The frog prince 
by THE MIGHTY LINGSTER (ending by Marknew)


No growth in the first chapter, but you have to read it if you want to 
have a clue as to what's going on.  So saieth the Mighty Lingster, and 
let none question His word, lest they face the full force of His rapier-
like wit.  Also, shouldst thou dwell...(getting old)...if you live in a 
country which forbids access to adult literature, or if you are beneath 
the age of majority in the country from which you have logged into the 
vast neoprene tangle of the Internet, kindly take a flying fuck at a 
galloping goose, because I don't want you reading my shit.  Got me? 
   
Continued by Marknew, with permission from the MIGHTY ONE, given before 
his tragic internet death.  A great talent, lost to us far too soon.  
But, enough of that.  On to the story. All new from the conveniently 
placed ***.  Some edits before that to make it all consistent. 

T H E   F R O G   P R I N C E 

Chapter 1 -- Life Is Like A Bowl Of Cherries 

Johnathan looked down into the toilet as he voided the night's pee, his 
vision slowly clearing to reveal the filth covering the rim of the 
commode.  Flecks of shit were scattered all along the inside, and he 
fought back a sudden urge to retch.  "Goddamn fucking plumbing...!" he 
began, but suddenly closed his eyes and took several deliberate, long 
breaths.  He opened the cabinet beneath his sink and pulled out the 
toilet bowl cleaner, and began the unpleasant chore.   Minutes later, in 
the shower, he thought back to his reaction.  "Not good.  The stress 
from work must really be affecting me, I CAN'T let myself lose control.  
I just can't."  He washed himself off, paying special attention to his 
hands, and then shut off the water and toweled himself off.  His heart 
rate had slowed, he knew, and he went into the kitchen to make his usual 
ginseng tea. 

After finishing breakfast, Johnathan got dressed and left for work.  He 
walked to the subway station, and got on the 9 train, which would take 
him downtown.  He noticed an attractive girl stealing glances at him, 
but forced himself not to make eye contact.  "Focus, focus, focus," he 
thought to himself.  

Reaching the World Trade Center, Johnathan piled out of the train along 
with most of its occupants, and made his way up and out to the street.  
He walk-jogged (jalked? wogged?  he wondered) the two blocks over to 135 
Broadway and pressed the button for the 23rd floor, "Hamlin Brothers 
Securities".  Getting off the elevator, he began to walk toward his 
cubicle, in the north-east corner of the building.  He passed his co-
workers; most of them didn't know him yet, he'd only been here six 
weeks.  They didn't know his name, they didn't know where he was from, 
and not a one of them knew he'd been in a mental hospital from 1988 
until 3 months ago last Tuesday. 

It was a voluntary convalescence.  Johnathan's doctors were prepared to 
release him less than a year after the 'incident', but Johnathan refused 
to leave.  The doctors didn't know, or at least didn't BELIEVE, but 
Johnathan did.  Johnathan knew and believed, he'd seen the effects of 
his losing control, and for more than seven years believed that freedom 
was the last and least luxury of which he should allow himself to 
partake.  

He banished his family -- refused to see them.  Refused to see ANYONE he 
knew from before.  And now, after 3 months in New York, he had made not 
even one friend.  No lovers, not even prostitutes, would Johnathan have.  
No confidantes, not even acquaintances one could consider as more than 
minimally casual.  Johnathan was an island.  There would be no letter in 
a bottle, no Friday, no rescue -- Johnathan was resolved. 

Johnathan had focused on mathematical studies to keep his mind occupied 
and rooted to reality -- OBJECTIVE reality -- while he was hospitalized.  
He read Ayn Rand, Nietzsche, and the Stoics, but steered well clear of 
any author or philosopher even remotely Cartesian, Continental, or 
subjective.  When he finally allowed himself to be released, he was 
well-equipped and pedigreed for a job as an accountant.  He had his BA 
in Accounting from an in-house tutor, and his CPA through an outpatient 
program sponsored by the hospital.  He was suited for a job on Wall 
Street, and he went in search of one.  His test scores were excellent, 
and he soon found a fat envelope from Hamlin Brothers in his mailbox.  
He was offered a position starting at $45,000, and while that was quite 
low for a CPA in Old New York, Johnathan recognized that it was only 
because he was 26 that he was being offered as much as that without 
experience.  A kid right out of college would be offered considerably 
less. 

Johnathan's every day was a tenacious exercise in routine.  Johnathan 
would tolerate nothing else.  The sameness was solid, it was palpable.  
No fantasy could penetrate it.  

Nightmares, however, sometimes poked through. 

Like many workplaces, Hamlin Brothers held a party on Halloween, and 
encouraged its employees to dress accordingly.  And so it was that on 
this Halloween, 1996, Johnathan turned the last corner on the way to his 
cubicle and was confronted by a giant frog.  His heart jumped into his 
throat, and his vision turned inside-out, as his worst nightmare 
confronted him. 

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!   AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!  NO!  NO!!! NOOOO!!!!" he 
screamed, ROARED, falling backwards and kicking himself spastically 
backwards against the floor.  "NOOOOOO!!!  GET AWAY!  GET!!  AWAY!!!" 

People flooded the hallway to see what was happening, and were quite 
amazed to see a look of absolute, unquestionable horror on Johnathan's 
face.  Few, if any, amongst them had ever caught a glimpse of terror so 
raw as that which clearly resided in the snarl of Johnathan's lips, the 
taut bulge of his eyes, the claw-like grip of the carpeted cubicle wall 
in his hands.  Johnathan had stopped screaming, even though he looked as 
though he still were.  One co-worker silently noted the expression on 
Johnathan's face matched precisely the look on Lee Harvey Oswald's in 
the famous photo that captured Jack Ruby shooting him.  Johnathan looked 
stricken unto death. 

