Mark of the Amazon By Smitty A mysterious tattoo transforms Randi Randi Turnbull was trying to shake the cobwebs out of her head. It had been a wild night. To celebrate her 18th birthday, some friends took her out. She remembered the first few stops - a blues club, one of those theme restaurants, a bar that featured male strippers - but it got hazy after that. Randi dragged herself out of bad and over to the sink, where she splashed cold water on her face. "That was a mistake," she thought, as a throbbing pain nearly forced her to close her eyes. She reached onto the counter, took a couple of Advils out of the bottle and swallowed them without water. She stepped into the shower and shuddered when the hot water hit her petite frame. Minutes passed as she tried to recall the events of the night before. It was all a blur. Some drinking, some flirting, more drinking. One place to the next, more drinking. All she remembered was waking up in bed just a few minutes earlier. She got out of the shower, dried herself off and suddenly realized she had no idea what time it was. The towel around her neck, she darted back into her room, flopped on the bed face-first and grabbed her alarm clock. "Eleven thirty, Jesus Christ," she muttered. Still wet, she got dressed, grabbed a container of orange juice from her mini-fridge, put on a Boston Red Sox cap, reached for her books and purse and was off for class. "Matich is gonna kill me," she thought as she made her way across campus to Shannon Hall. Soon she arrived at the 19th Century building that housed the college's history and political science departments. She opened the door slowly, trying not to attract attention. The hallways were empty and quiet as she tried to make her way to Professor Colin Matich's classroom. As Randi approached the end of the hallway, she could hear Matich's monotone. "While Austerlitz was unbending and rigid, Bismarck was more pragmatic and conciliatory," he droned. "I'm not ready for this," Randi thought as she turned and headed right for the exit. The fresh air felt good and she took a deep breath. "I'm surprised your up and out already," she heard a familiar voice say. Randi turned to greet Allison McCarter. "To tell you the truth, neither am I," she said. "You don't look to be, considering . " Allison's voice trailed off. "Considering what?" Randi asked. "I don't remember all that much." "I'm not surprised, you put away an awful lot last night." "Exactly what did we do?" she inquired. "I remember a couple of places, some dancing, that's about it." "You don't remember the tattoo?" Allison asked. "You must remember the tattoo." "Tattoo?" Randi asked with a sense of dread. "Come on, you've gotta remember the tattoo. We went to that little place in Chinatown, after we ate at that little corner restaurant." None of it sounded familiar, like it happened to someone else. "If I got a tattoo, where is it?" she asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer. A grin spread across Allison's face. "Gotta go," she said, breaking into a giggle. "Wait. You've got to tell me," Randi pleaded before breaking into a trot in an attempt to catch up to her friend. "I'll tell you at dinner," Allison said, disappearing inside Cavendish Center. In no mood to attend her other two classes that day, Randi returned to her dorm room and tried again to remember the night before. She pulled down the shade and slowly took off her clothes. Deliberately, she examined her body for any signs of a tattoo. Nothing on her arms, nothing on her pert, firm breasts. She turned to the mirror - nothing behind her shoulders. Slowly, she peeled off her pants, revealing pale, skinny legs. She recalled watching that porn video with Tyler over the summer, so she examined her inner thighs - nothing. Again, she turned to the mirror to look at her ass. Nothing. Puzzled, she put her clothes back on and resigned herself to waiting for dinner to find out from Allison about the mysterious tattoo. Randi tried to immerse herself in her books, but she kept checking the clock to see if it was time for dinner. The minutes dragged on as she tried to make sense of "Modern Russian Literature." Finally, it was 5:30. She tossed the book back on her desk, washed up and headed for the dining hall. She hurried through the serving line and searched around the expansive room for Allison. She found her in the back with their friends, Suzie and Beth. Randi put her tray on the table and was greeted by the same type of giggling she got from Allison after confessing she remembered nothing about the tattoo. "Would you guys quit it," she begged. "You've all gotten drunk so you know what it's like, OK?" The others kept their heads buried until Allison looked up. "I guess it's time to end your torture, follow me," she said, getting up from the table. Allison led Randi to the bathroom, waited for another student to leave, then ushered her into one of the stalls. In a low whisper, Allison told Randi to take off her blouse. "But ." "Just take off your blouse," she said. Randi complied. "Now look over your left breast," Allison said. Randi glanced down, but saw nothing. "I don't see anything." "Don't kid around, it's right there. I watched the guy put it on." "I'm telling you, there's nothing there." Allison examined Randi's chest. "Let's go out into the light." The girls cautiously left the stall, but could find nothing. "This is fucked," Allison said. "I was drunk, too, but I watched the guy do it." "Well, what was it supposed to be?" Randi asked. "To be honest, I was in no shape to tell. It looked like some sort of weird shape." Randi went back to the stall, put her blouse back on and followed Allison back into the dining room. When they got back to the table, Suzie, still giggling, asked, "Well, what do you think?" "It's the weirdest thing," Allison began. "I mean, you guys were there. You saw that guy put it on, right?" Suzie and Beth nodded. "Well, it's not there anymore," Allison said. "What?!" Beth exclaimed. "You're kidding, right?" "No. I know we all had a lot to drink, but we were there. We saw it." Randi interrupted. "Uh, guys? It's me and my body we're talking about here. Are you guys sure you saw what you think you saw?" She was met with three blank stares as the co-eds looked around at each other for the answer. "Oh, great," Randi said. "I may have a tattoo, I may not. You're not sure exactly where on my body it is. Do you at least remember what it looked like?" More blank