It's good to see the nifty archive back on line.  I see you picked up
my first tg story, Bobbi McGee.  I'm gratified that you thought it of suf-
ficient quality.  There are plenty of typos in the version that appeared in
the newsgroup, though, so I thought that I'd offer you a corrected draft.

I hope you've seen and have liked my more recent stories at 
alt.sex.stories.tg.  When I have had time to correct their texts, I'll
forward copies along for your consideration.

By the way, if this is not the new ms submission address for the archive,
I do apologize.  I've scanned your page and can't find any other one to
use for this specific purpose.  

TG Repost:  BOBBI MCGEE 




 WARNING:  This story contains explicit sexual
descriptions.  If you are under 18 this article is not
intended for your consumption and should not be read by
you.







                           BOBBI McGEE

                        by Christopher Leeson


     Rob's balls ached with desire.  He felt Dori take
his cock all the way into her tender mouth and begin to
bob her head up and down, her velvety lips caressing
every inch of his throbbing organ.

     As she did so, the young realtor burrowed his nose
into her bubble bath-scented vagina and captured the
ripe, erect, bud of her clitoris between his teeth.  He
sucked it into his mouth, exciting the sensitive tissue
with his teeth while he flicked the tip of his tongue
back and forth against her clit.

     "Uuhh," Dori moaned, the cry of pleasure muffled
by the large, surging penis in her mouth.  He knew that
his teeth on her stem of passion were driving her wild.

     She wrapped both hands around Rob's thick shaft at
the base and held it tightly as she ran it in and out
of her mouth.  Her entire body was quaking; the
superheat between her legs had reached a point where
she felt that she was actually sitting on a hot seat. 
No matter how she wiggled and squirmed, the temperature
continued building and building.

     The pores of her flesh opened and her body was
suddenly covered with a glistening coat of
perspiration.  She pressed her lips against Rob's
pulsing shaft and felt the rushing blood pound faster
through his organ.  Her hips began bouncing on his
face, causing his nose to penetrate her vagina, which
sent a thrill through her every nerve.

     His hips suddenly began to jerk.  Dori felt the
first jet of his sperm splashed against her inner
cheek.  Then her mouth was flooded with the thick,
heavy juice.  The hot semen oozing into her throat
triggered a series of rockets that jetted scorching
fire along the artery ways of her warmly quivering
body. . . .

     Suddenly the doorbell chimed.  With a curse, Rob
lifted his head from Dori's pussy and rolled over.

     "Keey-rist!" he panted.  "That's timing for you."

     Dori swallowed hard and wiped her mouth on the
back of her hand.  "Get rid of them and get back to me,
would you?" 

     "I'll just be a minuet, doll," Rob promised,
rising wearily.  He dried his face with a tissue, threw
on his plaid robe, and then hurried out the bedroom
door.  In just a minute he was back, carrying a small
package in a brown wrapper.

     "Who was it?" asked Dori.

     "A twenty-four hours delivery service."

     "What did you get?  Who sent it?"

     "There's no return address.  Rob sat down at the
edge of the bed and started tearing off the wrapping
paper.  Dori nestled up behind him and rested her chin
on his hard shoulder.

     "Well, well, well," he muttered.  "Cute."

     Dori frowned.  It was some sort of primitive
female sculpture, naked except for a strange headdress.
No wonder Rob liked it.  He always did admire big
breasts, she knew, and she had gotten the idea that
even her B-cups were too small for his sense of
aesthetics.  As Rob turned the thing around Dori
observed that it was two-faced; a male figure was cast
behind the female one.  Dori knew immediately which
side her man would be setting outward for viewing!  He
was a horny guy, but he was hers!

     "-- Look, here's a card," Rob said, plucking a
piece of paper from the box.  "`To Rob with hate. 
Cassandra.'  I never thought I'd hear that name again."

     "Who's Cassandra?" asked Dori suspiciously.

     "Nobody.  -- She and I used to live together,
that's all.  It ended badly."

     "You never mentioned her!"

     "Why should I?  I know what a jealous woman you
are."

     "She was nobody?  Just a live-in girl friend?  Who
am I?  Nobody plus one, or two, or three, or five?"

     "Listen, baby, how do you think I got to be so
good in bed if this was strictly amateur hour?"

     "So you DID have a lot of girls before you met
me!"

      "I've always been popular, so sue me!  Dori,
don't be a pain."

     "Pain?!  I just want some respect."

     "Baby bottom, you're going nuts over nothing! 
Settle down."

     I don't like the idea of old girl friends sending
you gifts!  Does it say that she's going to be
visiting?"

     "I told you what it said!  For crying out loud,
Dori, give me some credit.  I've only had eyes for
you!"

     "You've only known me a month.  Who will it be
next month?"

     "Honey!"

     "I must have been crazy to think that what we had
was something special."

     "It is -- sort of!"

     "Sort of?!  That does it!  Let your old girl
friend know there's a vacancy.  I'm quitting the fan
club!"

