Karl's eyes open, seemingly unbidden. His brain recognizes that visual input is being received and begins to process the scene. It is dark. He is lying on something soft; a bed?
He is naked with one leg sticking out from a cotton sheet. And it is quiet except for the sound of slow rhythmic breathing. Is that me breathing? he thinks. It seems so long since Karl woke up with another person that it is hard for him to accept that there may be someone else there.
Sitting up slowly, Karl recognizes another reality; he is once again hungover. Not as bad as he vaguely remembers of yesterday, but his head has definitely felt better. What did I do last night or yesterday for that matter?
He can remember everything pretty clearly in the morning up until he was getting ready as Karli. From that time forward, his memory is like looking through a series of blurry photos. He has mental snapshots of being in the car, of being at the salon, of being in a store, of looking at his visor mirror, of being at a bar (where?), of being with a woman, of being somewhere with bright lights. None of it makes sense. How could he have lost an entire afternoon and night?
Looking around the room, his eyes begin to slowly adjust to the darkened space and he can see someone is sleeping beside him. Who the hell is it? There is also a strip of light coming from under the door to the next room and he decides to investigate. As he stands up, the mattress flexes and the sleeping person releases a kind of soft cooing sound. That is a woman, no doubt, he thinks.
Taking a step, he feels something cold under his foot. Taking another tentative step, whatever it is, it is now stuck to the bottom of his foot. Peeling it off, he thinks, Ick!
A used condom! Flinging the slimy sack to the floor again, he continues toward the mysterious light. Reaching the door, Karl opens it just far enough to reach his hand inside. Feeling around, he finds a switch and turns the light off.
Quietly, Karl opens the door and then steps inside onto a cold tile floor. Closing the door again very slowly and as silently as he can, he feels again for the light switch. Turning it on, he immediately slams his eyes shut and shades them with his hand while his fully dilated pupils scream "dumbass" inside his head. Slowly, he cracks one eye, and once it begins to adjust to the light, he tentatively opens the other.
Eyes adjusted, he looks around the room. A bathroom, no surprise. Looking around at the products on the vanity and the things hanging from the shower rod, a woman's bathroom. Looking down at the analog watch on his wrist, the little hand is on the two, and the big hand is on the five.
So it is two twenty-five, the brilliant mind of Karl concludes. Then he remembers the watch is the little sterling silver heart-shaped watch he bought at an estate sale. It is broken and always set to two twenty-five because his birthday is February twenty-fifth.
Okay, I am at a woman's house or apartment and it is nighttime, he thinks. Presumably it is Sunday night. Not much to go on, so he continues to look around. First, he cannot miss his reflection in the large mirror covering the wall above the vanity.
He does remember the shock from yesterday when he woke up to an almost unrecognizable and entirely female face.
That same face is still looking back at him, but now streaked with eye makeup. But there are other differences, too. The eyebrows are now thin and arched and he has a pink stud nose ring and pierced ears with little dangly charms. Both his earlobes and the area around the stud are a little red.
Then there is the hair, so different. Gone is his huge head of wavy hair. He is suffering from serious bed head, but it is clear the front and sides are long, but the back is very short. The color is different, too. No longer bleached blond, it is now a richer blond with highlights. Studying his hands, Karl sees beautiful dark red fingernails. Extensions? There is also a stamp on the back of his left hand. It is upside down, but turning his hand, he reads Beach Trax Dance Club. Okay, so I went to a club.
Examining the rest of his reflection, his slim shoulders and small a plus cup breasts are unchanged, the slightly engorged areolas and nipples looking like they had a fun night.
The curve of his torso inward and flare of his modest hips look the same, too. The little landing strip above his cock is still there and his semi rigid member is waking up, streaked with dried cum.
Maybe it is the hangover or maybe the mystery of where he is, but his mind is processing these things slowly, almost analytically, disconnected from the emotions that by now have become his daily roller coaster of highs and lows.
Returning to the bathroom itself, it looks familiar. The layout and plumbing fixtures all look like ones he has seen before. Thinking he has gathered all the info the bathroom has to give, Karl turns the light off again. He slowly opens the door, the room beyond now appearing pitch black.
