Alt.univ  Part 2
by Marknew  marknew742@aol.com 
Tom sees what he's given up for love


I never write summaries. You can find part 1 at
http://www.thevalkyrie.com/stories/marknew/altuniv1.txt

11

The hospital had nothing to report -- they were waiting to see whether Debbie
would wake up. I had the impression they were less optimistic this morning.
Had I just moved us out of a world where she would be better? No! I couldn't
think like that. After all, it could have been just the tone of a different
nurse, so I decided to put it out of my mind for the moment and go to work,
thinking that might help me feel more settled. After all, I might be living in
this world. My office was in a different location, further out of town, which
I cleverly discovered by checking my business card before I left. I was
comforted to see my name on the directory and then surprised that Annie's name
was listed as well. I walked in and noticed immediately a different layout.
Annie's desk was no longer in front. Instead, she was working in an office,
where Dave should have been. He was out. She looked up when I came in and
smiled.

"Hey, Tom. Glad to see you. Is Debbie any better?" She looked concerned.

"No, no real change. The doctor says this week is key."

She frowned. "That's what they said LAST week! Oh Tom!" She got up and came
over to me. I gulped as soon as she stood up, her long legs devouring the
distance between us. She hugged me, and held my head to her broad shoulder.
She was more than half a head taller than I was; she must be nearly 6'3". How
could she be so big?! My head rested easily on her broad shoulder and I could
feel the strength of her firm, solidly built body. Her breasts were larger
too, and pressed against my chest. "She HAS to get better. She just HAS to!"
she exclaimed as she stepped back. "Look, if you want to spend some more time
at the hospital I can cover for you on the Kollmer project tomorrow night. You
know how their VP likes me. Most little guys like him have a real thing for
tall women."

I looked up to her, feeling very awkward. "You don't have to do that, Annie,"
I replied, unsure of her exact role at my office.

She elbowed me. "Hey, what's with the 'Annie'? Nobody's called me that since I
was eight. Anyway, you covered for me last month when I had the flu. Fair's
fair. I'll just get Dave to take me through the numbers. I can pitch it. And
then you'll have to make me partner if we get that job, won't you?"

"I, uh --

She laughed. "Hey, you don't have to commit now. I know it's not the right
time. We'll talk about it another time -- after we sign up Kollmer."

"Yeah, sure." I said, uncertainly as she picked up the nerf basketball and
dropped in a hook shot from ten feet away.

"Yes! Why didn't I stay in basketball! You know what those guys make? When I
went one-on-one with Cheryl in the national championships I creamed her." She
shook her head. "But I'm just not quite tall enough to play power forward with
the pros, and I can't dribble for my life. What's she making now? $4 million a
year with the Chicago Cows?"

"Yeah, about that," I said, faking it.

"Oh well. I'm going out to the site to check on McGill's. That woman they've
got in charge is always cutting corners, and I have a feeling I'll catch her
today. See you later Tom, and remember what I said about tomorrow night."

"Ok. Thanks -- uh, Ann?"

"Yeah?"

"Who won the tennis last weekend?"

"I think Serena did. She beat Hewitt. Pretty badly too. You know, I bet she's
going to move up to the women's matches next year. The mixed singles just
don't get the best players or the money anymore. Everyone prefers seeing women
play women, and the men playing men. Except for you playing Debbie, of
course." She winked and left.

I sat at my desk, marveling at the change in her. She was so confident now, so
commanding. I could imagine that if I didn't make her partner she'd be talking
to the competition. I'd have to see. Just then Dave walked in, carrying a
Starbucks tray.

"Hi Tom. Here's your coffee. I just caught Ann. I don't know how she drinks
her lattes so strong."

"Thanks Dave." He seemed smaller somehow. Maybe it was the way he held
himself.

"I've got the analysis you wanted. Oh, and there's some checks for you to
sign, you know, payroll and some bills. Ann got the banks to defer for a week,
because you were out last week, but they already called this morning. Are you
going to the Kollmer dinner? Ann said she'd go if you couldn't."

"I don't know Dave." I looked at him. "What about you? Could you handle it?"

He laughed. "Yeah, sure boss." He looked at me, waiting for me to confirm it
had been a joke. "You're not serious, are you? I mean, they don't want to see
me."

I smiled. "Only kidding Dave. Yeah, give me the checks to sign."

"OK. Should I cancel your tennis lesson for this afternoon? I wasn't sure, but
your instructor said I could wait until lunch to call."

My tennis lesson? "Let's wait for now Dave. I'll see how things go this
morning."

"OK," he said and gave me the checks. I went through them. They all looked
routine until I got to the salary checks. I was paying Dave just $30,000 this
year -- a little less than half of what he'd been getting in my world. And
Annie, er Ann, was getting $50,000. I'd been paying her $22,000. I stared at
the paychecks.

Dave looked worried. "Is something wrong Tom? I don't think I made any
mistakes, and Ann checked them, as usual."

"No, no. Everything looks fine Dave. Thanks. It's just, you know, with what
happened last week --

He looked at me, waiting.

"I'm sorry Dave. Just a moment." I signed the checks and Dave took them. Out
of the corner of my eye I watched him match the checks to the cover letters
and carefully fold them into the envelopes he'd already prepared. It was
amazing how his role and Annie's -- I meant Ann's -- had changed in this
world. At least I was still boss. Would that change if I had to move further
down that path? It couldn't. After all, I was still myself, still Tom Beams.
Nothing would change that.

I was a little less sure after the morning's work. Ann was the main contact on
nearly thirty percent of our jobs, nearly fifty percent if I calculated it by
revenue. Of course, there wouldn't be a direct correlation between strength
and business acumen. Still the way she handled herself and her clients on the
phone and breezed in and out of the office in a whirlwind of activity worried
me a little. I hoped Debbie would make a full recovery here so I wouldn't have
to find out what life would be like in the next worlds along the path.

I felt too restless to work all day so I took a quick lunch and then stopped
at the hospital to see Debbie. There was no change, although the nurse seemed
more optimistic to me. Then again, I might have been comparing her demeanor
with that of the nurses in my original world. I sat with Debbie for awhile,
then left when two nurses, a man and a woman, came in to give her a sponge
bath. Then I went to my club for my tennis lesson, curious to find out what it
was and eager to dispel the last traces of the nightmare I'd had. I hadn't
taken a lesson for two years, since I'd developed a kink in my serve and
needed to tune up my mechanics before the club tournament. But at least in my
world that event took place over the summer. Why would I be getting lessons
now, at the end of the season? I changed and then went down to the courts.
Alan Haskins was still the club pro here, and he'd be giving the lesson. I
liked Alan, even though he could be annoyingly superior about his tennis. I'd
actually beaten him a few times in college. I didn't play often enough now to
win a match, but I still took a set from him every so often.

"Ah, Tom. Good to see you. How's Debbie?"

"Not much change Tom. But you know she's a fighter. Right now I'm doing a lot
of praying." I thought about saying something about my moving heaven and earth
to save her, but I kept that remark to myself.

"She sure is." He shook his head. "I sure hope she gets back on the court
soon. You two are so competitive. I bet you guys account for 30% of my
business, Debbie trying to get an advantage over you, and you making sure you
stay ahead. I might have to get another job if she -- damnit, sorry Tom.
Sometimes I --

"It's ok." So that was it. Of course Debbie's game would be better here. I
wonder if she'd ever beaten me.

"So let's work on your serve first." We stood together on the line and I
warmed up. My serve blistered into the box. I tried a slice and easily whipped
it into the corner. Alan nodded approvingly. "Good. You're doing exactly what
I told you last time." I suspected he was taking more credit than he deserved.
My body seemed to do it out of habit. I was amazed that my game here seemed so
much better and realized I must have been pushing myself more in this world. I
wondered how I'd do against here Alan. I hit another hard shot that bounced
high and stuck in the fence. "Nice, but you know Debbie eats up those flat
serves, even when you hit them hard. You've got to work on your placement and
your spins." I swallowed. Debbie had never been able to hit my fast serves
consistently. I hit another one, right on the sideline. "Yes!"

We worked on the serve for another ten minutes, then on the volleying game.
"You've got to get to the net more quickly Tom. You know her reflexes are
lightning fast. If you get caught in the middle she'll nail you. Stay at the
baseline unless your approach shot drives her off balance." He nodded. "I know
you get impatient with the baseline game, but you have to stick it out with a
tough player like Debbie if you want to win." We hit the ball a while longer
and then he held up his hand, indicating the lesson was over.

We walked off the court toward the clubhouse. "I really get a kick out of you
guys. With most couples, if they were this competitive they'd rip each other
apart. But you guys seem to thrive on it." He laughed. "I could never have a
girlfriend who played tennis at my level."

"You think Debbie's that good -- I mean, at my level?"

He looked at me for a moment. "Naah. But she's close. She keeps you honest,
doesn't she? You're a lot better player now than you were before you met her.
I bet if the Tom Beams I played in college had to play against Debbie as she
is now ...." He stopped short. "I put my foot in it again, didn't I."

"No, no, go on. What were you saying?"

"I just mean that she'd have beaten the old Tom, you know, in college." He
took a long drink of water from the fountain. "Hey, I have to run. Next
lesson, you know. See you next week? Same time?"

"Yeah. See you. Thanks."

I felt good from the workout and after a shower I checked in at work by phone
and then went back to the hospital. My mood suddenly grew worse as I neared
Debbie's room. The green wallpaper felt darker and more depressing in the
fading light of the autumn evening. Debbie looked the same to me, but I felt
something was wrong and soon the nurse appeared, bearing a message.

"Dr. Kantor wants you to phone her. It's nothing urgent, but you should call."
She handed me the number.

I nodded and picked up the room phone, waiting five minutes until her service
found her. "Melissa?"

"Tom. You're at the hospital?"

"Yes. I'm calling from Debbie's room."

"I'll be right there."

I waited, tensely.

She came in, an inch taller than when I'd seen her yesterday, and was quiet
for a moment. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this. Debbie had a bad setback
this afternoon, a stroke. There must have been a clot from her injuries and it
dislodged. I'm sorry Tom, but she's lost nearly all her brain function."

I looked at her downcast. Had the same thing happened in the world where I'd
been before I slept, I wondered, but there was no way of knowing, no way to go
back. "There's no chance, is there?" She shook her head. Despite my strongest
efforts to hold it back a tear rolled down my cheek. "Thanks Melissa. I --
what should I do?"

"Nothing yet. We'll do a few more confirmatory tests, but ... I'd recommend we
put a Do Not Resuscitate order on her. No extraordinary measures. She signed
the health proxy so it's up to you, Tom. If you want to speak to the social
worker --

"No. I'll, uh, talk it over with some friends."

She nodded. "OK. Tom, I'm so sorry." She put her hand on my shoulder and then
left.

I looked at the clock. It was just six. On a normal night I'd be closing the
office now, then getting into my car to drive to Mount Kisco to pick Debbie up
at her law office. I sat there, looking at her, then realized the room had
become almost completely dark. I knew what I had to do. "Mrumbi crah een," I
said. I was in another room, the lights on. Melissa, just half an inch shorter
than me now, was talking.

"Do you understand, Tom?"

What had she just said? "I'm sorry. Could you --

"I know it's hard for you," she said sympathetically, and put her hands in the
pockets of her white jacket, pulling it tighter over her large bust. Her
shoulders seemed slightly broader and I tried not to look at her chest.
"There's just a twenty-five percent chance she'll regain consciousness, Tom.
There's a treatment we can use to try to dissolve the clot, but with her other
internal injuries it's risky. If you like, I'll give you some material to look
at to help you decide. Do you have any questions?"

I shook my head. "Mrumbi crah teen." I was sitting down, next to Debbie,
holding her hand. A male nurse was taking her temperature. I almost jumped.

He was startled at my exclamation. "Yes Mr. Beams?" He turned slightly.

"Sorry, I ... was daydreaming ... about Debbie getting better."

He smiled a little sadly. "The painkillers we give her make her drowsy, but
she should wake up in an hour. You should have some dinner and come back
upstairs. Are you going to watch the baseball together tonight? Hernandez is
always tough on the A's."

Now it was my turn to be startled. Debbie wasn't in a coma here! I'd be able
to talk to her!! "Y-yes. I-I think we will." My heart was in my throat. I
looked at her body cast. How bad was she? Debbie wouldn't know any more than I
did, assuming Larry had in fact "bound our souls." I needed to be able to tell
her everything. "Um, err, this will sound a little unfair, but how long do YOU
think it will be until I can take Debbie home?"

"Well, I'm just a technical nurse. The doctor or a caring nurse really are the
ones who should be talking to you about this, not me, but I heard them saying
a month at least. And of course, she'll have to learn how to use the
wheelchair and all the other adjustments. You know, it will be so hard for a
woman as active as Debbie was to get used to it. We've been so proud of her.
She's always so 'up,' even with all the trouble she's had. It really inspires
the staff." He checked Debbie's blood pressure. I watched him carefully as he
wrapped the cuff around Debbie's upper arm. Debbie's biceps were nearly as
large as mine! (I surreptitiously checked my arm and found, to my satisfaction
that I must be working out a lot in this world too, to keep my advantage,
because my biceps too were larger and firmer -- I'd still be stronger than
Debbie at least. I wondered what the extra strength would do for my serve, and
then couldn't help but think what Janice looked like here.) He nodded,
satisfied with the reading. "I'll see you both later. I'm on tonight until 10
but I'll make sure to stop in a few times to check the score. Wasn't it great
the way Mills hit two home runs yesterday? I thought the second one was going
to leave the park! She's the best power hitter the Yankees have had since
Mantle." He smiled.

"That Rebecca Mills. She's the one who went to high school around here, isn't
she?"

"She sure is! Greatest athlete this town's ever produced, isn't she?" He stood
up. "I'll check in later."

"Thanks. I'll take your advice and go down to dinner."

I looked at Debbie sleeping soundly. I stroked her cheek, ran my hand down her
neck and her shoulder, then felt the curve of her biceps with my fingers. They
were firm and round. I couldn't see the rest of her body under the blanket and
felt shy about probing. I'd know more after she woke up.

I got up and went down for dinner and immediately noticed the differences from
the last world I'd been in. Although it was hard to tell from a small and
perhaps unrepresentative sample the women seemed on average to be somewhat
taller than the men. They might have been a little less muscular, but that
could have been a matter of perception due to their greater height, and their
large busts and wider hips made them seem bigger. What had I done? I wondered
whether the other advantages females had in my world -- longer lifespan,
better immunity to disease, etc. -- existed here or had become even more
significant. I guessed that the increases in breast size just reflected the
fact that any of the worlds Larry had visited on his "vacations" would have
been the worlds of "bigger women," but the combinations of their breasts and
larger pectoral muscles the women had almost an intimidating appearance, at
least to me. As in my world, the women had longer legs in relation to their
body size.

In the cafeteria I noted that again there was one man and one woman serving
the food, but both cashiers were male. I felt hungry and took a large plate of
fried fish and vegetables, sat at an empty table and looked at the people
while I ate. I wanted to finish quickly and make sure I was back upstairs with
Debbie when she woke up, not just because I was so eager to see her. This new
world would be as confusing as could be to her and I wanted to be sure I was
there to explain to her what had happened. I'd leave the part about our
"relationship" with Janice to a later time.

As I ate I noticed a group of school-age children talking excitedly and moving
around in the corner of the room. It must have been a class trip. There were
about ten boys and ten girls, maybe eleven or twelve years old, with three
teachers or parents acting as chaperones trying to keep them quiet and
well-behaved, mostly succeeding. The girls towered over the boys, as girls of
that age always do. But there was a key difference, which corresponded with
what Janice had said to me last night -- in another world. These girls weren't
just taller. With their sexual maturity they were also at least as muscular as
boys of 14 or 15 would be. Each girl looked like she would be able to handle
two of the boys without working up a sweat. I wondered how those years of
physical inferiority at the cusp of adolescence would affect the boys, even
after their bodies caught up later in their teens. No doubt this was something
I'd find out about if I stayed here, but I had no time to think about it now.
I put my tray away and went back to Debbie.

She was just starting to stir when I got back to the room and I sat next to
her, holding her hand and hoping no one would come in. She opened her eyes
slowly and looked around, alarmed. I squeezed her hand and held up my finger,
then closed the door and put my face next to hers.

"Oh Debbie!" was all I could say at first.

Seeing my emotion-laden face silenced her for a moment, but only a moment.
"Where am I Tom? What's happened?"

