a week, but something drew her back. Touching the mirrors, she realized that there was a closet behind them. As she opened it, the closet door shrieked loudly on rusty rollers. It was empty, except for a small mound of clothes in the back, lost and forgotten beneath a fallen shelf. Moving the shelf aside, Winthrop knelt down and pulled at the discarded garments hidden beneath. On top was a dirty white t-shirt that smelled sweaty and male. Tossing that aside, she saw some other clothes that seemed more appropriate for a woman.

Her hands moved slowly over the satiny fabric of the dress, and Winthrop found the wet-looking cloth very appealing. Looking around, as if anyone was watching, Winthrop bit her lip and smiled a little. If she was stuck with this body, at least temporarily, it might be fun to see what it would look like in this. It wasn’t as if she’d go out in this whore’s clothing. Just a quick look in the mirror, and then off to bed.

Dropping her towels, Winthrop found the bottom of the dress and slipped it over her head, letting the sheer fabric slide over her body. Two very thin black straps fell over her shoulders, holding the whole thing up. The little black dress had a plunging neckline and seemed to be split up to her ribs on both sides. Further inspection showed a group of small silver chains which, when fastened, created a ladder effect across each side of her torso. The hem of the dress barely came down to her thighs, showing an almost obscene amount of leg.

"Hmmm, not bad," Winthrop said, looking at herself in the cracked mirror that was the closet door. "Not bad at all." The black dress went very well with her coffee-colored flesh, and accented her body in all the right places.

Getting back down on her knees, Winthrop moved a few other pieces of male clothing and discovered a pair of shoes. She’d have given her eyeteeth for shoes earlier, but upon pulling them from the pile, she wondered if they’d have been much better. These shoes were not made for walking, unless it was up and down a city street.

They were black, like the dress, except for the heel that seemed to be made of some sort of clear plastic. The insoles were cushioned, she thought, as she slid her thumb across them. Sitting on the bed, Winthrop slipped her feet into the strange looking shoes, fastening the narrow black straps around her ankles. Carefully, she stood up and began to walk toward the mirror again. It was a slow and deliberate walk, given she’d never worn heels before, but she grinned as she arrived without falling. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, all she could think was how hot she looked.

"Baby’s got some junk in the trunk," she said, turning sideways and shimmying a little as she mimicked the Exxon attendant. It was true though. Winthrop had a very large butt. Not obscenely large, but bigger than it used to be!

Suddenly, a loud crash came out of the distance, and a muffled voice shouting something. Walking carefully over to the window, Winthrop’s mouth almost dropped as she saw three police cars blocking the entrance of the motel, while a number of officers were banging down doors and pulling out people.

"This is a raid," one of the officers yelled, pulling out a pair of naked men out of one of the rooms. Winthrop got away from the window as quick as she could and moved toward the back of the room. But, it was too late. A sudden knock, then the crashing of wood allowed a pair of officers to enter the room. One of them screamed "Get down!" as another got behind Winthrop, cuffing her and pushing her, stumbling, outside.

A large truck sat running, waiting for all the prostitutes and Winthrop, to be loaded in the back. Winthrop’s brown eyes scanned the tiny room as she tried to concentrate on something else. She felt like she could cry at any moment, and that probably would not be a good idea right now. Staring blankly out of the back of the truck, Winthrop watched the motel disappear into the distance as she was taken deep into the city to spent the night at the police station.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Name?"

The large female officer repeated the question as Winthrop stood before her, being processed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She asked louder, tapping her keyboard impatiently.

"Win…Winnie Thorpe," she whispered quietly. The woman loaded the name into the computer as Winnie looked down at her stained fingers. After being processed, Winnie and her companions were led into the holding cell until they were to be released in the morning. She took a seat along the wall next to a girl who couldn’t be more than sixteen and looked hardened by the streets. Looking down at herself, she realized that she could pass for that age now, if she wanted.

"Your first time, huh," The young girl asked, looking up at Winnie’s tearful eyes. Winnie nodded, sniffling a little.

"Don’t worry about it. Happens sometimes. It’s better than getting the shit beat out of you," she said with a humorless grin. Winnie shrugged, assuming they were to be sharing a common experience.

"Ain’t seen you around. Name’s Ellie," the girl said. She could have been an Ivory girl type, if she hadn’t turned to this life. But, now she had eyes that looked old beyond her meager years.

"Winnie."

