But Can She Act

The sister fates, three sisters who pooled their resources to take dying people and help them achieve new lives and identities by matching them with recently deceased young people, and using the magic typewriter to alter reality and fit them in. Joyce, the hospice worker, had an unusual case that she wanted to try and help.

Ron had been a relatively famous Porn Star back in the day before age, and a couple of heart attacks had forced him into retirement. Ron had something almost no one in porn had – he could actually act. He had the kind of charisma that let him talk his way into anything, and had managed to talk Joyce into going to bat for him. Jeanine did have a Porn Star who had just died, a young woman who had OD’ed on drugs, apparently by accident. Would Ron consider changing sexes to get back in the game? Ron was more than willing. Apparently women in the Porn game made more money than men anyway.

So now Ronnie has made a miraculous recovery and is back on the set. And the producers can’t get enough of the new Ronnie; she’s just as hot as she ever was and now, she’s got some real stage presence; the girl has really learned how to act.

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Animal Lover

“Wow, no dick – that transformation spell that those women typed for me really worked. It’s strange to go from sitting at home in hospice care to the deck of some rich man’s house in Malibu. I know I’m just the house sitter here, but what a bonus. I get to be young and healthy again and enjoy some of the trappings of wealth.

And next week, when I go back to veterinary school, I’ll be all set to finish up and go back to doing what I love most – caring for peoples pets. What’s a little matter of changing sexes for an opportunity like that? Besides, if the signals I’m getting from this body are any indication, sex is going to be a whole lot better than it’s been in years.

See what being a good and caring person can do for you. Of course it does help if some of your patients happen to have a little magic to help you out.”

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Nature Activist

“I was Clide Barrow, a retired water quality specialist for the forestry service. I still had this deep attachment to nature and her streams and water courses. In fact I spent many weekends trekking through the California woodlands, draw to the beauty and essence of Mother Nature.

I guess the ancient dyads sensed that I was a kindred spirit. One Saturday, I was drawn deep into the very heart of the woods, to a perfect unspoiled spring. Voices in my head bade me drink, and I did.

A cold pure essence filled me, and began to change me. I watched my wrinkled hands shrink and grow small and smooth. My body grew cold, and then warm as it morphed, my waist shrinking, and my height dwindling. My grey hair darkened, and grew out several inches. My face became smooth and feminine. My clothing fell away, revealing my petite young form which the dyads had given me.

For a number of days, I joined them in their revelry, but eventually I knew I had to return, and pick up the task of protecting these woods from modern man’s world. So now I’m Carla Barrow, tree hugger and nature activist. And I’ll do anything and anyone to protect these lands.”

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Hunter's Dilemma

My Entry in Hailey Pixley’s Contest on ‘A Tights Spot’ Blog
July Contest Listing on 'A Tights Spot'

“Jane, I’m in a really Tight Spot,” said Hunter cupping the mouthpiece of the old pay phone. “I’m being framed and I can’t see any way out of it.”

“You swear to me your innocent,” said Jane, sitting down at her desk. “I won’t help a murderer no matter what.”

“Yes, yes, I won’t bullshit you Jane. I don’t know how that bloody knife got in my gym bag. And I can’t go to Jail. Will you help me.”

“Ok Hunter, go find a place to stay and keep low. Look for a note from me in the morning.”

“Won’t you need to know where I am,” he asked.

“Oh no Hunter,” she smiled, looking at the Old Typewriter on her desk, “I’ll find you.”

The next morning, Hunter found a strange envelope slipped under his door, addressed to him in type written letters, he opened it up and read the paper inside. ‘Hunter, if you’re truly innocent, then take the form and identity of someone you've fantasized about and live their life …’

Hunter dropped the paper and felt his body shrinking, collapsing on itself. His body hair fell away, leaving his skin smooth, his hair lengthened, his hips widened, and his stomach shrank leaving a trim and tiny waist. Breast sprouted from his chest, and his clothing changed. He felt tights snaking up his legs, knee high boots forming on his feet, and a sweater flowing over his frame.

Hailey came to leaning against the building, her purse in her hand. She couldn't remember exact ally how she’d gotten here but the coffee shop next door smelled wonderful and she had time before work. Shouldering her purse, she went to grab an espresso.

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Ancient Scrolls Don't Lie

Doctor Jefferies finished her translation, and then looked down at the jewelry lying before her. The scroll told of a high priestess of Isis wearing the jewelry, and taking on the attributes of the goddess; a priestess who at the time must have been ninety years old. Obviously, the writer must have exaggerated in here somewhere, and yet.

Jefferies put aside her glasses, and put her wrinkled hands on the headband. Sheer folly she knew, yet she went ahead and fastened the headband beneath her own thinning white hair. She then took each silver wristlet, and draped and fastened them on her own boney hands.

Standing, with an effort, she walked towards the mirrored closet door, and pronounced the phrase of power, just as a high priestess would. A surge traveled up her frail body, like an electric shock. She watched, stunned as her skin smoothed and the hair on her head filled out and turned the red of her youth. Her breathing eased, and she felt her breast lift and swell on her body. Taking off her clothes, she stepped right next to the closet and put her hands above her breast.

The scroll had not lied. Jennifer Jefferies stood in the body of an elder goddess; a goddess of sex and fertility.

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