Tara's Lathe
By Marknew742@aol.com
An Amazon version of LeGuin's Lathe of Heaven



I recall my first girlfriend, Karen Shaw.  Although it has been 
a long time, and so much has happened, I have a clear picture of 
her being only a little smaller than I was at the time.  Not 
that she was especially tall or I short, but girls matured 
earlier and we were just about the same age.  She was thin but 
already at twelve she was developing rounded breasts and hips 
and she had soft, dark hair that fell around her shoulders.  Her 
eyes twinkled and she had freckles and a pert, round nose.  All 
in all she was the All American girl next door -- not beautiful, 
but pretty.  A girl you'd known all your life, until one day you 
woke up and realized that she wasn't just a girl -- she was a 
GIRL.

I was surprised when I held her the first time how soft her body 
was, and, given my own excitement and my rough pleasure at 
touching her, how gentle she wanted me to be.  Being gentle 
didn't seem to do justice at all to what I was feeling.  And her 
emerging breasts, they were so incredibly soft too, and when she 
uncovered them they were so much larger than I expected. I saw 
them and bent down to suck on them, not gently enough for her 
and she pushed me away, I think, but then she let me come back 
if I promised would be gentle.  Of course I said I would -- that 
I remember very clearly.

And a few years later, my first time making love.  It was with 
Karen again -- on my first trip home from college as a freshman.  
By now I had grown and I towered over her.  Meeting her for 
dinner I felt the power of my size, of my status as a college 
student, while she was just working at the 7-11 and teaching 
Sunday School at church, yet I was anxious because I didn't know 
what to do, and however young I was, I thought I should know 
what to do.  I was the man; I'm responsible for doing it, right?  
But even with all the fear, it turned out to be wonderful.  The 
feelings were better than anything I could have imagined, for me 
at least.  For her it was painful, but for me, each stroke, each 
time I thrust more deeply, it was more of that incredible 
feeling, until the end, when I lost control and pumped my cum 
into her, I felt like screaming in triumph, while also shivering 
with pleasure.  That was the way it was.  She was in pain and I 
felt wonderful.  She had misgivings and wanted to stop in the 
middle, but there was simply no way I would do that, and she 
couldn't make me.  Hell, nothing other than a kick in the balls 
could have made me stop.  Oh, the feelings of joy, of 
fulfillment, or power, of accomplishment.  And I should have 
used "protection," but I didn't, and we got away with it.  
Nothing bad happened at all.  To either of us.  She bled, I 
think, a little, but she was alright and even told me, after it 
was done, that she enjoyed it, even through the pain, because 
she knew she loved me and that I loved her.  I can understand 
that now, but I didn't then.  But honestly, I didn't care that 
much, so long as she would do it again with me.  And she did, 
every time I came home to visit that year -- until I met other 
girls.  I didn't hear much from Karen after that, until after I 
moved back.  She married a high school buddy of mine, but we 
didn't see each other much, until later.

Meanwhile, I married my sweetheart from Iowa State, Cheryl, and 
I was very, very happy.  I had met her writing the usual once a 
year field hockey story for the college paper.  She had a rough, 
healthy beauty and was only a little smaller than I.  She moved 
with me, back to my home town.  We had two children, Amy and 
Ryan, bought a house together, and notwithstanding the usual 
tensions and frustrations, we had a pretty good life.  I 
remember clearly my thirtieth birthday party, surrounded by 
friends and family, kidding around with Bob and Fred, looking 
over at Cheryl, thinking about getting her alone later in the 
evening in bed.  I remember that happiness.

There are other fragments.  Graduation from school.  My first 
writing job.  Leaving for work in the morning, driving up the 
interstate that lay across the flat, featureless plains and 
taking note of each change in the billboards, the only change 
that ever took place in that dull, little city.  Returning at 
night to my wife and children.  Helping Bob through financial 
problems.  My Sunday morning tennis with Fred.  That was normal 
life, and I didn't expect anything to change.  Once I had a boss 
who was a woman, sent by headquarters in Minnesota, but she 
didn't last too long in a small Iowa city.  The way it worked at 
a branch office of a Midwestern brokerage house was the women 
worked for the men, as secretaries, assistants, market 
researchers and the like.  In bigger towns women did different 
jobs too, but not where I was.

I recall, very vividly, a lecture by a company lawyer from our 
Minneapolis head office, a stern blond woman with her hair in a 
bun, warning us against involvement with our staff.  "Company 
policy strictly forbids any sexual relationship with another 
employee.  Sexual relationships between persons who are in a 
reporting relationship will be grounds for termination."  That 
held me back for a long time.  That and my home life.

But things did change.  In my thirties my wife and I grew apart, 
a little.  I always worked long hours.  She was bored at home.  
Did she have an affair first, or did I?  I don't really remember 
now.  Not that they were any big secrets.  In this part of the 
country you can't really keep secrets for long.

I remember Tara Donatelli, one of my last secretaries, as she 
was when I first met her.  It's funny how my first thought of 
her was of how small she was.  A delicate but firm build, 
expressive and emotive eyes -- you know, nice things in small 
packages.  From the beginning, I knew she was different than 
anyone else who had ever worked for me.  I always worked late, 
revising what I wrote until the last possible deadline, to fit a 
sales pitch that always changed minute by minute to look current 
with the market, so that we looked like we were leading instead 
of absorbing every last cue from the street.  That was the way 
to do the job.  My other secretaries would leave at the end of 
the day, at five, if I didn't catch them first, even though they 
knew there was more work, leaving me to do all of the typing, 
printing, assembling, etc.  But Tara would stay, even though she 
didn't get any more pay.  This was her first job and she wanted 
so much to succeed.  We spent a lot of time working together, 
and then it extended to dinner.  Sometimes, chinese food at our 
desks, sometimes a dinner and a drink at a restaurant in Omaha 
or Council Bluffs to celebrate when we finished our project.  
She always looked into my eyes -- for signs she was doing well I 
thought.  Later, I learned it was because she liked me.  

I remember Tabitha, a babysitter who was one of those 
precociously voluptuous girls who from a very young age always 
seem to be bursting out of their clothes.  Even when she was 
only eleven, I remebered noticing the dark imprints of her 
nipples pressing on her t-shirt, and now the looks she would 
give me made me think she knew a lot more at the age of fifteen 
than I knew in my thirties.  She was the oldest of three girls 
and worked all summer in the fields beside her father, and her 
lean strong arms and sun-bleached hair added to her animal 
sensuality.  Normally, I would have stayed far away from her, 
but my daughter Amy loved her, so she sat for us regularly.  I 
drove her home one night and she paused after she got out of the 
car.  It was a summer night, still light, and she was dressed in 
the tightest little halter top, her flat stomach plainly visible 
and her burgeoning corn-fed bosom just inches from my face 
through the car window.  "I wish you didn't have to go right 
back, Mr. Newton.  I could show you around my house.  No one's 
home, so you wouldn't have to talk to my parents."  She pressed 
her strapping arms to the sides of her breasts, pushing them up 
through the top of her halter.  "Wouldn't you like to?"  I 
blushed and stammered and goodnight and quickly put the car into 
gear, even while I looked back at her in the mirror.  It was a 
good thing no one was in front of my car.

And I clearly remember the turning point for me, and as it 
turned out, for all mankind: that one day when Tara took my 
hand, looked into my eyes and said, bold as can be, "I will risk 
everything for you. Please Mark, won't you do it for me?"  I 
looked at her, uncomprehending, but understanding perfectly.  
"Mark, let's do it.  I really want to.  Don't you know?"  My 
heart stopped.  She was small, like a child, but much more 
daring than I was.  Yet even with my Midwestern morality it 
still took me only fraction more than an instant to say yes, and 
we left our dinner, practically running to a hotel over the 
state line in Nebraska, and devoured each other's bodies, in 
lust, in joy.  How much passion there was in that small body.  I 
can still see those small breasts, more nipple than breast 
really, bobbing slightly as she moved on top of me, her thin 
arms resting on my shoulders, her eyes gazing unfocused on the 
wall above the bed, her face in everchanging poses of ecstasy as 
we came, violently, together.

There are other memories -- of a very different kind of life.  
But I'll get to that.

After that night, I felt an insatiable desire for Tara.  I was 
inspired at work.  It seemed that she knew intuitively what I 
needed: for work and for play.  My late days at the office 
multiplied.  We were careful, but she absorbed my whole life, so 
much so, that even for Cheryl it seemed that I had gone too far.  
One Saturday when the children were at soccer Cheryl stopped me 
as I got ready to run the usual errands.

"We are having a talk, Mister."

"Cheryl, not now.  I have to pick up some things.  You know how 
rushed we'll be later."

"This is important.  You're taking this affair too far."

"What do..."

"At least don't lie to me!"  She pulled her hand around it to 
slap me, but I saw it coming and caught it.  She struggled 
briefly, then started to cry.  "Come off it!  I'm not an angel 
either, Mark, but at least I'm discreet.  You of all people 
should know how small this city is.  You're driving us right to 
a divorce.  I don't want that.  I want our family together, for 
our kids' sake.  I thought we had an understanding."

I looked into her eyes.  She may not have been beautiful, but 
she was the person I had once chosen to build my life with.  I 
remembered I once thought I loved her.  She was the mother of my 
children.  What was I doing?  I suddenly felt scared, dizzy and 
I teetered on my feet.

"Hey, Mark, what's wrong?  Are you sick or something?"

I shook my head.  "No, no, it's ... I ... I don't know what I've 
been ... Cheryl, maybe we should try to ... I mean, some 
counseling, you know, get us back on track, find a way to make 
this work."

She looked me up and down, satisfied that I was wasn't going to 
lose my balance and hadn't completely lost my wits.  "Well, 
Mark, you will never cease to surprise me.  Here you were, a big 
man, in love, having the affair of his life.  And now, suddenly, 
you're about to pass out in fear of losing me.  Well, this is 
the last thing I expected to hear from you.  I suppose you'll 
even give up that girl too, start exercising every day and write 
your great novel."  

I swallowed, her onslaught buffeting me like a hot wind.  But 
still, I didn't want to lose her.  I clung to my line.  "I know 
you're suspicious of me, but I'm serious.  We loved each other 
once.  Maybe we can find that again."

She looked down, sadly, "To have a family built on love, well, 
I'd want that more than anything, but I'm a realist.  Still, 
whether I like it or not, you are the father of my children.  If 
you wanted to give it a go, well, I should go along too."  She 
sat down and sighed.  "Yeah, ok.  

I kissed the top of her head and left to do my errands.  After 
I'd finished I realized I wasn't ready to go back home yet.  
Once I did, I'd be cutting myself off from Tara completely.  But 
that's what I said I'd do, what I had to do.  I was all confused 
again.  I had to think.  I stopped in a Waldenbooks and wandered 
through the fiction section.  In the middle of the aisle there 
was Tara.  My eyes widened.  I would tell her, right now, and 
that would be it.

"What is it my love?  I thought I might surprise you up here, 
but I didn't think I'd scare you!"

"Tara, I ... we have to stop.  My marriage."

"Your marriage?  That's dead!  You don't love your wife.  You 
love me."  She took my arm and steered me to a corner of the 
store.  "Don't be silly!  Don't deny your feelings; you know how 
happy we've been.  We're perfect for each other."

"I know.  I know.  But I can't.  It's not right.  Cheryl ... my 
family ... it's important to me.  I need to give her a chance."

"Are you crazy?  She doesn't love you the way I love you, and 
you don't love her.  What's wrong is staying with her when you 
love me!  You're throwing away the love of your lifetime.  
You'll never have another chance for passion like ours!"  She 
reached up, put her arms around my neck and kissed me.  Her lips 
massaged mine; her nimble tongue fluttered around my mouth.  I 
felt her body pressing against me and involuntarily I pulled her 
tighter.  She was right.  We were made for each other.  I longed 
for her.  But there was another voice inside telling me that 
Cheryl, my wife, was my fate.  I don't know why, maybe because 
I'm a midwesterner, but I felt I had a duty to listen to that 
voice.  

I put my hands on hers and gently disengaged her.  "Tara.  
Darling.  We must stop.  It's my decision, really, and that's 
it."

Her nostrils flared.  I could see her recognize her defeat, then 
the tears, and then the anger in her eyes.  "I can't believe 
this.  How can you reject me?  I've finally won you, given you 
the excitement, the passion that you never had.  That you don't 
even deserve, damn you!!"  She stared at me.  She knew me so 
well, even in our short time together, that she knew I had 
decided for good.  "Well then, asshole, I'll make your life as 
hellish as it will be for me, just you wait!"  She started 
flailing at me like a windmill.  I caught her arms, only to have 
her start kicking me.  I lifted her bodily off the ground, 
wrapping one arm around her torso, the other around her legs, 
and backed out of the store, all eyes on me, while she shouted, 
"You bastard!  Let me go you bastard!!"  I held her tightly 
until she quieted down, then ran away from her and rushed home.

Monday morning came, as it always does, and Tara breathed fire.  
She purposely misunderstood all of my instructions, faxed a very 
confidential strategy memo to Dain Bosworth, our local 
competitor, "by accident," spilled coffee on me twice, and 
growled at everyone who called.  By four o'clock, J.D., my boss, 
called me in for a meeting.  He had a human resources manager 
from Minneapolis on the speakerphone.

"Mark, we heard rumors that you and Tara are an item.  Is this 
true?"

I took a deep breath.  I had to be honest or else all would be 
lost.  "Yes.  It is, or was, true.  I broke it off this 
weekend."

I heard a sigh through the speaker and the personnel guy spoke.  
"She has to go, Mark.  She's being completely disruptive.  I'd 
fire you too, but J.D. made a strong case to keep you.  We'll 
see what the lawyers say, but let me tell you, you're on thin 
ice right now.  We'll handle Tara.  We've removed her access to 
the network and security will escort her out in fifteen minutes.  
You'd better take the rest of the day off, while we assess the 
situation, but if you say a word about this to anyone but the 
lawyers and the two of us, you're history.  And this will go 
down in your file."

I thanked them for saving my job, but inside I was fuming.  I 
knew I broke the rules, but this was my personal life.  I guess 
I had no personal life anymore -- nothing was really my own 
anyway.  I left, and out of my rear view mirror I saw Tara 
struggling with our seventy year old guard as he slowly moved 
her off the premises.  I pulled out of the lot, then got stuck 
at a light and saw her running up to the car.  I fumbled for the 
door lock; she grabbed the handle first and climbed inside.

"You asshole.  You got me fired, right?"

"It wasn't me, Tara.  You brought this on yourself."

"Oh yeah?  It's the whole male power structure at your stupid 
company that's protected you.  Well, I figured something like 
this would happen, and I made some phone calls.  I got a lawyer, 
and probably another job.  I met some women Saturday.  They're 
part of a really neat group, called DRG.  Totally new age and 
really radical, and anti-male.  I don't know what they're doing 
out here in the boonies, but anyway, they're moving here and 
I'll be their administrative assistant.  Not much pay, but wait 
until I sue your company.  I'll really be in the money.  I'll be 
in the same building too, so you can't stop me from coming in.  
I'll see you every day.  We'll see who has the last word."  She 
reached over and started to hit me, but I held her arms fast.