"We were in a terrible accident -- on the bridge. Y-you could have died," I
said, starting.

She looked at me, hungry for more details. "How long ago?" She tried to sit
up. "Tom! What's wrong with my legs?!! I can't feel them!" I nodded and
gripped her hand more tightly. She squeezed back, harder than she realized and
I winced, almost crying out. Her confusion was evident and she looked at her
arm and then her eyes opened wider. "What the hell?" she almost shouted.

"Ssshh!" I nodded. "I know. I'll explain everything." I started telling her
the whole story, about the crash, our futile attempts to get her out of the
car, which she remembered, her terrible fall into the water, which she must
have suppressed in the shock, and her coma.

"But the coma wouldn't make me so strong. Did they give me some kind of
steroid treatment to repair my nerves? But still --

"No. It's ...." How much should I tell her? I had to be completely honest with
Debbie, well, almost completely honest. Now she was my only link to my real
identity. More than ever before, she was my partner, my soulmate. I had given
up a world for her. I had to be open with her. "This will sound completely
crazy to you, I know. Are you ready for an incredible story?" She nodded,
impatience and annoyance plain on her face. "It was all because of Larry."

"Larry!?" Her brow furrowed, but I noticed her breathing slowed. Somehow that
name calmed her. "What does Larry have to do with this?"

I looked around the room, sighed, and then at Debbie. "Everything. I don't
really know how to explain this, so bear with me."

She nodded, crossing her arms across her chest, then feeling the added tissue
there too, looked down at herself under her gown. "Hey! My tits are --

"I know. Listen, we're not in the same place we were before the accident.
We're not in the same bodies we had. In fact, we're in an entirely different
world." Debbie gave me the look she usually reserved for her clients, just
after they'd told her the first version of the story Debbie would have to
defend in court. I held up my hand to forestall the onslaught of her
cross-examination. "Let me tell it my way, then you can ask questions." She
sighed and asked for pencil and a pad. It wasn't her yellow legal pad, but it
would have to do for now. She furiously scribbled notes and questions while I
made my best attempt to explain to her what Larry had told me. I went through
everything, taking care not to tell her the words that moved us down the path
to avoid triggering the jumps. But she insisted I write them down for her. She
wanted all the facts.

When I was done she read through her notes, putting the pieces together in her
mind. I always had a vision of her mind as an enormous rack of scrabble
letters, and as she thought she moved facts and ideas around like letters,
considering what was missing and what fit together, until she had found the
125-point seven-letter-word that would win the game.

"Okay. Now it's question time, right?" I smiled. She had her lawyer face on,
but I could tell she also saw the humor in the way she was approaching this,
and the twinkle in her eye as she started confirmed it.

"Will you lie down on the bed next to me for a moment?"

I grinned widely. There was nothing I'd wanted to do for the last ten days as
much as that. I took off my shoes and found room on the narrow bed, putting my
arms around her as carefully as I could to avoid the tubes and other apparatus
around her. She kissed me and rested her head on my arm a moment. "Very nice,
Tom, even though this isn't the most romantic setting we could have picked,
but I have to admit that wasn't the only reason I asked you up here. Let's
play footsie -- though since I can't move my foot, you'll have to do all the
work." Her ability to joke about the situation was so endearing, although it
just made her paralysis even harder for me to bear, and I quickly obliged her.
"Well," she said, "that's that."

"What do you mean?" I asked, assuming that was the confirmation she wanted
that she'd lost all feeling in her feet.

"Maybe living with bigger women is already old hat to you, but I never thought
I'd live to see the day when we were lying head-to-head and your foot was just
an inch or two further down than mine." I froze, and a chill went down my
spine. Somehow that brought home the shift in the world in a new and more
personal way. "So it looks like your story checks out in more ways than one.
Now I've got to understand the details." She groaned. "I really hate to say
this, but can you get up? I'm having some trouble breathing." I eased myself
off the bed and sat back down in the chair next to her. "Now, the original
injury gave me severe brain damage and spinal injury, making me a
quadriplegic. Assuming I'm not hallucinating, my brain's obviously OK here.
There should be a medical report hanging on the side of the bed." Why hadn't I
thought of that? I hesitated. "Come on, let's have it. It's my report. I have
the right to see it." I handed it to her. "Let's see, I've looked at enough of
these in discovery. Uh-huh, here's the history. So, contrary to what you've
told me, here I'd pushed my way out of the car, but as I was sliding out, the
car went over the railing and crushed me and my spine. I never fell into the
river at all, which explains why you didn't get the injuries you had suffered
originally."

"That makes sense."

She flipped through the pages, frowning at portions, then handed it back to me
to replace on the hook at the foot of the bed.

"What's the matter?"

"My prognosis sucks, that's what's the matter." She sighed. "Well, let's move
on. You know this whole thing is so illogical -- to a legal mind at least. How
could so much be different, and yet the world still make sense? I mean think
of it. We speak English, for example. That was the result of history. You'd
think it would be just as likely that we'd end up in a world where, with the
changes between the relationship of the sexes England was defeated by the
Spanish Armada, or the Normans never invaded England, or there never even WAS
an England, or ...."

"I can see what you're saying, Debbie. Maybe England doesn't exist, or
Thailand, but the way Larry explained it is he mapped out a path among all
those possibilities where the worlds were nearly identical to ours at the time
just before the crash. With an infinity of possibilities, however improbable
any one may be, Larry moved us just to the ones that are similar, except for
--

"I know, this one variable." She felt her breasts again. "Obviously there's
more than one variable that's different, but this world-shifting is probably
much more complex than he was able to explain to you in a short time." She
thought for a moment. "I guess what he meant is there is one particular
variable he's solving for -- women's strength -- but that other things would
change too -- just nothing 'essential'. But what does he understand as
essential? For a philosopher like him, I can't imagine he would consider
material things that important. But what about people? Will we have the same
friends? The same family? The same house? Will our relationships with other
people be the same?"

I didn't want to answer that one -- not until I had more to go on than just
last night's with Janice. "Well, our house is a little different here," I
started, "and in one of the previous worlds I was in Annie had a bigger job
than Dave and she was pushing me to make her partner." I thought for a moment,
realizing that we'd moved on from that world. How much bigger and more
powerful was Annie now? "I just had a thought -- I might even work for her
now."

"Really? Interesting! So women's status here is probably higher! I wonder what
that would mean for MY job!" She tapped the end of the pencil against her pad.
"The real question, of course, is how far we have to go before I'm healthy
again?"

"I-I don't know. Larry couldn't tell me. But maybe you'll be healthy here.
Maybe it's just a matter of time, of therapy?"

Debbie shook her head. "I've seen these kinds of cases in auto accident suits.
I'm no doctor, and obviously we'll have to talk to Charles --

"Actually, Melissa. Dr. Melissa Kantor is your doctor."

"Melissa Kantor?" She thought for a moment. "I remember her as a medical
technician. She worked on a case with me. She was very bright. So, she's a
doctor?"

"I guess so."

"What happened to Charles?"

"He's my doctor, I think. But I'm not sure. That was in another world."

"Are all women as strong as I am here?"

"I don't know, Debbie. I've just gotten here myself. I was downstairs in the
cafeteria for twenty minutes. Women look pretty different."

"Well, I think I'm still a little smaller than you are. That might mean the
average woman is probably a few inches taller than you." I nodded. "That's
incredible. It must make you feel --

I interrupted her. "Strange. Very."

She looked me over and decided not to pursue that line, for now.

"So, how do you perceive the jumps?"

"I don't. One moment I'm in one world and the next I'm in another. As Larry
explained it, it's like the way we move through time one second at a time."

"And how many jumps have we made so far?"

"Six or seven I think, some single -- you know, the 'eens' and some more. The
last was the middle, a 'teen'."

"Right. Well, we can't stop here, can we. I sure as hell don't want to spend
my life in a wheelchair if I have a choice. I'll talk to Melissa first, but
unless --

"Ms. Wachsen, you're up. I hope I'm not interrupting. I thought you'd have the
game on." It was that "technical" nurse again. "Should I come back later?"

"The Yankee game," I explained. "Remember the two home runs Becky Mills hit
last night? SHE's incredible," I said, looking at Debbie significantly.

Debbie's eyes widened and she laughed delightedly. "Oh yes! I nearly forgot.
Turn it on."

"The Yankees should be coming up to bat just now," Becky said as the picture
came on.

There were two announcers, a man and a woman, bantering. "Jeter takes another
strike. Hudson's not wasting any time, is he?"

"No," the woman replied. "He doesn't want Derek to get comfortable. He doesn't
see the ball as well early in the game."

"That's right, especially when he's behind in the count. He's batting just
.202 with an 0-2 count in the first inning."

"That's quite a statistic, Bobby. Well, he must feel a little better now. He
got a piece of that one."

"Still oh and two. That's Carol Striker loosening up in the on deck circle.
She scored three runs yesterday, two on Mills's homeruns. Her second one had
to be the hardest shot I've ever seen hit at the Stadium."

"There's a ball. Robin's conditioning program last winter really paid off for
her, and I think she's playing with more confidence. Bonds, Greenely, Sosa,
and now Mills have all hit more than 60 home runs in a season in the past four
years. Didrikson's record of seventy-seven home runs no longer seems out of
reach.

"Strike three. One down. He looked bad on that pitch. You don't often seen
Jeter look bad."

"Didrikson?" Debbie said to me, quietly. I shrugged.

"And here's Striker stepping up. She batted .320 in the regular season, .510
so far in the playoffs."

"She's as cool as they get under pressure. Of course Didrikson played in
another era. No night games, eight team leagues, all the talent of the Black
and Hispanic players in separate leagues, and she hit ahead of Ruth and
Gehrig, so she saw plenty of good pitches."

"The Babe was always chasing her, wasn't he. He hit 68 the year she hit 77, 63
the year she hit 69, and 54 the year she hit 62. He did beat her in '29."

"A single by Striker up the middle! Of course she was pregnant most of that
season and she missed three weeks of baseball, Bobby. Still, she hit 55 home
runs."

"She was one of a kind. OK, here's Mills stepping in."

Just then there was a page, "John Nash. John Nash."

"Damn," the nurse said, looking longingly at the screen while Mills took a
ball outside. She got up. "I'll come back later, if that's all right."

"Sure John . Nice to see you," Debbie said.

"Thanks. You too Ms. Wachsen. Bye Mr. Beams." She walked out.

I turned down the sound and looked at Debbie. "Wow. Talk about a different
world." Debbie was intent on the game, looking at the close-up of Mills's
coiled stance at the plate.

"Look at her, Tom. Look at those shoulders, those arms. She's as big as Barry
Bonds."

She took a cut at a 2-0 pitch, fouling it back. "Bigger, I'd say. Hey, have
you checked your own arms, Debbie?"

She pulled her arm out of the sheet and lifted up the gown, looking at the
rounded biceps. "I know. It's weird." She flexed a few times, tentatively. "Am
I bigger than you?"

"No, I don't think so." I rolled up my sleeve and flexed.

"Hey Tom, you've been working out," she teased, reaching over to feel them.
"Nice and solid. I bet I'd give you a run for you money on the tennis courts
here ...." She looked down at her legs under the covers. "If I could walk,
that is." She looked over at me. I nodded and sighed. "I know you're reluctant
to do it, Tom. Here you'd given me up for lost and you've just gotten me back,
but think, a few magic words and I could be walking again. Larry said he'd
been to one of those worlds, right?" I nodded. "Tom, I can be a very good
patient if I have to, and I could bear anything with your help and support.
But I don't have to, do I?"

"No, of course not." The sound was too low to distinguish the words, but we
heard the pitch of the announcer's voice rise and turned toward the screen to
see the ball disappear into the right field upper deck.

"You say the words, Tom, all right?" she said quietly.

I nodded. "Mrumbi crah een." We were in the same room. Dr. Kantor was there
too, with John. The three of us stood watching Rebecca Mills circling the
bases, two Yankees waiting for her at home plate, Striker and Soriano. She
stepped on home plate to the cheers of the crowd and slapped hands with her
teammates, then put her arm around them and walked with them to the dugout,
towering over Jeter.

Dr. Kantor shook her head and looked down at me, three inches taller than I
was. "It's a good thing the Yankees signed her. If she'd taken Chicago's
offer, that might have broken the curse."

"What curse?" Debbie asked.

"You know, when the White Sox sold Didrikson to the Yankees in '25 for
$100,000 and a few minor league players. The only one who amounted to anything
was Gehrig, and he hit maybe 200 home runs for the White Sox compared to
Didrikson's 750. The White Sox have never won the World Series since. Of
course Yankee Stadium was built for Didrikson, with that short fence in the
right-center power alley. That deal and the one that brought George Ruth to
the Yankees from the Red Sox in '22 really made the team in the 20's and 30's.
I've always wondered how many more home runs she would have hit if she'd hit
ahead of Ruth instead of the other way around."

"Ahem, Ahem," Debbie said. "Excuse me, patient has a question."

Dr. Kantor laughed. "Sorry, Debbie. I do like watching her play. She has such
style to go with her power and she's a real leader. You can tell that she
really cares for her teammates, male and female. She really brings the team
together. What did you want to know?"

"I was just wiggling my toes. Does that mean anything?"

"It's encouraging, Debbie. As I've told you before, it will be a long, slow
process. But if you keep doing your physio, I would say there is at least a
50% chance you'll be walking again in a year's time."

Debbie looked at me. "Mrumbi crah een," I said.

She was sitting up in bed, her good leg draped over the side, her prosthetic
leg within reach. The ball game was on but I couldn't stop looking at the
emptiness where her leg used to be. "Tom! Please!" It was a scream of horror,
not a request.

I nodded and grit my teeth. "Mrumbi crah theen!" I said, determined to get
Debbie out of her misery with one jump.

And then I was out of the hospital, in a kitchen, my kitchen I guessed,
although it was not the house I was used to. I heard the baseball game in the
other room. Jeter was batting, with a two strike count. I could hear the
female announcer. "Jeter's trying to put the ball in play here, trying to get
a rally going, but he's had trouble with Gonzalez's fastball all year. She
winds and ... strike three! Pshew! He looked scared of that pitch, didn't he
Roger?"

"That was clocked at 115, Jane, not the fastest she's thrown tonight, but it
had some real movement. I'd say the pitch to --

"Thanks Roger. It certainly was much too fast for Derek to handle. Of course,
the Yankees have him for his glove at second base, not his bat. That's what is
great about game of baseball, there are so many roles for players who have
different kinds of abilities and make different contributions. Like you Roger.
You couldn't throw that kind of heat Gonzalez throws, but your slider and your
control gave you many great years for the Red Sox and then the Yankees.

"That's certainly true, Jane. My slider would've been clocked at --

"So the Yankees are retired but they've got to be looking forward to having
the top of the order coming up, and as we go into the third inning, it's the
Yankees 2, the A's 0."

What! Jeter's the number nine hitter? Good field, no hit? I heard steps coming
toward me. Debbie! She's walking. It worked! "Debbie!" I cried out.

I heard a low laugh. "It's a little early for Debbie to be home. She's in
California, remember? So, is there any ice cream left in this house, or not?"
I looked toward the door and a large, luscious pair of legs entered the room,
covered only by the smallest micro-mini skirt. My eyes kept rising, stopping
at the most generous set of breasts I'd seen in person outside of a strip
club, then rising further to the unmistakeable face of Chloe, looking down at
me impatiently. "I asked you if there was any more ice cream. What are you
DOING in here?" She walked past me and opened the freezer door, taking out a
half gallon of Sealtest. "Ugh! I told you to get Hagen Dazs." She stuffed it
back into the freezer and slammed the door and walked back to me. She was at
least four inches taller than me and her large chest, by no means made up only
of her breasts, butted against me. "Really, I don't know how you can expect me
to stay here if you always have such lousy food." Just then the phone rang.
She rushed to get it. "Hello? Oh, hi. Yeah? Uh-huh, he's here. I know I do.
It's just that there's no ice cream, you know and -- well, ok. If you want
to." She held out the phone. "It's Debbie. She wants to talk to you."

She handed the phone to me and stood nearby, listening. I glared at her and
she looked back insolently and then turned slowly and left to watch the game.

"Tom! Are you all right?"

"I think so. You're in California?!"

"I am. I called as soon as I could get out of the courtroom, but I only have a
minute. I'm in a trial! Remember that case I thought I'd be working on? Well
I'm right in the middle of it. I'll probably be here another week at least."