Even after the frog removed its head and turned out to be Rebecca 
Hanson, the woman in the next cubicle, Johnathan seemed to be still 
possessed by the horror.  It wasn't until his boss slapped him in the 
face that Johnathan first realized he had not been looking at a giant 
frog, but rather at a person in a frog costume. 
 
"Ah...Ah...." he gulped air, breathing for the first time in over a 
minute.  "I'm all right.  I'm all right.  Frogs.  Frogs."  

But he could not clear the memories from his mind.  The years peeled 
back and once more he was lying in his sleeping bag, covered by his 
friends the frogs.  "Johnathan," his boss spoke, "come with me." 

"Yes, yes, I'm okay, I'm coming."  Johnathan dutifully rose to his feet 
and raised the corners of his mouth in a weak smile, as if to say, 
"Thank you for tolerating me."  He followed his boss down to the big 
corner office that had a view of the Brooklyn Bridge, whereupon he was 
directed to close the door.  He did so, and then took a seat.  Johnathan 
was very good at sitting still, and he used this talent now to create 
the appearance that he was calm.  

"What just happened out there, Johnathan?  Do you need to see a doctor?" 
his boss asked. 

"No.  No, sir, I just had a little panic attack.  That's all, sir," he 
reassured his boss. 

"It seemed very...extreme.  You've been working very hard on the end-of-
the-year bond-swap sales initiative, I know.  Why don't you take today 
off?  Go for a walk?  It's clear you've been pushing yourself too hard, 
and we really don't want incidents like this morning's, do we?" 

"No, sir." 

"The firm retains a personnel consultant in midtown, and they have 
relationships with several stress-reduction centers and...mental health 
specialists.  Perhaps we could arrange a meeting for next week?" 

"I...well, uh, if you think that would be something I, er, would, yes.  
If you think so.  Yes." Johnathan stammered. 

"Okay, then.  We'll see you tomorrow, then, Johnathan.  Take the day to 
rest." "Yes, sir," Johnathan said, and then turned and left the office.  
He walked to the elevator, forlornly, upset that he'd so spectacularly 
lost his cool earlier. He rode down the elevator without thinking about 
anything, and then wandered north from downtown, aimlessly.  Without 
much sense of time passing, he walked up through TriBeCa and Soho, past 
his apartment in the West Village, and up through midtown.  As he passed 
Rockefeller Center, he decided he would continue on to the Metropolitan 
Museum of Art, and spend some time there.  

CHAPTER 2 -- All Messed Up With No Place To Go 


The  painting caught his fancy.   Somehow  the weird melting pocket 
watches reminded  him of his penis.  It was by a fellow  named Salvador 
Dali, and Johnathan begin  to wonder if, in its own way, his penis  
wasn't JUST LIKE a melting pocket watch.   Earlier he'd had a similar 
attachment to  a sculpture by a man named Konstantin  Brancusi -- that 
one was of a smooth, rounded, three sided piece of marble that  
purported to be a woman.  He could see her breasts, somehow, and the 
place where  her legs folded, and led to her vagina.   "How is it 
possible that a completely  featureless ROCK can BE like a woman?" he  
wondered. 

Everything was coming undone, he could  see.  So he went to have lunch.   
American art museums, unfortunately for  Johnathan, have a pretentious 
habit of  selling small bottles of beer and wine in  their cafeterias.  
Trying to be European,  no doubt.  Johnathan picked up a nice, 12  oz. 
bottle of chablis to go with his ham  on rye, and settled down by 
himself in a  corner.  He hadn't so much as touched  alcohol in a long 
time.  In fact his  abstinence from alcohol was one half hour  longer 
than his abstinence from sex, and  45 minutes longer than his 
abstinence, at  that time, from LSD.  It was 8 hours less  than his 
last, and thankfully, ONLY, one commission of mass murder. 

One bad habit resumed, Johnathan made his  way back onto the streets of 
Old New  York. 

In due course he made his way to a bar in  TriBeCa called 'The Gold 
Lounge'.   Unbeknownst to him, an ancestor of his, a  Dutch widow named 
Anneke Jans, had once  owned a farm that included the land that  the 
'The Gold Lounge' now stood on, as  well as all the land stretching from 
the  North Tower of the World Trade Center up  to the Holland Tunnel.  
Had his family  held onto the property, they would by now  be one of the 
wealthiest on the planet,  and this whole story wouldn't have  happened.  
Bummer. 

He walked in the front door of the  tavern, and sat down at a tall table  
about 15 feet from the bar.  A pretty  blonde girl was behind the brass 
rail,  and when she placed some glasses on a  rack at eye level, he was 
surprised to  see that she had thick, athletic-looking arms.  It was 
only about 7pm, and she was the only person who appeared to be working 
at the moment.  In due course she came over to his table to get his 
order.  She smiled at him in an efficient waitress-like way, and, 
misinterpreting it, he felt a rush of warmth on his face.   Johnathan 
ordered a Bass (he'd heard it advertised on a pleasing commercial on 
WNEW), but when she brought it to him a few minutes later, she dropped 
it roughly, barely making eye contact with him, and rushed over to 
another table where four large bankers had just ordered their third 
pitcher of beer. She lingered at their table, joking with them. 

