The morning comes. Karl is not in bed. He lies across the cool bathroom tile. His yoga pants are in a heap by the bathroom door. His top is in the bathroom sink soaking wet, water dripping on the floor from a dangling sleeve in a tortuous irregular drip, drip, drip, drip. One shoe is in the bath tub and the other is still in the bedroom. Curled up in a ball wearing only his panties and socks, Karl awaits death. Around nine in the morning, death decides to spare him and he slowly regains consciousness.
Opening one eye, a fuzzy memory combines with a hangover for the ages. His mouth is dry. His head pounds in time with his heart. Even his face feels somehow contorted. As he peers up at the ceiling, the fluorescent bathroom light is bright, oh so bright.
Turning away from the light, and laying there for another ten minutes, Karl realizes that either someone must shoot him immediately or he must get something to drink and a big bottle of ibuprofen. Raising up first on hands and knees, he then reaches up to the sink to pull himself up. Feeling the soggy long sleeve top that is soaking there, he thinks, What is that? On his feet he sees the soaking mauve garment and a light of memory flickers. Oh yeah, I puked on it last night and put it in the sink so it would not stain. Smart.
Now on his feet in front of the sink, he feels for the mirror, eyes still closed to avoid the light, and opens it to reveal the contents of the medicine cabinet. Fumbling, he finds the bottle of Aleve and wrestles the cap open, dropping the lid into the water and shirt filled sink in the process. Pouring four or five tablets in his shaky hand, he turns on the faucet and scoops water into his mouth to choke down the pills. This major accomplishment behind him, he staggers, cracking one eye open, hanging onto the towel bar and then doorway and then walls until he reaches the kitchen. Shielding his eyes from the sun beaming through the window above his sink, he says to the empty room in a voice that sounds like he is talking while eating paste, Does the sun have to be so fucking bright?
Closing the cute little curtains above the sink, the sun’s intensity is reduced by about one percent. Karl closes his eyes and reaches into the cabinet to retrieve a glass. The first glass he reaches is a sunflower Tervis tumbler, but his grip is tenuous and the plastic cup slips away, bouncing loudly off the counter and onto the tile floor and echoing across the kitchen.
Wincing at the sound, he is successful in his second attempt, grabbing a souvenir cup from the local AA baseball team. Filling it with water, he drinks it all down. A second refill, he gets about half of that down and then puts the cup carefully down on the counter, focusing and breathing to try to keep the water from returning from his mouth.
Slowly, turning his back on the evil sun, he makes it to the coffee maker. Popping in a K cup, he places the Cinderella coffee mug from yesterday under the spout. Yeah, it is dirty, but Karl does not really care. Three minutes later, he takes the cup and begins to gingerly sip. His lips are so puffy and tight and, moving his jaw side to side, he notices again his face is a little sore and, somehow, feels tight. Did I get in a fight last night? Touching his cheeks and around his eyes, he does not feel sores or bruises, though.
Finishing the coffee, Karl walks over to the fur lounger and plops down heavily. While lying in a ball on the lounger, he goes through alternating cycles of light restless sleep, nausea, and painful consciousness. After about an hour, those three merge into a drowsy, slightly nauseous wakefulness with a mild headache. He will survive.
Getting up carefully, the sun is thankfully high enough in the sky to not be a brain penetrating beam of pain coming through the window. Karl has been here before and knows what to do. Making a scrambled egg and two pieces of dry toast, he chokes down the food along with another cup of coffee and two more glasses of water. Feeling more human, he looks at his watch and sees that it is eleven in the morning. I gotta get moving, he thinks.
Slowly, he makes his way through the bedroom towards the bath. As he passes his dressing table, Karl notices his socks are wet. Did I throw up here, too? Looking down and then gingerly kneeling, he feels the rug. The white shag is damp, but there is no color to the dampness. In other words, it does not look like red wine mixed with chicken salad.
Starting to stand back up, Karl catches a whiff of the odor from the floor on his hand. Lowering his nose closer, he inhales. That smells like pussy, like happy pussy. How in the world did that get here?