"But you're fine, right?"

"Absolutely. Better than fine. But ... how are you?"

"OK I guess. Your niece is here and she's huge, you know."

"Oh god, I know! She must be as tall as -- oh I'm so sorry Tom! I want to talk
to you so badly, but I have to go! I'll call you as soon as I can. Bye!"

I put the phone down. So, I'd been without her while she'd been in a coma and
now she was off on a business trip. And I was alone with Chloe for a week,
maybe more -- these trials could go on longer than scheduled. It didn't seem
fair. But then, I had her back. I had what I'd wanted so much. Surely I could
be that patient, but I needed a distraction. I was dying to look at the game
to see how things had changed, but I didn't want to be in the same room as
Chloe so I decided instead to familiarize myself with other things and get a
jump on tomorrow's work.

I walked around the house -- it was quite a bit smaller than the house I was
used to -- and found in our bedroom a small home office. Oddly, my briefcase,
where I kept my book of contacts and key projects list as well at the Kollmer
file was nowhere to be found. I checked the home computer, which was a
surprisingly massive machine that nevertheless was as slow as a 1983 vintage
machine. It had a few letters and spreadsheets in my directory and several
directories for Debbie's legal work. Once I figured out how to open the
spreadsheet, I saw that our balance sheet was a lot smaller than it should be,
but there was no entry there at all for my business. I grabbed my wallet and I
flipped through the bills looking for my business card, just to find my office
address, but it wasn't there. Finally I found a building ID card with my name,
a picture and the company name, New York Building Associates. Oh no! I was
working for my chief competitor here. I hadn't yet set up my own business. My
heart sank. The head of NYBA in my world was a complete asshole and a crook
too. How could I be working for him? I took a few deep breaths to calm down
and remind myself that whatever situation I found myself in here, I was still
the same person as I'd always been, whatever the Tom Beams of this world was
like. I would just have to start from scratch.

Feeling a little better I thought about checking the news on the internet
before I went to bed, then decided I would not be a prisoner in my own house
and went back down to the den to check up on the Yankees. The game was in the
ninth inning now, with the Yankees holding on to a 3-2 lead. Chloe was
sprawled out across the couch in front of the set, a bowl of popcorn on the
floor in front of her, and I cleared my throat for her to move. She glanced
back at me and grinned and moved her legs slightly, making half a cushion of
space for me to squeeze in. I decided not to make an issue of it -- not
tonight -- and sat down. Chloe lifted her legs up and then put them across my
lap. I moved back against the cushion, again trying to keep my patience.

"Who's pitching?"

She rolled her eyes. "Sally Bunning, the closer. Who do you think?" The Yankee
pitcher was big and brawny and had a lightning fastball. She got a quick two
strikes on the first batter, Jeremy Giambi. Chloe laughed. "Look at him. He
can't even get the bat around on her!"

"She looks pretty tough," I agreed.

"Yeah. I wish we could pinch hit for Giambi. He wouldn't get a hit against her
in a million at bats but he HAS to play. It's those dumb balance rules. I
don't know why they have to include men in the game anyway."

I was a fervent Yankee fan, but right now I was rooting for Jeremy to prove
Chloe wrong. And on the next pitch he hit a sharp ground ball that bounced
over Bunning's head. It looked like a clean single, but the camera focused on
the Yankee shortstop, Sue Lee Moon, spearing the ball behind second base and
whipping the ball to first, beating Giambi by several steps. Chloe hit the
couch hard in her excitement. "One down!"

Well, Giambi always had been slow, for sure. The next batter was the A's third
basewoman, Cheryl McGee. She missed the first pitch, then took a low pitch for
a ball. On the third pitch, she connected solidly. I held out my breath. It
looked like a sure homerun, but then I saw a tall female in left field
sprinting backwards making a catch in front of the fence, right by the 486'
mark in left-center. I stared at the screen. Since when were the fences so far
away?

"Ha-ha! Just a long out!" Chloe declared. "Hey, Uncle Tom. I have a cramp in
my calf. How about a little massage?" I shook my head. "Uncle Tom! Come on! I
need a massage," she repeated, grabbing my wrist and pulling it against her
muscle.

I pulled my hand away. "Chloe! Cut it out."

She glared at me. "What's wrong with you? I gave YOU one yesterday. You're
acting like I'm asking you to --

Just then we heard a cheer. Bunning had struck out Lynne Mercer for the last
out. The Yankees had won it. They swarmed the mound and lifted Bunning up,
celebrating another pennant. Chloe and I both cheered, then the phone rang.
Chloe jumped up to answer it. "Yeah, hi Sandee. Uh-huh, I saw it. Great game.
Hey, did you see what Alyssa was wearing today?" She took the phone into the
next room and closed the door.

It was my opportunity to escape. I looked longingly at the computer in the
spare room. There was so much I wanted to learn about this world. But it was
my chance to get away. Chloe probably wouldn't bother me in my own bed. I
crept upstairs, washed and was in bed in fifteen minutes. I tried Debbie's
mobile but she didn't pick up so I left her a message and asked her to call me
tomorrow when she got up. I'd worry about Chloe's homework and other
discipline tomorrow.

12

I was up early the next morning and planned to arrive at 7:30 to scope out my
new workplace before the day got too busy, but while in the shower I realized
I would have to wait until Chloe got ready so I could drive her to school. So
instead I took some extra time getting ready for work. I hated this Tom's
taste in clothes. They looked cheap, even by my usually informal standards,
but I had to admit I liked the extra room that his pants allowed in the
crotch, although it certainly would make inconvenient erections hard to
disguise. After putting the house in shape I spent half an hour watching
Today. It wasn't all wasted, because the short segments gave me a few more
tips about the new world I was living in.

First there was the anchor team -- a massive Katie Couric, with shoulders and
upper arms the size of most football players wearing pads and next to her a
comparatively small and very deferential Bryant Gumble. There was a brief
summary of news (the lead story: President Lynne Cheney was meeting with the
British Prime Minister, Diana Spencer, to discuss measures to improve the
rights of men in the developing world) and then the weather. Then the features
began. The first was a preview of a romantic comedy starring Hugh Grant as a
world famous actor who meets Julia Roberts, the owner of a neighborhood
bookstore. Then a segment on cooking. And then a segment on whether common
courtesy deserves a thank you. They were all dull enough and I only paid half
attention to the show until out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman
masturbating a man on camera. I stopped in my tracks. What was going on?

The interviewer then began speaking to a number of women in the street.

"Well, I think it's getting out of hand. The other day, I was in a restaurant.
The waiter was very attentive and I left a good tip, but my husband got angry
with me because I didn't thank the waiter. I mean, I was in a rush, and the
waiter was busy too, probably, but my husband said I was being rude, and he
would certainly have expected a thank you from a woman if he'd been the
waiter." She shrugged. "Well, that's how I feel about it. I think it's gotten
overdone."

And then another woman. "I don't know. I think it's a nice custom. It makes
the man happy and it really isn't any trouble, not much more than a smile
would be, and we certainly need more smiles in this world. And it means so
much to them. I think women should be proud that they can give this to a man,
especially a man who's been helpful."

And then two teenage girls. "It's fun. I don't see what the big deal is. I
mean, since I learned about it I do it for them as often as I can. But only if
they have a condom. I don't really like it when they spurt that sticky stuff
on you or your clothes. I think their having one handy is part of being
courteous too."

"Do you feel you should get something in return? That men should thank women
too?"

The girls shook their heads. "I mean, why? It's so easy for us to do for them,
and women's needs are different, not purely physical. It's not like it has
anything to do with love or sex or anything important. It's just a way of
showing them we appreciate them. Like, it's hard enough being a man. I sure
wouldn't want to be one." The other girl screwed up her face.

And then an older woman, in her seventies. "There's too little courtesy in the
world these days. I say if a woman doesn't have the decency to give a proper
thank you, she shouldn't expect kindness herself."

"Do you still give thank yous?"

She laughed. "Well, I always offer to." She smiled. "And I can tell you, there
are very few men who say no, even to an old warrior like me."

And finally a slender but muscular blond. She gave the interviewer a tired
look. "Well, if you ask me, it's worth it. Anything, ANYTHING to keep them
quiet and docile and not fighting with each other. Like children, you know.
They are just like children. If it helps to give them an incentive to be
civilized in public, well by all means. All I can say is, it's a good thing
they wait for US do it for them. Otherwise they'd probably do nothing ELSE!"

The interviewer then said, "Let's talk to some men. Sir, do you think that
women owe you a thank you for common courtesy?"

He looked up at her. "Well, it's not something they owe me, but, to tell you
the truth, I do think about it when I'm doing something for a woman. And if I
knew they weren't going to thank me, well ...." He shrugged.

"So you don't think you would be as helpful if women didn't thank you?"

He shook his head. "Naah, I wouldn't."

Another man. "Are you kidding? The women, they got all the luck. They run
everything. And if a woman didn't thank me properly, well, I'm telling you
that's one woman who better watch out."

"You mean, you'd physically threaten a woman if she didn't thank you?"

"Hey, I'm not stupid. But there are things even man can do, you know?" He made
a gun with his fingers and pretended to cock the trigger.

The interviewer raised her eyebrows. "I see, well 'thank you,' sir," she said,
pointedly putting her hands in her pockets while he glared at her.

"So, that's our survey for today. Men expect it, and women expect to give it,
so it looks like 'thank yous' are safe for now. Tomorrow we'll talk about the
gifts you hate to get. Kate?"

The camera cut to Katie Couric, smiling. "Well, I won't say 'thank you'
Cherice, but it's a very interesting perspective. Bryant? Have I thanked you
enough lately for all you've done?"

Bryant seemed flustered. "Y-you've always been great to work with, Kate. Uh,
we'll be looking more closely at the some of the issues President Cheney and
Prime Minister Spencer were discussing later in the show. Just what is it like
to live as a man in Iran or Saudi Arabia, two of the most conservative
countries in the world? But first in our next segment, we'll tell you about
Bob Howard, who just may be the world's strongest man. At least that was the
verdict of the Men's Muscle Competition last night. Connie?"

The camera cut to a tall, muscular woman standing in front of a very well
developed man, pumping weights. "Bob Howard is 26 years old and works as a
trucking dispatcher. But most of the time he's not on the job he's here, at
Gold's Gym in Denver, Colorado, working with weights and building up his
muscles. Bob, what motivates you to work so hard?"

Breathing hard, "Well Connie. It's a matter of seeing what my body can do,
pushing it to the limits."

"Just how strong are you Bob?"

"This sport is not so much about pure strength as about size and symmetry. I
work on developing my muscles so they're as large and cut as I can make them,
and also keeping the symmetry between the left and right sides of my body and
between my upper body and my legs."

"Why don't you show us what you've achieved?"

He flexed his arm. "Right now, I'd say my biceps are about 24 inches and I
don't think I've even reached my potential yet."

Connie nodded. "This is a new sport, and some say it's a pointless sport. Men
have always had the potential of increasing their muscle size, but they start
out much smaller and weaker than women. Doesn't that discourage you?"

"Well, first of all, men don't compete against women in this sport. We compete
against other men. And second, well, of course we all know that women are
larger, they're born with more muscle tissue than men, and when they mature
their muscles naturally grow even larger and stronger, even without exercise.
Men's bodies don't develop the same way, but on the other hand, our muscles
respond more to stress and exercise than women's, so men have tremendous
potential to become stronger than they realize."

"So you think, someday, if all men exercised the way you do, they would equal
or surpass women in strength?"

"Well, I can't predict the future, but I'm determined to set an example."

"Thanks Bob. Shall we?" The two compared muscles. "Well Kate, he's at least as
big as I am! Maybe a bit bigger!"

"That's the way it looks to us here Connie." Katie raised her eyebrows and
flexed her biceps. "So Bryant, what do you think?"

"I think Bob has a long way to go before he's bigger than you are, Kate."

She laughed in mock relief. "Whew! So tell me Bryant, are you inspired? Are
you going out to the gym?"

"Uh, I don't know Katie. I don't think so. Bob Howard looks like he has some
kind of genetic gift to build muscle like that, but I doubt every man could
become that big. On the other hand, I'm sure that I, like everyone else, could
benefit from at least a little more exercise."

"I certainly have to agree with you, so I'll let you have the last word on
that Bryant. We'll be back with the weather and local news after a word from
Bayer."

Chloe called out that she was ready, at last, so I turned off the program and
we left. I ended up getting to work just a few minutes before nine. At least
Chloe was spending the evening with a friend. I'd have to pick her up at nine,
but it would give me a full day to work and try to create a new life for
myself here. I hurried into the building, trying hard not to think too much
about the replacement of my BMW with a Ford Fiesta, and quickly ran into Dave
Barnes. I was relieved to see a familiar face.

"Dave! How are you?"

"Oh, hi Tom. Pretty good I guess." He looked at the clock nervously.

"Uh Dave. I had a question about one of the projects. Could you look it over
for me? I've got the file on my desk."

He looked at me puzzled. "I really don't know what -- well yeah, I guess so."
I waited, and so did he, and then he went ahead, letting him lead the way to
my office, waving hi to other men who greeted me as I went by who slapped me
on the back or wanted to talk about the Yankees. The women were somewhat less
friendly. They seemed on average four or five inches taller than I was,
although some were shorter. It was a good thing they didn't wear heels. Mostly
though I kept my eyes to myself. I wanted to take it slowly -- I'd be living
in this world the rest of my life, and I didn't know how things worked yet. We
stopped at one of ten cubicles in the middle of a large room. I looked down
and saw my name on the cubicle wall, Tom Beams. Not Mr. Beams or Mr. Tom
Beams. Just Tom Beams. "So, uh, what was your question?" he asked.

I stared at the small cubicle: the picture of Debbie and me, the same height,
standing arm in arm; the plastic in/out trays in place of the wood-grained
trays my father had given me when I'd opened my business; the plain white
telephone instead of my speakerphone. And a bulletin board, with a long list
of projects and due dates. He looked more closely.

"Uh, Tom. I better go. My boss is probably here. Can we talk at lunch or
something?"

I nodded. "Yeah, sure Dave. Hey thanks," I said, looking up to see he had
already scurried away. I swallowed, sat down at my desk and turned on my
computer. As I waited for the ancient looking machine to hum to life I looked
around me. I was one of just two or three men in the cubicles, and I noticed
just one man, who looked twenty or so years older than me, in the row of six
small offices along the wall. I didn't recognize the computer interface, and
of course I didn't know my password, so I had to ask IT to reset it for me,
and I was locked out of my computer. But I soon got a good idea of my place
here from my first call.

"Tom Beams," I answered.

An annoyed female voice was speaking. "To-om. This is Barbara Collins. I need
that analysis."

I had to stall. "Um, I'm having a problem with my computer. I should have it
to you as soon as IT gets it running."

"And when is THAT going to be? I need those numbers no-ow."

"Well, I called them as soon as I came in and --

"Don't make me call for it again Tom," she interrupted and hung up.

The computer nerd came by ten minutes later and after a lot of eye rolling at
my forgetting my password, reset it and got me into the system. And in two
minutes of looking at the files on my computer it all became clear. I was Tom
Beams, Manager, Financial Analysis. In my world, this was the job I'd had for
two months after I graduated from college, until I'd moved into a management
role and then to my own company. But here, I was still just a analyst. I felt
dizzy for a moment, as though I'd shrunk physically even though I knew I
hadn't, and I started shaking. Then I took a deep breath and another. All
right. Maybe the Tom Beams who grew up here was just an analyst, but this Tom
Beams wouldn't stay that way. I'd lost a few years of building my business,
but I still had the rest of my life. The phone rang.

"That report Tom. Where's that report?"

"Um, sorry Barbara. I have it here. I'll send it right up."

There was a silence. "All right. And are we now on a first name basis Tom?"

My face flushed. Was she serious? I had to say something fast. "I-I'm sorry
Ms. Collins."

"What's this Miz? It's Mistress -- oh hang it! Just get me that damned
report!" I hear her slam the phone down. I glared at the phone, then found the
file, checked it quickly to make sure the work looked finished and then, after
a minute or two getting the gist of the DOS-like email program I sent it to
her. The return receipt came back twenty seconds later.

"You look a bit flustered Tom," said a woman with a low voice. I swiveled my
chair and I was looking at the waist of a very tall woman. I looked up and
then craned my head still higher. It was Annie! Or Ann.

"Ann! Hi!"