Aside from the wine at the museum,  Johnathan hadn't drank alcohol in 
nearly  a decade, so the pint glass of Bass left him a little buzzed and 
more relaxed than  he usually let himself be.  When he finally got her 
attention again he ordered another, drank it, and then ordered a third.  
As  she brought the third glass, the barmaid  again made eye contact and 
smiled.  Johnathan thought, quite confidently,  "She really likes me."   

The barmaid began to walk away, but then paused and turned back to 
Johnathan.  "So..." the girl said to him, as if she wasn't sure how to 
continue, "what do, uh, what's your, um, your n-name?" 

"I'm Johnathan.   What's your, uh, your name?" 

"Su-susan," she said, blushing. 

"My GOD!" Johnathan thought to himself,  "She REALLY likes me!" 

Susan's blush deepened, and Johnathan could tell that she was breathing 
heavily.  She looked around suddenly, as  if unsure of her location, and 
then  looked back at him, biting her lower lip.   She glanced down at 
the floor,  embarrassed, then stepped closer to him  and made eye 
contact, "Do you....think  I'm pretty, J-Johnathan?" 

"She's not smart," he thought, and  noticed a confused look come over 
her,  but, "You're very beautiful, yes."   And  while he bathed in the 
glow of her smile,  he suddenly realized that she wasn't just  a pretty 
girl, but truly beautiful, just  as he'd said. 

He noticed her nipples rising and  pressing against the fabric of her 
shirt,  and the thought crossed his mind that she had very large, very 
firm-looking  breasts.  He realized that  although Susan had not moved, 
her breasts  seemed to be rising towards him, pushing  forward and 
stretching the buttons on her  blouse. 
  
Suddenly, one of the buttons slipped  free of its eyelet, and sprang 
away from  the middle of Susan's chest.  She looked  down, and made an 
embarrassed noise.   "Serves me right," she giggled, "for always wearing 
clothes I'm too BIG for!"   Susan buttoned her blouse back shut  again, 
but it was clear from the strain  of the fabric that the button wouldn't 
hold long. 
 
Johnathan looked Susan up and down, and realized that she was, in fact, 
too large for her clothes.  In fact, now that he noticed, she seemed to 
be GROWING even larger.  Suddenly the top TWO buttons of  her blouse 
popped open.  When Susan  reached up to close them again, the seams  
above her right shoulder gave way, and  her healthy deltoid muscle was 
exposed. 

Susan spread her arms out in front of her  and looked down at her body, 
confused by what was happening to her clothing. 

"Do you work out, Susan?" Johnathan asked, trying to regain her 
attention. "Oh yes...for about a year," she said,  looking directly into 
Johnathan's eyes, "I like lifting things. You don't think I'm too 
muscular, do  you?  My father says my arms are  getting too big, and 
that men...won't be  interested in me if they think I'm  too strong." "I 
like...I mean,  there's nothing wrong  with a gir...woman being 
athletically  buil, er, athletic," he said, even as he thought, "She 
isn't at all inhibited, is she." 

"Do you really think that's right?" she asked, beaming at him a little 
bit more.   "I really love being stronger.  I used  to be so weak, but 
now I lift three or  four days a week, and it's really changing me.  
It's definitely made me get bigger." 

Susan held out her arm, and lifted back  the sleeve that had ripped, 
exposing  everything from the powerful right  shoulder all the way down 
to her fist.   Flexing, a solid-looking, though not-too-imposing wedge 
of muscle rose up from her  upper arm.  
 
"My biceps are my favorite body part to train," she explained, smiling 
docilely,  "Do you think they're big?" 

"Uh...yes," Johnathan replied, staring at  Susan's muscular arm, and 
feeling himself  becoming aroused.  Something was wrong,  he knew.  
Susan was acting too forward,  too intimate for someone he'd just met.   
Warning bells should have been going off in his head, but instead he 
just thought "must be the alcohol." 

"You like them!  I can tell from your eyes.  A lot of guys don't 
appreciate how  STRONG I am!" she whispered, gleefully,  "My trainer 
says," she looked around, as  if to see if anyone was listening, but  
then returning her gaze to Johnathan's,  "that I have really dense 
muscles for a  woman, and th-that..." 

The idea of her "dense muscles" sent a  shock wave through Johnathan 
like an electric current multiplying his arousal. Susan seemed to 
shudder for a second, and  Johnathan couldn't help but notice that the 
vascularity of her arm and other exposed body parts seemed to increase  
substantially. 

"Wow!  WOW!!  Johnathan, I feel so STRONG  all of a sudden.  I've never 
felt so muscular and powerful before!  It  must be my imagination, 
Johnathan,  or...maybe...maybe it's just being around  you that makes me 
feel this way.  I  think....I think I love you, Johnathan!" 

"You...love ME!?" Johnathan asked, shocked. 

Susan grabbed Johnathan by the lapels of  his jacket and hoisted him to 
his feet.   She seemed surprised, as did he, that she was a) able to 
heft him so easily and b)nearly as tall as he, but she hesitated  for 
only a second before she pressed her lips to his.  Johnathan, shocked, 
tried  to break free of her embrace, but found that pressing against her 
shoulders was futile.  She was incredibly strong -- far, far stronger 
than he. 
  
Everyone in the bar was staring, and  Johnathan found his hands slipping  
helplessly down Susan's arms, until they  cupped her bulging biceps.  
Even though  only partly flexed, they were inhumanly solid.  And so 
wonderfully shapely and large.  In fact, as he contemplated her  
surprising strength they seemed to be  growing larger in his hands.   
Once again he could hear seams tearing,  but he wasn't sure if it was 
Susan's blouse or her skirt. 