Retrieving a towel from the bathroom, he spreads it out and attempts to blot the rug. After a few seconds of patting the floor, it becomes a low priority activity to Karl and he just leaves the towel over the spot, hoping the wetness will be absorbed. Pulling himself up by the small wooden chair at the dressing table, his hand touches a crusty substance. What is that? Looking at the white dried slime smeared on the chair, he says out loud to himself, what the hell did you do last night, Karl?
Making his way to the bathroom, finally, he decides he must face the mirror. How bad will it be? Looking into the glass, Karl’s mouth drops open. Touching his face, he is incredulous. The face looks like it has had a rough night, of course. But that is not what is blowing his dehydrated mind. What has got Karl close to a freak out is that the face he is staring at is not his face. He closes his eyes, counts to ten, and then slowly opens them again.
Staring back at him, looking like a frightened child, is the face of his mother, no, his sister, no, some combination of the two. How can this be? Did somebody kidnap me and do plastic surgery and then hold me unconscious for weeks while I healed and then bring me back here, dress me in dirty clothes, get me drunk, and then leave me on the bathroom floor beside my own vomit? As crazy as that convoluted idea is, it was the best he had. There was no sensible explanation of any kind.
Then, it dawns on him, memories penetrating his alcohol dulled brain and bringing both knowledge and more nausea. That witch Jeannie did this.
Yesterday, his hips were a little wider and now today his face has been transformed. Looking at his features more closely, he could still see traces of his old face, but every facet of his countenance from his brow line to his jaw to his nose to his cheeks and mouth were all changed, softened. Even his neck is seemingly longer and he has no visible Adam’s apple.
All of this to keep me from Lisa, he fumes. Remembering his dream from the day before, Jeannie is making me into something Lisa will not even recognize, never mind be able to love. Why? I did nothing to Jeannie and, in fact, did nothing intentionally to Lisa.
Even if Jeannie has this power, why use it this way on someone like me? Tears streaming down his face, Karl is at his lowest. The phrase kicking a man while he is down comes to mind, but even that does not come close to what Karl is feeling. It is total despair mixed with hopelessness.
Looking once more at the reflection, the tear streaked face is not unattractive. Quite the contrary, it could be pretty. But that is not the point. It is not who he is. There were times growing up that he wished he had a pretty face. It would have helped things line up in his life.
He remembers thinking as an awkward fourteen year old, If I were pretty, then the voice and mannerisms and other unmasculine qualities I was given would not look out of place. But this face was not his choice and was just wrong.
How would his family react? How would his coworkers and friends react? If he somehow could communicate with Lisa, how, most importantly, would she react? Would she recognize me or would she, as the dream foretold, look at me as a total stranger? No matter how he thought about it, this was not going to go well. I might as well pick up and move. Start over somewhere else, he says bitterly.
Standing there, staring at the mirror for several more seconds, his mind just kind of shuts down and a dull distant look can be seen on his suddenly delicate face. As his thinking mind slows to a stop, instinct starts to take over, a kind of survival instinct.
The first thing this survival instinct compels him to do is get clean because he smells of wine, puke, and body odor and now, courtesy of the mysterious wet spot on the floor, pussy. Pulling his eyes from the mirror, Karl mindlessly turns to the tub and starts running water into it. Retrieving the shoe from the tub, he sets it gently on the floor. He mechanically lights some scented candles and drops in effervescent bath balms as the steamy water fills. Climbing in, Karl sinks down, his toes stretching toward the end of the tub, sapphire blue nails just breaking the surface. Before he knows it, his head is almost under water and his shorter legs and smaller feet have not yet touched the end of the tub. Coming back to himself somewhat, he rises up on his elbows. As he does, he slips a little on the slick tub bottom and inadvertently kicks the Just for Blonds shampoo bottle perched on the side rail. It falls into the tub, flip top open. Fishing for his favorite hair care product, his foot finds the bottle first and inadvertently squeezes it against the side of the tub. Bubbles float to the surface from the ejected liquid. Finally grasping the bottle, Karl closes the top and puts it back on the side rail of the tub. The released shampoo merges with the bath salts, creating a soothing, heavenly aroma.