She looked at me quizzically. "Hi yourself." She cleared her throat. "Look, I
don't want to make a big deal about this, and I know you're a few years older
than me, but you should be calling me Mistress Olsen, right?"

"Uh yes, sorry." I stood up. My eyes were just above the level of her large
bust and I couldn't help staring at it.

She laughed. "Hey, relax. Why are you standing up? I didn't call you to
attention!" she joked. She put her hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me
back into my chair. I didn't resist, but she felt pretty strong. She looked
around for an empty chair, and then just squatted. She leaned over to me and
spoke quietly. "Tom, can you do me a favor?"

"Uh, what?"

"You can keep this quiet can't you? I'm having dinner tonight with a big
client of the firm. Would you help me revise the projections for the Kollmer
project?"

"Sure A -- Mistress Olsen. I don't know how busy I'm going to be this morning,
but if you give me the new specifications I'm sure I could take care of it.
And I might have some other ideas --

"The thing is, I don't want you to do it here." She paused. "I'm leaving at 5
today. Can we meet for a drink? I'll bring my laptop and we can go over the
figures then? You're not busy tonight, are you? You're wife's still out of
town?"

"Uh, yeah. She is."

"Good!" She grinned. "Meet me at O'Hara's, ok? I know how to thank you." She
made a little motion with her large thumb and forefinger. "See you later." I
nodded.

As I watched her walk away, I thought this would give a chance to do more than
financial analysis -- and perhaps take on a bigger role in the project. One of
the men on my row leaned over my shoulder. "Hey, Olsen's a real babe, isn't
she? I wouldn't say no to a thank you from her!" I nodded agreeably. "Yeah,
I'd guess she's about a 44-D, and her legs about 45". What do you think?"

"Forty-eight at least." He laughed and slapped my hand. "She definitely brings
up the company average. I bet --

A tall, severe looking woman was coming our way and he clammed up and wheeled
his chair back to his station. "Bobby, gossiping about the workers here is NOT
part of your job description, is it?" she said sharply.

He looked up at her sheepishly. "No Miss, uh, Mistress Collins."

She nodded, then looked down at me. "This is good work Tom, but you have to
change it. Seems our client's husband has now gotten into the act and decided
the ceilings have to be half a foot higher, so the cost will be higher and
there will be less usable space. I've explained that already, but she wants to
see it in black and white. I'll need it done by noon. Her architect has done
it like this."

I scanned the changes. "They haven't accounted for the changes in power usage,
or the size of the cooling units. And what about zoning approval?"

She smiled. "Good thinking. All right, put those comments in separately. Maybe
I'll be able to persuade her to drop the idea. It was hard enough getting the
building approvals in the first place. I'll see her at lunch so bring it to me
as soon as you've finished."

"I can do that Mistress."

She nodded. "Good." She turned around and walked away.

I worked on the revised numbers and jotted down a few extra ideas and dropped
them off with her secretary at 11:30, then worked on some other project until
12:15 when Bobby leaned over my partition wall. "Hey, ready for lunch?" I
nodded and we went down together to a spare-looking lunch room, just for men
it seemed. "So, any more thank yous from Chloe?"

I looked up from my lunch, startled. "Uh no."

He shook his head. "Too bad. I really get off on those young girls. What did
you say she was, about a 42-E? When you were telling me about touching them
yesterday I couldn't walk for ten minutes. It was a good thing Sharon Coulter
needed a favor. But then, they still have a lot to learn about men at that
age, and sometimes they don't really know their own strength yet!"

"Yeah, that could be pretty dangerous, huh?"

"You're telling me! I was on in New York on Saturday, on the subway, you know?
I was standing in between these two girls, maybe eighteen years old, and they
knew I was looking at them. I mean, I couldn't help it. They were so big and
so sexy, like 44-E's or F's and fantastic biceps too, and every time the train
swayed their arms tensed and I could see their biceps just go POP! You know
how I feel about big muscles and they must have been 20" at least! I had such
a hard-on, and they were laughing at me. I think one of them thought I was
cute, so I asked where they were going, and the other one just kind of shook
her head so the first one kind of gave me a shrug and put her hand on my
boner, just sort of to acknowledge it you know, but she squeezed it too hard
and I saw stars. She said she was sorry, but I was like in pain for an hour,
you know?"

"Uh-huh."

"I bet if it were a more private place she would have done it too."

"She probably would have."

He nodded, absent-mindedly playing with himself. "I don't know, Tom. I could
never go for a woman who's only as tall as I am."

"I love Debbie. You know that Bobby."

"Yeah, sure you do. And she's got great tits and all. But I guess I just like
them really big. Like Mistress Olsen I guess. You have to admit they don't
come much better than that. At least, not the women you actually see around,
as opposed to the actresses and jocks you see on TV."

I agreed and kept nodding as he talked on, but listened in to the other
conversations. All around me men were having similar discussions. I could see
why we had a separate lunch room. Eventually I said, "I ought to get back to
work."

"Yeah, I guess I should too. Though I don't see why you gave Miss Collins that
analysis so quickly. I would have stalled on it. She's just going to give you
more work, and it's not like the numbers are going to make the difference
anyway. They like getting good numbers on the projects, but that's not what
persuades the clients in the end. It's the design."

"So, why do you do numbers instead of design?"

Tom gave me a look like I was crazy. "How many male designers do YOU know,
Tom? How many women would HIRE a male designer?" He shook his head. "I think
you've got too much jizm building up Tom. If Chloe's not going to help you
out, maybe you better hope Miss Olsen gives you a proper thank you or that
Debbie gets home soon, or you're going to completely lose it!" He slapped me
on the back. "Hey, no offense man. Just don't LOOK so desperate. You don't
want them to think you're putty in their hands, you know. And Collins doesn't
give thank yous."

"Yeah, you're right."

"Of course I am! Hey, what are friends for!"

I worked quickly on the other analyses I had on my to do list, but stole some
time to redo from memory my original Kollmer shopping center proposal and
saved it on a floppy to show Annie tonight. I'd never left as early as 5 in my
analyst days, so it was a good thing Bobby stopped by on his way out and
slapped my desk. "Hey buddy, don't work so hard kissing Collins' ass that you
forget your date with the big 'O'!"

I looked up from my work and quickly saved my file. "Yeah, thanks Bobby."

He shook his head. "Something's definitely gotten into you today. You've been
watching that movie "Working Boy"? Remember guy, it's just a movie! You're not
going to be president of this firm. Getting off is what it's all about! Which
reminds me, I've got that new condom I told you about. Use it with Olsen
tonight. I guarantee you'll come in a flash. You know how the busy ones like
Olsen always hate when you take too long."

I nodded. "Yeah, I know."

The drive to O'Hara's was just ten minutes and Annie was sitting in her Acura
just when I pulled in. She saw me and got out, impatiently tapping her feet.

"I'm glad you made it. I was wondering for a minute if I'd made a mistake."
She put her hand on my back and gently guided me into the restaurant. "I got
us a table in the back. It's pretty empty just now. Do you want a burger."

"I'll wait. Let's get to work first."

"Good! Here are my ideas, none of which Collins has accepted, but I think
she's misjudging the market -- and the client." She went through the design
for me, and I updated the analysis for her. Working together she made a few
more changes and then I helped her set up her power point presentation.

"This is very good, Tom. I really appreciate the help." She looked at me for a
minute. "Can I tell you something in confidence?" I nodded. "I'm going to
leave NYBA. Collins is a real shit, pardon my language, and I think she steals
from her clients too. I'm going in business for myself -- if I can land this
account tonight. If I do, I'll have to move fast, and I'll need help. What do
you think about coming with me, working for me? I can't pay you as much as
you're getting now, not at first at least, but the work would be interesting
and there'd be a lot more variety than you're doing now. And you'd be working
with me, instead of Collins and her cronies. I'd like to think that would be a
plus for you." I looked at her open-mouthed. It was almost exactly the pitch
I'd given her, two years ago, in my world. "Hey, you look so shocked. You
don't HAVE to do it. I just thought --

"No, no. It, uh, sounds great. I'd want to talk to Debbie ...." Just then, I
realized I'd been so busy all day, so stressed with my new job and finding my
way around, that I hadn't called her, and she hadn't called me.

Annie was nodding. "Of course you would. And I know I'm probably not allowed
to ask you this, but, uh, are you guys planning on starting a family soon,
because, um, if you were only going to be working a couple of years ...."

"Uh, I don't think so."

"Yeah, I know Debbie's still young enough. Look, think about it. I don't even
know if I'll get the account tonight. It depends on a lot of things."

I wanted to give her my ideas about the shopping center, to tell her about my
design ideas, but I'd done enough selling to know this wasn't the time. She
was already thinking ahead to her presentation and the last thing she would
want was to hear something completely new. Besides, her ideas were different
enough from mine that I could tell that she wouldn't go for them. Not tonight
at least.

"I'm going to have a beer. Can I get you something? How about that burger
now?"

"That sounds good." She raised her hand and the waiter took our order. As he
left she put her hand down the front of my pants, leaning into me so that her
bosom touched my chest. I couldn't stop myself from looking down her blouse at
her large creamy white breasts, and she laughed as I rapidly got hard. "You DO
like to be thanked, don't you?" she asked, fingering me teasingly. I certainly
appreciated (and understood) the extra room in my pants now! She stood up, put
her arm on my shoulder and guided me to a small back room where she unbuttoned
my pants and indicated to me that I should do the same to her blouse. "You can
touch them if you want. I don't mind really," she said, unhooking her bra. I'd
never seen such large breasts in person and I must have stared, because she
laughed again. "You're going to be easy aren't you? Did you bring a bag? I
always have a few in case I need them, but I know most men like to use their
own brand." I realized she must mean a condom, so I unwrapped the one Bobby
had given me and put it on. She stroked me softly, gently. "These are pretty
thin. I hope it wasn't very expensive." She stroked me more firmly. "If you
come work for me, I'll know to get these for you. Come on, Tom. Don't be shy.
I can tell you like my breasts. Go on, touch them. You can suck on them if you
want. It's not like we're strangers." She moved her hand faster. I put one
hand tentatively on her breast, feeling its softness, its warmth, its weight,
and at the same time watched her biceps jump with the motion of her hand.
"I've got large biceps too, don't I? They're almost 21", and they're still
growing." She held my dick, pulling it slightly while she flexed harder to
show me the thick muscle. "So what do you like better, Tom, breasts or
muscles?" she asked as she started moving her hand faster now, faster and
faster. "I think it's breasts you like more," she said, as my mouth went to
her nipple," but I've got both, haven't I? My muscles are big and hard and my
breasts are big and --

I groaned and came. She smiled. "Thank you," I said weakly.

"You're supposed to say 'You're welcome' Tom, but I take the compliment." She
pulled my head against her breast. "I didn't figure you as the shy type, but
it's very cute. Debbie's a lucky woman." She held me there for a couple of
minutes, while my breathing slowed down. When I felt her arms loosen I got up,
removing the condom and tossing it in the waste container, then wiping myself
off and dressing as she did. "Now, how about that beer?"

"That would be fine," I said, recovering my voice. We went outside. She
ordered a pint for me, a pint and a half for herself, and then a burger for
me. I ate while she sipped her beer, talking about her ideas for her business.
I added a few thoughts of my own, testing her reactions, but stopped when I
saw they were making her nervous.

"Tom, I appreciate you're thinking about it. But you know, it'll be my
business, and I'll make the decisions. You understand that, right?" I nodded.
"OK. I just wanted to be sure you did. Look, there'll be plenty of things
about the office that I'll give you total freedom to decide -- well, almost
total freedom. But business plans and budgets are for me to decide."

"Of course A- Mistress Olsen." I said.

"Good. Hey, I need to head off for my meeting. I'll talk to you at work
tomorrow and let you know what my plans are, all right? In the meantime, not a
word to anyone, OK? I know how men talk." She smiled awkwardly. "I mean, I
know I can trust you, but men like Bobby Peel." She shook her head. "Have
another beer if you want -- it's on my tab."

"Thanks, Miss Olsen, but I'll probably head home once I finish. Good luck
tonight."

"You're welcome, Tom. I'll need it." She stood up and strode out the door
decisively.

I sat, slowly finishing my dinner. I'd have to swallow my pride -- for now.
Working for her would give me a lot more freedom than at NYBA, freedom to
understand what it would take to build up my position in this world. And Annie
was a good person -- I knew that already. At some point maybe she'd recognize
my ability and make me partner, just as she'd wanted in one of the other
worlds we'd been in. Of course, I reminded myself, that was a more "equal"
world. This one seemed more like mine, but with the positions reversed
although maybe the men were not quite as much weaker than women here as women
were weaker than the men in mine. After all, men were playing on professional
baseball teams here. On the other hand, maybe women behaved differently when
they were stronger than men did. After all, thank yous here were very
different from gifts of chocolate or flowers. I still felt a buzz from it, in
fact, still felt so relaxed and content. Was that another unanticipated
change? I remembered what that woman interviewed on the Today show said about
thank yous making men more docile. Was that happening to me? Is that why I was
accepting this subordinate position. What if my hormones, the very chemistry
of my body, were different here? What if it was changing my personality? I
felt myself starting to panic, then I calmed myself down. I couldn't think
about those things. I just had to work with what I had.

I drove home carefully -- the beer seemed to have an extra kick here -- and
called Debbie on her cell phone as soon as I got in. She picked up on the
second ring.

"Tom! At last. Where were you?"

"I left work at five and met Annie Olsen, except she's 'Mistress' Olsen to me
here, if you can believe it. Debbie you would not believe --

"Oh I would Tom, I would! This is so amazing. Oh Tom, I'm not working in Mount
Kisco here. I'm working for a Wall Street firm! I can't wait to tell you about
it. It's such a trip! I'm second chair on this case, Tom. Second chair in just
my third year of practice, and guys who were ahead of me at the old firm? I
looked them up, they're doing back office stuff, or just paralegals, or not
even practicing! Oh Tom, I'm so grateful to you, for all you've done. You've
given me my life back, and more!"

"That's great Debbie. Of course, I've, uh, had a little setback in my career."

"Really? I wouldn't have thought -- since you have your own business. Sorry,
I've just been so caught up in all this. What happened?"

"I'm a financial analyst with NYBA still."

"What?! So quit! Just start over in your business. I'll support you. I'm
earning a lot more money here."

"It's not so simple. I don't have any clients, and worse, I don't seem to have
the credibility I had. Men don't generally. It's like, all our skills are
devalued in this world."

I heard a chuckle. "Sounds familiar honey. But, you're still you. I can't
believe that your skills still wouldn't be recognized."

"Well, they don't seem to be. The whole day at work today I couldn't get
anyone to listen to anything I had to say. Even though they liked my work --
as an analyst -- when I tried to do something broader the women in charge
would just tune me out. The whole analytical, numbers side of thing seems to
be less important here; it's like the people in charge speak a different
language."

"That's so interesting! It's the same in my work. The men seem to do all the
technical analysis, but what seems to take precedence in the law in THIS world
is the heart of the matter -- not in the mushy, sentimental sense of the word,
but what REALLY is important. And everything just seems to click. I've always
had to try to conform to a masculine style to be effective, but now my natural
style works better. Obviously, we're experiencing opposite sides of the same
coin, honey. It's harder for you and easier for me. But we'll be together and
I'll help you in any way I can."

"Well, seeing you would help."

"Oh I know! I wish I could be back now. I miss you so much. Maybe the case
will settle. It's going really well, and the judge is making an important
ruling at the end of the day. If she goes our way, I think the other side will
cave."

"That would be great Debbie."

"Hey Tom, have heard of this 'thank you' custom?"

"Uh, yeah," I said cautiously.

"Can you BELIEVE it? I almost died when the partner here thanked one of the
paralegals who had worked all night."

"Uh, yeah. It seems to be pretty common. There was a segment on the Today
show."

"I SAW that."

I switched the topic. "So, I wanted to tell you I think I'll leave NYBA and go
work for Mistress Olsen, I mean Annie. You know how I couldn't stand working
for them in our world, and this organization seems just as crooked."

There was a pause. "You're going to work for WHOM? "

"You heard me. I think it's my best chance to get out of NYBA."

"You said, work FOR her? As what?"

"I'm not sure yet. We have to talk about it."

"But she's your SECRETARY."

"Not here. I was doing work for her today at NYBA. I figure it's my best
chance to get some more direct exposure in the industry, get some experience.
I have to accept that everything is different here, Debbie. Look around. Men
don't seem to be in charge of anything."