Taking a slow step out, his pinky toe makes contact with a chair leg and Karl almost cries out. Stopping, he waits for a minute or two until the pain recedes and he gains some shadowy vision of his surroundings.
Squinting, he thinks he sees something vaguely shiny across the room about three feet off the floor. Doorknob? Walking, hands feeling out in front, Karl reaches the shiny object and finds it is a doorknob. Glancing back toward the bed, the person lying there in the dark is gently snoring. Again, as quietly as he can, he turns the knob, opens the door, and slips through.
Closing the door behind him, the room he has entered is lit by a small dim lamp beside an L-shaped couch to his left. It is the main sitting area. Turning to the right, he sees a kitchen.
This is an apartment or condo, no doubt. Seeing the light switch on the wall by the fridge, he turns it on. Eyes readjusting, he does recognize this place. He has seen that wallpaper, that kitchen layout, those windows, those beige paint colors. It dawns on him with the first real joy he has felt in days.
I am in Lisa's apartment! he shouts with happiness inside his own head. Fist pumping and jumping around, cock bouncing, he wants to dance, to sing. I have gotten her back, or maybe I am waking from a long nightmare and I never lost her in the first place.
Turning the light off again, Karl can barely contain himself, his heart beating a mile a minute. He silently opens the door to the bedroom and waits a few moments for his eyes to adjust again.
Then he slinks over to the other side of the bed and crawls in, spooning Lisa from behind, his small breasts pressing into her soft, warm back while his now-rigid cock brushes her rear. He would be happy to just stay like this forever. He just cannot lie still though.
He is like a kid knowing Santa has just left toys. Reaching over her shoulder, he pulls her hair back and kisses her on the neck. She stirs, and groggily says, well hey sweetie, that is a wonderful way to be woken up. What ever time is it? The joy that had filled Karl's heart flies out in a moment like Santa up the chimney. Beside him on the bed is Mandy.
On the other side of town, Jeannie sits in her tiny little subcompact car, trying to get comfortable. It is four am and Karl is not home. Where the fuck is that asshole? She has to be at work in a few hours and has not cast that night's spell. Jeannie can barely function; she is so tired. I cannot fall behind on these spells.
We have to be ready for Saturday! she says aloud again, punching the dashboard in fury. Getting out of her car for the fourth or fifth time since arriving some five hours earlier, Jeannie scans the parking area looking for Karl's car.
Wondering if he got drunk again like last night and took a taxi home, she decides to go inside his apartment and look around. She has avoided this option until now because of almost being caught a few nights before, but now she has to try.
Opening the apartment door, the lights are all off, but she can see, as she has in previous nights, by the lights on the stove and a small Tinkerbell night light plugged in by the bedroom door. Looking around, she realizes Karl is not here. Turning toward the door to leave, Jeannie hears a key in the lock and quickly ducks into the walk in closet.
Karl walks wearily in the door. One of the worst things about being really excited about something and then finding that that something is not what you thought is that you end up physically and emotionally exhausted.
That was Karl in this moment. It not being Lisa in bed with him earlier was more than heartbreaking. He walks through his den carrying his purse, new shoes, gaff, and the bag from the salon.
He did not bother bringing in his cork slides. Dropping everything on the sofa, Karl thinks, I have to be up in two hours, but need to get some more sleep. Besides, I need to turn off this brain. I cannot think any more about what just happened.
Walking to the sink, he pours water into the souvenir cup from yesterday and drinks it down. Mandy was kind enough to give him some Aleve before he left, so all Karl needs to do now is sleep. Setting the alarm on his phone for six am, he puts it down beside the bed. He strips off his skirt and removes his wrinkled linen blouse, dropping them on the floor beside the closet door. Leaving his panties and camisole on, he falls on the bed and is instantly out.
Jeannie waits only a few moments before leaving the closet. She can hear Karl snoring even through the door. Opening her doctor's bag and turning on the lamp, she starts the ritual setup.