"Oh...Susan...," he groaned, "how did  you ... what are you, why are 
you..." She stepped away from him, smiling  proudly, but he was 
surprised to see that  she now seemed taller than he, and her 
musculature seemed even MORE developed than before.   He suddenly felt  
intimidated when he looked at her arms  and shoulders.   

"I can't believe I'm so attracted to you, Johnathan, I normally go for 
men who are  really tall, not shorter than me!  What, are you 5'4" or 
so?" 

"Uh, no.  I'm 5'9"!" 

"But..what?  That's not possible!  I'm  only 5'5"!" 

Belatedly, Johnathan realized what was happening:  "Oh, no!  I'm doing 
this!   She's becoming even taller and stronger!"  As he faced this 
frightening realization,  Susan took a deep breath, causing her swollen 
breasts to rip through what remained of her blouse.      

Every man in the bar began cheering, but Johnathan hardly noticed.  His 
attention  was firmly fixed on Susan's bountiful bosom.  
 
As he watched, her already over-generous breasts began growing even 
more!  Susan  made an effort to cover herself,  crossing her arms over 
her chest.  Her swollen, untensed biceps easily covered her nipples, but 
her breasts continued to  swell. 

Johnathan turned and ran, flying out the door of the bar as fast as he 
could.  After a few seconds, he could hear loud footfalls behind him, 
gaining.  Looking back over his shoulder, he could see  Susan chasing 
him, her large, powerful legs propelling her at far greater speed than 
he was capable of.  As he turned around to check on her, he noticed that 
her enormous,  naked breasts were bouncing up and down wildly, like two 
extra arms chasing him. Too late, he turned his head back to see where 
he was going and ... 

WHAM!  He slammed into a light-post, face first. 

Johnathan remained conscious as he fell  to the ground, though his 
vision was all spotty.  Susan quickly reached him and lifted him, 
holding him and cradling his head on her breast.    "Why did you run 
from me?  Don't you know I love you?" 

He gazed up at her, amazed at her strength. She held him at arms' length 
as if he weighed nothing and continued, "How could you think you could 
out-run me?  Compared to me you're so small and weak."  He did feel 
small and weak in her arms, which seemed now to have boundless strength.  
She looked at him more closely.  "You said you were 5'9"?!!   Are you 
kidding?  You're light as a feather.   You must have no muscle at all 
then.  Yes, that's it, your muscles must be really soft, and small, so 
weak and adorable --just like a little girl's!   Now don't you worry, so 
you don't bump into  anything again I'll carry your helpless  little 
body in my big, strong arms home  to my place." 

Disoriented and drunk, Johnathan found  himself believing her.   "I must 
really be a weakling," he began to think.  Horrified,  he could see the 
muscles of his body becoming smaller and  softer by the second.  Craning  
his head, he looked down at his upper arm  and flexed it.  The biceps 
that rose up were pathetically underdeveloped.  "It's so..PUNY!" he 
thought, and watched  as the tiny little thing sunk  away into nothing, 
becoming too small and  soft even to flex. 

What little strength was left in his body  was slowly leaching away as 
he convinced  himself of his own weakness.  And soon he really was as 
weak as a little girl.  Soon, the feeling of weakness, the tumultuous 
day, the effect of alcohol on him after his long abstinence and the 
comfortable feeling  of being caressed and carried conspired together, 
and Johnathan dropped off to sleep. 

When Johnathan awoke it was almost nine.   He rolled over, as if it had 
all been a  dream, but then became aware of a thudding pain in his 
forehead.  "Owwww,"  he groaned.  Still hoping for a return to reality,  
Johnathan reached across his chest,  hoping to find the toned, solid arm 
of a  26 year-old man.  Instead he found a soft little pipestem of an 
arm.   

He got out of the strange bed and looked  himself up and down in the 
full-length  mirror on the back of the door.   "Pathetic," he thought, 
"How can I go to  work like this?"  He walked over to two  15-lb. 
weights that were sitting at the  foot of the bed, grabbed one in each 
arm,  and lifted.  He was just barely able to  straighten his legs with 
the two dumbells  in his hands -- he couldn't even begin to  curl them 
or lift them with his shriveled  arms.  Worse, his head was clear, and  
he'd need a few beers before he  could even try to fix things. 

Just then Susan came through the door.   "My GOD," he thought, "she's 
immense!!" Susan had a large cardboard box, and she  was clearly proud 
of her ability to carry  it.  She slowly set it down on the ground,  and 
Johnathan could see that it was a new  weight set. 

"You can have those fifteen-pounders,  Johnathan," she said, "although 
they look like they're too heavy for you!  I just went out  and bought a 
new set of dumbells and  weights.  "Can you believe this box  weighs 
almost 400 pounds?  It sure  doesn't feel that heavy."  She pulled out  
a massive hunk of metal and began curling  it, "75 pounds," she smiled.  
"Too  light." 

She sidled over to him, and he was amazed  to see that he was just about 
looking eye  to eye with the bottom of her breasts.   She pulled off the 
sweatshirt that had  left her navel exposed, and revealed her  almost-
supernaturally large and firm  tits.   "Do you know, Johnathan, I was 
only 5'5"  and a 'C' cup yesterday this time?  I  can't imagine what 
happened to me." 

"You grew, and I shrunk," he said, "I was a normal, fairly muscular man 
yesterday, now I'm a complete wimp!" 

"A very handsome wimp," she smiled,  reaching down and picking him up 
like an infant. 