"I know ... but there have to be other options honey."

"In this world, I've been at the same job for years, going nowhere. Look, I'll
do it for awhile longer and see where it leads. Nothing's decided. We still
have to talk details."

"We'll talk about it when I get home, ok? I don't want you to rush into
anything."

"I'll see. I'll let you know the minute I know anything more about it."

"OK. Tom." I heard her laugh a little. "You know Tom, we're the same height
here."

"I saw a picture. That's what it looked like."

"I'm really strong Tom. You won't believe it."

"Hmm. Based on what I've seen so far, I'm sure you are."

"I've got lovely baseball sized biceps, maybe even a little bigger than
baseballs. Bigger boobs too, which I KNOW you'll like. I have to admit, I LOVE
my new body, Tom. I hope you'll like it too."

"Well, if it's yours honey I know I'll love it. I've missed you so much. I've
got some great plans for your body."

"Oh do tell, Tom! But, uh, tell me; is yours any different?"

"No. I don't think so. I think Mr. Dick may be a little bigger, but I'll let
you be the judge of that."

"Well, I can think of a few ways to check THAT out! And it's not with a
ruler." She paused a moment. "And babes, I bet I can beat you in tennis now. I
hope you can handle that."

"Don't be too sure you can beat me," I countered, trying to sound more
confident than I felt.

"Heh, heh. We'll see. Hey darling, it's been so great talking to you, but I
have to go. The court's going back into session in ten minutes and I need to
prepare."

"Sure Debbie. I love you."

"Ooooh, I love you SO much. I am SO grateful to you Tom. I'll get home and
show you as soon as I can!"

We said our good-byes and I put down the phone. She sounded great. Happy,
energetic, brightly engaged. I had her back. Larry's plan was a success. Sure
I'd lost status, but I had Debbie.

I wasn't hungry after the burger, but I ate a small salad anyway and watched
the news for awhile, but it bored me. I was too restless. I thought I should
get in touch with my friends, but I wasn't sure how much we'd have in common
here. Still, I went to our address book and read down the list, looking for
them. Gregg was there, but not Bob or Al, or Larry. How could Larry not be
there?! And then I wondered. Where had I gone to college in this world? I went
to our file cabinet, looking for evidence. There it was. I had gone to the
State University at Albany instead of Cornell. Another chill went through me.
I would not have met Larry then, or Al. The book was filled with names of
friends I didn't know. I thought about going to our club, and looking for a
game of tennis on one of the indoor courts. It was still early enough. I
searched the house for a membership card, but it wasn't there, and finally
phoned the club. As I suspected, we weren't members. We probably couldn't
afford it.

Suddenly, I was feeling very bad.

I needed some fresh air. I grabbed my coat and went out for a walk, heading
toward the busier part of town.

It was a clear cool evening, the kind of autumn night I always liked,
reminding me of the World Series, raking leaves, and camping in the woods. The
fresh air revived me and I quickened my pace for awhile, then slowed down a
bit as I got to the stores so I could look into the windows to pick up the
subtle differences -- the size of women's shoes, the pictures of muscular
female athletes in the sporting goods shop, the poster at the travel agency
showing a woman running into the surf on a tropical beach laughing and
carrying a man who no doubt was about to get thrown into the water, the waiter
at the diner serving coffee to two burly women, the newsstand with a copy of
the Wall Street Journal with bright pictures on the front page instead of the
usual statistical graph. I turned another corner and accidentally bumped into
a man who was talking to his friend and smoking a cigarette. I excused myself,
but he snarled at me.

"What are you, an idiot?"

"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't see you." His friend pushed me from behind. I
whirled around. "Hey, this doesn't involve you."

"You wish," he said, reaching back to hit me.

I put up my arms to block him, but the first guy hit me on the head. The blow
startled me. I staggered and hit back at him, bloodying his nose, then turned
to run back where I'd been.

"Stop that fighting!" It was a commanding voice from a passing police patrol
car. I obeyed, only to be hit again from behind. I fell to the ground as the
car screeched to a stop and two policewomen jumped out, pushing them away from
me. They were each taller than all three of us, one of them about 6'4", the
other even larger. "All right boys, what is it tonight?"

"This jerk tried to knock me over," the smoker said.

I stood up slowly. "I bumped into him officer, but it was an accident. I
apologized, and then they started fighting."

The taller one sighed. "Let's see some ID, boys. Driver's licenses? Voting
cards?"

I pulled out my wallet, hoping I had what she was looking for. I found my
driver's license. The others were pretending to search through their pockets,
but as I handed the officer my license they made a run for it, splitting up.
The second officer chased the smoker, caught him after a block and brought him
back, twisting his arm behind his back and shoving him against the police car.

"We'll book this one," she said. "How does the other one check out?"

"Not too bad. The usual scrapes here and there, nothing too serious. He's
married. Where's your wife?"

"She's out of town, on business."

"So, you're looking for some action? Thought a fight would get your blood
running?"

"No officer, I was just out for a walk."

She rolled her eyes and looked at her partner. "We could book him on a K-17."

"Naah, it's not worth it. Too much paperwork. Let him go. Go on home, Tommie,
and stay out of trouble. If we catch you disrupting the public order again
tonight it'll be a lot more serious."

"Yes officer. Excuse me, I don't want to cause you any trouble, but what's a
K-17?"

She laughed. "You've got six of them and you haven't learned yet? Men! Look it
up. Use your little brain, instead of your little fists."

I opened my mouth, and then closed it. "Am I free to go now?" She nodded, then
signalled her partner to bundle the smoker into the police car. I walked home
more carefully and when I got there I decided it was time to get on the
internet and tried to understand what happened. Nice try. Either we didn't
have an account, or there was no internet. Instead, there was some kind of
electronic bulletin board service that made the early days of Prodigy look
advanced. I slogged through and eventually found an article in the family
section, intended for teenage boys but useful to me. It pulled me in with both
fascination and horror. It was written by a social worker, Harry Weldon, and
the central section went like this:

"As you are growing older, you may find new sources of tension and
frustration. You may find your sexual urges are increasing. Your body is
changing too, your genitals are growing and becoming more sensitive. You are
developing hair on your face and other parts of your body. And even though not
to the same extent as girls, your own muscles are getting larger and stronger.
You may find that looking at girls and feeling aroused make it difficult to
keep your concentration in class. You may experience aggressive feelings too.
All of this is to be expected; it's a natural consequence of your male
hormones. It's what makes you who you are."

"I know this can be frustrating for you. You feel it's unfair. How are you
supposed to compete with girls who are becoming ever taller and stronger? Who
don't get embarrassing and even sometimes disabling erections, and who seem to
have the power to make you lose your train of thought with nothing more than a
subtle turning of their bodies, a display of their breasts or a flex of their
muscles. Well, fair or unfair, like it or not, you are becoming a man, and
soon you will join adult society as a man."

"What does that mean? And what do you need to know, as a man?"

"Well, to start with, men are an important part of society. We may be smaller
and weaker than women, we may not have the best paying jobs or the most
prominent positions. And we may not be as 'well-behaved' as women. But without
men the human race would end. So do not for a minute think that because you
are a man, you are unnecessary or superfluous."

"Now, as men, what are we compared with women? Well, for one thing we are more
aggressive. This may, at first glance seem ridiculous, either an evolutionary
mistake or, if you believe in the creation theory, as 'God's joke.' as some
people call it Why should men be more aggressive than women when, with a few
exceptions, women are so much stronger than we are and can so easily subdue
us? Well, science tells us that man evolved as an aggressive creature as a way
of competing for the attention of women. Our hormones prime us to fight other
men, so that the fittest survivor can be chosen by women to impregnate them.
Since one man can impregnate many women, and women did much of the work of
maintaining society, such as hunting, heavy labor, agriculture, not to mention
leadership and defense, it did not matter to uncivilized society if most men
killed each other off. The race as a whole benefited from having only the
fittest men pass on their genetic inheritance, and genetic diversity was
maintained by the women."

"Of course, those who believe in creationism have no problem understanding
men's inferiority. It is taught in every church, mosque and synagogue.
According to Genesis, God created woman first in her own image, then man as a
companion. And it was man's uncontrollable urges for violence and sex that
condemned him to his smaller, weaker body as punishment, to ensure that he
would always be subject to woman's rule."

"In today's more civilized society unsupervised fighting and violence are not
tolerated. As men, you must learn to subdue your aggression or channel it into
acceptable pastimes, like organized fight clubs, gladiator competitions and
other men's sports that emphasize pure aggression, such as football and rugby.
Some men also find that competition in women's sports, such as baseball and
tennis, which emphasize the controlled use of strength, helps them learn to
use their aggression productively. You must find what is best for you. But do
NOT indulge in the violent behavior of our ancestors, the cavemen. Our society
will not accept it, and you'll find that under the progressive system of
punishments, from K-21 all the way to K-1, you will be excluded from the
pleasures of society and condemned to a barren and lonely life.

"Remember, the evolutionary reason for aggression was not fighting in itself,
but fighting to gain access to women. Isolation on a prison island, living
with the most aggressive and violent men, is a good way to perfect your
fighting skills, but you will then be deprived of the prize: a satisfying life
with a good woman. Remember that important adage: use your brains, not your
fists."

"And while we are talking about competing for women, remember that just like
in the old days women today evaluate men in terms of their fitness for
reproduction and family life, but they evaluate us differently. We must do
more than survive; we must prove ourselves as social creatures. You may think,
inside, with your masculine mind, that good conversation, pleasant manners,
attention to personal details, and honest sharing of emotions are pointless
activities and just for women. Wrong. It's a women's world, boys, and you have
to learn to live in it."

"'But why do we have to?' you may ask. Well, think about your feelings, your
desires and urges. As men you are sexual beings, with strong sexual needs.
Some of you may have already had sex, others may have been thanked and some
may have masturbated themselves. But all of you are well aware of the
increasingly powerful needs of our bodies, needs that, for most of us, are
stimulated, and satisfied, by women. Like it or not, these powerful urges,
even more powerful than our inner feelings of aggression, rule our lives. They
give rise to strong emotion, disrupt our powers of logical thought, draw us
toward some people and away from others, and when fully satisfied bring us the
most intense pleasure a man can know."

"After all, a man who is happily married, who has a wife who loves and
supports him, is sensitive to his needs but who also cares for him as a whole
person, is truly blessed. He is a man who is fully realized, who knows his
place in society, and can focus himself to the best of his abilities and
contribute fully to his community."

"Some of you may disagree with this view, saying that a man should find his
identity first before accepting a marriage proposal and must have the same
right and opportunity as women to work, play and head families. This 'malist'
view is gaining increasing currency, especially in the liberal centers of
Western societies, and it has a natural appeal to the abstract, mathematical
mind of a man. After all, we do naturally understand equality as sameness:
'one equals one' and 'a equals a'. But this is not the way women understand
equality. The female view, and you must accept that this is the prevailing
view in societies around the world as well, is that men and women are
different, and absolute equality of treatment would be unfair. To a woman, and
to our society, the right to equality means a society that takes account of
our differences so that all persons can receive 'equal consideration and
benefit from society'. This is enshrined in our national motto: 'life, love
and the gift of happiness'."

"Think of the logic behind this view. Are children treated the same as adults?
Are fast learners treated the same as slow learners? Of course not. We all
know that men, as a rule, have difficulty "multi-tasking," that their
communication skills are poorer than women's, that they are less able to
perceive cues from their environment, and that they easily lose patience and
become emotional and hostile when performing complex tasks. And of course the
physical differences are obvious. Men are more prone to disease, they have
less endurance and less strength, the exposed placement of their reproductive
organs renders them extremely vulnerable to attack, they have a higher center
of gravity and therefore inferior balance. Need I go on? Of course there are
individual differences, and any humane society will take the individual
characteristics of its members into account. But our laws and customs reflect
the common understanding of our natures. This is a fundamental truth that the
mature man accepts."

"So, you may ask, 'what does this mean for me? I don't care about anthropology
or religion. Why do I have such strong sexual urges and so little ability to
control how and when they are satisfied, whereas women can so easily find a
man to satisfy hers and choose to have sex? Why do women have so many more
privileges and rights than men?'

"Well, my advice is that you, as an individual, should learn to adapt your
behavior to get the maximum benefit you can, sexual, financial and social,
from society. Thankfully you have grown up in modern society, where men are
treated with consideration, where their good behavior is rewarded with
'thanks', and their bad behavior corrected progressively rather than punished
with beatings and torture as it had been in earlier days. In few other
societies in history have men's sexual gratification been so catered for as
ours, notwithstanding the 'malist' slogans that 'orgasm is the opiate of the
mass man' and 'the thank you makes your tool the tool of oppression.'"

"Finally, let me give you some basic advice:"

"First, accept who you are. You feelings of aggression, of sexual desire, the
very way your mind works, are part of your essence. You cannot change them."

"Second, understand that society is made for women AND for men. Take advantage
of what it offers you. Marriage, family, work and sport are all designed with
your needs and capabilities in mind. Even before marriage, you will find that
proper behavior earns a thank you, which will bring you pleasure and reinforce
that behavior."

"Third, learn how to satisfy a woman sexually. Like her body, a woman's sexual
nature is more powerful than yours but also more complex. If a woman invites
you to engage in sexual intimacy, take the time to learn what pleases her.
Although less immediately rewarding than moving straight to your own
ejaculation and sometimes terrifying in the unleashing of a woman's humbling
strength, you will find that bringing a woman to orgasm, where for a few brief
moments she and her dominant body is actually dependent on you, brings a
surprising feeling of accomplishment and pride. Do not be afraid of sexual
intimacy or of a woman's needs. It is why there are women AND men in the
world."

"Do not curse yourself or fate for being born a man. You can have a happy and
satisfying life ahead of you. It is up to you!"

I leaned back and stared at the screen, unable to believe that I was truly a
second class citizen. I heard a low laugh behind me. "Look what you're
READING! This is so CUTE. A married man reading a boy's guide to sex. Since
when do you read anything except the stats of the Yankees players and their
bra and sleeve sizes?" Chloe said derisively. I turned around. She looked down
at me, her arms crossed in front of her large chest. "You know, you STILL
haven't gotten my favorite ice cream! You ALWAYS do, you know, whenever I stay
here."

"I've been busy, Chloe," I said, standing up, then regretting I did, because
it wasn't nearly enough to overcome her height advantage anyway.

She just looked down at me and laughed, put her hands on my shoulders and
leaned into me. I staggered a little from her weight. "What's the matter with
you lately?" she frowned. "What's it going to take to get you to behave
right?" She looked down at me and then took her hands off me and started to
unbutton her blouse.

"Chloe!" With her hands off me, I took the opportunity to step away.

"You've been acting very strange, you know?" she said, closing the distance
between us.

"Chloe, I'm married to your Aunt, remember?"

"I know that! Why do you think I'm here?"

"But this is wrong, Chloe. First I'm married. Second you're too young and
third --

She looked at me strangely, her blouse now standing open, showing her
beautiful breasts, still partially hidden by her bra. "You haven't gone out
and taken one of those celibacy vows, have you?" I shook my head. "Pshew!
Debbie would be FURIOUS with you! I'm worried, with the way you're talking and
what you're reading there!"

"You get dressed this instant!" I ordered.

Chloe started to cry. "How can you speak to me like that? I'm trying to take
care of you!"

"This is not the way!"

She reached over and felt my forehead and then shook her head. "Please don't
go weird on us Uncle Tom. I'd hate to have to bring you in."

"Bring me ..." I took a deep breath, "where?" I added, more quietly.

"You know, where men go when they go off the deep end. You know, the eccentric
ones. But that can't be you, Uncle Tom. Just tell me what's the matter. I've
tried playful and I've tried stern and now I'll try pleading. I'm still not
getting through to you. What do I have to do? What am I going to say to Aunt
Debbie?"

She looked absolutely sincere, and a little frightened. Clearly I'd taken a
wrong step and I'd have to treat carefully.

"I just don't want to do anything wrong, or that would upset Debbie," I
suggested.