Soon, Karl’s cares are dulled. His panic over this latest change is now a dull sense of oh, well. Sure his hips were wider yesterday, but men and women come in all shapes and sizes.
Yes, today his face is more feminine, but he can just grow a beard and hide all that. Karl continues to soak for several more minutes. Eventually, he takes his loofah and slowly runs it over his smooth skin as much massaging as washing. Reaching his cock, the head bobs to the surface like a turtle looking for air.
Thinking of Lisa and women in general, Karl mouths, eyes half closed, in a sultry tone, Besides, all women care about is the turtle. Smiling, he lovingly pets the turtle and then strokes it gently with the sponge. The eight inch monster quickly reaches its full length and impressive full girth. With the smile of an innocent, Karl continues to stroke his cock saying, Good turtle. Good turtle.
After another twenty minutes, the water starts to get cool and the quite relaxed Karl pulls the drain plug and stands up. Turning on the shower, he rinses off the rest of the suds and shampoo and climbs out, using a soft bamboo towel to gently pat dry. Dried off, except for his hair wrapped in another towel like a turban, he looks down at his cock, already returned to full attention and says, Did I not make you happy already?
Honey, you got to go down. I have got an appointment this afternoon, and you cannot show up looking like that. Karl applies moisturizer to his legs, arms, and face. With his hands a little slick with lotion, he decides to help his stiff friend to relax. A few minutes of frustration later, he realizes he needs help. He needs Lisa to help.
Walking back toward his closet, elbows tucked by his side, Karl passes the full length jeweled mirror in his bedroom. Glancing at his reflection as he passes, he stops short and turns around, eyes suddenly alert again. Standing before the mirror, cock bobbing as he moves, he peers, not at his new and strange face, but at his body. Are my hips even wider?
Is my chest a little swollen? Putting a hand on his muscleless and normally almost concave pecs, they are concave no more. Even the area around his nipples is darker and puffier and a little larger.
Yes, there is a difference. Continuing to his hips, they may be a little wider than even yesterday, but what Karl also sees is that his waist seems pinched in a bit. Will this ever stop? he whines. Waving his arms up and down and stomping his feet like a child having a tantrum, he screws up his face and semiscreams, Please stop doing this to me.
His antics cause the towel wrapped around his copious hair to fall, catching on his rock hard dick on the way down. The towel falling releases another strong batch of the magical shampoo fragrance. With this, Karl is by no means calm, but he does regain control. Looking down at the towel hanging there, he cannot help but smile a wistful smile, rewraps his hair, and resumes his mission.
Karl takes the Lisa scented sleep shirt from the closet and slinks back to the bathroom, ignoring the mirror on the return trip. He sits on the tub edge and inhales the garment deeply, stroking his almost painfully stiff cock with his free hand, eyes closed.
Oh, Lisa honey, I wish you were here to do this for real. I love you and miss you so much, he laments. With the thought and smell of Lisa mingled with the smells absorbed into his skin and hair from the bath, relief comes quickly and intensely, but without much satisfaction.
Cleaning himself off, he returns to the closet and, once again, carefully hangs up the sleep shirt.
Today is a free Sunday, with no plans for Karl. On free weekend days like this one, Karl sometimes lets Karli come out to play.
And today will be a unique play day because Lisa made a special appointment for Karli for today the last time Karl’s alter ego made an appearance. With all that has happened, there is no way that Karli will be missing that appointment.
Taking a gaff from his small sachet-lined lingerie chest he calls Karli’s trousseau, he tucks his one remaining symbol of manhood back, pushing his testicles up and in and then puts on the confining garment. It fits a little more snugly today, but it is still comfortable and does the job of smoothing things convincingly.
Carefully plucking his frilliest heather gray silk and lace panties from the small chest, Karl pulls them up his legs. There is a little leg stubble, but Karl knows that will be taken care of later. Looking in the lingerie chest again, he eyes a matching garter belt and stockings, but thinks, not today, or at least not right now.