The good thing about this spell is that it does not alter reality and therefore should not be as draining, so maybe casting it will be easier for her.
This is a change only to Karl. The spell is one that Artemis suggested and Granny agreed was a kindness they needed to show to him. Simply put, it is a spell to make feminine things and feminine situations comfortable for Karl. It would not make him think he is a woman, but it would, in a way similar to the shampoo, make it easier for him to assimilate into life as a woman.
The timing of this spell is also part of the plan, because it coincides with the physical changes Karl is undergoing. The spell would work gradually and by the end of the week, Karl would be able to deal with womanly situations as well as any natural born female.
Well, at least that was Granny's plan. Jeannie added a couple of twists to the spell. As the spell progressed in making Karl more comfortable thinking and acting as a female, something else would also take root and progress alongside.
Casting this spell, there is no thunderclap. No noise at all. Jeannie barely feels any energy drained. With the spell done, she takes one more look at Karl, peacefully slumbering. She sees he has gotten a haircut. He is on his stomach, his head turned to the left. It appears to be a bob with short hair in the back, and longer sides and bangs.
That is not supposed to happen, Jeannie audibly whispers, a little concerned. He is supposed to have really big bimbo hair. Thinking she will just ask Granny about it, she shakes her head realizing quickly that of course she cannot. No, Jeannie just assumes this is an anomaly and lets it go. Gathering up her things, Jeannie sneaks out of the apartment, the first signs of the rising sun on the horizon.
Monday. Trouble for George.
George Frankel sat at his cluttered desk at six am looking at a written complaint. Being in a business like his, you are going to have some issues; missed deadlines, poor workmanship, even just simple misunderstandings with the customer. The complaint George held, though, was not related to any of those normal issues and its context was outside of any business related concerns. What made it so different and so troubling for George? First, it was a handwritten complaint, not an email or emoji filled text rant. It was an old school complaint from an old school guy. Second, it was highly personal and potentially devastating for the company.
One of the largest developers in the area and a customer that had done business with Fortis Resort Services for many years was threatening to drop George's company from its contractor list forever. Not only that, the developer had made a thinly disguised threat that he would encourage his subcontractors and even other developers to avoid Fortis Resort Services, too. To put it in obvious terms, this was a complaint that could not be ignored and had to be handled with precise delicacy.
Zachary, do not call me Zack, Stone began as a small builder of boat docks back in the nineteen eighties. He grew that business into what it was today, a conglomerate called Coastal Fine Living that built everything from subdivisions to condo high rises to golf courses.
They were the second largest employer in the area and, as such, saw preferential treatment from local government offices and wielded influence with just about every business in the Fortis Beach region.
The complaint George received was related to an encounter that seemed routine at first. Zachary was visiting a golf course clubhouse under renovation that Fortis Resort Services was contracted with to handle landscaping. Zachary was there to check on the progress of another subcontractor working on the clubhouse itself. Driving by a large garden area near the club drop-off, Zachary saw one of Karl's employees, Jose, digging a hole with a backhoe to plant a small palm tree.
As Zachary passed the backhoe in his Bentley suv, Jose happened to hit an irrigation main pipe and water started spraying twenty feet up into the air like a geyser. Jumping out of his car, Zachary ran over to Jose and started berating him for his carelessness. In truth, the plans that had been provided to George's company did not show the pipe there at all. However, none of that mattered in the context of what happened next.
Karl was running the crew that day on his own as Tank had taken a day off to go deep sea fishing with his brother home from the army. Hearing the commotion and then seeing the water spray, Karl started over to the backhoe from across the garden area. He arrived on the scene to hear Zachary Stone ask, red faced, gesturing, and glaring at Jose, and who the fuck is in charge of you and the rest of this worthless crew? Karl spoke up, I am sir. Zachary reeling on Karl says, well, missy, this is going to cost your company big. With that pipe broken, we cannot irrigate the back nine. Karl, taking a step back from the aggressive big man says, I am very sorry, sir, mister, I am sure we can fix the pipe lickety split. Zachary interrupts Karl, pointing at his chest, I am Zachary Stone. I own this golf course and I would not trust your incompetent rabble to put on a band aid! As he was saying these words, the mist from the broken main started wafting over them with the breeze, quickly soaking the three men as they stood there. Karl, starting to respond, is cut off again by Zachary's stare as he moves closer, staring at Karl up and down.