"I must've made her really stupid, too. Doesn't she realize this is 
impossible?  Why is none of this sinking in?" he thought. She pressed 
him into her enormous, pumpkin-sized breasts, and Johnathan was  quite 
pleased to see that not everything  had shrunk, as his penis suddenly 
reared up to its original erect size. 

"Mmmmmm...", Susan said, "that's a whole lot of dick for such a little 
man." She tucked him under her left arm, and  used her right to clear 
the bedding away.   Still holding him, she rolled onto her  back and 
grabbed Johnathan around the  waist with each of her hands.  His penis 
was volcanically erect, and she began  playing it around the edge of her 
vagina,  as if she were masturbating herself with  a dildo.   

Johnathan kept reaching for her massive,  creamy breasts, but he 
scarcely was able to hold  them with his weakened arms.   Instead he 
grabbed at her forearms, captivated by the vascular bulges and  ridges 
that cascaded down to her elbow.   "You like those?" she asked, smiling.   
She put him down astride her abdomen, and  he leaned into her bosom, 
pressing his  head into the cleavage of her breasts as  he fondled her 
incredibly muscular arms.   Prone on her belly, he was just barely  able 
to insert his penis into her.  She  forced him in, and he delighted in 
feeling her muscles tense and loosen as  she lifted and pressed him in 
and out of  her. 

Susan was moaning, "Oh, keep touching my  muscles, Johnathan.  I've 
gotten sooo..... STRONG," she growled, "and it makes me feel even 
stronger to be with a man who is so weak."    

He kept pushing in and out, up and down.   His feet were resting on the 
inside of her knees, her legs spread apart for his  member's assault.  
Her enormous breasts,  each larger than his head, rocked and  gyrated 
directly in front of his face.   Occasionally he would slide forward and 
stroke the inside of her cleavage with  his head and pencil-thin neck. 

Susan had her arms bent, fists clenched, and rhythmically flexed her 
biceps in tune with Johnathan's rise and fall.  She  seemed as 
stimulated by the rising and  hardening of her own muscles as by her  
partner's stimulation of her nether- regions.   

As she climaxed, she took her left hand  and pushed Johnathan's middle 
up against  herself, even as with her right  she  easily crushed his 
head against her  breasts, despite his trying with all his  strength to 
stay up.  He couldn't quite  breathe as she clutched his body closer  to 
her and struggled for some space and some air. 

"Ahh!" she screamed, "Ahhhh!"  Her voice thundered in his ears.  Finally 
her grip relaxed and he lay on top of her, playing with her breasts and 
watching her flex her muscles with delight. 

*** "Ooooh, that was great!  Let's do it again!"  She  held him in the 
air and watched with delight as he strained to reach her breasts, then 
lowered him slowly on  top of her.   

"Wait, Susan!  I'm not ready!" 

She wrinkled her nose, then sighed and stood up, still holding him.  
"OK, my little toy man.  I wanted a drink anyway." She carried him to 
the kitchen and took out a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator.  
"You first!" 
 
Johnathan held up his hands.  "I don't think it's  such a good idea," he 
protested.  "I have to go to an appointment for work, and I get --
 
"Oh, you were so adorable last night when you were drunk!  Here!  It's 
good for you!"  She brushed  aside his arms and stuck the bottle into 
his mouth. The wine cascaded down his throat, and being cold he hardly 
tasted it.  He must have gulped down a glass and a half before she 
removed it, put him down on the floor and finished off the rest without 
taking a breath.  "Wow, that felt like nothing to  me, but it must be a 
lot for you.  I bet you get drunk a lot quicker than me, since you're so 
small." 

He stared stupidly ahead.  He already felt woozy,  although at least his 
hangover was just about gone.   She was right.  Maybe she was smarter 
than he thought.  He looked into her eyes.  They were so beautiful, and, 
he realized, very intelligent-looking. 

"You're kind of an odd guy, aren't you, Johnathan?" she asked, still 
looking at him intently.  "What do you do?" 

Jonathan looked up at her, her massive bosom, just inches from his face, 
making it hard to focus on her words.  "I ... I'm an accountant," he 
replied, staring at the mound of tit. 

She stared down at him.  "Oh I LOVE accountants."  She looked a little 
puzzled.  "I don't know why, but I do, especially you. And you, you like 
strong girls, don't you?   Strong girls with big breasts.  That's why 
you like me, right?" 

His eyes shifted from her breast to her biceps, which were softball-
sized, even unflexed.  "Um, yeah, well ... I" 

"You're so cute!  My body makes you all tongue-tied, doesn't it?"    His 
head was spinning from the wine.  "Wh-what do you mean?" he answered, 
feeling even more unsure of himself than usual.  She was right again.  
It was scary how well she seemed to know him and how easily  she 
dominated him, especially when he was drunk.  He felt like his willpower 
was dissipating just as quickly as his muscle had yesterday. 

"Oh, don't worry about it!  I just think you are the cutest thing, and 
any reason you like me is great.  I just want to you want me more and 
more.  Don't you?" 

He gazed up at her again.  It was impossible not to want her.  He put 
his arms around her, but her chest so broad  and muscular that he was  
able only to reach to her shoulder blades.  He wanted to hold her 
closer, but succeeded only in pressing himself  against her huge bust.  
The rest of her was solid muscle, with absolutely no give.  She put an 
arm around him and  he cried out, like a baby's squeeze toy, from the 
force  of her hug. 

"Oh that's so sweet!  I just love the contrast in our bodies. It makes 
me feel so incredibly powerful, like a Supergirl. Do you know what I 
mean?" 