Returning to the closet, Karl, becoming Karli, takes out a delicate pure white camisole. Temporarily removing the towel from his wet hair, he pulls the wispy garment over his head carefully. As it glides down his chest like a tickling feather and settles just below the top of his panties, Karl’s nipples go hard with the sensation. Ahhh, he sighs, sounding like a woman almost in ecstasy as he absently pinches and rolls a stiffened nipple through the fabric.
While enjoying the sensation, another old memory, or is this really a new memory, comes to Karl. This regular release of tension as Karli has been his outlet since he was twelve and he always looks forward to it. He used to tell himself being soft Karli helps me be a tougher Karl. Thinking about how Lisa had come to share, and seemingly enjoy, the Karli experience on these weekends, he lowers his head sadly wishing for the millionth time he could undo what happened that awful Friday.
Wrapping his wet hair again in the towel, the heavenly scent of his shampoo still filling his nose, he saunters to the entrance closet. Karl takes two of the dry cleaner bag encased hangers out of the closet and pulls off the plastic. A beautiful linen, semitransparent peach blouse is on the first hanger. He removes it from the dry cleaning package and carefully slips it on over the camisole. Noticing it is just a little too big, Karl frowns. On the second hanger is a short black leather skirt. Lisa loved the skirt because she said it is sexy without looking trashy. Unclipping it, he shimmies it up his thighs. At first, he struggles to pull it up over his new rear dimensions, but with a little careful prying and some light cursing, he manages to get it up and into place to start zipping it closed. The zipper at the rear is resisting, but Karl keeps carefully pulling it together and slowly, zipper tooth by zipper tooth, it passes over his hips and to the top. Taking a deep sigh of relief, Karl sashays to the bedroom to look in the mirror, tilting his head appraisingly. Yeah, the blouse might be a little big, but with the slight padding in the shoulders making up mostly for what he lacks there, it fits well enough. The skirt, on the other hand, looks downright hot. His slightly larger rear is highlighted nicely in the tight leather. Posing for a second, Karl’s mind unconsciously converts his worries over his new shape into appreciation for how Karli looks now.
Satisfied so far, Karl opens a bottom drawer in his dresser and withdraws a Plano tackle box that his father gave him when he was ten years old. It, along with a rod and reel, was one of his father’s attempts to get him outside and doing more boy stuff. Karl decided a couple of years later to repurpose the tackle box and it became what it is now, his makeup box. Smiling at the memory, Karl removes a jar of foundation, mascara, and a tube of lipstick. All he needs right now are these three items. He then closes the box and turns to the lit makeup mirror perched on his bedside table. Sitting on the side of the bed, crossing his legs at the thighs easily, thanks to the gaff, he expertly applies the foundation and mascara and then the peach shaded lipstick carefully selected to match his blouse. Truthfully, Karl did not need the foundation given his flawless skin, but Karli would not go out in public without it.
Karl takes the towel from around his damp hair and hangs it up in the bathroom. He runs a thick toothed comb through his locks to prevent tangles and then returns to the bedroom. Reaching into another dresser drawer, he removes a small pink jewelry box. Taking from the box a beautiful antique locket that had belonged to Karl’s paternal grandmother, he carefully opens the delicate catch of the antique chain and slips it around his neck. Struggling to get it reclipped with his wet hair in the way, he finally succeeds and it settles in just where his cleavage would be, if he had any. Looking down into the jewelry box, he removes an antique ring that once belonged to the same grandmother. He loved the ring, but it was far too small and had been since he was thirteen. Karl always took it out of the box on Karli days just to look at it and slip it on the tip of his finger. He did so today, and, lo and behold, it fit his left ring finger. Worried it would not come off again, he immediately pulls it. It slips over his lotioned knuckle easily.
Putting it back on and staring at the back of his hand, he admires it on his more delicate fingers but is disappointed at his short plain nails. Soon, he thinks, soon.