"But Uncle Tom, why would she mind if I make you feel good? I'm her niece,
after all. I'm family. I mean, she's isn't around often enough to do you all
the time, and if I didn't, it would be somebody else, right? Like Janice? I
know Debbie is her best friend, but still, you know Aunt Debbie prefers it be
me? I mean, it's good experience and all for me too." She unhooked her bra and
I looked away. "What's the MATTER with you? I KNOW you like me. I'm old enough
to have breasts AND muscles, and you've always said I have a good grip." A
note of uncertainty crept into her voice. "You haven't asked Janice to do you
when Debbie's gone, have you? I know she's got really huge muscles, and you've
known her for a long time, but I thought --

She looked like she was about to cry. "Of course I like you, Chloe," I said
reassuringly. It's just that I --

"Have you been thanked today?" she asked suddenly. I didn't say anything. "I
bet you have been! Come on, you've got to tell me about it. I want to know
everything." She pulled me over to a chair and then down onto her lap, undoing
the rest of her blouse, pulling her bra off her shoulders and placing my hand
on her amazingly large and firm breast. "You HAVE been thanked. I can tell.
Otherwise you'd be throbbing already. Who was it? Are you embarrassed because
you like her? Is that it?" She had put her hand into my pants and was gently
touching my erect dick. "It must have been at least a couple of hours ago,
right?" I was too shocked to protest, and besides it was clear that would have
provoked more problems. My breathing quickened. "So was it someone you know?
Someone at work?" With each question she gave my dick a shake and a gentle
squeeze, much like a mother caresses her child's head as she talks to him, and
then she touched it lightly again with her long forefinger, pushing against it
and curling her finger around it, running it up and down.

I felt ashamed, but it seemed in this world there was no reason for shame.
This wasn't the Chloe I knew. I was in a whole different world, with different
rules and expectations, wasn't I? My defenses were crumbling. "It was Annie --
Ann Olsen."

"Mistress Olsen? Oh yeah. You told me about her once before, I think, when she
started at your firm. Really tall and strong, I think. Taller than me, right?
You like that type I know. What did you do for her? Do you really call her
'Annie'?" She started. "SHE'S not your second, is she?"

She was bringing me right to the edge now and then stopping, then touching me
lightly again, not in a mean way, or a teasing way, but rather as a way to
bring me closer to her. I found myself fondling her breast, involuntarily I
suppose, but now not wanting to break the flow of contact with her. "No ... I
don't call her Annie, actually," I said with difficulty, "and she's not my
second either. I, uh, don't have a second. I just did some extra work for her,
met her outside of work. It, uh, was just a thank you."

She pulled at my head a little. "You can suck a little if you want. I know it
relaxes you. I like it too," she said softly. She lifted her other breast to
my face, then let it fall when I didn't take it in my mouth. "But a thank you
isn't like what you and I do. It's so quick. You DO like the feelings I give
you, don't you? And I don't make you wear a bag."

"I ... yes."

"I can still make you feel good, can't I, even after a thank you. Did she let
you suck too? I bet that was nice for you. You're embarrassed, aren't you? You
don't have to be that way with ME! You should be proud of yourself that you
earned one! Do you want to come now, or wait?"

"Wait," I said, barely able to resist.

"I was hoping you'd say that." She relaxed and curled herself around me. "This
is so much nicer than when you get all grumpy and distant. Why do men DO that,
when you can make me feel good too by letting me take care of you. I'm so
jealous of Debbie and that Janice. They get to do sexual intimacy with you
because they're older, while all we can do is touch, but this is nice too,
especially after I thought you were mad at me. The way you acted last night.
And it's not like you not to get me my ice cream. I always have it when I come
over. It's like our tradition -- one of them at least." She looked down. "I
was being kind of bitchy, wasn't I? I'm sorry. I was hurt."

"I'm sorry too, Chloe," I croaked. "I've sort of had something on my mind." I
couldn't believe how aroused I was by her. "But that's ... that's no excuse.
Tell me -- tell me about all our traditions." I stared at her large breast, so
round, so pink, right in front of me ... and started sucking on it.

She smiled and squeezed me tighter in response. "You know! Oh all right. Well,
when Aunt Debbie's here we all always stay up real late the first night and
watch romantic movies, although you usually go to bed first because you find
that boring. And we usually go to the amusement park, not so much anymore now
that I'm older. We play tennis, you and me against Debbie sometimes and
sometimes you and Debbie against me. I can't play with her because she gets so
mad when I hit a bad shot. And then ever since Debbie showed me how to take
care of you -- what you like and all that -- she usually lets me do it. I
always ask her first in case she feels like some sexual intimacy, but she
usually gets home too late for that. And when she's away -- I don't know. We
play around a lot when you get home from work. You usually don't make anything
fancy like you do when she's here, which is good because I really would rather
eat pizza or cheese salads. We always wrestle at least once. Remember when you
used to beat me -- when I was, like, ten? Before I got these?" She flexed her
biceps and her large muscles popped. They weren't cut, but they were
considerably larger and thicker than mine. "Now I'm the one who has to be
careful, but it's always so much fun. And I know it gets you ready." She
pumped her biceps a couple more times. "Speaking of which, I bet you're ready
now." I nodded and she laughed. "Just because you're ready doesn't mean I'm
going to LET you. I'm the girl, so I'M the one who decides," she said,
petulantly, pushing her hand more tightly against me to keep me from coming
while wrapping her arms around me so I couldn't even think of moving away.
"Now, ARE you going to get me my ice cream or not?"

"I'll get your ice cream!" I said into her breast, unwilling to let go.

She giggled. "That felt nice. And ARE you going to massage my calf when I ask
you?"

"Yes!" I groaned.

She stood up, holding me across her breasts. "Well, oKAY then!" she said
happily. Her arm muscles expanded and hardened against my back as she
supported my weight and pressed me against her. "You LIKE feeling how strong I
am, don't you?" She sat down again and turned me over on her lap so that I
looked straight up at her and quickly finished me off. I moaned and then
sighed in relief and lay back, limp and panting, catching my breath. She
looked me over, happily, maybe a little possessively, proud of herself for
making me come so passionately. "Wasn't that nice? Do you feel better?" I
nodded. "Good." We lay there, like that for a few minutes as the pleasurable
feelings ricocheted around me. "You know Tom, I can't imagine what it must be
like to be a man," she said finally.

"What do you mean?"

"You're so different! The things that interest you, the way you look at the
world, you know, what you expect out of life."

"How do you know what men want is so different from what a woman wants?"

She laughed. "Well, look at Aunt Debbie and us, for example. No offense, but
you're happy doing this little 9-5 job while your wife jets all over the
country to get ahead in her career. You're both smart, but she's five years
younger than you and probably earns five times as much as you do. Anyway,
you've always said you'd quit your job once Debbie decides she was ready to
have children. And in two years I'll be going to Yale and start thinking about
my career, while half the guys in my high school won't even bother graduating.
Most of them are too busy fighting or fooling around in class. They never pay
attention in class, they're so bad at the important subjects, like writing and
languages. Even the ones who are smart usually only care about theoretical
stuff, like numbers, and science, or they try to build things. But nothing
social, nothing expressive. And without training in language arts and social
arts they'll never get anywhere in their careers. They'll just have the low
paying technical jobs, and the ones who really get into those kind of careers
never get married anyway. They just live in those dorms and get serviced by
the charity women. What a life." Chloe wrinkled her nose.

"Well, maybe I'm more ambitious than you think."

"Oh Uncle Tom! You're not becoming a malist, are you!? Debbie won't like it."
She rubbed my stomach. "She likes you the way you are. And soon you'll have
children anyway, won't you?"

"Well, maybe. Uh, speaking of Debbie, could I ask you a favor?" She nodded.
"If she calls, don't talk to her about what we just did together. Can it be
our secret?"

She looked at me as though I'd just ask her to steal something. "But Tom, it's
not a secret! Aunt Debbie always wants to know what we've done together. She
wants to know that you're all right. That's one of the reasons I'm here."

"Maybe she won't ask."

"She always asks. She wants to know what we've done together, what we've
eaten, what I've done at school, what time you got home, you know."

"Well, if she doesn't ask, don't tell her, ok?"

"You're being strange again, Tom." She sighed. "I don't like this! You're
putting me in a very tough position. Aunt Debbie trusts me and, well, she's
the boss, right?"

My heart sank. I was trapped, not only by what I'd just done, but what this
Tom had done with Chloe even before I'd found myself here yesterday. Debbie
would never understand. Just then, the bell rang. Chloe jumped up. "I'll get
it. Maybe it's Rachel!"

"Chloe! It's nearly eleven o'clock ...." I was saying, but she had already
left and was buttoning up while she ran downstairs.

She opened the door. "Oh! Hi Janice. It's Janice!" she called upstairs.
"You're too late! I've done him already!"

Janice laughed and hugged her. "Good for you! Did you finish your homework?"

"Yeah. Cornelia and I did it together, although I was stumped by one of the
poetry problems. Can you help me?"

Dressed now, I started coming down the stairs. "You didn't tell me you were
having trouble with your homework."

Janice rolled her eyes. "It's not a math question, Tom. She needs a woman's
help with this. Give us a few minutes and then I'll tell you my surprise."
They put their heads together and talked too quietly for me to hear so I went
ack upstairs and put on some more clothes and then walked back to them. They
were still deep in conversation, and then Chloe started writing a few lines on
her paper.

I couldn't stop staring at Janice. She was a good four inches taller than
Chloe and had shoulders like she was wearing football pads -- but judging from
the size of the rest of her body I was sure she wasn't. She wore a strapless
red dress and tight, ultra-short sleeves that only accentuated the size of her
enormous biceps and muscular chest.

Chloe finished her work and smiled happily, then saw me staring at Janice and
put her hands on her hips. "It's not fair!" she said, a small smile on her
face. "It was just twenty minutes ago and he already has his tongue out
looking at you. Men are like little dogs, aren't they!"

Janice laughed. "Chloe! You're too young to talk like that about your Uncle.
Anyway if you looked more carefully it's not just his tongue that I've got
sticking out and it's just as well too. It shows your Uncle is a healthy man."

"Well, I guess so."

Remembering what Janice had done in the last world I'd spent much time in, I
said, cautiously, "So, why are you dropping by? Isn't it late to be driving so
far?"

"Oh, it's no trouble, Tom. I just thought I'd check in and make sure you guys
were all right. I called Debbie earlier for just a moment. She was in a
meeting, but she said there was a good chance she'd be flying back tomorrow,
so I thought I'd tell you that and see if Chloe wanted me to pick her up at
school and then drop her off at home. I'll be showing some real estate around
there tomorrow afternoon."

"Uh, thanks. That's really nice of you." I stayed on the stairs.

"Thanks Janice. It's been nice being here, but I've missed my room and friends
a little."

"Of course you have, honey. It's so nice of you to stay with your Uncle. I'll
put your things in my car tonight. Now Tom, since you've already had your fun
with Chloe, you're going to have to do without me now. See if you can save
yourself for Debbie tomorrow night. You guys have been apart for a long time.
I'm sure she'll want all the attention you can give her." She winked at Chloe
and me. "And with THAT, I'm going to leave now and I suggest that each of you
go to bed too ... in separate beds!"

Chloe ran up to get her bag and Janice looked up at me. "You're a lucky man,
you know. You have a wonderful wife and a great niece. And you have me to take
care of you when Debbie's away."

"Yes, I'm very thankful."

"Yeah, I love you too," she said, with a bit of an edge. "Come on, Tom, you
can be more demonstrative to your wife's best friend, even though I said I
wouldn't touch you up tonight. Don't be such a man!" I looked at her with some
puzzlement. She sighed. "You don't get it, do you? Men never do. Now that
you've come you can act all independent, but when you need something, you want
it, and that's it. Like the day we first met, when I was a freshman and you
just stared at me from the stands during the whole afternoon of football try
outs. I would have thought you'd have gotten cold and gone home, but no, you
stayed the whole time, even waiting while I took my shower. It was so cute
finding you outside, trying to tease me by riding my bicycle around the field,
even though it was so big for you that you could hardly reach the pedals. Of
course I caught up with you grabbed it away from you easily, and then rode
away, letting you chase me until you got tired. You ran and ran, but you could
never catch me until I let you, remember? I thought that was so funny, and
endearing too, but I understand now that when boys see something they want all
they can think of is that one thing that's right in front of them. Sometimes I
wonder whether guys have any pride at all, but I know that kind of discussion
goes nowhere. Pride means something totally different for a woman and a man.
Oh, here comes Chloe with her stuff. Hey, remember what I said guys. Leave
Tom's thing alone!"

"Oh I will, Janice. Tom will just have to wait for Debbie now."

"Good girl! Bye!"

The two of them hugged: two large females, each taller and stronger than I
was, finding it the most natural thing in the world to tell me what to do with
my own body. Looking at them, I felt not only physically smaller, but
psychically smaller too, and I didn't like it.

"Bye Tom." She winked at me again and then thrust out her chest and flexed her
right biceps. My mouth dropped as her breasts stood out in bold relief while
her muscles erupted from her arm, even larger and more peaked than I could
have imagined, the stretch marks on her dress making the curves of her body
even more dramatic.

"Janice! You're being so mean to him!" Chloe said sympathetically.

She laughed. "I just want him to get 'inspired' for Debbie. Bye guys!" She
sashayed out the door.

Chloe looked at her admiringly. "God! She's so good at that, you know? I wish
I could be as irresistible as she is."

Now that was a frightening thought.

13

I woke up excited the next day. I'd finally have time, alone, with Debbie, in
our own house. After dropping off Chloe at school I went into work and started
in on some projects for "Mistress" Collins, had a short call from Debbie just
before she got onto the plane and before I knew it was lunch time, not having
seen "Mistress" Olsen at all. I went downstairs again with Bobby.

"So, did Olsen give you the big thank you last night?"

"What do you mean?"

"Hey, I know all about your meeting with her at O'Hara's. Was she good? Did
you use the bag I gave you?"

I thought a moment and then said "Yes," in a low voice. Bobby beamed.

"She is so awesome. She could definitely be in Playboy, you know. Can you
imagine what she'd be like cumming? The pain of her squeezing me, crushing my
body with her huge, powerful muscles would be worth it. What I'd give to see
her hot and sweaty, panting away, begging for me --

"It was only a thank you, Bobby. "

"Yeah, yeah, I know that. Well, you're allowed to dream, aren't you? I didn't
know Debbie had you on such a tight leash. Hey, check out this month's
pictures." He took out a Playboy magazine he'd been carrying under his arm. I
couldn't believe he has taken it to work, but I had to remember not to be
surprised at anything. "Look at the one on page 11. 50-F! I mean, her pecs are
unbelievable, but then what a pair of tits too! Can you imagine playing with
those? And she's got arms too! 24"! I mean, she could hold me up in the air
with one hand like it was nothing. She's got it all! Do you think these women
are real?" I took the magazine and flipped through the pages, pausing at the
centerfold. "Yeah, she's amazing too. Just 23" biceps, but look at those abs.
Does Debbie know you buy these?"

"Uh, I don't really need them."

"Yeah sure you don't! What's gotten into you lately? I've seen you with them.
Look at you drool now."

"Tom?"

What was she doing here? "Yes, uh Mistress Collins."

"We're having a meeting in half an hour and John Maintz, our regular
numerator, just went home sick. Can you fill in for him?"

"Yes, I guess so."

"Good. Sorry to cut short your lunch, but you'll want to get yourself drained
first, right? We'll have a roomful of attractive, aggressive women who like to
have a bit of fun. I don't want you getting distracted in the middle of the
meeting. Liselle Cantor can do the pull for you."

I looked baffled. I vaguely remembered a Liselle from my old days at NYBA as a
pale, thin and somewhat meek assistant to one of the salesmen. Was it the same
woman? "Uh, no thanks," I replied.

She seemed surprised. "Are you sure? You'll be in a room with a dozen women
who might...." She considered it. "Well, it's up to you. John ALWAYS gets it
done, but all you men like to have your own ideas. Very well. I'll see you in
Room 2-A at 1:00. Mistress Meyers will be your listener. She usually helps
John." She looked down at Bobby's Playboy magazine and shook her head. "The
silly TRASH you boys buy. You'd think you get enough from real women not to
have to spend your free time looking at pictures of us too," she said,
sighing. "Well, it's not like you can help yourselves: boys will be boys," she
added with a sneer and left.

"What a bitch!" Bobby said. "She could never get into Playboy. I can't believe
you turned down a pull from Cantor. She's not as good as Olsen -- for sure --
but still. I'd come in thirty seconds with her. You're a funny one this week
Tom. I never turn it down."

I nodded. "Well, Debbie's coming home tonight. I'm kind of saving it for her."