He knew exactly what she meant.  Already she had more  power in the one 
arm wrapped around him than he  had in his whole body.  Just thinking 
about her  overwhelming strength was making him more and more aroused.  
In  the back of his mind, a small voice was telling him to change 
everything back while he had the chance.  He tried to imagine himself 
strong again and to visualize Susan as she was when he first met her, 
but with his head pushing against her gigantic breast it was impossible 
to control his thoughts.  He tried to distract himself, to play a chess 
game in his  head, do his tax return or review the fingering for his 
piano  recital piece, fifteen years ago.  But then Susan flexed the 
biceps of the arm holding him, the surge in size and hardness of that 
gargantuan muscle pushing his shoulder more deeply into her bosom. How 
could that tiny voice compete with Susan's powerful sensuality? She 
lifted him again to her lips and kissed him deeply, her tongue pressing 
into his mouth, filling it, as his erect member pressed against her hard 
abdomen.  "Oh,"  he thought, clinging to her even more emphatically, 
"she really is a Supergirl," and then suddenly he blacked out. 

When he came to, he was lying down on Susan's bed in a  darkened room.  
He picked up his head slightly, and immediately she burst through the 
door, hovering over him. 

"Oh Johnathan, I was so worried!  I thought I'd killed you!" 

Johnathan struggled to prop himself up, but the combination of his 
weakened muscles and a stabbing pain in his back and shoulders made it 
impossible. Susan looked even more beautiful than ever, only her look of 
panic at his state of health marring her  perfect features.  She gently 
lifted him and held him, feathering his face with the slightest of 
kisses. He turned to face her and groaned in pain. 

"No!  Don't move, Johnathan.  You're injured!  A couple of your ribs are 
broken." 

He winced and closed his eyes.  "What happened?  Did you crush me or 
something?"  He looked up at her face.  Her skin was radiant, and 
flawless. 

Susan burst out crying.  "Oh, I didn't mean to!  I just didn't know my 
own strength.  Please don't hate me!"  Her tears flooded, dripping down 
her face and onto Johnathan, who painfully brushed them off his cheek 
and then touched her face lightly.  "Oh, you're such a sweetie!" 

"Yeah, well, these things happen.  Um, how long was I -- 

"Almost ten hours!" 

Johnathan nodded and put his hand over his forehead.  "Yeah, my head's 
killing me again." 

Susan nodded sympathetically.  "I know.  It's all that wine I gave you.  
I'm sorry about that too." 

"Hey, don't keep apologizing.  You don't have to."   Susan's face 
brightened.  Johnathan was thinking to himself.  "Damn!  I'm in total 
agony, and there's only one  way to fix it."  He continued, out loud, 
"Come on, I'll be  better before you know it.  But what I really need 
now is a drink."   

A flicker of concern danced across Susan's face.  "I-I'm not so sure 
that's a good idea.  You know, you've had a lot to drink lately.  It 
might not be so good for you." 

"Yeah, yeah I know.  But," he smiled, "you know, whatever it takes."  He 
motioned to Susan to put him down and she did, slowly depositing him on 
the floor. He stood unsteadily, his weak legs barely holding even his 
reduced weight, while the effort of standing straight was torture to his 
injured ribs.  He looked over at her.  She seemed different somehow, 
like she was standing even more erect than before.  "So, aren't you 
going to offer me a drink?  To ease the pain?" 

She looked pained and her brow wrinkled.  "Uh, no Johnathan.  I, uh, I'm 
not.  I really can't." 

He looked up at her.  God, she looked magnificent.  She was more than 
half a foot taller than he.  Her breasts pushed out from her chest so 
boldly, and her muscles seemed to be chiseled out of solid marble.  But 
why was she acting so funny?  "Uh, you mean, you drank the last of it?" 

She cleared her throat.  "No.  It's just ... I don't think you should 
drink." 

He gave her an odd look.  Who did she think she was?  True, he had all 
of the musculature of a ten year old girl while she looked like she 
could punch a hole through the wall, but since when could a 19 year old 
barmaid tell him he couldn't have a drink?  He struggled inside.  It was 
difficult to argue with her, then he remembered the last time he'd been 
drunk.  Was he becoming a mouse mentally as well?  Well, he'd try and 
fix that, once he got drunk enough.  Then he'd show her. 

"Yeah, well, I appreciate it, but I think I can decide that for myself."  
He tried to stand straighter to look her in the eye, but the pain made 
it almost impossible and she was so initimidatingly large. 

"Oh Johnathan, don't hurt yourself!  I can't bear it!"  Her hands 
fluttered.  She seemed at a loss, not knowing what to do or say.  He 
couldn't help but stare at the furious pumping of her enormous biceps as 
she waved her hands around. 

His own hands were shaking as he spoke.  "Susan, calm down.  I'll be all 
right.  I-I just need a drink or two to dull the pain.  I'll be fine.  
OK?  Just fix us both something so we can relax.  Do you have any 
whiskey?  That'll do the trick.  It won't take much for me."  He smiled, 
motioning to his slight frame. 

Susan looked very uncomfortable.  "Johnathan.  Please listen to me.  
It's too dangerous.  I'd worry.  You have to promise me you'll never 
drink again." 

Johnathan couldn't believe what he was hearing.  "Hey, you served me 
three beers yesterday and stuffed a bottle of wine into my mouth last 
night.  Now you're telling me I shouldn't drink?!"  He was shouting. 

"PLEASE don't be mad at me.  It's for your own good.  Look how you got 
hurt." 

He screwed up his courage.  "That was from running away from you, the 
first time.  And the second was when you squeezed me too hard.  Maybe 
it's YOU I should stay away from!" 