"Calm down Tara.  Please.  I'm sorry.  Really.  I just realized 
I'm not the kind of guy who falls in love and has affairs.  I 
can't handle it."

"I can't *stand* the way you just hold me like that.  And you've 
never had a day of exercise in your life, while I slave away at 
the gym every night.  You're just a chickenshit middle-aged 
bastard!  All I have to say is, enjoy your downhill slide.  Your 
life is over!"  She bared her teeth at me but relaxed her arms.  
I let go and saw her get out, wordlessly, and slam the door.  
She didn't look back, at least, not as long as I watched her 
walk down the street.  After she turned the corner I drove the 
long way home so I wouldn't see her.

The next few weeks seemed pretty normal.  Cheryl and I saw a 
counselor three times each week.  Cheryl was very angry, but 
seemed committed to making our marriage work.  We even started 
having a little sex again.  It wasn't the wild stuff I did with 
Tara, but for married sex, it wasn't bad.  I suffered a little 
at work.  Tara did sue us, and the lawyers insisted I be 
disciplined so that it looked like the company was being 
evenhanded.  My pay was cut 15% and I got a smaller office at 
the end of the hall with a small window looking out onto the 
stockyards and the interstate, but J.D. told me it would only be 
temporary, until the lawsuit was over, and that the company 
still had plans for me.  

So I settled down to work.  Of course, I had to work three times 
as hard for less pay than before, just to reestablish myself.  
And I had no help either.  Instead of Tara, I had to share 
Ingrid with with five other guys.  Ingrid was a typical 
midwestern girl -- dull blond hair, blocky body, and no sense of 
style.  She didn't understand anything about marketing and had 
an awful attitude.  She was smart, but she used her intelligence 
only to find the quickest and laziest way to do her job.  That 
usually included avoiding me and my late night projects.  So I 
was usually scribbling away late at night on my own.  And that 
didn't help my reconciliation much with Cheryl.  I wondered 
whether she was still seeing someone.  Still, I had made a 
decision and I was determined to see it through.

I'd see Tara in the building every so often, but she made a 
point of ignoring me and I tried to avoid seeing her too.  
Still, it was obvious we still had feelings for each other.  It 
was one more thing to manage.

Her company made a lot of noise, and it was the office right 
below mine that was the worst.  I learned that DRG stood for 
Dream Research Group.  It was a not-for-profit company and had 
some connection with a women's group at the University of 
Berkeley in California.  They had been bringing  a fair amount 
of heavy equipment into the building and doing installation 
work, which accounted for the noise.  One day, sort of late, I 
saw Tara in the elevator and out of the blue asked her how her 
work was going.  She smiled at me strangely and calmly, for a 
change, and said I would find out soon.  Well, at least the 
storminess was over, I thought.  Maybe if I went along she'd 
drop the lawsuit and life could go back to normal.  Well, 
instead, two days later I got a handwritten invitation to DRG's 
opening day party.  I thought it was strange, but maybe it was a 
sort of peace treaty.  I'd be working late anyway and wouldn't 
be missed if I went for half an hour.  The invitation suggested 
that before I go I read a book called "The Lathe of Heaven" by 
Ursula Le Guin.  I picked it up at Waldenbooks and spent lunch 
hour and a little bit more reading it.

It was a pretty good book, the kind of science fiction I like.  
A dazed kind of guy goes to a shrink for help with a problem 
called "effective dreaming."  The guy, it seems, gets into a 
certain kind of state of mind in which his dreams change the 
world.  In fact, it works so completely that for everyone more 
than a certain distance away from him the changed world is all 
they remember -- as though it had always been that way.  The guy 
wants help -- it's a power no one should have, he thinks -- but 
the shrink turns out to be power mad and uses the guy to put his 
own ambitions into play, hypnotizing the dreamer into having 
"effective dreams" that enhance the shrink's own stature in the 
world and remake the world into the shrink's liberal paradise.  
Of course, nothing works as planned and the shrink eventually 
destroys himself, in the process finally giving the guy what he 
had wanted all along, an "effective dream" ridding himself of 
his power.  I thought it was a pretty neat story and I wondered 
what it had to do with DRG.

On the evening of the opening I knocked at the DRG door, about 
ten minutes late.  Tara answered.  The offices were quiet.  Tara 
looked flushed and nervous.

"I thought you weren't coming."

"Where are the other guests?"

"Oh, they're late.  Come on to the back."

I walked through the offices, feeling a little funny about being 
there.  No one else was in the office.

"This is no opening, Tara.  Am I even allowed to be here?  Are 
you?"

"You're a writer, aren't you?  Do you want something to write 
about?  Maybe a good investment idea?"

"No one can invest in this company Tara.  It's not-for-profit.  
Don't you even understand what we do?"

She shrugged, not wanting to rise to the fight.  "Yeah, well, 
aren't you even curious about all the noise?  I'll show you what 
we've been doing."

I was curious, it was true.  She knew me.  She took me to the 
back room, next to my office.  The room was filled with 
electrical equipment, heavy power cables, a comfortable chair 
and headphones.

"It's a dream machine, Mark.  Can you imagine?  It makes your 
thoughts real, sort of like in that book I told you about."

"That's ridiculous Tara.  Did they tell you that?  Do you really 
believe them?"

"They didn't tell me anything.  They don't trust me.  They think 
I'm really stupid.  Just like you do.  I figured it out by 
reading some stuff they wanted me to shred.  They finished the 
first part of their work, setting the machine up, and they were 
going to fire me tomorrow right before they start to use it.  
But I'll show you, and them.  Tell me something simple you want 
and I can set up the machine to make it happen."

"OK, I'll play.  I'd like an apple."

She snorted.  "You're hungry?  I can't believe how small-minded 
you can be.  Well, ok.  Now, sit down.  You have to put on the 
headset.  Think about the biggest, reddest, tastiest apple you 
can.  I'll flick the switch.  Close your eyes."

I thought about an apple sitting on my desk, waiting for me to 
eat.  I felt nothing but a little queasiness, probably from 
embarrassment, and I opened my eyes when the noise stopped.  She 
stared at me, mouth open, cheeks flush with excitement.  "You 
didn't do it!"

"Tara, this is so silly.  I did what you asked and nothing 
happened, just as I knew.  This is just craziness.  It's 
probably some kind of gimmick to trick you or something.  You 
really have to get hold of yourself."

"But it's real.  I know it!"

"Tara, I don't know what's gotten into you.  You really should 
know better.  Maybe it's partly my fault, and I'm sorry, but 
anyway, I shouldn't be here, and neither should you."

I got up and walked out.  She ran to stop me, holding me from 
behind.  I easily removed her arms and left her.  I saw her turn 
and run back toward the machine.  I was relieved she didn't 
follow me.

I sat at my desk, happily munching on a large red apple I must 
have brought for a snack.  It was quite tasty.  Funny, but I 
didn't usually take food to work, and I didn't remember packing 
it.  Then it hit me.  The dream machine!  It did work after all!  
I jumped up to run back to tell Tara, when I heard the machine 
go on again, and suddenly I felt very dizzy.  Everything seemed 
like it was spinning.  I fell to the ground and closed my eyes 
against the roar and when I opened them I had a shock.  My 
office was different.  It was smaller, the walls were yellow 
instead of the company standard dull white.  The mission 
statement was different.  Gone was the statement about "managing 
your money for your good, and your family's," replaced by "Your 
money -- it's our job!"  And my auto racing pictures were all 
replaced by pictures of celebrities and some cute puppy and 
kitten faces.  I hated that stuff; it's what the secretaries had 
at their desks, soothing and nice, but not my style, not 
appropriate for a man at all.

I felt strange.  I got up and walked down the hall.  There 
hadn't been any other people working late that night, but the 
office was now half-full.  And the people were different.  My 
secretary was a Ralph Brown, and there were eight colleagues I 
shared "Ralph" with, three of whom were women who were working 
late.  An unusual group of women too.  Two of them were taller 
than me, with broader shoulders too.  Now, at 5'9", I wasn't a 
giant, but they all looked very strong.  The third one was Karen 
Shaw, my first girlfriend.  What was she doing here?  She'd 
married Bob Holmes, at least in my reality, and when she wasn't 
looking after her kids, she spent her time teaching music at 
church. She was stockier than I remembered, and just barely an 
inch or two shorter than me.  She looked me over, worried.

"Hey, Mark, you don't look so hot.  Why don't go home?  We can 
finish up here without you tonight.  We have a couple of days 
before our report's due."

I nodded in agreement.  I did feel very strange.  I headed back 
to my office.  Karen should be quite a bit shorter than I -- not 
just a couple of inches.  Maybe she was wearing heels or 
something today, although that would be unusual for her.  What 
was going on?  I signed out and walked out of the door, waving 
to the security guard, who was another tall woman.  I got into 
my Chevy and looked up at the billboard over the highway.  The 
Salem cigarette ad had changed.  It used to be the one where the 
guy's holding a wholesome, but sexy girl on his shoulders and 
they're both laughing like they'd just won a piggyback fight.  
Now it was a man and woman passing a cigarette between them with 
a bland statement, "What's good for friends is good for 
friendship."  Except for the woman's long hair, they looked 
almost like identical twins.  I groaned, thinking that some 
censor had decided that sex appeal was no longer allowed in ads.  
So much for distractions on the ride home.

"Hey Mark.  Something wrong?"  I turned around.  It was Tara.  
But she looked different.  She was a lot taller, almost as tall 
as I.  And she was dressed in an expensive, tailored jacket, 
rather than the blue jeans and t-shirt I remembered seeing her 
in earlier that evening.  But how...?

She put her hand on my shoulder and pulled me toward her.  I 
resisted, but she was strong.  I spoke up, hoping to avoid an 
incident.

"Tara, what are you doing?  And what's happened to you?"

"Confused, Mark?  Is something wrong?  Don't you remember our 
little opening at DRG?  Come sit down next to me.  I'll help you 
out."

I walked with her to a bench.  She kept her arm on me.

"So, does my size seem strange to you? "  I nodded.  "That's not 
all.  I bet you didn't know that I'm an important scientist, 
with a string of valuable inventions.  I own DRG -- and the 
building you work in."

"But that's impossible.  You were my secretary -- 'til a month 
ago.  You know nothing about science. And what's happened to 
your body, you're much smaller than I am.  This isn't real.  
It's ... it's

She smiled broadly.  "Why, it's just a dream! Is that what 
you're going to say?  Yes, a dream, but it's real too -- a dream 
come true."  She looked at me, letting it sink in.  "Go on, 
pinch yourself.  Do all the silly things people talk about when 
they say they must be sleeping.  It's as real as anything can 
be, Mark.  In fact, the old life you remember?  That's just a 
dream now.  No more than a dream."

I stared, watching men and women passing us.  All of them 
dressed interchangeably.  Men and women in jeans.  Some women in 
dresses, some men in dresses.  Men in dresses!  In Iowa?

"Everything I told you before about the dream machine was true.  
Those women at DRG believed in equality.  They dreamed of a 
world in which there was almost no physical difference between 
men and women.  You know, it's amazing how many things followed 
from that.  All of the behavioral differences that people 
thought were from hormones?  Well it turns out ost of it was 
just from the difference in physical strength.  The submissive, 
emotional, manipulative behaviors of women, our focus on 
personal relationships, our lack of open aggressiveness.  They 
were just the adaptive behaviors of a subordinate class.  Now 
we're equal in that sense.  Oh, there are still some 
differences.  The shapes of our bodies, the fact we bear 
children -- that makes a difference.  And we're still somewhat 
more perceptive and intuitive, men are more detached and focused 
in a way.  But the differences are much less.  Men and women are 
both logical and emotional.  Both must be nurturing and 
independent.  We both can realize the full range of human 
possibility, without being shoved into sex roles."

"Don't tell me you believe in that stuff."

"I don't have to believe in it.  I created it!  Just look around 
for yourself."

I watched people walk by.  Well, from the way they walked and 
dressed, there was now almost no difference between the sexes, 
other than breasts and, I assumed, genitalia.  

"Yes, they were smart to figure that out, and smart to invent 
the machine.  They had real high IQ type smarts, but I had 
another kind -- street-smarts.  They left me an opening, and I 
made a few small changes to their plans.  Like, I changed my 
name, to Beaumont.  I always liked that name -- better than 
Donatelli.  I'm very wealthy you know, now -- I'm one of the 500 
wealthiest people in the country according to Forbes.  I own the 
largest public technology company in the world.  It was the 
company that employed those DRG people on a secret project to 
invent the DRG machine.  And, sadly, all of them died last 
night, so nobody knows about the DRG division of Beaumont Life 
Sciences except you and me."

"You killed them?"

"Oh, not me!  They died in all sorts of ways.  Traffic 
accidents, murder, suicide, toxic shock, strokes.  It's one of 
those things."  She smiled.  "You wouldn't have liked them 
anyway.  They were very radical."

I looked at her closely.  "There's other stuff, isn't there.  
You sound so different."

"Yes, well, I always felt a little at a disadvantage to other 
people -- they way they talked and spoke.  So I made myself 
smarter, a lot smarter.  What's your IQ?  120?"

"125."

She laughed.  "High normal.  Mine used to be 110.  Now it's 195.  
I thought 200 would have been obnoxious.  I'm a genius, you 
know."  I stared at her, uncomprehendingly, while she looked 
around the square in front of our building.

"Most of the things you see are the changes they wanted.  And 
it's not bad, you know. It's a little strange but not all bad.  
To everyone in the world this universe is all that ever existed.  
Except for us.  By getting you to wear that headset I linked 
your brain with the machine, just like mine, so that you 
retained your memories of the way things used to be.  You and I 
will always be the only ones who remember the way things were.  
It would have been lonely for me, otherwise.  And I like the 
idea that you know how it used to be."

"So you're in the same boat as me?"

"Not entirely.  I have both sets of memories, the old and the 
new, whereas your new memories exist only in your subconscious 
mind.  I'm afraid you have a lot of learning to do.  Maybe I'll 
help you, if you're nice to me.  Of course there's a few other 
important differences between our situations.  I'm worth 
millions; you're barely getting by.  I'm smarter than you.  And 
most importantly, I control the dream machine.  I can be very 
useful to you, you know."

Tara put her arm around my neck.  I pushed it off, gently.  She 
stared at me, grinning, enjoying the situation.

"Nothing's changed, you know.  I'm still going to try to save my 
marriage."

Tara laughed.  "We'll see how you feel about that when you get 
home.  Think about it."

Something unpleasant flashed in the back of my mind, but I 
ignored it.  "Is this what you wanted, Tara?  Personal power?  
My being disoriented.  I don't know anything about this world 
you've created.  Is it any better?  Are people happier?"

"I really don't know or care.  Whether men are stronger than 
women or not, how could that be better or worse.  It's just a 
matter of which side you're on.  Women were losing -- we were 
weaker -- and now we're tied.  Personally, I'm way ahead, but 
anyway this world reflects the values of DRG, not mine.  My 
interests are entirely personal."