"You must be getting old buddy. Well, it's your funeral. Don't complain to me
if you get a raging one in the middle of the meeting. Nobody's gonna stop to
pull you then."

"Bobby, I haven't been numerator for awhile. What am I supposed to do?"

"Hey, you know. You sit there with a computer and do all the calculations for
them as they have their meeting, either to have them ready for them to talk
about or to be added to the minutes later."

"Oh. Sounds easy."

"Yeah, if you can understand what they're saying. I can't believe the way
those women have four conversations at the same time. It's impossible for a
guy to put it all together. That's one reason guys don't have a chance to get
promoted. They insist on having their meetings that way just to keep us out.
No normal guy can follow it, so why bother trying? And they like to try to get
you distracted too, just for laughs. Collins gets angry with them but they do
it anyway. That's why she likes using Maintz. He's so old it doesn't get to
him."

I glanced down at the picture of Miss November. "Maybe I should give Liselle a
call."

"Too late. I'm sure Collins told her once you said no and she won't let you
change your mind now. Hey, worse comes to worse you'll make a fool of yourself
and they won't ask you again. It's not like they pay you extra for it or give
you less work to do."

I looked up at the clock. It was nearly one. "Hey, you're right. I'd better
go."

Bobby shook his head. "Be sure to stop by and tell me about it -- if you can
still walk!" he laughed.

I walked up the stairs to Room 2-A, which was a comfortable meeting room, with
plants, pictures on the wall, and chairs covered in mauve fabric. I guessed
that my desk was the small one with a computer and a keyboard and I settled
there, waiting to see what happened. There were already half a dozen women
there, talking quickly to each other. When they saw me they put their heads
together and pointed at me and then all of them laughed. I recognized Liselle,
who was still pale, but no longer either thin or meek, and a few others.
Liselle sauntered up to me. I stood up, politely (quickly realizing I had to
stop doing that, which was not at all the custom here and seemed only to
emphasize my smaller stature at the worst possible moment), while she looked
down at me with a superior expression. She put the long fingers of her left
hand a fraction of an inch in front of my pants zipper while placing the other
around the curve of her hip, just under her waist. "So, Tom, was I too ROUGH
on you last time?" she asked, shaking her hip back and forth several times as
she spoke. She looked back at the others and they laughed. I looked up to
challenge her, but my eyes instead got stuck at her surprising C+ cup breasts,
which I had remembered as barely in excess of an A cup in my world. She leaned
into me, pressing those breasts next to my face. "I KNEW it," she said,
triumphantly to the other women. "See how it's rising against me? I TOLD you
he was going to be easy!"

I wondered what she was talking about, and then I felt her finger on me, as my
erection pounded against it. The other women laughed, my arousal plainly
visible. "He should have let you do it while he had the chance," one said.
"What does he think he is, a woman?" another laughed. "I got the pool," a
third said. "See how long he lasts, best guess gets flowers all week." She
wrote down everyone's guesses as the women streamed into the room, all talking
at the same time. Liselle gave me a rub, then went back to her place, her ego
apparently satisfied. I felt a dull ache in my crotch and I tried to get my
mind on to something else. The volume, the heat, and the varied scents of the
women were getting stronger, and I kept my eyes on my spreadsheet to try to
compensate. I heard Collins voice above the others, and a large, older woman
sat down next to me. She looked at me and immediately stood up.

"What? You stiff already? Barbara, he'll never make it. I thought you were
going to get him pulled first."

"He didn't want it Sally, ok, and we're not allowed to force them. There's
nothing we can do about it. We'll just have to get through."

"Well, don't expect ME to do it in the middle of the meeting. I stopped doing
THAT a long time ago."

"A LONG time ago," one of the younger women cracked.

"No one expects you to do anything but help him follow the meeting, Sally.
Now, this Johnston development is first on the --

"I like the location --

"It doesn't get enough sun with that tree --

"-- but three floors won't

"Annette Cadbury wants at least four sets of --

"Are you getting all this?" Barbara sighed, looking at my blank screen. "You
need get the model for the development up, and then cost out four complete
work areas per floor, versus two. Liselle thinks we can squeeze four floors
onto the site, but that may delay the approval time. We need to know what the
rental yield will be with three floors versus four, factoring in the top floor
premium and the permit delays. And what will the heating and cooling be, with
that tree on the south side?" I was typing the issues furiously, plugging the
numbers into the model as variants and saving them. "You have that? Good, now
write the answers and give it to the woman who asked.

I scribbled the answers and, getting groped everywhere I went, walked around
handing out slips of paper to women who looked at them, nodded or shrugged and
then tossed them on the floor. I hurried back to the safe haven of my desk.

"Corrinne says no one wants stucco now, or steel --

"Can we use the fluffy carpeting and sell it as --

"--four paintings in the lobby! But how --

"No, no Tom, it's stucco vs. brick, not stucco vs. glass. Only the top floor
will be glass. No, when Karin says fluffy carpeting she means the plush. Don't
you remember?"

"I need a costing! Numerator, numerator. What's the increase in usable lease
space if we eliminate the boys' bathroom from the top floor? They can go
downstairs."

I quickly found the model and plugged in the numbers. "1217 square feet," I
said, triumphantly.

"Ok. So a thousand more if --

"But it's all internal! Who would --

"-- letting my full, powerful pecs just PUSH open my blouse, button by button,
as I --

I looked up. One of the women was looking my way and stretching, pushing out
her bust. I quickly looked back at my screen. There were giggles.

"I know what you mean, but if you opened up the --

"-- color's so boring. If we put in more stone on alternate --

" -- because they're just SO large, and SO round and SO pink --

"Come ON, Tom. You just have to ignore her. You're missing everything. That's
two walls of stone and three of painted sheetrock, and there's another option,
some fabric walls too. Collins wants the numbers. Can you do this or not?!"

"Yeah, just a minute." I plugged in the data and ran the scenarios, then
walked around with the slips of paper again. Pushing my way through, one woman
-- I think it was Colleen -- grabbed my leg and started feeling me through my
pants. I was almost beyond control when she let go with a giggle and
whispered, "almost my time, Tommy." I barely made it back to my seat.

"I don't understand why you didn't let Liselle pull you. This is all your
fault you know," Sally hissed.

"I can't believe this is allowed. What about sexual harassment laws?" I
whispered back. She looked at me blankly. "Oh, never mind."

"You'd better pay attention! The meeting's just starting to get going!"

"--workstations included --

"--no way. everyone wants--

"-- but only if the quality's --

" -- and just HEAVING with desire, the nipples so long and --

"Colleen! That's not fair! You're not contributing to the meeting. If you
can't do both --"

"Who said I'm not! He hasn't even come back with the cost of the work areas.
I'm just waiting for the numbers."

"It's just because you bet --

" -- all right!! All right!! Stop for a moment. Tom, do you have the numbers
for us?"

There were a few giggles in the room.

"Uh, the extra cost of the work areas is $6,200 per floor. Extra rental yield
is $85,000 per annum, but the construction cost rises by $500,000, with a six
month delay, so the IRR is --

"-- I are are? What's 'I are, are' supposed to mean?" Collins asked crossly.

"Uh, IRR, the Internal Rate of Return. It's the --

"What is this, some kind of boy's game? We're trying to make real decisions
here, not play with numbers!"

Behind Collins, one of the women was showing me her profile, pulling her shirt
tightly across the chest. I looked away.

"What now! You can't LOOK at me when I'm talking? Am I OFFENDING you?"

"He wants you to be GENTLE with him, Barbara, not ROUGH," Liselle said in a
low voice, but loud enough so I could hear.

"No Bar, uh Mistress."

She glared at me. "Just write up the rest and give it to me later. I think
we've discussed all the options, and I'll say we'll go for four stories, with
the boy's room, NO stone, but half fabric -- unless our numerator here, so to
speak, has some VERY important objection. Colleen, Karin and Ann will choose
the colors."

"Ann's not here!"

"Is she sick?"

"--left early yesterday after --

"--looked fine but --

"-- so hot for you, muscles tensing, growing harder, bigger, holding you down
so that you have no choice but to --"

"--nicest dress last week --

" -- submit to me, my hot breath almost scalding you with my passion as I
squeeze your snake from top to bottom --

"--pushy, don't you think she's --

"All right, then Liselle, find out WHERE she is, and Alison, you can be on the
color group. But NO magenta. Magenta is not what we're ABOUT, right?" There
was general agreement. "Understand Alison?" She nodded. "Now, the Kollmer
project. Where's that Ann!"

"I know the project," Colleen said. "I have some drawings." They were all in a
crowd now, Sally Meyers too, trying to get a closer look as she held it above
her head.

"-- too BIG to --

"--fifty stores are

Karin was on the edge of the crowd. She looked at her watch and then at me,
mischievously. I had to get closer to look at the drawings to see what they
were discussing.

"--windows tinted --

"--yes, and a little larger, more window space, if --

Karin's hand was on me now. I tried to pull it off but I couldn't. She just
laughed.

"--in Ann's absence, would Colleen tell us how many --

"-- more trees would --

"GOT you, little boy!" Karin said rubbing me furiously, one hand on my rear,
keeping me in place while her other hand was playing skilfully with me. I
couldn't help myself and ten seconds later came in a flood. "Bingo!" she
called out, lifting me up to show everyone the stain on my pants.

The women cheered, except for Colleen, while Collins, annoyed at the
interruption but resigned to the raucous behavior of her team sighed "OK, ok.
You've all had your fun. Let him go now so we can get some WORK done. And Tom,
NEXT time, if there IS a next time for you, I hope you'll be more RESPONSIBLE
with your body. I'm sure you both would be well advised if you want to
minimize your cleaning bills."

I was mortified, but I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of thinking
they'd gotten to me. I got through the rest of the meeting and then went back
to my desk. A few women looked at my pants and laughed, but I got only
sympathetic looks from the men. Bobby stifled an "I told you so," and then
pulled out some cleaning solution from his desk, which I applied in the men's
room and almost made the stain disappear.

I settled back at my desk and then noticed my message light blinking. There
were two messages. One from Ann, asking me to phone her from outside the
office, and the other was from Debbie. She was home! I put Ann out of my mind
and called Debbie right away.

"Tom! What took you so long?"

"I'll explain later. I can't believe you're home. I'll be leaving in an hour."

"You will? But it's just five. I'm really glad, but you always worked so late
when you were at NYBA."

"Different kind of job, Debbie." One of the women was glaring at me. "And I
can't have personal calls here. I'll see you at home as soon as I can."

"But -- ok. Love you babe." She made some kissing noises and hung up. I worked
until five to five and then packed up promptly, leaving with Bobby as the
second hand crossed the twelve and feeling no desire to put in one more minute
than I had to for NYBA or the people who worked there.

I was so excited that my hands were shaking as I pulled up to our house. I
raced up the stairs and was about to charge into the bedroom when I heard
Debbie cry out, "Tom? WAIT!"

"What is it, hon? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Just wait a minute, ok?" she said. I could hear the sound of
hangars moving and fabric rustling. "Why don't you go downstairs and open some
wine? This is a special moment, don't you think? Almost like seeing each other
for the first time. I want to get dressed up. I want it to be right."

"Debbie!" I said, impatiently, "it's been almost two weeks!" I heard a sigh,
and more sounds of hangars, and then decided to switch tacks. "Well, I suppose
I can find a few things to do. After all, how can I argue with a rising legal
star who still wants to look good for her husband?"

"You can't!" she said cheerfully. "Just relax. I won't be too long."

I wasn't sure about that, but I called out, "Take your time." I knew that
Debbie had a entirely new wardrobe to explore. Her clothes no doubt fit
differently from the way she was used to, and she was probably wondering how
she'd look to me, bless her. From my perspective, all I could wonder about was
how she looked without any clothes on. That point would NOT be lost on Debbie,
but I knew she would take great care in setting the stage for the "unveiling",
and I wasn't going to spoil the evening for her by rushing her.

I went downstairs and looked at our wine cabinet, which was a much more meager
collection than I had assembled in our world. Since I wasn't familiar with the
brands I simply chose one of the reds with a cork instead of a screw top. I
started to open it then stopped, realizing that by the time Debbie finished
dressing the wine could end up pretty flat if was as cheap as it looked.
Instead I washed up as much as I could in the downstairs bathroom and then
settled down to watch television. It was the early local news, which should
have been filled with fires, murders and other spectacular fare. It wasn't.
There was a story about a male gang that was receiving musical training for
rehabilitation, a story about President Cheyney, showing her listening
skeptically to Prime Minister Spencer's arguments for compensating men's work
more generously, a feature about how a family coped with the death of their
dog, and a lot of talk. Very dull. At least the sports channel was showing
tennis. Serena Williams and Peter Sampras were playing Martina Hingis and
Lleyton Hewitt in mixed doubles. This was something to watch. I could barely
see Serena, who was on the far court but looked as large as a fullback, and I
focused on Martina, who hit a blistering serve that Sampras could barely
handle, and then served to Serena, missing the first and then hitting a
careful second serve that Serena returned with a cannon-like groundstroke that
sent Hewitt sprawling. Martina gave him an exasperated look and looked to the
sky in disgust, then won the game by serving an ace to Sampras. Hewitt ran up
to her and shook her hand while she patted him on the ass. I stared at them.
The sight of a Martina Hingis who was twice as muscular as the slight Hewitt,
and who looked down at him and touched him so condescendingly made me slightly
queasy but also strangely aroused. Was it just a physical response of this
body, or was I finding muscular women attractive?

"Ahem."

I was so taken by the sight of Martina with biceps that I hadn't heard Debbie
coming down the stairs. I flicked off the set and hurried over to her. She
stood two steps from the bottom and looked a little nervous, but happy and
excited and her eyes pored over my face, drinking in my reaction to her. At
first all I could see, or wanted to see, were those loving brown eyes, but
then she looked down, bashfully perhaps, or more likely to draw my attention
to the rest of her, and my attention readily followed her unvoiced suggestion.
She was wearing a grey sweater of soft knit cotton and tight slacks, her arms
covered but looking thick under the sleeves while her enhanced cleavage showed
through the open neck of her sweater. She leaned against the banister, one
hand supporting herself on it, the other hand resting on her hip.

"I think I'll still be able to attract your attention," she said with a soft
smile.

"Always," I replied, my eyes having returned to hers. For her it had been a
return after a short, and exciting business trip, but for me it was the thrill
of regaining what I thought I had lost forever.

"Won't you come a little closer? I think I need a kiss."

A surge of warmth went through me. This moment was what I had dreamed of. I
climbed the first step, still looking up at Debbie, and she bent down and
reached out, putting her arms around my neck and meeting my lips. That sweet
kiss was ecstasy, and I pulled her closer to me, feeling her broad back and
greater size, of course, but it was Debbie's scent, Debbie's lips. I knew her
kiss so well. I opened my eyes. "It's you," I said.

"Me," she repeated, "and you. And you still want me. I'm bigger, you know."

"You're still you."

"Will the wine wait?"

"A lot more patiently than I will. Especially because it's still corked."

"Why don't you come on upstairs? You can uncork me instead."

She turned and I put my arms around her, feeling her larger breasts. She
murmured happily as we walked as a train upstairs, my hands happily supporting
her otherwise unbound breasts. I wanted to breathe her in while pressing into
her, storm her body with my passion, send her soaring while clinging to me so
we could fly away together. Nothing else mattered. We reached the top of the
stairs and I let go with one hand and bent slightly, ready to lift her from
around her waist and knees and carry her into our room as though we were bride
and bridegroom a second time.

"Uh, Tom, maybe --

I tensed my muscles to lift her, felt a wave of panic when she stayed right on
the floor and I almost toppled into her, then realized I hadn't adjusted for
her greater size here. I bent my knees and got her off the ground and
staggered toward our room, barely managing. She felt like she was weighed down
with concrete!

"Tom! Don't hurt yourself!" she said, concerned.

My arms were trembling, my legs nearly buckling. How much did she weigh?! I
looked at the door of the bedroom, so far away, and put her down. My heart was
racing.

"Maybe we should just walk there. I'll carry you through the door," I said
with a slight grin, slowly straightening my body.

"Or maybe we can just walk in together. Tom, I don't want you to strain your
back. Not now, when we have so MUCH to catch up on!" she said.

"My back is fine." I was standing up now and looked at Debbie and then took a
sharp breath. She was bigger than I was.

She noticed my look of surprise, then grinned and kicked off her shoes so we
were eye to eye. "Got you there for a second, didn't I?"