Next he pulls out a silver windup dress watch that he had bought at an estate sale just because the delicate band and heart shaped face reminded him of the locket he now wore. The watch does not work anymore, but it makes a nice Karli accessory. Slipping it over his wrist, he closes the buckle only to find that the watch is a little too big. Taking it off, he adjusts the buckle slide to a smaller position and snaps it back in place. Finally, he looks down to see several pairs of clip on earrings in the jewelry box. He starts to reach for Karli’s favorite pair, gold with an imitation jade, but decides against it. Not this Karli day, he thinks, reaching absently to his bare unpierced lobes. Standing up, the scent of his hair reaches his nose again and he once more starts walking to his closet, his skirt moving seductively with his undulating hips.
Squatting, knees together, he reaches far in the back and withdraws a pair of cork soled three inch wedge slides with a wide black leather strap across the forefoot. Slipping them on, he smiles at his sapphire nails peeking through at the toe.
Almost ready, Karl grabs a baby blue silk scarf with peach colored paisleys and then a small shoulder bag on a slim chain. Dropping his wallet and phone into the bag, Karl walks over to the ornate mirror by the door, the slides clip clopping as he goes. Looking at the mirror, he sighs contentedly, smiling peacefully for the first time in over a week and says to his reflection, hello, Karli. Nice to see you again.
Tying the scarf around his still damp but sweet smelling hair, Karli reaches for the Beautiful You Salon appointment card with Karli and one forty five p.m. written on it and says out loud looking at his clock, I better scoot.
Meanwhile, across town, Jeannie is just rolling out of bed. She is completely spent. Lisa has been up for hours cleaning, dusting, vacuuming, baking cookies, and then repeating some of these chores again unnecessarily. Leaning against her bedroom door frame she watches as Lisa wipes down an obviously spotless glass coffee table. Jeannie thinks, well we know the distraction potion is still working.
Watching her for a few moments longer, Lisa does not look right, Jeannie thinks. She has almost a manic appearance and seems to be on automatic pilot much of the time. She seems engaged when Jeannie talks to her and is already talking about taking some summer classes, so she is still functioning, but it is not the normal Lisa. Jeannie thinks she will have to talk to Granny and see what else can be done.
Stumbling to the coffee pot, Jeannie pours coffee, filling a thirty two ounce mug. It is stone cold by now, but all Jeannie cares about is the caffeine. Lisa hears Jeannie and says, good morning sunshine. Another long night, huh? This second job of yours is wearing you out. You leave at eleven p.m. and come home God knows when and then you get up every day but Saturday and go to your job at the book store. You have only been at this second gig for about a week, but you, and I am sorry to say this, look positively dreadful.
I know, Lisa, Jeannie says yawning and waving a dismissive hand. It is only for another week, though. After that, it will be back to normal. Maybe we can take off down to the Keys before you start summer school. Just kick back and forget things here. What do you say?
Lisa stops her wiping and looks at Jeannie. You have asked me that before. I just do not know. My head is all fuzzy these days. I cannot keep on track. I cannot even face what happened with Karl. With that statement, Lisa stands up robotically, walks to the stove and turns to Jeannie, how about I make you some breakfast?
That is OK. I will just wait till lunch, Jeannie replies noting the mention of Karl and the immediate change of direction. Yep, the potion works, maybe too well.
Drinking her dreadful cold coffee, Jeannie thinks about what happened last night. She is mentally and physically drained, but still buzzing from what she saw and what she did while seeing it. Jeannie had never experienced such feelings of power and lust. I am not a bad person, she thinks to herself. I only want what is best for Lisa. In the middle of these thoughts, though, her mind returns to Karl, laying there on his back, cock rock hard and tenting the tight yoga pants, his face slowly morphing into the woman he was going to be. Again, Jeannie flushes hot, breathing a little heavier, nostrils again flaring and she can smell and feel her sex getting wet again. Putting her legs together, Jeannie tries to think of something else.
She has not even been able to do a training run since this whole thing started. She does not have to do well in her race, but she does have to be at the race to have access to both Karl and Lisa at the same time. Right now, she cannot even think about exercise, though. Jeannie cannot really even think at all. Sitting there, she does commit to herself to take a run on the beach once she has had time for a long nap today.