She slipped off her jacket.  She was wearing a stunning black 
sleeveless dress beneath it, with glistening stones throughout 
the fabric.  They weren't plastic sequins either; they looked 
like diamonds to me.  Growing up in Iowa I'd never seen so many 
up close.  As she once again put her arm around my back, I 
noticed the movement of her muscles beneath her skin, the faint 
blue line of her vein running up the inside of her arm over a 
rather substantial bicep.  As she pulled me closer I resisted 
and suddenly realized she had just been playing with me before.  
Now using a lot more strength she turned me toward her and 
kissed me on the lips, a long, slow kiss.  Her tongue explored 
my mouth and her lips caressed mine roughly.  I could feel 
myself respond instantly to her hard, strong body, just as I had 
to her smaller, firm one.  I struggled to push her away.  
Overpowering me, she held me tight for a minute, then broke off 
the kiss, my face now smeared with her lipstick.

"You look upset, Mark.  Why?  Am I too strong for you?  I know 
you like athletic women.  I can feel your excitement, your 
passion, even when you try to deny it.  I know you better than 
you know yourself.  But you're conflicted.  You're mad that 
you're weaker than I am.  Well, I've been working out for years 
here, just like I used to in the other reality, but it has much 
more of an effect on me now.  I'm afraid you've never been 
inclined to exercise, not before, not now.  And you can't rely 
on your hormones to keep you stronger here.  Go on, look closely 
at your arm.  Feel it.  Soft, isn't it?  Well, I'll let you be, 
for now.  I can't wait to hear how you get on with Cheryl.  
Wasn't she Iowa State's star football player?  I hear you get 
beat up a lot.  Not much love in that marriage.  I wonder 
whether you still prefer her to me."

The image of Cheryl I had pushed away before came back to me 
now.  Tall, strong, aggressive.  And very angry at me these 
days, ever since she'd caught me with Tabitha.

"Shit!  I have to go.  It's been nice talking but I really have 
to go."

"Of course, Mark.  Cheryl's waiting for you.  I'll see you 
again.  Soon."

I drove home quickly, grimacing at the boring ads on the 
billboards, and hoping Cheryl was kept late too so that I would 
have time to make dinner.  As I neared the house my heart sank.  
I had driven there automatically, even though it was in a 
different neighborhood, and I remembered now how small it was.  
Just four rooms.  The light was on.  I walked in quietly.

She was waiting for me in the living room, watching television.  
She stood up slowly.  I had to look up at her.  She was at least 
a head taller than me, and it was obvious she worked out 
regularly.  Her arms and shoulders were, if anything, bigger and 
harder than her playing days in college.  Her large chest, 
augmented by her lovely breasts, looked so menacing when she was 
angry.  She took a deep breath, expanding that chest even more.  
Oh why did I marry someone so big?

"So where where you?  Wait, don't try to tell me you were 
working.  I called your office.  They said you were sick.  Well 
if you were sick you should have been home by now."  She looked 
at me closely.  "And what's that stuff on you?!!"  She pulled me 
roughly under the light.  "Lipstick!!"  Her big hand flew out 
and struck me across the face.  I saw stars and went down, hard.  
Ryan was peeking out of his room, sniffling, Amy right behind 
him, hiding but too curious to stay away.

I looked up at her.  She reached down for my hand and roughly 
pulled me back onto my feet, deciding whether to knock me down 
again.  

"Cheryl, please.  It wasn't my fault.  Someone ... Tara forced 
herself on me."

She glared at me.  I looked at the arm attached to the hand 
holding my wrist tightly in place.  It was the arm of someone 
naturally muscular to begin with, who worked in a warehouse 
every day moving heavy boxes, who spent her time off playing 
physical sports, and whose identity was bound up with her 
strength..  "That damn Tara Beaumont.  Always after your ass.  
Not that I can understand why, but those big shots are funny 
that way.  I'd make you quit your job there, but we need the 
money.  I can't believe you don't have enough character to keep 
her away.  You're so easy, but I guess I knew what I was getting 
when I married you."  She put her large hands on my shoulders 
and squeezed.  I grimaced from the pain and cried out.  "You're 
so careless about it too, you little slut, and then you have the 
nerve to come home and waltz in, like I'm going to greet you 
with a smile, pick you up and kiss you!"  She pushed me away.  I 
tumbled back into a chair, wrenching my back. 

She glared at me. "We've been short of money ever since you lost 
that promotion because of your stupid affair with that child.  I 
don't know when we'll ever be able to get a new house."  She 
glared and me, then, settling down, sat down on her big chair.  
Looking at her, I thought about the other Cheryl.  Her soft skin 
and lips, the sweet smell of her perfume, her sturdy, yet giving 
body.  Only young children were that soft now, and this Cheryl 
didn't look like she ever wore perfume.  She growled at me and 
stomped out of the room.  I went into the cramped kitchen and 
put up some spaghetti for dinner.  It was just about the only 
thing I knew how to cook.  

Cheryl came in as I dumped the pasta into the pot.

"Spaghetti?  Hmmph!  That's the kind of thing I'd make for the 
kids.  I was thinking of something nicer, like one of your 
cassaroles.  That might put me in a better mood, you know."  She 
put her hand on my ass and squeezed a little.  The pain wasn't 
entirely unpleasant, I realized, and I felt a small jolt in my 
groin.

I started to protest.  "But I--

"I know it's late," she interrupted.  "Come on, that tuna thing 
you make.  It doesn't take that long."  She reached up to a 
cabinet and pulled out a couple of tins of tuna.  "How many do 
you need, two or three?"

"Three," I said, automatically, "and the ziti and tomatoes."

"Yeah, that's the one.  You know, with the spices."

I nodded.  I took down the basil, oregano and thyme and a touch 
of chili.  I had no conscious idea of what I was supposed to do, 
but my hands knew more than my head.  Pretty soon, I was 
stirring the sauce in a pan while the ziti boiled.  Cheryl 
helpfully opened the cans of tuna and was grating some cheese 
for the topping.  Soon the sauce was done and I spooned the 
ingredients into a dish and popped it in the oven for 20 
minutes.  I had things under control.  Cheryl had left by then 
and had ordered the kids to bed.  Now she was watching 
television.  I took a couple of beers in and joined her.

"It smells good," she said agreeably.  

"Yeah.  It's pretty easy to make."

"For you maybe.  I always ruin it."  She looked over at me.  
"I'm still pissed at you, you know."

"Yeah?"

"I think you encourage her.  You should be able to get her to 
leave you alone."  I didn't say anything.  She shook her head 
and we watched the show silently until the timer went off, then 
ate in front of the TV set on our snack tables.  She evidently 
enjoyed it, and went back twice for more, her footsteps making 
the tiny house shake.

I found the shows boring and after I ate got up to clean, then 
cleared off the table and worked a bit on my report.  At ten she 
clicked the set off and peeked inside.

"Come on, let's go to bed.  Are you feeling better?"  

"Yeah.  I think I'm fine now."  

She smiled.  "Good."  She motioned with her eyes to the bedroom 
and I put my papers away.  I had a feeling I knew what was 
coming, and although I could feel myself getting aroused I also 
didn't feel entirely happy about it.  In fact, to my surprise I 
felt slightly ashamed and embarrassed.  We washed up a bit.  I'd 
gotten undressed already, and now I watched Cheryl undress.  She 
knew I was looking at her and gave a kind of wink as she pulled 
her shirt over her head and tossed it on the floor.  My heart 
pounded as I surveyed her shoulders and full biceps, which she 
tightened, both to arouse me and, I felt, to intimidate me.  It 
worked.  She reached out to me.  "Come over here and touch me."  
It wasn't exactly a command, but it wasn't a seduction either.  
I swallowed and extended my hand, and she pulled me to her 
holding me across her lap and running her large hand along my 
abdomen and up my erect penis.

"You're so easy, Mark, so easy.  I never really understand, you 
know, why you get so turned on by my strength.  I mean, even 
though I push you around and stuff, you still come back for 
more.  But you've always been that way, haven't you.  It's why 
you wanted to marry me in the first place, right?"  I looked up 
at her.  "You don't like to admit it, I know."  She smiled.  "I 
wouldn't either, if I were in your shoes."  She picked me up, 
easily carrying me to the bed, and climbed on top of me.  "It's 
funny, isn't it, how it's usually the bigger men who go with 
smaller women, and the smaller men, like you, who go for women 
like me.  I guess opposites attract."

She rubbed against me, and I could smell her arousal.  I was 
really hot now, and I pushed upward, quickly pushing inside her.  
"Mmm, yes.  That's right."  She pushed down against me, her 
weight and the power of her hips almost crushing me.  She moved 
across me, up and down, rubbing against me, and I felt something 
firm against my pubic area.  Was that her clit?  It was like a 
little stub, digging into me.  I pulled away slightly.  "Oh no 
you don't!  I want it tonight, all the way, and you're going to 
give it to me!"  She circled her hand under my ass and pulled me 
back into her, right up against her hard clit.  "Oh, yes!" she 
cried, pulling me closer.  I couldn't pull away at all -- she 
was too strong.  Her biceps pressed into my waist, her bulging 
muscle much harder than my stomach.  This wasn't anything like 
sex in the old reality.  My whole body felt battered by hers.  
Her motions became more insistent, more rapid, and then she 
groaned and sighed.  Her hand relaxed its grip and I felt her 
muscles softening.  It was my turn at last.  I was almost there 
and I started my own thrusts.  She turned her head and looked at 
me, a small smile crossing her lips.

"What do you think you're doing?"

I was panting, right on the edge.  "I ... I"  And then I felt 
her clamp on me with her pussy lips.  She'd stopped me cold!

"I'm not ready to let you come in me again yet."  She pushed up 
on the bed, lifting herself over me.  "That's my decision.  If 
you start behaving, maybe I'll change my mind."

I looked up at her huge chest looming over me, the round breasts 
hanging down, bouncing slightly with each deep breath.  I wanted 
her so much, and hated her too.  She smirked at me, and yawned a 
lazy, satisfied smile and went off to the bathroom.  I followed 
fifteen minutes later, and by the time I'd washed up I heard her 
snoring loudly.  So I finished the job myself, my mind wandering 
to Tara, mostly the old one, but then, just a bit, also the new.

I had vivid dreams that night, but they were only dreams.  

The next few days at work were just as disconcerting, although 
the old life I knew was becoming more and more remote.  It was 
hard to adjust to my loss of status and power.  At work, I was 
just one of a team, and some of the women were more senior 
members than I.  I knew them from around town -- they had been 
just sales clerks, secretaries or mothers before, but now, given 
a chance to compete equally, they were ahead of me.  Our local 
manager, J.D., didn't work for us anymore.  He stayed home with 
his kids while his wife worked at a union job making good money.  
The physical change was even harder.  I figured I was about 25% 
weaker than I used to be and had lost a couple of inches of 
height and about 25 pounds -- a good bit of it muscle.  I hadn't 
noticed at first because everything was built smaller, and most 
objects were lighter than in my old world, but my arms were 
thinner and I had more trouble lifting things and moving things 
around.  A couple of times I jumped up to help larger and 
obviously stronger women with boxes and packages and all I got 
was strange looks.

Amy and Ryan were different too.  Ryan was older, but just a 
little bit stronger than Amy, who evidently had inherited her 
mother's build.  She was stocky and athletic, with thick arms 
and chest, and Ryan was already a little afraid of her.  They 
were both very sweet with me, and it was a pleasure to hug them 
in the morning before dropping Amy off at child care and Ryan at 
school.

Sunday morning came, and I called Fred, hoping that our weekly 
game was still on.  He answered the phone.  "Yeah, Mark?"

"Hi, Fred.  Are we getting together this morning?"

"Yeah, I guess so.  Where should we do it?"

"I don't know.  The usual place, I guess.  The Eastside courts?"

"The courts?  What are you talking about?"

"You know, tennis?"

"Mark, has Cheryl been hitting you too hard on the head or 
something?  I don't play tennis.  Not since seventh grade."

"But -- "  I thought about it.  Fred wasn't a great athlete -- 
neither of us were -- but we'd always enjoyed hitting the ball 
around.  But I couldn't call up an image of Fred doing that in 
this reality.

"I thought you'd come over and we could finish organizing my 
collection."

His collection?  Fred had the greatest collection of porn 
around.  It was a great secret.  I discovered it by accident and 
his wife, Beth, never knew about it.  As a born again, she would 
hit the roof.

"On Sunday morning?  Isn't Beth home?"

"Come on, Mark.  She knows I never go to church.  It won't 
bother her."

"Yeah, but, I mean, I thought, I mean, she's not out of town at 
her mother's, is she?"

"No, she's right here.  Hey, Beth, Mark's getting all shy.  
C'mere and tell him to come over."

I heard the phone being handed over.  "He really needs your 
help, Mark.  It's getting out of hand and he won't let me touch 
it."

I swallowed.  I had to see this.  "OK. I'll be right there."  
Cheryl was still sleeping, and she was booked at the gym for 
10:30.  She'd take the kids along with her.  I left them 
watching TV and eating cereal, set the alarm for her and drove 
over in my car.  There was Fred, and Beth, in the living room, 
surrounded by books and books of ... stamps!

Beth smiled and shook my hand, and "I don't see why you boys 
find this so much more interesting than the word of our Lord, 
but what can I do?  I have a church lunch to serve so I won't be 
home until three, Fred.  Please remember to take out the roast 
for defrosting, ok honey?"

"OK.  Mark'll remind me.  He has a great memory.  OK!  Let's 
start with Lithuania, ok?"  I nodded, but it was all I could do 
not to fall asleep in the middle of Mexico, and I begged off at 
lunch time, promising to call later to remind Fred about the 
roast.

I drove out to the river, figuring that a walk at least would 
clear my head of the past life and maybe bring back some memory 
of the life I was living now.  The river wasn't especially 
pretty, but it was empty and I had a good view of the prairie.  
After about an hour and turned around and headed back, feeling a 
little winded.  Obviously, this body wasn't in any better shape 
than my old one.  As I walked I saw someone approaching me.  It 
was Karen.  I waved and picked up the pace a bit to meet up with 
her sooner.

"Mark!  What are you doing out here?  Since when do you like to 
go river walking?"

"I don't know.  I just felt like it today."  I looked at her and 
smiled.  She looked great.  The extra 4" of height looked good 
on her, and her cheeks were flushed from the exercise.  "Can we 
walk together?"

"Sure, but you'll have to keep up with me.  I walk fast."  

"I'll try," I grinned.  "Do you come here every Sunday?" I 
asked.

"Pretty much.  I like to get out after church.  My sister takes 
the kids."

"But what about Bob?"

She stopped dead in her tracks and looked at me strangely.  
"Bob's dead, Mark.  He's been dead for three years."  She 
studied me.  "You know, Mark, you've really seemed a bit off 
this week.  Do you think you ought to see a doctor?"

"No, no, I'm fine.  I just -- there is something, but let's walk 
a bit."

She nodded, satisfied for the moment.  "Your work's fine, you 
know.  It's not that.  And you don't have to tell me if it's 
personal.  I mean, being at the same office it might make you 
uncomfortable, because, you know, I might have to do something 
about it if company policy ...."

I took a gamble.  "But if I told you something ... as a friend?"