She burst into tears again.  "Don't say that!  You know I love you."  
She covered her face with her hands as she wailed. 

Johnathan hated that.  He really couldn't bear to upset her or make her 
mad at him.  "Susan.  Susan."  He reached up to take her hand, trying to 
pull them down so he could look at her, but hard as he tried he couldn't 
budge them an inch.  God, what a behemoth he'd created.   He'd really 
gone too far this time.  And he was so pitifully weak!  "SUSAN!!" he 
shouted.  She lowered her hands.  "Susan, listen to me.  I love you too.  
OK?  I just need a drink that's all.  If you won't give it to me, I'll 
go out and have one, and then when I'm feeling better I'll come back and 
we can talk, ok?"  

"I can't let you go!" she wailed. 

"Susan, I'll come back.  I promise." 

"Nooo.  You'll get drunk again." 

"Hey, come on, I'm not that awful when I drink.  I just won't hurt as 
much." 

She shook her head, trying to recover her composure.  "No.  I can't let 
you."  She crossed her formidable arms in front of her and stood in 
front of the door.  "You have to promise me." 

"This is ridiculous.  Let me go."  She stood, immobile.  He grabbed at 
her arms and tried to pull her, then push her aside, but he had no more 
success than if he had pushed a redwood.  "You can't keep me here!" 

"I have to.  It's too dangerous," she repeated.  "I can't believe you 
won't listen!  It's because I LOVE you!" 

"Susan," he said in measured tones.  "Please step aside.  I am a grown 
man.  I make my own decisions."  She looked undecided for a moment, then 
concerned, then, lips quivering, shook her head again.  "OK, OK, I 
promise.  I won't get drunk.  I'll ... I'll just go home, get some 
things, maybe have ONE drink to relax me.  Then I'll come back later, 
ok?  Is that good enough?" 

She looked him in the eye, then, satisfied, nodded.  "Ok.  I mean, I 
trust you Johnathan, of course I do.  I just don't want anything bad to 
happen.  You understand, don't you?  I really, really love you!" 

"I love you too, Susan," he echoed.  He walked slowly out of the room 
and out of the apartment, waved to her from the street and carefully 
stepped into a taxi, driving back from Queens to his apartment in 
Brooklyn Heights.  The pain during the drive down the potholed street 
nearly killed him, and even a hot shower didn't help.  There was only 
one thing to do.  Of course as a result of his long period of abstinence 
his tiny apartment was completely alcohol-free, so he went to a nearby 
bar and found a private corner.  He quickly ordered a double vodka, 
which he figured would be the quickest route to the type of oblivion he 
needed.  He settled into a dark haze, matching the dim, dirty state of 
the bar, and pictured (as clearly as his muddled brain would permit) the 
body he'd had before he'd met Susan, well-muscled, healthy, ribs intact.  
He felt his pain leave him and let out a deep sigh.  Now, he had to 
something about Susan, he thought.  She had gotten too attached to him. 
Yes.  She was much too clinging.  He thought of her as cool and 
detached.  Yes, she really shouldn't be in love with him like that.  He 
didn't need that at all.  And then last, but not least, she was much too 
-- he suddenly looked up ... and up.  She was standing in front of him, 
dressed in a dark blue skintight lycra suit which extended only to her 
elbows and knees.  Her formidable arms were perched on her hips.  She 
did not look happy. 

"WHAT are you DOING?" 

"Uh, Susan?  How did you --

"You PROMISED!" 

"Yeah, yeah, I know, but --

"Come with me!"  She took his hand and wrenched him out of his seat.  
"Tip the waitress!"  He looked up at her and put a crumpled dollar bill 
on the table.  "Another one!  Good.  Let's go." 

"Wh-where?" 

"Back to your apartment. WE are going to have a little chat."  She 
marched him down the street.  He unlocked the door and they climbed the 
stairs to his attic room, Susan taking them three steps at a time while 
Johnathan staggered a flight behind. 

"I should have KNOWN I couldn't trust you!" she said angrily when they 
entered the room. 

"Susan!  What's the big deal?  Nothing's happened."  He smiled at her.  
"And I'm feeling much better.  So you don't have to worry anymore about 
having hurt me." 

Susan looked down at him sternly.  "That ISN'T what is worrying me."  
She looked around the apartment, then pulled Johnathan to the corner 
that served as a galley kitchen, opened a cabinet and grabbed a jar of 
instant coffee.  "This should sober you up," she said to herself, taking 
a mug and filling it a third of the way with the granules.  She filled 
the rest with water and handed it to Johnathan.  "Drink this, now."  He 
just stared at her.  "Do I have to force you?" she added, looming over 
him. 

"OK, OK."  He took it and grimaced.  "It's too strong!" 

"Just finish it."  

He closed his eyes and drank.  The caffeine was making his heart pound, 
but otherwise he was quickly returning to his usual modestly alert self.  
"There.  Jesus, Susan! What has gotten into you?  You're being so 
unfriendly all of a sudden.  I thought you said you loved me." 

"I must have been out of my mind.  How could I love a little twerp like 
you?"  She looked disgusted with him, and herself.  

"But ...." Then Johnathan remembered what he'd done to her feelings for 
him.  "Yeah, right, sure. OK.  Well, nice while it lasted I guess.  Hey, 
if you aren't interested in my anymore, what are you doing here?  You 
came all the way here just to tell me you don't like me?" 

"YOU know why I'm here.  I have to decide what to DO about you."  She 
put her hands on her hips and took a half step toward him. 

Something about her stance started frightening Johnathan a little.  "Wh-
what do you mean?" 