"Don’t worry, Winnie. We’ll be out of her in the morning. Just as soon as the boys come with the cash," The other girls nodded in agreement, but something in Winnie’s eyes told Ellie that no boy would be coming for her.

"Don’t you have a pimp or something," Ellie asked as Winnie shook her head.

"You need some cash, huh," Ellie asked, looking Winnie over carefully. She was innocent looking, and definitely new to the streets. If Ellie left her alone for a minute, who knows what would happen to her.

"Tell you what. I’ll get you sprung in the morning, and you can pay me back later. I know this guy who uses some of the girls as models. He likes them kind of light, like you, and will probably give you fifty or maybe a hundred for some shots."

Winnie thought for a second, unsure if she should sell her soul to the devil like this. Without money, it might be a while before she could get out of jail, making her time locked in this body even longer. There was no other way out.

"What kind of shots?"

"I think it’s all Internet stuff. You just lounge around, playing with your tits and spreading your legs. Nothing you haven’t done before."

Winnie nodded and, totally exhausted, fell asleep with her head against the cement wall. Time flew by as the morning broke and the girls were one-by-one released. Ellie, good to her word, saw to it that Winnie was set free, and met her at the door. Ellie was chatting on a cellular phone when she saw Winnie step carefully down the steps of the police station.

"Hey, Winnie. I just talked to Claude and he wants to take a look at you. Now, if you’re ready."

Winnie shrugged uneasily as Ellie called a cab for them. It took only a few minutes to get from the police station to the small warehouse loft that doubled as Claude Madison’s home and studio. It was cleaner than Winnie thought it would be, and in some ways, rather tasteful. Claude was a French ex-patriot with not a trace of fat on him and a camera strung around his neck.

"Ellie! Is this the goddess you were telling me about," he asked, giving Ellie two kisses on the cheek. Winnie teetered on her heels, watching as Claude circled her, taking in every curve.

"You are over eighteen, no," he asked, raising an eyebrow as if he was unsure. She nodded, and his face lit up. He got very close to Winnie, looking into her face and cupping her left breast with his hand.

"Good lord, they are real," he said, seeming shocked as Winnie’s cheeks blushed. "I have told you, Ellie, that some girls do not need to mutilate themselves!" Ellie lit a cigarette and informed them that she’d be outside.

"Excellent! Then we can begin," he said, pointing to a large oriental screen next to the shooting area. She was supposed to strip down to only her shoes and lay on this overstuff couch covered in pillows.

"Now, I want you to ooze the sexuality, my dear," Claude said, taking some shots of Winnie as she stripped. She turned toward the camera, parting her lips into a forced smile and slowly lowering the strap of her dress off her shoulder. In her mind, she told herself that she had to do it. It was the only way she could get back to her coin, and back to her body.

"Excellent," Claude said as the dress fell over her buttocks and she turned her back to the camera, cupping her breasts. Her motions were jerky and uneasy, but Claude’s camera didn’t see those. He took only the moments when she looked so much like a real woman that even Winnie herself wouldn’t know the truth.

"Love yourself, my dear. Feel your body. Those lovely natural breasts of yours," he said, clicking away as she moved her hands over herself seductively. Winnie moaned, feeling the stirrings inside her as her nipples grew hard. The thick bush of pubic hair between her legs began to moisten as her new sexuality ripened before the camera’s lens.

"Now, lie down here," Claude said, leading Winnie to the couch. There, she truly explored herself for the first time while Claude switched cameras and moved the lights to better shoot her gorgeous body. She rubbed the thick lips between her legs, parting them to reveal the damp flesh within. Her slender fingers vanished between them, brushing the clitoris that had once been a male appendage. Winnie’s eyes rolled back as she grew moister, spreading her legs wider. She’d almost forgotten the pleasure of the change, until now. It was all coming back to her now.

The photo shoot lasted half-an-hour and when it was all done, Winnie was seventy-five dollars richer. She dressed and, after exchanging a cheek-to-cheek kiss with Claude, walked out of the loft. Claude loaded the images into his computer, preparing to add them to his website. This one would bring many hits, he thought.

When Winnie stepped aside, she found Ellie had vanished without being paid. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t care. She needed every cent of this money to survive, but decided to get a cab back to the mall. She’d walked enough in the last twenty-four hours to last a lifetime.

The cab ride to the mall from Claude’s loft would take fifteen minutes, and every minute of it, Winnie could feel the cabbie’s eyes probing her from the rear-view mirror. He would stare down her cleavage, which was quite prominent in the dress. She smiled slightly, relishing the attention in the secret portions of her mind. She’d never been admired like this before. Not as a man.

