Disclaimer:
The places in this story do exist, but all the people are fictional. So is
everything else. If you live in Sabula, take heart, no harm is intended and I am not
writing about you.
This is NOT to be used on ANY pay site. Feel free to archive on free sites. If you're not into TG fantasy, sex, or generally dysfunctional fetishes, don't read it. This is my first story to StorySite and I welcome your comments. Send to Justine2969@nightmail.com .
A Turning Point by: Justine Macoure
Part I : Selling Ice-cubes to Eskimos
Marc couldn't believe his luck. Just a simple business trip his boss had told him. He was to talk a small farming community into allowing his pharmesutical company to build a production facility in their town. .
"This could be a turning point in your future with this company, Marc. Wages are lower in the rural areas and the EPA doesn't judge as hard in a less densly populated area. If you can pull this off, upper management could be a distinct possibility. "
Simple... right.
Selling icecubes to eskimos would be easier.
"This could be a turning point alright...getting mauled by a mob of bib-overall-wearing, pitchfork-carrying yokels would definitly change things..." Marc bitterly thought to himself. Somehow the idea of upper management was quickly losing it's appeal.
After setting up arrangements for the care of his apartment while he was gone, Marc loaded up a few neccesary items for the trip into his classic '71 Cuda. He very rarely had a chance to drive it, as the subway was much faster in the city, and if nothing else, he was going to at least enjoy the drive.
On the drive from Chicago, Marc got to thinking,"Maybe this isn't going to be all bad. I could meet up with some oversexed farmers daughter, have a little fun, breath some clean air, and just relax from the city life for a while. Almost a working vacation, actually!" With that in mind, he pulled into Sabula, Iowa. "Iowa's only island town" the sign read. Built on the sandbars of the Mississippi, Sabula was surrounded by water and beyond that, some of the countrys most fertile farmland. "The land may be cheap, but I'll bet it'll be hell to get qualified help here.",Marc thought.
After searching the entire ("Good God! Only 7 blocks square!?!") town, Marc concluded the run down motel at the center of town was the only place to stay for many miles. "I'd like a room with a phone, at least" he told the clerk at the counter. "Would you like me t'remove the cows and hay first? That'll be extra, y'know." the clerk shot back sarcastically.
"No, as long as they pay their share of the bill" Marc joked back, smiling, "Sorry, I was just hoping for a hot-tub or something to soak away the road aches."
"Actually, we have a couple rooms like that. You're not the first tourist, y'know. Would you like one of 'em?" The clerk said back, smiling a little now.
"You bet!"
"Good! Room 107. Thirty five dollars a night, up front, no credit.", He said as he handed Marc the key,"and we don't have much for fine dining around here, but the local tavern makes some respectable food."
"Thanks!"
After a quick call to city hall to set up an appointment with the mayor, Marc decided to relax and settle in. Soaking in his rented hottub, Marc thought to himself " This doesn't seem all bad..."
Part II : Fishing For A Deal
A short stop at City Hall told Marc that the Mayor, Bill Thurston, was out on his boat, and wanted him to meet him there. The secretary, an exceptionally good-looking woman, Marc thought, gave him directions to Mr. Thurstons dock. As he was leaving, she stood up and shook Marc's hand. He couldn't help but notice her height of at least six-two and the incredible figure on this woman. She had the look of a model, tall, about 110 lbs, a tight waist, incredibly long jet-black hair and probably size C breasts, he estimated. Making a mental note to come back here soon, for any reason, he headed for the boat docks.
"Come on! The fish are gonna fall asleep waitin' for us at your pace!", The short man in the rubber overalls said to him as he approached "Don't want to waste a day like this on the docks!"
"You're Bill Thurston?" Marc asked, suprised by this turn.
"I should hope so, or someone else is about to steal my boat!" The man joked back." Not exactly fishin' clothes, son. Maybe you should stay back until I come back this evening."
Not a chance, Marc thought to himself, If this is how the locals do business, then I'll give it a try. Nothing like being one of the good-ole-boys to set them at ease.
"No. I just wanted to look good for my future dinner.", he joked back.
"Then we're off!"
Settling the boat a couple miles down river, Bill pulled out his fishing rod and began to assemble the suprisingly complex components.
"You ever been fishing, son?"
"Marc. And no, I can't say that I have."
"Well, when I get done threading this reel, you can use this one. It's a Zebco 202. Easy to use as they come."
It sure doesn't look like it, Marc thought.
"Anyways, what is it that brings you to the styx, Marc? You just told me you're not a tourist, since the fishin' is about our only tourism trade."
Well, to be to the point, I'd like to build a chemical lab and manufacturing facility at Sabula. It could mean well over a hundred jobs and a stable economy for your town. Also think of the uses for all that tax money it would generate."
"Chemicals, huh?"