"You can't be trusted to act responsibly and you're a danger to everyone 
on earth.  I can't allow it." 

"Hey, wait a minute.  Who appointed YOU to take care of the world?" 

Her lip curled slightly.  "YOU did." 

"I did?  Hey, I may have been drunk, but I think I would have remembered 
that."  His head was beginning to pound.  "Look, I have to lie down.  
Why don't you just leave now, ok?" 

"You know that doesn't take care of the problem." 

Johnathan felt completely exasperated.  "Look, just get out, ok?  Go 
back to your bar, or lift some weights or something."  She just crossed 
her arms in front of her and looked down at him, contemplating him.  
"Well, what are you waiting for?" 

She looked at him impassively.  "I'm trying to decide whether I really 
have to kill you." 

"Kill me?  Are you crazy?"  He stared at her.  She wasn't joking, and 
with her enormous strength, she could do it easily.  Even though he had 
restored his previous strength she was still half a foot taller than he, 
with 26" rock-hard biceps and those stupid "dense" muscles!  Oh where 
did he come up with that one?  He had no idea how strong she could be, 
and he didn't want to find out at first hand.  How could he ever defend 
himself?  He thought of the fire escape and turned around to open the 
window and jump through it.  But before he bolted the five feet to the 
window she was already in front of it, her massive frame completely 
blocking his access.  He turned back to the door and sprung for it, but 
somehow she got in front of him again.  This time he kept going, his 
shoulder colliding directly with the point below her breasts, but she 
was solid as a tree and he succeeded only in wrenching his shoulder. 

"Aaggh!" he cried repeatedly, staggering around the room, once again in 
pain.  Susan looked down on him with bored condescension.  

Johnathan was not dancing around randomly; he was looking for his one 
last chance to save himself and then saw it, his old baseball bat.  He 
was desperate now.  If he had to break her bones in two, he would.  He 
grabbed it and charged her again, timing his swing while reliving his 
greatest little league save-the-game moment, but using the sharp curve 
of her hip bone as his target.  Seemingly caught flat-footed in surprise 
at his sudden move, she made no effort to stop him and he connected 
solidly, his follow-through amply aided by the sudden two-thirds 
reduction in the length of the bat, as the wood broke neatly in two 
pieces, one in Johnathan's hand as he spun out of control onto his 
sofabed, the other in Susan's lightening quick left hand.  When he 
turned back to her in disbelief, she curled her large fingers around the 
thickest part of the wood and squeezed once, creating a momentary bulge 
in her biceps while obliterating the name "Darryl Strawberry" from the 
relic as the bat fragment assumed an unsuitable hourglass shape.  
Dropping the bat on the floor, she extended her arms and tensed her 
muscles more completely, enjoying Johnathan's frightened reaction to her 
31" biceps, her cannonball shoulders, the breasts that pushed ever 
further outward atop her cascading set of pectorals, and abdominals that 
had more ripples than a hurricane-tossed sea. 

"H-h-how can you be s-s-o --" Johnathan stuttered. 

"You should know, Johnathan.  You're the one who made me this way." 

"Th-th-then you KNOW about that -- but how d-d-did you -- n-n-no one 
else has ever --

She sighed, bored.  "You still don't get it, do you?  You don't even 
know what you've done."  She bent down and picked up four foot long iron 
crowbar Johnathan used to secure the door.  She threaded it through the 
three middle fingers of her right hand and instantly bent it back on 
itself, then slid her hands down to the ends and twisted them into a 
braid, bending one end upwards.  She held it up for him to see.  "Looks 
just like the beginning of 'Johnathan' now, doesn't it?"  Finally, she 
put the straight end into her mouth and started chewing, rapidly sucking 
more inside and devouring the twisted metal like a piece of spaghetti.  
She frowned.  "Got something stuck in my teeth."  She moved her tongue 
around and slowly pushed a six inch metal spike out of her mouth, then 
spit it across the room, the spike missing Johnathan by no more than a 
hair and embedding itself in the center of the letter "J" on his 
computer keyboard.  Then she licked her lips and patted her stomach, 
which was completely unchanged in size and shape.  "Yum yum, although I 
usually prefer it a little more 'al dente'."  She raised her eyebrows, 
looked directly at him and gave him an open-mouthed smile.  "Now for 
you.  Where should I start?" 

"AAGGHH!!"  He closed his eyes, shaking with fear, trying to summon up 
his power. 

She laughed.  "You can't do it, Johnathan.  With all that caffeine 
you're as sober as can be.  It'll be a couple of hours before it wears 
off."  She floated into the air and pretended to do the breast stroke as 
she drifted over to him, laying on her side in mid-air opposite him as 
he lay on the sofabed in disbelief.  She reached out to pick up the 
sofabed and lifted it, rising to the ceiling with her arm hooked 
underneath, then tipped it so that Johnathan rolled off into her waiting 
arm.  He pushed against her.  "Don't be stupid.  Your strength against 
mine is as little as that of a flea!" 

"Please, please!" he begged.  "I'll never drink again.  You can watch 
me.  Spy on me all you want.  Just please don't kill me!" 

She settled down lazily onto the floor, replacing the sofabed, but 
keeping a tight grip on Johnathan.  "I'll think about it."  She walked 
over to the window, pushed it open and flew out, disappearing into the 
sky. 

Johnathan collapsed onto the sofabed, still shaking, then got up to look 
out the window, hoping somehow to see her smashed body three floors 
below on the pavement.  But there was nothing.  She had really flown out 
of the room, just like Supergirl. 

End of Part 2 

[more to come, perhaps -- Mark]