"Pshew! You really had me going there!" I sighed.

She smiled at me. "I was curious how you'd react, with all the adjustments
you've had to make. I'm glad you can still take a joke. It must be so hard on
you, having been so much bigger and stronger than me before."

"I guess I'm going to have to get used to our being equal here." She raised
her eyebrows. It was almost imperceptible, but it was one of those things in
her I'd learned to read. "What? You think you're stronger than I am?"

She put her hand lightly on my neck and stroked it. "You are so dear, Tom, and
I am SO grateful. I can't imagine any other man doing for me what you've
done."

"It was for both of us, Debbie. You know that."

"Yes, I do. Still ...." She shook her head. "This must be so hard for you. I
want to make it up to you, to compensate for all the things you've lost."

"None of that compares to what I almost lost, Debbie.

"Well, let me make sure you never forget why it was all worth it." She took my
hand and started pulling me toward the bedroom.

I readily followed, realizing belatedly that we had crossed the threshold. I
stopped and held her in my arms. "Just more of you to love," I quipped.

"Tom!" she said, rapping me on the shoulder with her fist. I grimaced. "Oh no!
I'm sorry! I guess I don't --

"--know your own strength?"

"What a cliché!" she said, guiltily, "but it's true," she added.

"Should make for some interesting play on the tennis court," I teased,
indicating with my eyes a ball soaring over the fence.

"You wish! I'm not going to go easy on you, you know."

"I wouldn't expect you to. Well, you'll have a chance to beat me now."

"Hah! More than a chance." She kissed me. "But how about a game where I always
win?" She started unbuttoning my shirt.

"Sounds like a win-win," I replied, starting on my pants and then on hers.

She laughed. I pulled down her zipper and she pushed me onto the bed, falling
on top of me but breaking her fall with her arms. "Got to be careful with my
fragile husband."

"Yeah, right!" I put my hands under her sweater. "Well, you've got some new
toys hidden under there, don't you?" She nodded. "Let's give them a little
air."

"OK," she said, after a little pause.

I wondered what she was feeling bashful about. I'd always loved her breasts,
but she'd seen the way I'd looked at some of Larry's girlfriends. She couldn't
possibly be worried that I wouldn't like her with larger boobs. I pulled her
sweater up, noticing immediately her well-defined abs. Well, that wasn't a
surprise. She'd had nice stomach muscles even in our world. I glanced down at
mine in comparison, and, well, hers were clearly better. Then again, she'd
always worked hers more than I had, so this was natural. I raised the sweater
higher, and there they were: round, perfect, extending like ripe melons
waiting for me. I lifted my head and felt them with my cheeks, my nose and
then my mouth, while she put her arms around me, sighing, almost purring. I
wanted to see more, and started pulling off her sweater but she kept her arms
out, stopping me. "Want more," she said.

"So do I," I replied, continuing to tug gently on her sweater.

"More sucking, I meant," she teased.

"More skin."

"I KNOW what YOU want."

"And don't YOU?"

"Well ... I don't want to frighten you," she said playfully, pinching my ass
and pulling me against her.

"Oh, I'm -- ahhh -- very frightened," I said, my pause resulting from a
particularly pleasurable sensation as she pulled me closer and a certain very
stiff part of my body pressed against her.

"You should be," she warned and suddenly I was inside her. It was like a mouth
had opened and taken me in.

"Hey! What'd you do?"

She laughed. "I've got some new muscles, honey. Feel this!"

It was like nothing I'd felt before, except perhaps the contractions of a
woman's orgasm, but these were more controlled, and more powerful. "How are
you DOING that?" I said, barely getting out the words.

"Mmmm, mmmm. Feels good for me too! I don't know. I just can. Whatever muscles
I had down there in our world are a LOT stronger here. I can squeeze hard
enough to stop you from coming too, I've heard, although I wouldn't do that to
you, honey." She gave me another squeeze that sent a buzz of pleasure
radiating up my spine. "Have you read about childbirth here?" I shook my head.
"Apparently it's easy as pie. No pain. Women just push, open up, and out pops
baby. Caesarians are almost unheard of."

"That's nice," I grunted, pushing up into her and wanting more.

She cupped my ass with one hand, holding me there and pushing and pulling my
body back and forth against her, rubbing against her crotch. "Mmmm, yeah! That
feels good, Just let me do the work, honey. It's, ahhhh, more, ohhhhhh,
intense, ahhhhhh, when I, oooooooooh, squeeze you like --

"Ooooooooh," I moaned.

"See ... I ... ohhhhhh ... and"

"AAaaaaaaoooooooooaaaaahhhhhh!" I was tingling all over.

"Oh yes! Oh YES! OH YES!!" she cried, in rhythm to the contractions she was
making.

"I'm going to come!" I said, helplessly.

"Go right ahead! she said, "I've ... ahhhhhhhhh ... come five times already!
Oh GOD!!"

I groaned and released my load into her, clinging to her tightly, wrapping my
arms around her hard body, and only then realizing she'd been supporting both
of our weight with one arm on the bed!

"Oh darling, you were great!"

I laughed and sighed in relief, the pleasure floating around my body,
radiating from my dick outwards. "I didn't do anything."

She rolled off me and put her hand on my chest, caressing me, while I lay my
hand on her hip and massaged her ass, noting its firmness while I enjoyed the
familiar curve of her hip. "Of course you did. You got me SO turned on."

"Yes but ... well, I guess it doesn't matter, does it?"

"Of course not! We're different now, right? And we have to do things
differently." She looked into my eyes. "That's all right, isn't it? You can
accept that?"

"As long as I have you, my darling girl." She smiled. "Or should I say, my
darling supergirl?"

"Heh! Maybe you should. And I guess I should ...." She looked down at me and
then quickly stripped off her sweater and dropped it on the side of the bed. I
stared amazed at her shoulders and arms, which were only slightly less
developed than Janice's. "You still with me honey?"

"Uh, yeah. Wow, Debbie. I had no idea ...." I couldn't believe the size of her
biceps, which, even relaxed, stood out on her arms like baseballs. They
weren't veiny, like a male bodybuilder's, or cut, like those of a contestant
who had starved and dehydrated herself to accentuate the appearance of her
muscular anatomy. They were just ... very, very large. "You must ... I mean
...."

"You don't think they're disgusting or anything, do you?" she asked, with an
uncharacteristic bit of insecurity. She put her left hand on top of her right
biceps, the motion causing her left biceps to flex involuntarily.

My eyes caught the jump of her muscle, and she watched my expression. "No!
They're, uh, just a bit of a surprise," I said reassuringly. "Uh, more than a
bit. I mean, I should have known, uh, realized. They look pretty strong."

She looked concerned and said, gently, "Very strong, honey. Women here have
very dense muscle. That's why you had trouble -- I mean, that's why I felt so
heavy to you. I weigh 245 -- about sixty pounds more than you. The Debbie in
this world must work out a lot. I guess she's a lot like me in that respect."

I looked over her torso, noting the bulges of muscles on her shoulders and
chest too. Yes, I'd seen a lot of muscle already on women in this world --
more than I probably should have seen -- but seeing all that muscle on my wife
was very different. How much stronger was she than I? Fifty percent more?
Twice as strong? More? And how would that change our relationship? My eyes
went back to her face and her worried expression and I put my hand on the back
of her head.

"Debbie, Debbie. It's just something I'm getting used to, that's all. I LOVE
you. I'll be honest, I'm wondering how it's going to affect you and the way
you look at me." I smiled. "I mean, you more than held your own with me in our
world. I can't imagine how I'm going to keep up my end here."

"Well, you did all right with me just now," she suggested.

"You did fine for the both of us. That's just it. You make tons more money
than I do here, I'm sure, and unless things change a lot, that difference will
increase drastically once you make partner. You're stronger now. You've always
been smarter than me," I added graciously -- it was probably true, I knew, in
an IQ sense. In my own mind the fact that I earned more had always been a
compensation, but now that was gone.

"Honey!"

I shook my head. "No! I just wonder whether you'll still think of me, you
know, the way a woman would think of a man in our world. Oh, I know you were
never an old-fashioned female -- a 'my man is my hero' kind of woman --

"-- you ARE my hero. You SAVED me --

-- but I still always felt, uh, manly, around you. Now I'm kind of feeling ...
I don't know ... like a weak sister."

"How can you say you're my sister after making love to me! And you're not
WEAK!"

"Well, compared to --

"Why are you comparing? Do you think I ever thought about us that way, when
you were stronger?"

"Well, you've always been competitive."

"But not THAT way. We're different people, with different bodies. Did it ever
bother you that I had bigger hips or tits?" She looked at the ceiling. "I
know, of course not. Girls are the ones with breasts, not guys. But here,
girls are the ones with the muscles too. Listen, the fact is, I AM an
old-fashioned woman. I'm a one man woman, and you're that man, whether you're
bigger than I am or smaller. I can't say I know exactly what that means. My
physical sense is all turned around here, and I guess in a sense you have the
harder time because you have to look at me and get used to me, while I look at
you and you still look the same to me." She smiled, "although I admit I don't
PHYSICALLY have to look up to you anymore. But I still see you as MANLY, as MY
man! And I HOPE you still see me as a woman, and as YOUR woman." She looked at
me earnestly, almost pleading, but not quite.

I was speaking slowly, for emphasis, and trying to make her understand I was
being absolutely honest. "Of course I do. You're ... as sexy as ever to me.
Maybe more so. Maybe it's your confidence, or your excitement. But I'm really
turned on by you, and your body." And I was curious about it too.

"You really mean it? You're not just saying that, right?" I nodded. "You know
how important it is for me that you're always completely honest with me."

"I know."

She was starting to believe me. The tension was leaving her and she giggled a
little. "Well!"

"Well what?"

"I don't know," she laughed. "This is just ... so great!"

"Yeah." I traced my hand along the edge of her body, my fingers feeling the
ridges of muscle on her abdomen and the bulges on her shoulder, back and arm.
I gripped her biceps, barely able to reach the top with my fingers while my
thumb rested on the bottom of her triceps. There was just so much muscle there
and it felt unbelievably solid. "I want to see you flex it, Debbie,"

She made a noise of protest. I turned my head and looked into her eyes.
"Honey!" she complained.

"I have to see what you've got. C'mon. We were talking about honesty, right?"

"But I don't know if ... well, ok," she said with a note of regret. She
tightened her arm and her biceps pushed through my fingers, rising a couple of
inches higher. I looked at them in amazement, moved my hand and squeezed,
slowly increasing the force while Debbie watched impassively -- there was no
give at all, at least not for me.

"God, Debbie!"

"I know," she said evenly, but I could see she was trying, not wholly
successfully, to suppress a smile. I realized she was pleased about her
muscle, proud of it, actually, and was trying to hide it from me. Her eyes
darted down. "Well, look at that!" She moved her foot up and massaged my erect
dick with her toes. "That was a quick wake up for him."

In fact, I was throbbing-hard and VERY aroused. "I guess you still turn me on
just a little bit," I said, a little proudly too.

"Maybe it's just my body, not me," she teased.

"Debbie!"

"Now Tom. After all this time, don't think I don't know how you work." She
pulled my shoulder down so I lay flat. "I'm sure you love me in the mature,
sophisticated, sensitive way of the modern man, person-to-person,
soul-to-soul, honestly sharing our feelings and dreams -- so long as you can
see and play with my tits and my ass!" she added, pushing her tits into my
face.

I was getting into this game now. "Oh no!" I said with mock terror. "The
attack of the fifty foot boobs!" I said, fondling them as I pretended to push
them away.

"Not to mention -- now that I've exposed you as a man who gets excited by his
wife's muscles -- my fifty foot biceps."

"You call those bulgy things muscles? Don't make me laugh. You've just gotten
implants, that's all. Or maybe they're just pumped up with hot air!"

"Is that what you think?" she said, laughing.

"Absolutely. You can't fool me! Those aren't real muscles."

She sat up, cross-legged and chuckled. "And what if they were? You'd be in big
trouble, wouldn't you?" She put one hand lightly on my wrist while the other
stroked my pounding erection. "Why, if these 'bulgy things' were real, I might
be able to do anything I wanted to you. You'd be completely helpless."

"You'd just love that, wouldn't you?"

"As much as you'd hate it. And perhaps even more. You'd hate to be completely
under my control, wouldn't you, honey?" I groaned as she tickled my dick.
"Heh-heh."

"Dream on, baby doll. I could get up any time I wanted to. I just don't want
to."

"Ha-ha. It looks to me like HE gets up any time I want!" She tightened her
grip. "But you? Any time YOU want?" She was ready, and I pushed up against her
arm, suddenly, testing her. She held me in place and not missing a beat,
answered, "Oh, of COURSE you could, honey. You're the BIG STRONG man after all
and I'm just your TEENY ... WEENY ... WITTLE ... WIFE," she said, emphasizing
each word while I pushed harder and harder, getting nowhere. Just how strong
WAS she? Her arm muscles hadn't even tightened! "Right?"

I gave in to necessity and grabbed her wrist with my other hand too, pushing
with both arms. Her muscles flexed briefly in response, then relaxed again.
She didn't have to try nearly as hard as she expected. "Jesus, Debbie!" I said
in an awestruck whisper. "I can't BELIEVE this! How much stronger than me ARE
you?"

She grinned and shifted her grip, pinning my arms to my sides and then rolled
onto her back and lifted me in the air, pressing me up and down easily. "Well,
honey, based on what I was lifting in the hotel gym, I'd say I'm at least two
and a half times as strong as you used to me." She lowered me so that my
erection lay against her crotch. I pushed against her, but she had flexed it
closed so that I just bounced off. "Uh, uh, uh! Not 'til I say so!" she
grinned. She lifted me again, out of range. "But don't worry. I'll be sure to
use my powers for good, not evil." She lowered me again, and this time left me
in and started squeezing me again.

"Ohhhhh, ooooooooooo" I groaned.

"MMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmm AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH" she responded, rubbing against me
as I massaged her breasts and buried my head in them, sucking smelling them
while touching her body, feeling it pulse as her muscles twitched in her
passion and we moved against each other, faster and faster. "Ohhhhhh ... Tom
... this is ... INCREDIBLE ... for me. UNNNNGGHHHH! NO, NOT ... YET!" I felt
her squeeze me tighter, stopping me from coming.

"Debbie! What --

"I ... sorry I ... did I hurt you?"

"No ... but how?"

"I don't ... ooooooooh ... are you OK?"

"Fine I --

"Good ... just ... ooooohhhhhh I ... mmmmm ... wait ... OK!"

"OHMYGOD Debbie!" I pushed into her and a thousand stars burst in me as I
came. I held her tightly, feeling her hard muscles all tensed as I collapsed
onto her body. "Oh I don't believe it!"

"I've never felt ANYTHING like that!"

I rested my head on her breasts. "Oh, you're incredible."

"And you! Oh Tom. Oh, Tom, Tom, Tom, Tom, Tom!" She held me and started
crying. "I love you so much!"

"I love you too!"

"Oh God! And to think ... oh that I'd be dead and you'd be .... It's too
horrible, and this is so wonderful! Oh Tom, together, you and I, here. It's so
amazing!"

"It is," I said, sighing, holding her, then turned my head to hers. "Two and a
half times? Really?"

She laughed. "Back to that?" She snuggled against me and caressed my head.
"Well, just based on how much I know you could lift. Maybe your body is
stronger here than in our world and it's less."

"I doubt it. Wow. I guess we moved pretty far along the 'line' when I did the
'threen' chant. Maybe I went farther than we needed to."

"Maybe," she agreed, catching her breath. "I'm sorry I screamed like that. Not
seeing my leg there --

"I know."

"You wanted to protect me. And now we're here, and I'm so much stronger. I'm
the one to protect you now."

"Well, we can't go back."

"It's not so bad."

"No. A little strange."

"A lot strange. But together, in love."

"Definitely."

"Just as we were before."

"Always."

She held me, gently, protectingly, gratefully, happily. "I do really love you.
Only you."

I won't bore you with the details of the next six times we made love that
evening or our silly lover's talks during the surprisingly brief periods in
between that my body needed to recover. Eventually we dozed and then got up
briefly in the middle of the night. I tried to pull her back to bed, but she
giggled and said she'd slept on the plane and with the jet lag was feeling
restless so I let go and settled back to sleep, my body drugged by the best
five hours of sex I'd ever had, secure in the comfort of love.

It wasn't long before I learned how wrong a man can be.