She smiled and didn't say anything for a minute.  "It's pretty 
out here, isn't it.  I've heard that some people think the 
Midwest is ugly, but I say you can take your mountains and 
oceans.  Give me the prairie any day."

"Yeah, I really prefer this kind of scenery too."  We walked 
silently for awhile.  Then she spoke up.

"So, uh, how are things at home Mark.  Still the same?"  I 
nodded.  She winced.  "Sorry about that.  You know, a lot things 
would've been different if we'd stayed together.  Not that I'd 
give up my kids for anything!  But ... you know, you can think 
about things."

"I know.  I guess Cheryl kind of swept me off my feet."

Karen snorted.  "Well, you were susceptible to her, at least.  
You couldn't stay away from her, as I recall it, no matter what 
I did.  And I'd thought ... well, that's old history by now.  
Funny how we never talked about it, all these years, working in 
the same office and all."

I was keeping pace with her, pretty much, and then she slowed 
down a bit to make it easier to talk.  "I don't really 
understand, Mark what attracted you to her.  I mean, I know some 
guys just look at girls' muscles.  Some girls are like that too, 
with guys' bodies.  But I, you know, I thought other things were 
more important to you.  I mean, we had so much going for us, so 
much in common."  She'd really slowed down now.  "We could have 
had one of those true marriages of equals.  We're almost the 
same size.  You're a little taller, I'm a little thicker I 
guess, but we could have shared everything.  Instead, everything 
got mixed up.  I mean, I loved Bob very much.  But I always 
wondered.  Didn't you?"

"Yes," I said quietly.  I had wondered, a little, back in the 
old reality.  But in that reality Karen was my first girlfriend, 
and she seemed almost a part of myself.  Marrying her would have 
been like marrying a friend.  Now, walking side by side, we were 
even closer.  I really felt like I could talk to her.  But I 
wasn't sure what it would have been like marrying her.  It would 
have almost been too intimate.  I cleared my throat.

"Karen.  I -- I don't belong here."

"What do you mean, Mark?" she replied, a little startled at the 
turn of the conversation.  "You mean, here alone with me?"

"No, no.  It's not that.  I mean," I threw up my arms, "I mean 
here."

"You've lived here almost your whole life.  Where else would you 
be?"  She was looking at me carefully.

"Yes, but, not ... here.  Things ... things have been changed 
Karen.  I don't expect you to understand this, but I have to 
tell somebody, and I think you're the only one I trust."

She smiled briefly.  "Thanks, Mark.  I appreciate it.  Well, go 
on.  This town not big enough for you these days?"

"No, it's ... uh a bigger problem than that."  I paused, and 
then plunged in.  "Reality's been changed, Karen.  I mean, I 
come from a world where almost all men are bigger and stronger 
than women, where men have all the important jobs and women 
mostly just take care of the kids.  And Cheryl, there, she's 
just about the same size as me, and you're a lot smaller.  And 
Bob -- he had financial problems, but I helped him and he didn't 
-- you know -- didn't die.  And you, you do volunteer work and -
-

She laughed nervously.  "What funny ideas you have!  How'd you 
ever come up with that one?"

"It's real, as real as this.  At least it used to be."

"Uh-huh.  And what happened?" she went on, nervously.

"You know Tara, Tara Beaumont?  She was my secretary.  She got 
hold of a machine that changed everything to what it is now.  
That's how she got to be so rich."

She laughed.  "Quite a machine.  Better than Powerball.  I'd be 
happy with a hard drive that didn't crash."

"Please don't joke! I know you think I'm crazy, but Karen, all 
my memories are of that world, not this one.  I don't know who 
else I can talk to about it."  

I stopped and held her back, and she stayed still, looking into 
my eyes.  She put her hand to my face.  "Poor Mark.  You really 
believe this."

"No, it's not that I believe it, Karen.  I've lived it.  I have 
trouble believing this is real."

She looked at me intently, still searching my eyes, and said 
softly, "Yes.  I can see that."  Then she went on with her 
midwestern practicality, "but I haven't.  This is all I know.  
This is who I am.  What am I supposed to do about it?"

"No, I just can't believe it.  You've been part of my life as 
far back as I remember.  You must have some recollection!  The 
past I've lived cannot have completely vanished!  Think hard, 
really hard.  Tell me what you remember about our first kiss."

Karen smiled.  "Okay.  That's a good place to start.  It was 
spring, in high school.  We'd gone to a movie.  I was walking 
you home."

"Wait -- you were walking ME?"

"Well sure.  That's how I was brought up.  You know, girls grow 
up sooner, so I was bigger than you then, and so I did the 
ladylike thing and made sure you got home safely.  Anyway, the 
moon was out and we looked into each other's eyes.  It just 
seemed so perfect, so I bent down and kissed you.  You didn't 
object at all, I recall."

"Of course, not, but I walked you home.  I bent down to kiss 
you, and you licked your lips afterwards and said I tasted like 
an apple."

"I did say that!  And you were embarrassed, and I had to hold 
you to stop you from running away."

"I was embarrassed, but I wasn't running; you held me to show 
you that you didn't mean anything by it, except that you liked 
it."

"I did like it, and I wanted another kiss but --

"We saw Father Meyer and he stared at us --

She laughed.  "Who's Father Meyer?!  It was MOTHER Bell.  SHE 
laughed at us.  Until we started walking again."

They both spoke at the same time.  "You DO remember it, but -- 

"differently," Karen said.  "Obviously."

"And this is as real to you as the other is to me," I answered.

"Then maybe it's true, what you're saying.  Somehow it makes 
sense, a little."  We walked in silence.  "What does it all 
mean?" Karen asked.

"I don't know.  I don't know what Tara's going to do next.  She 
might make more changes."

"Will I know?"

"Maybe.  But, actually, I don't think so.  I think only I will 
remember."

We kept walking.  "Mark, I'm glad you opened up to me like this.  
You've always been so private.  I hope -- whatever she does -- I 
hope you can always talk to me.  I'll listen, just like today.  
I promise."

There were tears in my eyes. "Thanks Karen.  Thank you.  I -- I 
feel so alone right now ... so confused.  I --"  I suddenly bent 
down.  My mouth was becoming dry.  "Oh no!"

"What's the matter, Mark?"  I looked up.  Karen was reaching 
down to help me.  I took it and she pulled me up, quite easily 
it seemed.  My eyes widened.  We were exactly the same height 
now, and she was broader-shouldered than I was.  

"She ... she just did it again, Karen.   She's made you bigger."

Karen looked at me skeptically.  "Oh Mark!  You can't be 
serious!  I haven't grown for years!"

"You don't remember, I know.  But ... Karen ... you do remember 
the talk we just had, right?"

"Oh yeah, of course!  And I'm really glad you feel you can talk 
about it with me."  She put her hand on my shoulder and give me 
an affectionate squeeze.  "It's really a strange story.  It must 
be so hard for you to feel so out of place."  She kept her hand 
in place possessively.  "It's nice thinking again about when we 
were younger, you know, our first kiss.  I always thought you 
sort of resented me, forcing myself on you like that.  But I 
couldn't help it.  You were so cute, and I knew you liked me.  I 
guess I did take advantage of the situation a little, suggesting 
we take the 'long way' home because I wanted to see the moon!  
But it worked!"  She laughed.  "I shouldn't have tackled you 
though when you tried to run away.  You got in a lot of trouble 
for being so muddy.  I guess it's not fair that we girls grow up 
so much earlier and we're so much bigger and stronger for 
awhile, but it mostly evens out in the end, right?"

I was fascinated, and a bit frightened.  What else had changed?  
"Oh yeah!  I didn't remember that."

"Really?  I thought you'd hold that against me forever!  It was 
so unfair of me too, taking advantage of you like that.  Boys 
are so much weaker than girls at that age.  But I guess you were 
always kind of slight, and you were probably used to it.  Well, 
I'm glad you're such a good sport and it's all behind us now."  
She put her hand on my back and rubbed me.  "You still are cute, 
you know."

"Yeah, well it's ... oh, no, not again!"  I felt dizzy and 
nearly fell, but Karen caught me.  "Thanks, she keeps ..."  I 
was looking up at her.  She was a couple of inches taller than 
me.  "She's done it again!" I cried.

Karen smiled, a little indulgently.  "Just now?  Just like 
that?"

"Yes!  Five minutes ago, I was a couple of inches taller than 
you.  Now you're taller than me!"

She made a clucking sound with her tongue, put her hand on my 
back and stroked me with her fingers.  "I don't know, Mark.  
I've always been taller than you.  Not as much as when I was 
twelve, but you never really caught up.  But it's nothing to be 
worried about.  Most guys are shorter.  Why would it bother 
you?"

"No!  It's not that!  It's the changes!"

She rolled her eyes.  "Yeah, you told me your story, and it's 
real interesting, but don't you think you're taking it too far?  
I've always liked you, you know that.  You really have an 
imagination.  I bet you could be a writer.  Some guys do that 
too, you know, when the kids are at school."  She moved her hand 
down my back and licked her lips slightly.  "But you don't want 
to keep going on about this.  People will say things about you."  
I started feeling dizzy again, but I was fully in Karen's arms 
and she was supporting my weight.  Her hand was over the small 
of my back and she pulled me closer.  "If you need to talk to 
anyone about these dreams, talk to me, Mark.  I'm pretty 
discreet.  But let me give you a little advice.  Keep it to 
yourself otherwise.  And don't say anything to Cheryl.  You know 
it's not the kind of thing she'd understand.  Not at all."  
Another wave of nausea passed through me and when I came too 
Karen was reaching down and patting my penis, which was 
uncomfortably hard, while her other hand supported me.  I looked 
up at her towering over me by at least eight inches, and then 
looked down.  My penis barely fit inside my pants, threatening 
to peek over the waistband, which was now elasticized instead of 
the snap on jeans I had put on this morning.  Waistband!  What 
was going on?  And I'd never been that large!  "Karen wouldn't 
understand at all.  But I don't have to tell you that, do I?"  
She bent down slightly and kissed me.  I shuddered again from 
yet another bout of nausea and when I came to my arms were 
around her, feeling her surprisingly broad back and firm arms.  
Her biceps were as thick as any I'd ever seen, and I could feel 
her muscular power coursing through her body.   I felt very 
small and helpless, and it felt good to have her hold me like 
that.  "Aww, that's so sweet, Mark!" she said, lifting me so 
that our eyes looked directly into each other.  She held me as 
though I weighed nothing.  I realized what was happening.

"Uh, uh, Karen," I said, "maybe we shouldn't be --

She chuckled, grabbing my ass and lifting me up higher. "What's 
the matter, is this a moral thing, or are you just about to 
blow?"  She put one large hand under my ass and reached in front 
with the other to stroke me a couple of times, making me groan 
with pleasure, then she laughed and pushed against the base of 
my member.  I felt the tingling quickly subside.  "You're so 
sensitive, Mark, so easily aroused.  It's a good thing I can 
stop you so easily, otherwise there'd be a lot more cleaning 
bills, you know?"  I nodded.  "What funny creatures you men are, 
so unable to control your feelings, or even your own bodies!  Is 
that better?  Are you ok walking again?  I can carry you all 
day, you know, but I thought you wanted the exercise."

"Uh, yeah, Karen.  I'm fine now."

She put me down and as my erection had subsided fully we started 
walking again.  With my legs so much smaller than hers, I was 
having trouble keeping up with her.  She'd slow down every so 
often to let me catch up, but she was clearly getting a bit 
bored with my slow pace.  "Hey, why don't you just let me carry 
you Mark?  It's really no problem."  She hoisted me on her broad 
shoulders and continued, my thin legs dangling against her 
chest, bouncing against her breasts.  She didn't seem at all 
self-conscious about it.  "You have to know your limits, you 
know.  You have to work up to it gradually.  Next time try a 
half-mile walk, OK?  I'm sure Freddy would go with you.  No 
offense, Mark, but you just can't keep up with me, and I'm not 
getting my exercise this way."

"Yeah, sure Karen.  Thanks."

"Don't mention it."  She picked me up again and held me in front 
of her, against her large breasts.  She started walking, but the 
motion felt almost violent to me and I clutched at her next and 
shoulders.  She rolled her eyes and said, "Don't get shy on me, 
Mark!  I mean, after all!"  She took my hand and shoved it under 
her shirt and onto her breast.  "That's better.  You know it 
makes you feel more secure.  Now we'll really move"  She picked 
up the pace and strode quickly down the river path.  I bounced 
around on top of her, but the motion of her breast against my 
hand was reassuring and I clung to the warmth and comfort of her 
powerful body.  I was getting aroused too, and several times she 
reached down and pressed against my penis to stop me from 
coming, smiling at me as she did it.  "Don't want a mess just 
now, Mark!" she'd chirp, barely breaking her stride.  Her long 
legs covered the ground quickly, but just before we got to town 
she looked around and then headed off the path behind a bluff.  
Before I knew what was happening she'd laid back on the grass, 
pulled up her skirt, pulled down my waistband and inserted me 
inside her.  I was too shocked to say anything.  I thought I'd 
come right away, but instead I found the pressure of her vaginal 
lips too tight.  I was as hard as an iron rod and completely 
aroused, but nothing happened for me, while Karen came half a 
dozen times, each time more violently.  Finally she slowed down 
and looked up at me, grinning sheepishly.  "Sorry I'm being so 
selfish, but it's my fertile time.  I'll make it up to you.  
Really."  She patted me lightly.  "Do you want me to jerk you 
off or something?" she added as she fixed her clothes.

"Uh, no.  That's all right."

"Yeah, it's probably for the best.  Save it for Cheryl, right?"

I nodded.  

Karen was already on her feet, looking very satisfied.  "Mary, 
please forgive me," she intoned, her eyes half closed, her face 
pointed upwards.  "My passions are strong, but my love for you 
is great.  Hold me in your eternal embrace."

I was startled.  This was strange!  "You're praying to Mary?  
You're Catholic?" I asked.

"Catholic?  What are you talking about?"

"I've never known you to pray like that."

"I pray to the true Daughter of God.  Who else would I pray to?  
Her son?"  She said with half a smile.

"Yeah I -- oh, never mind."

"Come on, it's getting a little late. You'll be all right 
getting home?  It's still light."

"Uh, huh.  Thanks, uh, for the lift."

"Ahh!" she waved.  "It's nothing.  It was fun seeing you like 
this.  Sort of like old times."  We stopped in front of the post 
office.  This was where our paths diverged.  "I'll see you at 
work tomorrow.  It'll be a busy day, so get a good night's 
sleep, ok?"

I nodded, unsure of what would await me there.  I watched her 
head home, looking back at me once.  I checked my watch.  Three 
thirty.  Fred's roast!  I went to the payphone to remind Fred, 
then cut through the park on the way home.  I heard some 
laughter, then footsteps approaching.  My warning antenna went 
up and I reached for my wallet.  A big hand grabbed my arm and 
turned me around.