Karl's lavender work shirt made of silk and light angora wool was now see through, revealing a camisole underneath and the nipples of the modest breasts contained within. Karl's light mascara was starting to run and his perfectly coiffed hair was beginning to sag under his hard hat. As the water continued to fall upon them, Zachary demanded, his finger in Karl's face, are you a man or a woman?
Karl's thin white cotton pants were now soaked and clinging to his legs and his purple lacy panties were clearly visible. What had prompted Zachary's question was Karl's impressive bulge pushing out the front of his now waterlogged pants. I am a man, Mr. Stone. I am the crew boss, Karl Simmons.
Zachary stood there, water dripping off his nose and chin saying nothing. He was stunned and Karl could tell his mind was feverishly processing what he was seeing. Turning around, Zachary Stone walked off and back to his vehicle, fists clenched, head vigorously shaking back and forth, muttering to himself. Karl turned to Jose and said, I will call the office and let the boss know what happened. We can get some pipe brought out and fix this. Please find the course superintendent, honey, and see if we can get the water shut off in the meantime.
George knew what had happened that day, but not all of the wet details. Karl's crew had the pipe fixed in less than two hours and the irrigation system was up and running by the end of the day. It was the kind of incident that happened almost every day on job sites everywhere. But it was not the pipe that was the subject of the complaint; well, not the water pipe, anyway.
Zachary Stone was a deacon in the most conservative fundamentalist church in the county. He was a self righteous and uncompromising bible thumper with no patience for anything or anyone that strayed from the middle of the straight and narrow or differed from any of his set in stone values. Zachary's demands were simple; fire Karl, or as Zachary had referred to him, that perverted homo abomination, or risk losing everything. This is going to be tough, George says to the empty room.
George leans back in his office chair and thinks about his buddy, Greg Simmons, who he had known most of his adult life. When Greg approached him about hiring his son Karl earlier in the year, George was not exactly thrilled. He knew Karl and thought of him as a likable kid, but man was he a girly boy. George had an opening advertised in the local paper and online for a site crew boss, but there was no way that Karl could do that job. George had a good sales person, Vicky, and his wife Cindy ran the office. He hated to tell Greg no, but what could he do? There was simply no place for Karl. However, discussing things with Cindy, George decided that, out of respect for his friendship with Greg, he should at least interview Karl.
Coming into the office on a Wednesday, Karl was dressed for an interview. He wore a slim tailored pale blue suit and had his hair in a ponytail behind him. Even in a suit, you could tell Karl had, well, some shape. At a glance that afternoon, you would say he was a metrosexual guy. Karl did everything he could in the interview to impress George. He toned down his southern drawl as much as possible, refrained from using affectionate words like honey or darling and gave off as professional a demeanor as was possible for him. But there was that voice. It was hard to get past the voice.
As they toured the office and George discussed the company and what they did, he could not help but be impressed with how much Karl knew about equipment, construction, and project management. After the interview, George sat down with Cindy. If he were a guy, George says with air quotes framing the word guy, I would hire him without any hesitation even if Greg had not asked. He knows his stuff.
It was not just luck that propelled Karl through that interview so well. Ahead of the meeting with George, Karl read as much as he could about the company and about the equipment they used. He read two books on construction and boned up on the resorts in the area. Karl even visited a job site that he passed, noticing a Fortis Resort Services truck parked there. Lisa was a great help, too. She tutored him on interviewing, correcting him when he sat too ladylike or talked with his hands or used too much flowery language. Karl tried to talk in a lower register, but it only made him sound like a husky woman and it hurt his throat. Lisa even helped him butch up his walk, though with only some success there. A little help from a local salon and Karl even managed to sport what almost looked like a five o'clock shadow.