stares. "Remind me to invite you guys to my next birthday," Randi said, grabbing her tray and storming off. The three girls shrugged and went back to their salads. Randi marched back to her room, angry at being the center of a bad practical joke, angry that she tossed away her dinner just to make a point to her friends and angry that she ever allowed herself to be put in this position. It wasn't like her. She didn't like to party and, because she wasn't much to look at, hardly ever went out with her girlfriends. But it was her 18th birthday and she was determined to have fun for at least one evening. Now here she was, back in her room, unable to concentrate on what she was reading and checking every now and then for any signs of a tattoo. Before too long, she was immersed in her studies. Minutes turned into an hour and one hour became two. Her attention was broken around midnight by a pounding headache. Randi tried to shake it off and continued reading. But the pain would not subside. She splashed cold water on her face and took a couple of Advils. Nothing seemed to make the dull pain go away. Randi walked over to the window, opened it wide and took a deep breath of the chilly October air. She changed into a T-shirt and shorts and went to bed. Randi avoided her friends all day the next day. She was still angry at being the butt of their joke. She didn't even go to dinner, choosing instead to order in a pizza around 7:30. By 10 o'clock, half the pizza was uneaten and Randi could feel last night's headache returning. It became a source of concern because she was almost never sick. She took pride in the fact that unlike most of her friends, she took almost no medication. But the headache was back and Randi couldn't understand why. She threw down two more Advils, then added a third. Again, she splashed water on her face, but the pain only grew more intense. Randi massaged her neck, trying to ease the tension. She reached for her forehead and realized it was moist with sweat. It felt like she had a raging fever so she walked over to the window and threw it wide open. The air felt good, refreshing, but did nothing to relieve the pain, which was becoming more intense. Randi stood at the window, the cool breeze gently blowing through her hair. She stared up, drawn to the new moon, which hung low and perfectly round in the autumn sky. The teenager clenched her teeth as the pain continued. It was joined soon by a weakness in her joints and Randi was sure she was coming down with some new strain of the flu. She struggled back to the sink and turned on the water, but was startled by the reflection in the mirror. Her hair was longer, almost down to her shoulders. "What the hell?" she questioned aloud. Her thought was cut short by a sharp pain in the middle of her back. She grabbed the sink with both hands, arms apart and trembling. Randi could see the veins in her arms, straining against her skin. The tiny co-ed's entire body seemed to be trembling. She glanced back at her right arm and could see the skin rippling. Randi Turnbull moaned and looked up at her reflection again. Her hair was down to the middle of her back and her neck had taken up the same inhuman pulsing motion as her arms. Diminutive Randi didn't know, couldn't know what was happening to her. She heard a ripping noise and watched as her upper arm expanded. Her almost unnoticeable bicep was growing into a thick, round mass. It strained, then tore the sleeve on her T-shirt. Her forearm thickened and her triceps grew and became rock-hard, shredding what was left of the sleeve. Randi wanted to scream, but could not utter anything but an almost guttural grunt. The process repeated itself on her left arm. She looked down at her legs and saw her thighs shifting, thickening into huge slabs of muscle. Her calves tensed, throbbed, then grew in proportion to the rest of the now impressive leg. Her breathing labored, Randi could feel a painful tightness in her backside, which was growing and rounding into the perfect feminine shape, causing the seems on the now greatly undersized shorts to split, then fall to the floor. Her hands grabbed the sink as Randi tried to withstand the changes which were wracking her body. Her stomach took up the transformation, tightening until well-formed striations appeared, cutting the abdomen into a rock-hard six pack of muscle. Back muscles shifted, bones lengthened and thickened to accommodate her rapidly evolving form. As her lats began to take shape, a disoriented Randi tore the shirt from her back. She was startled as she saw in the mirror a mark above her left breast. She couldn't tell what it was, but she knew in an instant it was the tattoo. Randi had no time to examine it closely because the change was affecting her upper body. As her back muscles flared to give her the V-shape for which veteran bodybuilders strive, she could feel her erect nipples. Her aureole spread from small circles to half dollar-sized orbs. Her petite breasts swelled and grew outward into large but firm spheres. The pain began to ebb. The trembling ceased. Randi's breathing became less labored and she straightened. The image which met her gaze in the mirror was that of a tall, incredibly muscled amazon. Her eyes grew wide as she scanned her new form. First, she followed her arms, from the well- rounded shoulders to the massive biceps down to her thick forearms. Her hands were drawn to her torso and she felt the contours of her abdomen, its remarkable rigidity. Up they moved to her incredible lats, then her heavy, round breasts. She ran her hands over her nipples and felt a charge run through her entire body. Randi shuddered as she cupped and kneaded her breasts. Her concentration was broken by the tattoo. As she stared at it closely, she realized it was the symbol for woman - a circle above a plus sign. "Yes," she thought. "I am more a woman than ever before." Randi ran her fingers over the tattoo, but could feel nothing. Her left hand remained on her left breast, fondling it, running over the rigid nipples. Her right hand was drawn lower, over the abs and down to her pussy. The two hands worked in tandem, rubbing, caressing and massaging her body, bringing Randi to a state of arousal she had never experienced. Waves of pleasure coursed through her body until she came with such fervor that her powerful arm crushed the nearby towel rack, knocking it to the floor. Randi stepped into the shower, where she continued to explore her new body.