"Hi Mark!" a big voice boomed, then burst into laughter.  It was 
Tabitha.  She loomed over me, easily a couple of feet taller 
than me, her enormous bosom above my head suspended by a narrow 
tube of elastic cloth.  Her shoulders were so broad that my 
whole body fit well within her torso.  I looked up at her 
youthful, slightly mocking face, her red lips slightly parted by 
the tongue that emerged unconciously as she assessed me, half-
tasting me already.  Her hands were on me, each of them cupping 
half of my upper back as the round biceps of her overdeveloped 
arms tensed slightly, exploding into hard balls the size of 
melons.  The fresh scent of her long hair mingled with the odor 
of her sex, which her long legs lifted close to my chin, and I 
felt myself responding to her.  "Oooh!  My little sweetheart!  
What a surprise to find you here.  I was just talking about 
you!"

"Tabitha!"

She responded with a low, throaty laugh, her breasts heaving 
slightly, and she pulled me closer to her, my face resting 
against the soft skin of her abdomen, but I could feel the hard 
sixpack of muscle below.  "Tee-hee, you're such a cutie!"  She 
put her hands under my arms and I felt myself rising quickly in 
the air, her powerful muscles easily lifing my small body.  Her 
fresh tongue hungrily found mine, and she pressed me against her 
body, forcing my body against her cushiony breasts as my growing 
erection rubbed against her hard abdomen.  "Mmmmmm, Mark.  
Telling me you don't want me when you do only makes me want you 
more. I can't help myself.  I just love the feeling of you 
fighting against me, and yourself, and LOSING!"  She squeezed me 
more tightly, and I felt those big, hard arms against my back 
while my chest compressed her breasts in front.  I was lost in 
her flesh and my body shivered, on the verge of coming, when she 
laughed again and let go with one arm and hoisted me higher into 
the air and then let me slide down.  "That's enough!" she 
teased, looking down at my still unstained pants and touching my 
penis lightly, magically stopping the sensations.  "If you can 
admit really want it, come around.  You have to ask for it -- 
this time!"  She put her hand on my penis again and lightly 
stroked it, then laughed again and bounded away to rejoin her 
giggling friends.  I stood watching her, panting, and then 
walked stiffly back to my house.  There, waiting for me outside 
were Amy and Ryan, playing football in the back yard.  Amy was 
four and Ryan seven, but he was having trouble tackling his 
stocky sister.  She squealed, delighted with the game, shrieking 
with laughter, as she walked toward the goal with him hanging 
onto her waist.  I sighed and went inside to make dinner.  
Cheryl was out with some friends and didn't get back until late.

I came in to the office Monday, immediately confused by the 
layout of desks.  Fortunately Karen had something for me to do 
for her right away, and I followed her to my office, a small 
partition at the end of the corridor, where she dropped off some 
papers for me.  It was an unbelievably busy day, with earnings 
reports coming out on half of the companies we followed.  I 
wasn't sure exactly what I was supposed to do.  The report 
seemed almost done, and I guessed that I was supposed to 
proofread or correct it and I gave it back to Karen with some 
marginal notes, which she looked over and nodded.  I went back 
to my partition and read through my emails, mostly 
administrative things.  I'd come down even further in the office 
pecking order, for sure.  

I stayed in at lunch time, mostly to read emails and get a 
better idea about my job.  The office was almost empty, and I 
heard the door open and looked around, a little nervous.  "Who's 
there?" I asked loudly.

"Just me, Mark.  Tara.  I know you're alone."

She sauntered to the back of the office.  "Have fun with Karen 
and Tabitha Sunday?"

I looked up at her.  She was wearing another stunning black 
dress, sequined, strapless and sleeveless, the bulging muscles 
of her well-toned arms evident even as she stood still before 
me.  "What do you know about it?"

"I know a lot of things I shouldn't.  Your "heart-to-heart" with 
Karen was cute, but I guess you won't be able to keep that up 
now.  And that Tabitha's a real knockout isn't she?  Wasn't it 
great to see what her genes can do?" she snickered.   "And she's 
just fifteen!  Imagine how strong she'll be in a couple of 
years!"  She looked down at my crotch, pulsing slightly.  "Awww, 
Mark.  Maybe you don't want to wait so long to find out."

"Cut it out, Tara!"

"Does my talking bother you?  Maybe it would be better with less 
talk, more action?"  

I stared at her impassively.  "Why don't you just let me finish 
my work so I can go home?  You have a better place to go too, 
don't you?"

"I wanted to show you something. My latest invention."  She 
pulled out a flat screen.  It had a picture of Tabitha and me 
from the day before, digitized onto a computer. Tabitha was 
lifting me into the air, her eyes bright as they looked into 
mine, her 19" biceps pumped from holding me, while my feet hung 
down between her legs, inches above the ground.  Tara pushed 
some buttons on a keypad at the bottom of the screen, and 
immediately our clothes disappeared, my hard erection apparent 
against her tight abdomen, my chest pushing against her breasts.  
"There, now we can see everything!"

"What is this, a spying machine?"

"Oh no!  It's an extension of the dream machine, but instead of 
working with mathematical algorithms, now it works with pictures 
too.  It's much more fun this way."  She turned a knob, and I 
felt slightly nauseous for a moment, then fine.  "There, it's 
ready.  I'm just using you two as models, of course.  Tabitha's 
far above average, of course, and you're pretty average, but 
that won't matter.  Now, let's see."  She created an outline 
around Tabitha's figure and began stretching it, increasing her 
height, widening her shoulders and her hips, and as she did so, 
my feet in the picture rose further off the ground.  Then she 
pressed another button and Tabitha's body began flashing.  
"Watch carefully, Mark."  Her body began thickening, her biceps 
slowly growing, her thighs and calves bulging even more even as 
her biceps stayed in place, the muscular ridges on her stomach 
deepening.  Tara smiled.  "It looks like it all goes to her 
legs, doesn't it, but you're just too light to test her muscles 
now."  

"You've made her so huge," I said quietly.

"She's about 7'3" now, and with the extra muscle she weights 
about 480 pounds.  Does she still turn you on?  Let's see."  She 
clicked again, and the body stopped flashing.  My body was still 
wrapped around hers, my erection still hard against her.  "It 
looks like you still find her attractive, Mark."

"This is so silly.  It's just a picture.  That isn't the way she 
looked."

She shook her head.  "You don't understand, Mark."  She pushed a 
button and I felt a wave of intense nausea and slumped to the 
ground.  "It is."  

I shivered, the discomfort passing, and looked up at Tara, then 
looked again.  Tara had grown even taller and more muscular.  
Her legs were bulging with muscle; her arms were thicker than my 
legs.  She helped me up and my head came up only to her breasts.  
"How do you like me now?"  Her dress had grown with her body and 
now was held up not only by her breasts but by prodigious 
pectoral muscles.  She flexed her arm for me and a thick muscle 
soared upwards.

"No, no!" I cried, backing away.  "You can't do this!  It's 
obscene."

She smiled.  "Obscene!  Sounds sexy.  It's nice to hear you say 
that.  Well, I can do it, and more.  I'm not even finished!"  
She bent down to her board and started manipulating the controls 
furiously.  I thought of doing something to stop her, but her 
strength was already many times my own, so instead I backed out 
of the office and started running down the hall.  

"Go on, run away, but there's nowhere to go, Mark," she shouted 
at me.  "I'll see you later, Mark."

I felt another intense burst of nausea and threw up my lunch, 
falling again to the floor.  This was the worst bout yet.  
Everything was whirling, and then it stopped.  I felt weak from 
the nausea, but the feeling didn't go away.  I swallowed and 
opened my eyes.  It wasn't the nausea.  I was just ... weak.  My 
body was like a stringbean, my arms thin and soft, my chest as 
narrow as a ten year old's.  I looked around and looked up to 
see my nameplate on a secretary's desk "Mark Newton".  I pulled 
myself up slowly and sat down, breathing hard.  I looked around 
at the names on the offices:  Karen Shaw, Marnie Jacobs, Bernice 
Holmes, Carol van Hoch.  All women.  Just then Karen strode down 
the hall.

Her voice boomed with authority.  "Mark!  Is that typing done 
yet?"

I looked up at her, confused.  "I'm just doing it now," I heard 
myself say.

"Well finish it right away.  I have a presentation to make to 
the head of Amana's pension fund committee tomorrow and 
Minneapolis wants to read it tonight."

I nodded and finished it the typing quickly, then walked into 
her office, leaving the paper in her in tray.  She was leaning 
back in her chair, her collar loosened while she talked on the 
phone.  Looking up, she held up her hand for me to wait until 
she finished.

"...so we were at the beach when this guy walks by with the 
biggest dick I'd ever seen.  And he was wearing this black 
leather thong thing around it, like he's hiding it or something.  
What a tease!  I don't know how it was holding it in, and he was 
pretending that it wasn't there.  He was desperate, I knew, and 
I thought about it, but he was just sooo ugly I couldn't bear 
the thought.  Marcia and I just looked him up and down ... and 
out!!!  Ha-ha.  Yeah, but it would have been an experience, I 
guarantee it.  Hey, yeah, I gotta go too.  Bye."

She looked up.  "You're a married man?  No?  Oh yeah, right.  
Tara's boy."  She looked to the side.  "Well, I didn't embarrass 
you, did I?"  She smiled when I said nothing.  "I hate it when 
men get sensitive on you.  Let me see.  OK, fax this to Ms. 
Wright at head office.  And remember to pick up my clothes 
tomorrow at the cleaners.  I really do count on you.   You are a 
good secretary -- when you put your little mind to it."

She stood up and I looked as her body rose higher and higher.  
Her large breasts were half a foot above top of my head, her 
broad shoulders and thick arms filled the space in front of me.  
I looked down at my skinny, soft arms, my thin frame.  Tara had 
made me even weaker -- women being larger and stronger wasn't 
enough for her.

"Is something wrong Mark?  You're not going to faint, are you?"

My voice was soft and squeaky.  "No Ms. Shaw.  It's just late.  
I'll take care of everything for you."

"Well, ok then.  And if you need to come in a little late 
tomorrow, that's fine.  I won't be here.  But don't take 
advantage."

"Thank you, Karen -- I mean, Ms. Shaw.  You've always been very 
kind to me.  I mean do you remember when we ...."  I wasn't sure 
what to say.

She stood impatiently.  "Yes?  What is it Mark?  I really have 
to go."

I searched her eyes for some recognition of a relationship.  
There was none.  "I'm sorry Ms. Shaw."

She looked me up and down quickly and grunted, then put on her 
coat and walked out.  I went back to my desk and prepared the 
fax, trying not to think about what had happened.  The telephone 
rang.

"Hello Mark.  Do you know who this is?"

The voice was familiar, but deeper than I remembered.  I wanted 
to say Tara, but...yes.  "Tara?"

"Very good.  It's getting harder for you, isn't it?  Finish your 
work.  I'll meet you downstairs in half an hour."

I set up my PC to send the fax and put on my coat.  I was 
wearing a skirt!  I hated the way it rode up against the coat 
fabric.  It was so cheap.

When the elevator door opened, a tall dark haired woman was 
waiting.  She turned around.  It was Tara, but now she was a 
couple of feet taller than me.  She was dressed in an expensive 
fur coat.

"Well, hello Mark. Nice to see you again.  How are you feeling 
tonight?" she said with a slight sneer.  Her voice was rich, 
melodious.

I looked up at her lustrous hair, her erect bearing, her perfect 
features.  She smiled at me and put her hand to my back guiding, 
no, propelling, me out the door and into her waiting limousine.  
It happened too quickly for me to protest.  The back of the car 
was as large as a bedroom.  She reclined on the long seat and 
beckoned me to sit next to her.  I moved a little closer, but 
kept my distance.

"What's going on now, Tara?" 

"Whatever do you mean?  It's just another regular day.  Tell me, 
is it hard being a secretary?  At least I'm saving you your bus 
fare tonight, and this stockyards area where you live isn't too 
safe for you boys.  Too bad you can't afford a car.  You know, 
you have nearly the same little studio apartment I had when I 
worked for you.  I can't wait to see what you think of it.  
Well, at least this time we don't have to worry about your wife.  
You're not married."

I thought about it.  I had no new memory of Cheryl.  No memory 
of going away to school either.

"What do you want with me, Tara?  Are you still looking for 
revenge?"

She smiled.  "It's fun to dominate you like this.  I've made 
this universe.  Here I have total power, physically, 
economically, socially, and you have none.  Why, just look at 
how I've remade the female body."

She slipped off her coat and laid it on the other side, then 
removed her jacket and shirt and pulled off her pants.  "I'm 
still small for a woman, but even a small woman is over six and 
a half feet tall now, compared with your puny five foot one 
inches."  Her body was packed with muscle, the round biceps 
extended out from her upper arms even as she rested.  I could 
tell she worked out regularly.  "You know it's wonderful how 
easily a woman can add muscle!  One or two workouts a month are 
all I would need to keep myself hard and strong.  Daily sessions 
in my private workout room make me grow and grow.  My arms are 
over 24 inches around! I love it!  Meanwhile, you men have 
hardly any muscle at all, and little ability to increase your 
pitiful strength.  Your bodies are designed for one purpose 
alone - to give us pleasure, and your blood supply, your 
glandular output, even your little brains have little capacity 
to work outside of that narrow function.  You'll see."

"Let me fill you in a little more Mark.  You never went away to 
college; men don't have the physical or mental capacity.  You 
had to work, so you went to secretarial school and graduated in 
the top third.  You did well in your first job, but after ten 
years the company folded.  With the economy bad, it was hard for 
you to find work.  They wanted younger men, even though you are 
good at your work, because you men are so weak and die so young, 
at least compared with us.  I still think you're cute even 
though you are getting on in years, for a man that is, so I 
hired you to work for my brokerage company, where you're a 
secretary for some middle level managers.  It's just part of my 
business empire, you know.  Financial services, technology, 
pharmaceuticals, computer software.  All under Beaumont 
Enterprises.  Beaumont makes up almost a quarter of the American 
economy -- Microsoft, GE, Citigroup, Merck, Intel and IBM rolled 
into one -- and I own two-thirds of it.  Can you imagine how 
wealthy I am?"

"Nice of you to visit us here in the heartland," I quipped, 
weakly.

"I like it here.  Anyway, this is where the action is.  Omaha's 
the biggest city in the US.  New York's just a little ol' port.  
But why talk about business?  You're so far away, Mark.  Why 
don't you come a little closer?"  She reached over with her long 
arm and pulled me closer.  I pushed against her arm, but she 
just ignored me, lifting me up with one hand so that I lay on 
top of her, my puny muscles helplessly trying to resist her.  
She put one big hand on my hip to hold me there, the other under 
my skirt, and started stroking my leg, working her way up higher 
and higher.  I shivered with excitement, trying to resist the 
feelings she was inciting, but I could feel the inevitable 
thickening of my member.  

"There must be laws against this you know!"

"There aren't.  Men don't vote. They're too easily influenced, 
you know.  But what would laws be to me anyway, Mark?  I have 
the government in my pocket, not to mention to dream machine."

"What are you after?"

She stroked me.  I had grown now to eight inches, my member 
starting to show at the bottom of my skirt.