"You think I am beautiful, don’t you," She asked, brushing her hair out behind her shoulders. The cabbie nodded, smiling to expose a missing tooth. Winnie crossed her long legs, deciding to enjoy it while it lasted.

Winnie handed the cabbie a twenty as she got out at the entrance to the mall and walked more confidently in through the doors. It was still early, so there weren’t many people around. She moved quickly, clicking as she walked, back toward the far side of the mall where she’d first found the strange store with the coin. To her eternal relief, it was still there.

"Dr. Cranston. Or, is it Winnie now," The old man asked as Winnie walked into the store. She instantly found herself filled with an overwhelming hatred for this little man. From the tips of her toes to the top of her head.

"What did you do to me?" She squeaked, walking over to him with such long steps that two of the dress’ silver fasteners snapped. The old man held up his finger and shook his head.

"I did nothing to you. I simply sold you a coin."

As he finished, Winnie smashed her tiny fists down on the counter.

"No! That coin did this to me. You did this to me," she screamed, shaking with anger. The old man looked at her and shuffled toward a small globe in the corner.

"You could have simply flipped it again, Dr. Cranston."

Winnie stopped, recalling the events in her mind. Of course. Why didn’t she think of that? Flipping the coin once caused this change. It landed on its female side, and he became a she. She assumed that the racial change was due to the coin’s continent of origin, but she couldn’t understand why she’d gotten younger.

"So, all I have to do is go home and flip the coin onto its male side?" Winnie asked, the sense of relief evident all over her face.

"You COULD have flipped the coin again, but now I’m afraid that is out of the question." The old man said quietly, gazing into the globe. Winnie’s hopes sank as quickly as they’d risen.

"Why?"

"Because the police took the coin as evidence in the break-in at your home. And, due to a mistake in their clerical department, it had been misplaced," he said somberly.

"But, can’t you just do some magical stuff and bring it back, or just change me back right now?"

"Sadly, no. I’m afraid the magic of the coin is unique and can only be undone by the coin itself. And, as long as it lies dormant, I am unable to recover it. It took me many years to acquire it before you purchased it." Winnie fell to her knees as he spoke, staring down at herself and feeling that need to cry again.

"I’m stuck like this?" She asked pathetically, staring at her hands. The old man turned around and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Physically, you are as you are. However, I may be able to ease your grief," he said, showing her the glowing globe on the far wall of the store.

"I can restore your life as you remember it. Your money and status will be as before, but you shall remain in your current form. I must warn you, though, if I cast this upon you, all hope for restoring your former form is lost. Even if you should find the coin again, you could not return to manhood."

Winnie knelt on the floor, weighing the biggest decision of her life. If she didn’t take the strange old man up on his offer, she would be nothing but a broke prostitute without any identity or status, though someday she may be able to return to her old life as Winthrop Cranston. However, if she allowed him to do the impossible, she would be rich and want for nothing in a body of a young, sexy African-American girl. As much as she wanted to hold out hope, she knew that there was only one decision she could make.

"All right. Do it. Make everything like it was," she said, closing her eyes. A single tear dripped down her cheek as the word "Done" echoed in the darkness. She felt momentarily ill before opening her eyes and finding herself kneeling in the study of her old house.

"Oh my God," she whispered quietly, standing up and looking around. Everything looked exactly as it had the night of her transformation, except for the huge stain on the floor. It was gone, as was the coin.

Winnie looked down at herself, discovering that she was not wearing the clothes from the motel any longer. She was dressed in a black business suit, with silk stockings and black pumps. Sitting down at the desk, she looked through the drawers and discovered all sorts of interesting little changes had taken place.

An adoption certificate, with her parent’s names on it, showed that they had adopted a young girl from the City Orphanage in 1976. There were photos of them and the young girl playing. Winnie smiled as she watched herself grow up in pictures, becoming the twenty-four-year-old woman who’d just received her doctorate in antiquities from Oxford.

Leaving the study, she made her way upstairs to the bedroom where she found a wardrobe for every occasion. She smiled, finding the clothes from the motel in the closet as well. She might be a conservative doctor of antiquities by day, but Winnie Cranston loved the way men had looked at her, and would definitely be coming out of her shell at night. She’d never forget her life as Winthrop, the stuffy gentlemen who lived through his coins, but she wouldn’t mourn him for long. Winnie had her own life now, and she was going to live it to the fullest.

 

 

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