"Yes, sir. Pharmeceuticals, to be precise."
A long pause followed, as Bill Thurston finished threading the reel.
Part III : Undertow
"No."
This was the first word spoken between them in close to half an hour. Marc had begun to feel a little queasy, due to the incessant rocking motion of the boat or the tension, he wasn't sure.
"Could I be as bold as to ask why not?"
"It's easy. The jobs you create are too skilled for the locals, so we get no benefit there. Our best income, fishing tourists and outdoorsmen, would dry up as you poison our fish, and since we are on an island with limited space to build, your company would build on the riverbank, off-island, thereby giving any tax monies to the state, not us. Simple enough for you?"
"Isn't there a way to free up some island land to build on?" Marc asked, grasping at straws.
"That depends on how big you plan on building."
"How's one block? We could always build up instead of out. And we could ship any waste back to our main facility." He knew his boss wouldn't go for it, as taller buildings cost a great deal more, but at this point what the hell.
"What kind of drugs? We don't need a town full of addicts if your security measures are less than adequate or a bunch of defomed cows from experimentation."
"I assure you Bill, no deformed cows or drug-addicted rednecks...", Oops, Marc thought to himself, I hope he didn't notice that one...
Bill looked at him coldly,"What kind of drugs, son?"
The son thing again, Marc thought. "Hormones and antibiotics, sir."
"Tell you what, son. Get us both a cold one out of my cooler and I'll think about it while we fish.", Bill said, "Maybe if we can find a way for you to prove to me that your drugs aren't harmful, we could work something out", he said, smiling a bit oddly, Marc thought.
As Marc got them both a beer, the boat suddenly lurched and threw him off balance. Fighting for solid footing as he came closer to the water,his legs became entagled in the fishing gear. As he hit the water the last thing he could remember was he could have sworn he seen the Mayor Bill Thurston smiling...
Part IV : The Proposal
"Mr. Macoure?"
"Can you hear me?"
Marc realized he was in a hospital room, bound to a bed, un-able to move.
"What the hell am I strapped in for?" Marc yelled at the nurse.
"It was for your own good, son. When you fell in the river you hit your head on the rocks. It took almost a half hour to get you out of the undercurrents and back in the boat. By that time you were shaking so wild you almost tipped the whole boat. When I got you here you were seizuring." The voice belonged to Bill Thurston.
"So why am I still strapped down?" Marc asked.
"Son, the Mississippi isn't a very clean river thanks to you manufacturing types dumping your garbage in it and it seems you've caught a nasty infection from all the water you swallowed. Needless to say, the seizures continue." He said to Marc, with more than a little contempt in his voice.
"Haven't I been given any antibiotics or anything?"
"No."
"For godsake, why not?" Mark asked furiously.
"I thought this might be an opportunity for you to show us the harmless benefits of your company's products, but you would have to sign releases and such for them to use anything other than the standard drugs used here, as this hospital doesn't stock your company's drugs." He said with a wry smile.
Almost on cue, Marc was racked with an incredible seizure. As he settled down, Marc said,"Where's the forms to sign?"
The forms were produced and Marc's arm was unstrapped to sign. The nurse told him he needed to rest now and strapped him back down. As he drifted back into his drug-induced slumber, he realized he hadn't even read the forms.
Part V : Realization
Marc awoke feeling a bit groggy. After a bit he relized he wasn't in a hospital anymore. The room was somewhat small, with the four-post canopy bed he was lying in taking up most of the space. He was covered in rose-colored satin sheets and upon further inspection, wearing a white satin camisole and panties. Even worse, It appeared that he was filling out the camisole quite nicely.
"What the fuck?!?", He blurted out.
Horrified, he decided to assess the damage before going any further. Reaching down into his (?) panties,
noticing the large breasts in the way, he was somewhat relieved to find his male parts still intact.
"Good. You're awake. We didn't want to do anything irreversable to you, Justine. Not until you were ready yourself." A female voice said to him from the doorway.
"What the hell do you mean?!? What is all of this? Breasts? Since when is that a part of antibiotic treatment?" Marc yelled. "And besides that, whats with the women's underwear?"
"You signed a release agreeing to all of your company's products being used on you. Antibiotics, hormones,....everything. I'll bet you didn't even know some of the things your employer makes, did you?"
"Like what?", Marc recognized the woman as Bill Thurstons' secretary. "And what was that you called me?"
"Various items, such as silicon implants, hormone accelerators, sprays to tighten the vocal chords, etcetera. And I made up a name for you 'Justine', so that a big breasted, sexy woman like yourself wouldn't have to explain the name 'Marc' all the time. By the way, my name is Christine. Just call me Christi."
"Obviosly everything went well, so change me back!"
Part VI is soon to come if anyone likes this story. Let me know!
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