"I just want to show you how it's done here.  You have to admit 
this was a clever touch on my part.  Of course when I made women 
larger, I had to make your penises larger too to satisfy us.  It 
makes so much more sense for men to wear skirts, so that you're 
not boxed in so tightly when you get aroused.  Otherwise, it 
would be very painful being constricted by your pants."  She 
stroked me harder and I still grew.  My head started to swim and 
I began to perspire.  "Having an erection takes a large part of 
your energy.  The blood flow to your organ makes it hard for you 
to think.  It makes your legs and arms even weaker so you can't 
run away  It really makes you totally unsuitable for any 
sustained work, especially at the times of the month when you're 
the most easily aroused.  It doesn't take much for us to render 
you completely insensible.  I've heard that the lightheaded 
feeling can be very enjoyable for you men, although of course 
it's not as intensely pleasurable as our orgasms.  But then, 
that kind of excitement would probably kill you.  Oh yes, one 
other key fact -- once you get aroused, you can't do anything 
about it.  Without the strong pressure and the combination of 
heat and moisture our mouths or vaginas supply nothing can bring 
you to release.  So you see, even if you weren't so weak 
compared with a woman you would be completely dependent on us.  
Throughout history men have worked to build an artificial 
vagina, but you'll never succeed." She ran her long finger up 
and down my shaft, now nearing its full sixteen inch length.  I 
could hardly concentrate on her words, much less say anything 
myself.  I was lost in a welter of sensation and emotion.  She 
wrapped her hand around it and stroked me roughly, up and down, 
again and again.  It felt heavenly, but it only served to make 
me harder, pushing my skirt up to my waist as my penis stood up 
straight in the air. I clawed at her, needing her so, begging 
for release.  She held me firmly and pulled me inside her, 
working my member into her with her powerful vaginal muscles 
pressing against my shaft.  In my haze I felt the shudders of 
her body like a series of rolling earthquakes against my much 
smaller one.  When she was satisfied she changed the motion and 
began to squeeze me, tighter and tighter.  I felt her 
temperature rise as I moved blissfully toward release.  
Exhausted, I fell asleep gratefully in her arms.

I awoke in a small fold-out bed, in what had to be my apartment.  
The phone was ringing.

"Hello?"

"Mark.  It's Freddy.  Aren't you coming in today?"

"What time is it?"

"It's ten-thirty.  Look, I can cover for you today and you can 
rest over the weekend.  I can hear it in your voice.  Who was it 
last night?"

"Huh?  It was Tara."

"Hmmph.  You lucky dog.  I don't know what she sees in you, but 
you better keep yourself in trim to make sure she keeps seeing 
it.  Well, I'm sure your job's safe at least.  I'll meet you at 
the club Sunday, if you're recovered.  Take it easy.  Did you 
have to do anything today?"

"Um, let me think.  Clothes.  Kar - Ms. Shaw wanted me to pick 
her clothes."

"Right.  OK, I'll do it.  Hey, you sleep it off.  I'll check up 
on you later."

"Thanks, Freddy.  Call me, okay?"

"Of course.  We guys have to look out each other, right?  Bye."

I tried to sit up but I felt totally drained and dropped off 
back to sleep.  Finally at two I got up and stumbled to the 
kitchen.  I ate some salad and yogurt and felt a tiny bit 
better.  I looked through my small apartment.  Nothing but 
beauty magazines and romance novels.  There was a scale -- I 
weighed only ninety three pounds!  I turned on the television.  
Everything was twisted.  ESPN showed nothing but women's sports.  
I saw a boxing match with two seven and a half foot woman titans 
battling each other to a draw, each of their punches with more 
than enough power behind it to send Mike Tyson flying out of the 
ring, but these two women just absorbed the blows and hit back.  
I watched the market news for awhile, but I was too tired to 
concentrate on the discussion of the economy.  I tried some of 
the dramatic shows.  It was bizarre.  Virtually every show was 
about women, from sports, to war, to work.  There were no family 
comedies.  Occasionally a man would appear, generally to be 
raped as I had been the previous night, and then abandoned.  
Were we so invisible now that we didn't even warrant an 
appearance on television?

I looked out the window at the drab industrial landscape outside 
my window.  There was the Salem ad.  One large woman, her left 
arm bent slightly and a thin man sitting on her forearm looking 
at her with an adoring expression, her right hand holding a 
half-finished cigarette, which she looked at, ignoring the man. 
The caption:  "Before or after, it's always time for Salem."

I shuddered and decided to take a walk.  A passing woman looked 
at me strangely, but opened the door for me.  It would have been 
too heavy for me to manage.  I started down the street, 
perspiring from the effort and realized I didn't have the 
energy.  I turned back and collapsed in my bed and slept most of 
the next two days.

On Sunday "Freddy" called again, reminding me of our date.  I 
told him I was still feeling ill, but I wanted to meet him at 
the club.  I found the address on an ID card and started on my 
way.

A few blocks from my apartment, I saw a group of girls coming my 
way.  From their faces, I guessed they were about fifteen, but 
they were all gigantic.  They started pointing at me and I 
started to get nervous.  I thought about crossing to the other 
side, but before I could do anything, they had surrounded me.

"Can you believe this guy?"

"Nice pole on him!"

"Tabitha!  You're so rude!"

They all laughed.  I turned to the one who made the remark.  It 
was Tabitha, the babysitter, but this Tabitha was a behemoth, 
seven foot nine, at least four hundred fifty pounds.  Her huge 
breasts stood in front of massive pectoral muscles; her solid 
stomach was ribbed with muscle.  Her shoulders seemed a mile 
wide.  And her arms.  She was only fifteen, but they were each 
thicker than my legs and looked rock hard.

"Oooh, Tabitha, he likes you!"

"They always like Tabitha!"

Grinning, she reached down and scooped me up effortlessly with 
one tree-trunk arm.

"You should be more careful, old man.  Are you sure you have 
enough energy to play with a youngster like me?"

"Tabitha.  I"

"Oh, you know my name!  A secret admirer?  I like hearing you 
say my name!"  She reached under my skirt and started to massage 
me.

"No, please!"  But it was too late, I could feel myself start to 
grow and lose control.  Against my will, my arms cleaved to her 
huge body, and I buried my face in her massive chest.

"He seems sweet.  Girls, I'll see you later.  Don't want this 
poor feller to be stuck in a stiffy.  Just hope I don't kill 
him."

Through the haze I could hear one of them turn my head toward 
her and look into my eyes.  "Well Tabs, he looks pretty far gone 
to me.  At least let him die happy."

They all laughed again, and I felt myself being carried a long 
way.  I pressed against her, needing her warmth, her strength.  
She lay me down on the grass in a secluded part of a park and 
pulled down her pants.  My mouth hung open at the size of her 
legs.  Enormous mounds of muscle, but I didn't have the energy 
even to reach down to touch them.  She lifted me again and 
pushed me inside and I felt her powerful muscles manipulate me.  
Again and again she came, and I grew weaker and weaker.  Day 
turned to night and still the behemoth held me fast.  Finally, 
she took pity on me and I felt the moist heat of her tunnel 
surround me, bring me to climax.  Then, complete darkness.

The next thing I heard was Tara's deep voice.

"Well, Mark.  So you finally made it with your babysitter."

"Tara," I rasped.

"Sshh, Mark.  Don't talk.  You're exhausted.  You should have 
known that men can't have sex more than once a week, especially 
at your age, and especially with a young girl like Tabitha.  But 
I guess it's my fault, putting you in this situation without 
educating you better.  Now listen.  Everything will be alright.  
I don't want you to die.  I've decided to go back to a world 
you'll recognize."

I looked at her gratefully.

"Oh, that's sweet Mark.  Don't thank me.  Of course, things 
won't be exactly the same, but at least you'll be alive."

She left the room.  I could feel my energy fading.  My eyes 
closed.  Then I felt another violent wrench and looked up.  I 
was back in my old office.  The original office.  No demotion.  
I peeked outside.  No Tara!  A secretary I didn't recognize.

"Yes, Mr. Newton?  Do you need me?"

"No Linda.  Thanks."  Linda.  I knew her name.  She'd been 
working for me for five years.  The best secretary a man could 
have.  Single, not too pretty.  Smart, but not too ambitious.  
"I think I'll call it a day Linda.  Why don't you go home too?"

"Oh thanks, Mr. Newton, but I need to finish up here.  Are you 
feeling well?  Will you be in tomorrow?"

"Yes.  I just have some errands to run."

She smiled.  "So you remembered Cheryl's birthday this year.  I 
was just going to remind you.  Very well.  Good evening, sir."

I smiled briefly and left through the back door.  I walked 
through the building.  There was a small office for DRG, Tara 
Beaumont, President.  It was locked.

My car was the same as it was originally.  I picked up flowers 
and drove home.  There was my sweet Cheryl and our children.  I 
hugged them all and Cheryl squeezed me tightly, happily 
surprised by the gift.  On the spur of the moment, she called 
Tabitha to babysit so we could go to dinner and asked me to pick 
her up while she dressed.

As I drove I felt a slight queasiness in my stomach, but it 
passed quickly.  I looked around, worried that Tara was at work 
again, but everything was exactly as before, exactly as it had 
been, exactly as it was supposed to be.  I sighed with relief as 
I entered the driveway.  There was Tabitha, seductive as ever, 
wearing a low-cut top and shorts.  Her breasts seemed larger 
than I remembered, but that wasn't anything to complain about.

"Mr. Newton. So what do you think of my new top?"

"Uh, it looks a little tight Tabitha.  Are you sure you don't 
want to change?"

She shook her head and ran around to the front door to get in 
beside me, breasts bouncing vigorously.

"Don't you think I'm looking more grown up, Mr. Newton?"

"Absolutely Tabitha.  You will make a young man very happy, I'm 
sure."

"I bet I could even make an older man pretty happy.  Are you a 
breast man, Mr. Newton?"

I stopped the car short, brakes squealing.  "Tabitha!  I can't 
believe you're talking to me like this!  I'm a married man, old 
enough to be your father, well almost, and you're still a young 
girl.  Now stop or I'll have to take you home."

She pouted the rest of the way.  When we arrived, Cheryl looked 
at her closely, and then at me, but she satisfied herself that 
everything was normal.  She took my arm and we went out 
together.

It was a wonderful evening.  We ate and drank and danced and 
laughed.  Cheryl and hadn't been in sync like that for years.  I 
figured I was so relieved to be back in the normal world, and 
had missed my true wife so much, that my joy must have infected 
her.  We got back late.  Tabitha was sleeping on the couch.  
Cheryl woke her and I checked the kids, then I got ready to take 
her home, but Cheryl insisted on driving her. Remembering what 
happened earlier I wasn't about to argue.

The next day at work was a little odd.  Many of the secretaries 
and other women called in sick.  Linda was there, of course, old 
reliable Linda, but she looked spiffier to me somehow, younger 
perhaps.  I complimented her and she smiled, wagging her finger 
at me in a good-natured way.  The morning went smoothly, and I 
went out to lunch myself, deciding to get a sandwich and eat in 
the park.  I climbed up to a secluded place I knew, a rock 
behind some trees, and sat down with my lunch, my coke and my 
Wall Street Journal.  Halfway through my sandwich I heard some 
rustling.  It was Tabitha!

"Tabitha!  What are you doing here?"

"It's a free country", she retorted quickly.  Then, more 
quietly, "May I ask you something, Mr. Newton?"

"Of course Tabitha.  But are you in some trouble?  Shouldn't you 
be in school?"

"Yeah, I should, but I'm not really in trouble, except maybe for 
school.  What I wanted to know, is, uh, what turns you on about 
a girl?"

"Tabitha!  I don't think.  I mean, it's not that I'm shocked, 
but that's a very direct question.  And not at all the kind of 
thing you should ask me.  You know I'm married, with a family."

She didn't seem at all deterred.  As if she hadn't heard me, she 
went on.  "I figured you liked breasts, but then I could see 
they made you kind of nervous.  Then I realized Cheryl doesn't 
have big boobs.  She's kind of a jock or something. And I 
wondered whether you'd be more interested in me if you saw me 
with a little more muscle.  You know, I really am quite 
athletic.  You should see me do gymnastics."  With that, she 
bent over into a handstand on the rock.  I jumped up, concerned 
she'd fall on the hard surface, but I quickly saw that she was 
completely in control, her arms easily supporting her weight as 
she hand-walked around the rock.  I was surprised, although now 
that I looked at her more closely, she did seem to have more 
muscular arms than I had remembered from before Tara started 
changing everything.  Noticing my glance, she flipped herself 
upright, doing a somersault in the air, and spread her arms, 
bowing slightly.

I smiled and clapped politely.  "That's very good, Tabitha, but 
I don't want you performing for me."

I saw the tears form in her eyes immediately.  "But why?," she 
cried, voice rising.  "Why do you reject me all the time?  Why 
can't I have you?"  She looked deeply hurt, her fists clenched, 
knuckles white with tension. She turned away from me, and I 
thought she was leaving, but in a slow, pained voice, she 
declared, "I want you, Mr. Newton, Mark, I mean.  I know what 
you like now, and I will have you!"

I didn't understand what was going on.  Tabitha was acting very 
strangely.  She looked at me, making sure that she had my 
attention, and then seemed to concentrate.  I was startled to 
see her body suddenly erupt in an explosion of growth and 
muscle.  Before my eyes, she sprouted six inches, until she was 
as tall as I, and her arms grew impossibly thick with dense, 
hard muscle.  Her shoulders broadened and her chest deepened, 
with her pert breasts standing tall upon her large pectoral 
muscles.  In fact, she was only a slightly smaller version of 
the behemoth Tabitha who had "killed" me less than a day ago.

I almost screamed, when she rushed over to me and clamped her 
hand over my mouth,  I struggled to pry it off, but her strength 
was overwhelming.  She put her other arm around my back, 
pressing me closer to her.  Despite my best wishes, I found 
myself responding to the close contact, stiffening against her 
hard-muscled leg. I felt her purr deeply, and she started 
licking my neck, her tongue thrilling my exposed skin.

"Oh yes, this is what I wanted.  And admit it Mark, this is what 
you wanted to, isn't it?  She pulled her hand away and quickly 
replaced it with her mouth, her lips powerfully sealing mine.  
Feeling the desire growing in me, I surrendered to it and joined 
her in a passionate kiss.  I felt her body respond instantly 
with a shudder, and she said, "You do like me this way.  Shall I 
get even bigger?"  Before I could answer, I felt myself lifted 
off the ground as she grew another foot in height.  Her torso 
became broader too, so that my arms could barely reach around 
her sides to her back.  "Yes, yes.  It's wonderful to have such 
power and to be desired.  Tell me your wildest fantasy and I 
will be it, but kiss me, kiss me more!!"  My hands played over 
her impossibly huge muscles and she responded my making them 
grow even more, until my hand looked like those of a baby's on 
top of her arms.  I felt her gather me again in her arms for one 
more squeeze, a gentle one considering her now enormous 
strength, and then she let me drop down to my feet.  I looked up 
at her, amazed to see now the full extent of her growth.  Why, I 
barely reached her navel (and I was again my original 5'11" 
height).

She sighed and giggled, and the next thing I knew she was 
standing next to me, a normal 5'4" teenage girl again.

I looked at her in wonder.  "Tabitha!  What just happened?"