The suit, too, was a labor of love. Lisa helped get the suit altered to make it as boxy as possible, with extra padding in the shoulders and even a little in the arms to give Karl a bit more of a presence. The jacket came down just a little lower, too, to hide Karl's pear shaped rear a bit more. Of course, they used the old tried and true ace bandage to disguise Karl's small but pointy a cup breasts and give the appearance of pecs. Even his shoes were special. They were wingtip oxfords two sizes too large with strategic stuffing in them so they would stay on his petite feet. Walking was awkward, but that actually helped him keep his gait more under control.
The day of the interview, Lisa had class and did not get back to Fortis Beach until almost six pm. She went straight to Karl's apartment and found him lying on the couch, passed out in bra and panties with an empty bottle of pink Bonavita Rosato on the coffee table and a wine glass on the floor under his outstretched arm. His hair was going in all directions, the ponytail no longer in place. About the only remaining evidence of butch Karl was the painted on five o'clock shadow. Beside him on the floor, lying in a heap, were his suit and shoes and on the couch beside him was a shredded ace bandage and pair of scissors. Guess it did not go well, Lisa thinks peering down on her precious Karl. Looking at the front of his panties, though, Lisa sees that not all of Karl is passed out. Touching his fully erect cock through the silky panties, she says to herself with a playful smirk, well, maybe I am wrong. Part of him seems upbeat. Seeing the empty wine bottle and cork beside it on the table, she shakes her head, he is going to really feel this in the morning. Covering him with a light blanket and placing an empty trash can in easy reach, she makes some dinner and sits at the other end of the couch waiting for Karl to emerge from his coma.
As Cindy and George continued to discuss Karl, Cindy just states finally, well, George, you have been looking for someone to fill that position for weeks and complained you had nothing but neanderthals applying. Karl is certainly no neanderthal. Can you afford to say no just because of his voice? Shaking his head, George shrugs, resigned that she is right, and says, call him in the morning and let us get him hired.
Cindy made the call to Karl the next day. Lisa actually answered the phone and took the message for Karl as he was talking directly with his bathroom friend, the cool pink porcelain throne.
Karl was thrilled, even if the sounds coming from him in the bathroom did not sound like joy. He was not as thrilled as his father, though. Greg sent George a bottle of twenty-one-year-old rare single malt scotch with a big thank you card.
The first week Karl led the team on his own they were painting the lobby of a new high rise. Karl was confident and made several good suggestions as to final colors and even some very avant garde touches. The owners were thrilled. Even the developer's highly paid decorator was impressed at the changes Karl suggested. The guys on the crew, who had looked at Karl as some kind of freak, gradually accepted that at least he knew what he was doing. There were some rough spots, especially on more industrial outside work, where Karl's delicacy stood out even more, but by and large, things went pretty well that first month.
About that time, Karl got a call from his best friend, well, his only close friend and probably the person responsible for keeping Karl alive through school, Tank Phillips.
Tank had just been discharged after four years in the marines and was looking for work. Karl convinced George that they needed a team lead as well as a crew boss to make things flow better and to be able to handle questions more efficiently. Knowing that Karl was not ideal on every job site, George considered the thought, interviewed Tank, and was so impressed that he offered him the job on the spot.
Now, as George sat staring at Zachary Stone's complaint, actually an ultimatum, in his left hand and the contents of an envelope slipped under his door sometime before he arrived that morning in his right, he came up with an idea. Cindy, can you come in here? I need to show you something and run an idea by you.
After reviewing the complaint and the other piece of paper, and then discussing George's idea, Cindy nods approvingly. I have to give it to you, George, that is an innovative idea. If everyone agrees, I think it will solve multiple problems at once. Kissing him on the forehead, she says, I am impressed.
Karl's alarm begins softly at six am, playing Christina Aguilera's Reflection from his favorite movie, Mulan. As the volume slowly increases, Karl wakes up. All things considered, he does not feel too bad. In fact, judging by his morning wood, he seems to be in pretty normal shape, despite the long mysterious night.