She winked at me.  "If you can follow me quickly enough, I'll 
tell you," and disappeared through the bushes.  I grabbed my 
suit jacket and tore after her, listening to her shout ahead of 
me.  I reached the clearing, and was overwhelmed by the site of 
hundreds of women in various states of splendor.  Some tall, 
some impossibly sexy, all young and desirable.  Tabitha was 
holding hands with three others and I watched as they changed 
themselves into identical images of Tabitha and then ran in four 
directions, one toward me.  I grabbed her hand firmly.

"Tabitha!  How are you doing this?"  She looked at me, smiled 
and then suddenly changed form again.  It was Tara!

"Hello, dearest.  So what do you think?  Do you like your 
chameleon women?"

"How am I supposed to know who I'm talking with?"

"You don't.  Only we know."  She closed her eyes and suddenly 
was the amazon Tara again and gathered me in her arms, a couple 
of feet off the ground.  "Come, little man.  Let me feel your 
body next to me.  What's wrong?  Am I scaring you?  Or are you 
just jealous?"

"This doesn't work!  How can I live when things change all the 
time?"

"But I told you life would be hell for you if you rejected me.  
I'm only keeping my promise."

"It's not just me.  It's everyone.  You're destroying the 
world."

"Oh, so you're worried about everyone else?  You think things 
are changing too quickly for them?  Obviously you don't 
understand how it works, but I can afford to indulge you my 
sweet and grant you your wish.  For the last time.  Au revoir!"

She threw me a hundred feet into the air.  I panicked, and then 
felt that wrenching, sickening feeling again and sat up, 
startled and screaming, in my own bed.  Cheryl was next to me.

"What is it, honey?  Bad dream again?"

I looked over at her and carefully got back under the covers, 
nervously edging toward her, then, feeling her firm, but smaller 
body next to me, surrounded her in a grateful hug.

"MY!  You haven't done this at three in the morning for a long 
time!  Maybe you need more bad dreams!"

"Cheryl!  I love you.  Please remember that, always, no matter 
what happens!"

"Mark!  Is there something you need to tell me?"

I looked here straight in the eye.  "Only that I will love you, 
and be true to you, for the rest of my life.  I promise!"

She looked but smiled anyway.  "I'm sure there's a story behind 
this, but I'll take your promise.  You can tell me more 
tomorrow."

I settled in next to her and we both relaxed and went back to 
sleep.  I'd never be able to tell her the whole story, but at 
least I knew what I had, and I would hold onto it now with all 
my strength.

As if that mattered.

At work the next day, everything was suspiciously normal.  Linda 
was my secretary again.  She had returned to her efficient, 
somewhat dowdy self, and the rest of my staff worked in their 
old ways.  I was desperate for lunch hour, then flew out of the 
office to search the building for DRG.  It didn't exist.  I 
checked the telephone book for Tara, under Donatelli, then under 
Beaumont.  Nothing!  She had vanished, as completely as only the 
Mistress of the Universe could.

For days I watched every event with unhealthy attentiveness, 
waiting for the world to change in some horrible way.  But there 
was nothing.  My children went to school each day.  Cheryl made 
her usual rounds.  The office functioned.  And I spent each day 
on tenterhooks, waiting for that call from Tara, or that 
sickening feeling signaling another change.  Linda asked if I 
was well.  My staff realized it was useless to try to get any 
approvals on their projects.  Cheryl wanted me to see a doctor, 
and then at least prevailed upon me to take my temperature.  All 
for naught.

I researched the birth records of Tara's home town to see if she 
even existed.  Sure enough, she had vanished there too, but then 
I realized that the Tara Donatelli who grew up in St. Paul, 
Minnesota had many switches ago become a Tara Beaumont, who 
probably hailed from Beverly Hills, Far Hills, Shaker Heights, 
Park Avenue, Greenwich, Connecticut or someplace like that.  I'd 
never be able to track her down.

Slowly, I let life return to normal.  Then, three months later, 
tragedy struck.  Cheryl and I had been attending marriage 
counseling sessions three times a week.  Luckily we had found a 
good therapist, and I thought we were rediscovering what had 
made our early years of marriage so exciting.  We left the 
building and crossed the street to our car.  Suddenly, out of 
nowhere, a car sped toward us.  I don't know how I got out of 
the way, but it hit Cheryl squarely and knocked her ten feet in 
the air.  I saw a small hand flutter in the air as the damn 
driver disappeared down the street.  I shivered when I saw the 
license plate "DRG-2007."  DRG!  It must be Tara!!  

I ran back to Cheryl.  She was dead, and from the way the car 
smashed her, it was a good thing.  I felt numb as I waited for 
the police to collect the body.  Poor Cheryl.  Poor me.  Poor 
kids.  And how would I take care of them now?  

My thoughts turned to Tara. Did I imagine that license plate 
number?  I gave the information to the police, but they told me 
there was no such registration in Iowa, and only one nationally, 
in New Mexico.  Of course, I knew that with Tara's control of 
the dream machine the information was meaningless.  Unless it 
was some kind of message for me.  Was 2007 an address?  A date?  
Some kind of word?

The next few years were a blur, as any single parent with small 
children would know.  It took months before Ryan could go to 
sleep without an hour of crying, and Amy refused to leave me in 
the mornings to go to school.  My career took a sudden change.  
My family couldn't help with the kids and I did not want to 
leave them to daycare; luckily my boss found a way to let me 
work at home on a flexible basis as an independent contractor, 
developing interactive sales tools for my company on the web.  I 
didn't lose the house, but my income nosedived.  In fact, I did 
little for five years except raise Amy and Ryan and use my spare 
moments to build a part-time consulting business.  With Cheryl 
at home and the usual office routine, I had been a news hound, 
reading three papers a day, plus interactive services.  Now, I 
had no time even for one.  

I never heard from Tara, and as time passed I stopped thinking 
about her and the whole bizarre adventure that preceded Cheryl's 
death.  

But as we approached the third millennium, there were a few 
events that stirred my awareness.  It started when I was working 
on a communications interface for Nike for a portable web 
surfer, the kind everyone wore instead of simple wrist watches.  
It was designed for runners who wanted to upload to the Nike 
site their vital statistics, heart rate, blood oxygen levels, 
temperature, lung capacity, while they ran. The Nike site kept 
the information for their subscribers, measuring fitness levels, 
both individually and in comparison with other runners in the 
database and even providing alerts if certain levels were 
exceeded or if the runner had a heart attack.  I was testing the 
interface with the initial database when I noticed something 
strange in the performance tables.  There were only very small 
differences in the tables for men and women!  I remembered 
hearing about the steady improvement in the record running times 
for women marathoners, who were now approaching the men's world 
record time of 2:05 set in 1996, but I had little time for the 
news and just assumed that this reflected improved training 
techniques, and the special abilities of elite female runners.  
Yet this database represented the composite performances of the 
general population.

I scrolled over to another portion of the Nike site and found 
that female performance records were improving at a much greater 
rate than those set by men.  In fact, I found that since 1998, 
the "Ironman" triathalon record had been held by a woman.  Nike 
included a Sports Illustrated article that made a big fuss about 
this and theorized that with the growing equality in athletics 
programs resulting from Title IX, other endurance records that 
depended on endurance as well as strength would soon belong to 
women, noting in particular long distance swimming and track 
records.  But I had another thought: Did Tara have something to 
do with this?

Now, you must understand that I had been cut off from the world 
outside my little office, except for the work projects I did, 
and of course my children.  Most of my work was in the financial 
services area, so I had completely missed the news about 
athletic performance.  Now I thought about my children.  Amy was 
now 10 years old.  Even though she was a bit of a tomboy, she 
was a darling girl, helping with the housework.  I suddenly 
wondered why I never had to protect Amy from her brother.  Sure, 
when she was 4 and he was 7 he teased her all the time and I'd 
always be punishing him for making her cry, but that had stopped 
a couple of years ago.  A normal 13 year old boy would usually 
be quite capable of torturing his 10 year old sister, and Ryan 
was neither a weakling nor an angel.  Yet he stayed clear of 
her.  They got on like best friends.  It wasn't my parenting 
skills, that was for sure.

Since last year Amy had become very modest, so I could not 
recall her being particularly muscular, but thinking about the 
heavy furniture in the living room and the thorough cleaning 
work she always did, I realized that to move the chairs and sofa 
around required real strength, more than I would expect a young 
girl to have.  So that afternoon, I was little devious and 
instead of taking the kids home from school, I packed up their 
swimming suits and took them for a surprise trip down to the 
community pool.  They were shocked that I would take the time to 
play with them, as I was always working, and they readily 
agreed.  We clowned around for awhile; then I suggested we play 
catch with Ryan.  I picked him up and tossed him into the water 
next to Amy.  He burst out laughing.  Then Amy picked him up.  
She easily held him in the water while he giggled, and then she 
lifted him out of the water over her head, all eighty pounds of 
him, and threw him back to me.  

We played for five minutes this way, tossing Ryan back and 
forth, giving me ample time to see the muscles in her arms 
without staring at them.  These were not the arms of any ten 
year old girl I could remember.  They would have looked more at 
home on a boy of fifteen.  I reminded myself that girls matured 
earlier than boys, but still, even mature women were not usually 
that muscular. 

I stopped the game, feigning exhaustion, and walked back to the 
edge of the pool.   Now I looked around more closely at the 
other women in the pool.  It had been a long time since I had 
seen women with so little clothes on, and I had to try hard not 
to stare.  Cheryl was athletic of course, so I was used to some 
muscle tone on a woman, and I would expect the women who used 
the pool to be a fit group, but I quickly realized that the 
typical woman's body had changed.  Every woman in the pool had 
noticeable biceps that bunched and popped when they bent their 
arms and swam.  Their shoulders were wider, their thighs thicker 
than any women I knew, except in one of Tara's universes.

My heart started racing; I felt faint and leaned against the 
side of the pool.  Tara must be at work.  When had she done 
this, and what would happen next?  I didn't want to make a scene 
and fought to regain my composure before anyone noticed.  Amy 
swam over.

"Dad, you alright?"

"Of course, Amy dear.  Believe it or not, this is as much 
exercise as I've had in years.  I'll just get out and change.  
You can play a bit longer."

"No, that's OK.  Let's go home."  She looked concerned.  That 
was all right.  She had no idea what was really bothering me.

I drove the kids home and Amy made dinner while I worked.  Then, 
once they logged onto their computers and started on their cycle 
of homework and network games, I started to do some real 
research.

The growth in human female muscularity had not gone unnoticed, 
except by me.  Since 1996, scientists had studied the 
phenomenon, but had been unable to explain it.  Many thought the 
accumulation of pesticides and other toxins were responsible, 
but they could not find the mechanism that caused the increased 
muscular growth or why it affected only women. They investigated 
the obvious candidates for solutions, like an increase in male 
hormones or changes in social customs that had previously 
restricted physical exercise for women, but there was no 
evidence for the former, and the universality of the phenomenon 
made the latter a poor explanation, notwithstanding the theories 
of the sportswriters.  In fact, the evidence was that male and 
female babies born in 1999 showed no differences in muscle mass.  
Obviously, exercise had nothing to do with it.

I kept my suspicions about Tara to myself.  Who would believe me 
anyway?

Three more years passed.  By now, there was no mistaking the 
trend.  Women were the stronger sex now, in all respects.  My 
thirteen year old daughter was three inches taller than I and 
outweighed me by seventy pounds of dense muscle.  She treated 
Ryan with affection and care, and he looked up to her as a 
superior being.  After all, she was more than twice as strong as 
he was.  Probably stronger than the two of us together -- not 
that we ever tested it.  She was too sweet for that.  

Men were quickly dropping out of contact sports like football, 
hockey and basketball, and as women acquired the skills that 
years of practice brought to baseball, their superior strength 
and speed would soon eliminate men from that sport as well.  
Only track, tennis and golf, with their separate classifications 
by sex, retained a full complement of male players, although in 
tennis the women's 170 mph serves and lightening quick volleys 
brought an explosive quality to play that was quickly stealing 
audiences away from the men's game.  And in golf, the longer and 
longer courses being built to accommodate the 400 yard drives of 
the top women players would soon leave the men's game a distant 
second.  There still was a demand for male jockeys in 
thoroughbred racing, however.

The extent of the changes hit me full force when Amy and I were 
cleaning out the attic one day and found a stack of my Playboy 
magazines from the 1980's.  She hooted at the skinny women laid 
bare on the centerfolds.

"Were women really that weak, Daddy?"  She held out her arm and 
flexed her 20" bicep with clear satisfaction.  "It must have 
been horrible for them.  No wonder they got taken advantage of 
all the time."

"Well, Amy, this was the way things were for thousands of years.  
Respect for women was always important, even though they were 
weaker than men."

"I like things the way they are now.  Women get stronger and 
stronger every year.  And we're a lot nicer to men than they 
were to us when they were stronger.  You don't read about women 
raping men, do you?"

"No, I guess not.  Women have different ways of satisfying 
themselves and of getting what they want.  But I worry about how 
far this will go."

"I know.  I guess all men do.  No one can figure out what's 
causing it.  But you know what I think?  I'm just glad it's 
happening while I'm alive."  She looked at one of the pictures 
more closely.  "I don't even find that kind of woman attractive, 
and I really don't understand why men thought so.  I mean, she's 
just skin and blobs of fat.  I think some muscle is important to 
being good-looking, even the small amount men have.  Oh, sorry 
Dad."  She reached over and hugged me, squeezing my face into 
her neck.  She was a sweet girl.

Finally, in the year 2005, the transformation of the human race 
stopped, but not before my sixteen year old daughter had grown 
over eight feet tall and more than six hundred pounds, most of 
it thick, rippling muscle.  She had the strength to hold Ryan 
out in front of her with one huge hand around his chest and keep 
him there, flailing away, for an hour without straining herself.  
My head barely reached her large breasts, which had grown in 
proportion to the rest of her body, and while she still 
respected me as her father and humored my attempts to act like 
one, the idea of exercising any authority over a child whose 
biceps were larger than my waistline (the only part of me that 
had grown!) was absurd.  

Besides, what could I teach her about survival in the world?  
Women had completely different needs than men.  Despite their 
huge size, they needed little food except for their vitamin 
requirements, as they apparently now had the ability to 
synthesize much of their considerable protein and energy 
requirements directly from the oxygen and carbon dioxide in the 
air.  (I thought that was a nice touch on Tara's part, as the 
eating requirements of four billion women twice the size of 
adult gorillas would have soon led to worldwide famine.  It also 
did wonders to reduce the greenhouse effect and stop global 
warming.)  Of course teenage girls didn't have to worry about 
being men taking advantage of them.  I tried to teach her 
respect for others, but entirely new social conventions were 
developing, and Amy mostly raised her eyes at my misguided 
attempts to guide her.

"Oh Dad, boys don't want us to respect them.  They just want us 
to play with them.  And they're so easy to please, why shouldn't 
I?  It's not like they can get us pregnant.  You know, women 
don't ovulate now unless they want to.  You really don't know 
anything about women anymore, Daddy.  You should try to hook up 
with one; you'd be a lot happier, you know."  She looked at me 
searchingly.  "You're not one of those men who can only do it 
with smaller girls, are you?"

She was referring to a group of men who had declared their 
refusal to have sex with any girl taller than themselves.  Since 
women reached six feet around the age of 11 now, this stance was 
of more than questionable morality.

"Of course not, Amy.  But, I don't have to discuss these things 
with my daughter!"

"Don't be mad at me Daddy.  Who else do you talk to?  Ryan?  
Come on, Dad.  Admit it.  I'm only sixteen, but aren't I mature 
enough to be able to talk to you about these things?"

I didn't want to admit it, but the fact was that along with her 
greater size, she seemed to have a lot of sense built into her.  
I was coming to trust her judgment on many things, and I 
wondered what other changes, in brainpower or otherwise, Tara 
had made that were not visible to the eye.  I reached up to pull 
on her shoulder, and she bent down to let me kiss her.

"You're a wonderful daughter, Amy.  I couldn't ask for better.  
I promise I'll think about it."

But I did nothing.  Tara had to be out there somewhere.  I had 
something to settle with her, and I did not want to get anyone 
else involved.  So Amy took things into her own hands, and a few 
months later told me that she was getting too busy to help with 
my business and had hired an assistant for me.

"Assistant!  I don't want to bring in anyone from the outside!"

"Relax Dad.  She's very dependable and you know her.  You used 
to trust us kids with her, I remember."

"Not Tabitha!"

She smiled.  "You guessed it.  She's starting today.  In fact, 
she'll be here in a few minutes.  I didn't want to give you any 
time to say no.  Just try it, and we'll talk about it in the 
evening.  Bye, Daddy!"  She bent down to kiss me and zipped out 
the door.  She always called me Daddy when she wanted to sway me 
and it usually worked.

I barely had time to consider what to do when Tabitha knocked.  
I opened the door and was about to start on my "I don't need 
your help" speech when I looked at her and was struck dumb.

Of course, I had seem many versions of Tabitha in my life. I 
remembered them all, but I had never seen such a vision of pure 
voluptuousness, such an excess of flesh, bone, muscle and hair, 
all held together with a beauty and grace that was otherworldly.  
I could only stare.

"Amy says you haven't been out much in the past few years, Mr. 
Newton.  You almost look like you've never seen a woman before, 
at least, not this kind of woman."  She smiled and eased her way 
inside, gently lifting me out of the way as casually as I would 
move the curtains to let in some light.  "Or may I call you 
Mark?  You know, I'm not a little fifteen year old girl 
anymore." She laughed gently.

I heard her talking, but I could hardly concentrate on her words 
while I gaped in wonder at her appearance.  She wore the barest 
minimum of clothing, and everywhere I looked her body was 
erupting out of its covering.  Her shorts barely reached below 
her crotch, leaving over fifty inches of bare leg for me to take 
in.  And what legs they were.  So long that they looked lean, 
but so thick that the globes of muscle that expanded and 
contracted as she moved pulsed with their own separate lives.  
Her sleeveless t-shirt stopped just below her breasts, which I 
could see only by craning my head.  They sat under the thin 
fabric of her t-shirt, suspended just above my head.  So large, 
so available, and yet out of reach of my lips.  My lips!  What 
was I thinking?!  She had been in my house only five minutes and 
already I was imagining my mouth on her nipples.

She noticed my interest right away.  She smiled as she looked 
down into my eyes.  "You know, Mark, when I was your babysitter, 
I always thought you were very cute.  I think you liked me then 
too.  You tried to be faithful to your wife, and I admired you 
for it, a little.  But I was really mad I couldn't tempt you.  
I'm glad you're still interested."  She reached down and picked 
me up like I was a baby, resting her large hand under my bottom.  
"You've put on a few pounds over the years, not that it matters 
to me."  The sensation of being held effortlessly by Tabitha was 
unnervingly erotic.  I could feel the huge firm muscles of her 
arm against my shoulder and pondered the amount of strength she 
must have to lift my 185 pounds without even flexing a muscle.  
Almost automatically, I rested my head against her shoulder and 
she put my hand on the shelf of her breast.

"Come Mark, let's go to bed.  I want to show you a few things."

I stammered, reminding her that she was here to work, but she 
waved her hand, saying, "There'll be time enough for that 
later."  She carried me back to the bedroom and lay down, 
holding me up with one hand while she slipped off her shorts and 
her shirt.  My mouth hung open as my eyes swept over her body.  
She smiled, pleased at my reaction.  I had never seen such an 
expanse of flesh, all molded to exquisite female form except for 
the startling hard muscle that layered her frame like a second 
layer of skin.  

I won't go into the details of what we did that afternoon.  Sure 
enough, all I knew about love-making had become irrelevant in 
the past ten years.  Men were no longer able to penetrate women, 
except after extraordinary preparation on the woman's side, so 
that most sexual activity took place with the tongue.  And even 
in that area, it seemed that the men were superfluous.  Women's 
tongues had grown several times larger and more powerful, and 
they could pleasure each other in ways we men were wholly 
incapable.  I could understand that at first hand now, as the 
talents of Tabitha's tongue against my member were entirely 
indescribable.  Still, she seemed to enjoy the afternoon with 
me, and I found it the nicest reintroduction to the world of man 
and woman I could have imagined.

Tabitha worked for me for two years, and during that time we had 
sex a couple of times each month.  There was no emotional 
relationship, for sure, but it brought me out of my shell and I 
slowly became a normal part of this new society.  

But as we neared the beginning of the year 2007, I started to 
lose interest.  I never forgot the license plate on the car that 
killed Cheryl, and I was sure now I would meet up again with 
Tara, somehow, soon.

Sure enough, as the year began, a cyberwave message arrived on 
my receiver announced by the familiar "new mail" aroma I had 
chosen (fried onions).  The graphic was a hauntingly familiar 
handwritten invitation to the opening, that evening, of Dream 
Research Group.  I had received another one twelve years, and 
many universes, ago.

I had thought for years about what I would do when I met Tara, 
and as I walked the thirty minutes from my house to the opening 
I pondered long and hard over whether I would actually have the 
will to kill her.  I knew she would have the strength and speed 
to overpower me instantly, yet I would be happy to die trying.  
After all, what independent life did I, or anyone else, have, so 
long as she lived and controlled the dreaming machine.

I entered the building carefully, but determined, my hand 
fingering my energy weapon carefully.  The sign indicated that 
the DRG office was on the third floor, just as it had been 
originally.  The whole building was an exact copy of the office 
building where I once worked.  The resemblance made me shiver, 
and I pulled my coat around me more tightly even though I was 
now indoors.  I knocked and heard her approach.  I felt my hand 
in my pocket, closed tightly around the weapon.  The door opened 
and I pulled out the weapon, pointing it high at where her heart 
should be.  The ray roared through empty air and discharged with 
a bang against a wall.

"Mark.  You'll need to aim that much lower if you want to hit 
me."  She smiled at me from a face ten inches below mine.  It 
was Tara, as she had been so long ago, unchanged after twelve 
years, as beautiful and alluring as she'd been when I first met 
her.  She reached out to take my free hand and drew me, with 
charm, not strength, through the portal.  "Won't you at least 
hold me before you kill me?"  She reached her small arms around 
me, barely touching my back because of my expanded middle, and 
gently caressed me with her delicate hands.  I stared at her, 
amazed to see her small and so defenseless.  Her eyes searched 
mine and I felt warmed by them.  Almost unconsciously, I bent 
down to kiss her lips and felt the same thrill I had known from 
her years ago.  Then suddenly, remembering what I had come to 
do, I broke it off and felt the weapon in my hand.  It felt cold 
and cruel.  I looked in her eyes;  the wild search for 
vengeance, the angry, desperate passion was gone.  I held the 
gun in my hand and then tossed it onto a chair.  She smiled at 
me and led me to a sofa, gently pulling on my belt.

"Don't worry, Mark.  There won't be any other guests at this 
opening either, just like the first one."

Watching her subtle, graceful movements made my skin tingle with 
erotic excitement, and I undressed her as she undid my pants and 
unbuttoned my shirt.  She whistled at my protruding belly and 
clucked her tongue a couple of times.  "You'd better let me go 
on top, big boy."  I didn't care; the soft, delicate feel of her 
body excited me so and we quickly entered into a night of 
lovemaking so intense that I would have doubted my ability to 
perform it as a twenty year old, let alone at the age of fifty-
one.  Finally, I collapsed in exhaustion and slept.

When I awoke, Tara was sitting across the room, peeling an 
orange.  She held out a section for me and I padded over, a 
goofy smile on my face.  "What are you smiling at, Mark?"

"I just can't believe the night we had.  I guess I really did 
miss you."

She nodded.  "It's been twelve years for you, but only a few 
moments for me.  I wasn't sure how you'd react to seeing me."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," she chuckled, "from my perspective, when I first saw you 
last night I'd just run over Cheryl ten minutes ago, then had 
myself appear here, twelve years later.  I'm glad you don't hold 
grudges the way I do.  I've really put you through the ringer, 
haven't I?"

My jaw dropped.  "So you admit it!"

"Of course!  Didn't you see me wave?  I thought you might have 
missed it.  You seemed very distracted."  She patted my stomach.  
"You put on more weight than I expected.  Well, we can take care 
of that.  It gets in the way."

I was stammering, not sure what to do.

"Well don't worry about it, silly.  I'm not going to put you on 
a diet!"  She took out a small device and ran her fingers over 
the buttons.  I felt a wave of nausea and disorientation, and 
the next thing I knew my stomach was flat as a board.  "There, 
you're good as new!  Twenty years younger too.  Don't you feel 
better?"

"Yes, I, but ...."

"Oh, Mark, aren't you excited that we're together again?  No one 
in our way!  And you're so hungry for me I can feel it.  I 
always knew you felt that way about me, and it seems the last 
twelve years of your life has made it even stronger."

"Uh, look, Tara.  I really don't know about this.  And, much as 
I like this body, it's not mine.  Would you change me back?"

"No way!  Why should I have to suffer just because it took you 
twelve years to get to this point?"

"What do you mean?  What point?"

She sighed.  "Do I have to spell it out for you?  I want you.  I 
know you want me.  Now we're together.  Got it?"  

She stared at me, and looking her in the eyes, I could see that 
although she looked and talked like the Tara who worked for me 
as a secretary, I was dealing with someone much more formidable.  
I wished I still had the gun in my hand.

As if she could perceive the thoughts slowly working through my 
brain, she switched gears.  "One of the things I find so 
interesting in you Mark is the way your heart and head are so 
out of step.  You want me, you respond to me on this elemental 
level, but you resist me, out of some sense of duty, of right 
and wrong.  You are too wedded to the values of the world out 
there.  You must come to understand that our dreams are all that 
matter.  There is no world out there, no values, no right or 
wrong.  All there is is the world we make.  Nothing else is 
real."

I smiled, happy to take this discussion to the safer, 
intellectual level.  "Well, perhaps that's true for you, Tara.  
You always lived by your own rules.  And yes, I find that 
exciting in you.  But in the end, my feet are firmly on the 
ground.  I know what's real and what isn't.  And after the last 
twelve years raising my children on my own, surviving in the 
world as I have, I have a firmer sense of that than ever before.  
You can have your dreams.  I have my life.  And in the end I'll 
choose that life, with Amy, Ryan, even Tabitha, as I've made it, 
every time, over the flight from reality you bring me, however 
pleasurable it is."

"Mark.  Mark.  This life you talk about.  It isn't any more real 
than what I'm offering you.  After all, I made that world too."

"Oh I know that's true, up to a point.  I know you changed 
reality with your dreaming machine.  But still you don't control 
everything.  I made choices.  I raised my children, good 
children too, with good Midwestern values.  All by myself after 
you murdered my wife, you who say there's no right and wrong!"  
I was getting emotional.

"There's no need to shout Mark.  You still don't get it.  I'll 
try to explain it to you in language you can understand.  First, 
the simple fact is that I've chosen you, and I will have no 
other.  Now, perhaps for most women this would be a tragic flaw, 
and would doom me to a life alone, pining uselessly for my true 
love.  But fate dealt me a good hand and I had the courage to 
play it.  Of course, I've had fun doing it and I've gone beyond 
the bounds of the conventional morality you live by.  You know, 
your 'cheating's ok if you don't get caught or if you stay 
together for the childrens' sake.'  But I'm more interested in 
results, and if I hadn't killed Cheryl, she would have killed 
you.  It's simple as that.  I saw it happen time and time again 
in every simulation I did.  She beat you to death if women were 
strong.  She shot you if women were weak.  She poisoned you if 
there were no guns.  And every time, out of loyalty and your 
stupid, limited sense of right and wrong, you stuck with her 
until the day she killed you, even though you loved me more, and 
cheated on her with other women after the guilt from our affair 
went away.  You always fooled yourself, Mark.  I knew exactly 
what would happen these last twelve years.  I played it out 
every which way.  There was only one way to do it right, and 
I've done it.  And now, I'm going to enjoy the fruits of my 
work.  I have you."

"But if that's true, why didn't you just kill her and take me 
then?"

She shrugged.  "I could have.  But I was angry too.  I wanted to 
teach you a lesson about power, and I've always done what I 
wanted.  And you weren't terribly receptive to me just then.  
Now you know how much you want me.  It's just a matter of time, 
but you'll learn to trust your heart.  And we'll be together.  
Forever."

I stared at her and a chill went down my spine.  What did she 
mean?  I bolted up and moved for the door.  She sat watching me, 
serene as could be.

"No, Tara.  I won't be a part of this game.  I don't know what 
you have in store for me, but you don't control me.  My life is 
elsewhere."

I opened the door and walked out, but the corridor seemed 
unfamiliar.  I walked through to the end and suddenly found 
myself back in the same room, face to face with Tara, and the 
door I had just walked through was ten steps further in front of 
me!

"Go on, Mark.  Do it again.  Or go back the other way.  It's all 
the same.  All paths lead back to me.  Just follow your heart."

My heart!  It was racing at the speed of light.  I ran for the 
door again and sprinted down the corridor and would have run 
right into Tara, except that she was now sitting on the couch 
again, waiting for me.

"What's going on!  How do I get out?"

"There is no out, Mark.  At least, not just now.  There are 
other things we must do first.  Afterwards, we can expand our 
horizons, bring others back into the world.  We can have any 
kind of world we want.  But first we must rediscover each 
other."

"But Amy!  Ryan!  What about them?  They need their father.  How 
can you do this to them?"

She looked mildly annoyed.  "I told you, Mark.  There is no 'out 
there.'  There's no Ryan, no Amy, no Tabitha.  There's just us."  
She pulled out her little device.  "I think you need a little 
time by yourself.  I'm going to make this office a little 
bigger, put in a pool, a bedroom, a sauna.  That's for me.  
Anything you want, dear?   You can always ask later.  Oh, and 
and I'll do something about that nausea you always feel when I 
dream.  It was a good signal to use, but it's not necessary 
anymore, now that we're together.  I'll see you in a couple of 
hours."

Before my eyes, her clothes changed into a one piece swimming 
suit and she turned around to leave for a swim. Watching her 
leave, I could feel that tingle in my groin.  Was this just the 
stirrings of my younger body?  Was she that beautiful?  Did I 
love her?

Did I have any choice?