     Dori scrambled from the bed.  Rob didn't say
anything.  There was nothing he could say when she was
in one of her snits.  He watched her pull on her
clothes with a speed never seen before.  Once dressed
in the same peasant blouse and miniskirt that she had
worn earlier to the restaurant (a get up that made her
look more like a cocktail waitress who was loafing 
rather than a customer to be served), she started
emptying the drawers and stuffing her cheap plastic-
over-cardboard suitcases.  Rob might have sweet-talked 
her, but he knew that Dori was prone to flare-ups and
sudden mood-changes.  The best thing for the girl was a
little breathing space.  After all, he hadn't done
anything wrong, except live a life of his own before
he had met her.  The little brunette could walk out of
his life if she wanted to, or stay, but, either way, 
he didn't see any reason to beg.

     Leaving Dori alone to finish her packing, Rob
shuffled out to the kitchen and turned on the radio. 
It was set to the oldies channel that Dori liked so
well and just then they were playing a familiar 
tune:

     "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to
lose. . . ."

     That was Janis Joplin's "Bobbie McGee," a song
that he had always enjoyed.  But right now the lyrics 
depressed him.  They were about a great relationship 
that just couldn't hold together for the long term.  
It reminded Rob of all his own relationships with 
women.  

     The next song was Frank Sinatra's "I Could Write a
Book."  I bet you could, you old Mafiosi, Rob chuckled
as he went to the  refrigerator and broke open a beer. 
By the time he finished it,  Dori was coming out of the
bedroom, loaded down with suitcases and even paper
bags full of her wash-and-wear things.  As she stormed 
past him, Rob noticed an article fall from one of her
precariously-held bags and plop down on the kitchen
floor.

     "Dori!" he said.

     She turned angrily.  "Don't plead with me to stay,
Rob!" 

     "I wouldn't.  I think we both need some space, but
you dropped --"

     "Ooh, men!  Listen, Rob, I'll give you so much
space that you'll never see me again!"  

     With that final pronouncement, Dori stomped out
the back door and Rob heard her footsteps on the stairs
which led down to the residents' garage where her
Toyota was parked.

     "Women!" he sighed.  Well, he consoled himself,
she had stayed longer than most.  No big deal.  She
couldn't cook as well as Rob could himself, and was 
a worse house-keeper, too.

     The young man got up from his chair and plucked
the fallen object from the tiles.  It was just a skimpy 
pair of blue denim cut-offs.  Rob shook his head.  He
had always gotten a charge out of seeing Dori's tight
bottom filling her shorts to capacity.  This pair was
so small that the lush curves of her lower buttocks
were left bare -- a glory to see.  He tossed the shorts
on top of the counter indifferently.  Unlike some
males, Rob didn't get excited about women's clothes --
unless, that is, they were filled with a woman who
could do them justice.

     The night's fun and games had tired Rob out and he
padded sleepily back to the bedroom.  The moment he
stepped in the door he noticed the two-faced idol lying
on the covers.  His curiosity  renewed, he picked it
up.  The face on either side of it had little gem eyes
and he wondered if it was valuable or just some cheap
import.  There was an inscription on its bottom which
looked very much like the writing that he had seen in
the occasional foreign-language newspaper from India. 

     Rob couldn't help wondering why Cassandra had sent
him the thing.  She had known her as a graduate student
in anthropology, of course, but Rob was more into
sports cars and had never talked to her about her 
favorite subject.  Their sex had been hot, but
they had nothing much in common, and her strident 
feminism eventually turned him off.  With one breath
Cassandra would be expressing the superiority of woman,
and with the next she was complaining that she hadn't 
been born a man.

     He wished he could understand women.  Men never
went around wishing they were female -- at least the
sort of men Rob felt comfortable with didn't.  What was
the big deal anyway? he wondered.  Whatever sex you
were, the sensible person accepted it and enjoyed it
for all that it was worth.  The one thing he which  he
had really liked about Dori was that she seemed to have
a hell of a good time with being a girl.  Too bad that
her peeves and snits always drove him up the wall.

     I just wish that I could find my perfect match,
Rob thought.  He was getting more than a little tired
of these affairs that never seemed to turn into
anything deep or meaningful.  Why couldn't he have a
relationship like the one his parents had?   Up until
the terrible accident that had taken their lives, they 
had enjoyed a wonderful partnership.  Rob was beginning
to think that he had a lousy taste in women.  Or was it
something in his personality, some quirk in him that 
attracted women for a little while, but then drove 
them away?  Rob knew he was in a rut -- and not
for the first time he found himself wishing that he 
could get out of it somehow.  He shook his head.  How
could he?   He was what he was.  It would probably take
a miracle to change a quality so fundamental to his
character.

     But he couldn't help but wonder what comprised the
happiness that some lucky couples found with one
another but which was denied to him?  Common
interests, he thought, trust, sharing, and patience?  
Kindness, forgiveness, and respect?  And he shouldn't
leave out  friendship.  Of all the women he had known,
not one real friend stood out among them.  That was a
sad commentary.  

     It all had seemed so simple when Rob had been a
hormonal teenager.  Then he had supposed that a lot of
high-quality screwing would bring happiness.  Well, as
a jaded veteran he had learned that the merchandise
wasn't bad, but it was no happiness pill either.

     He put the idol on the nightstand with the
female-side out, intending to admire it later in the
morning light, then threw off his robe and slipped
under the covers.  Rob was dead to the world in a just
few minutes.

     As the young man lay half-asleep, he dreamed he
was fondling Dori's breast.  It felt larger than he
remembered.  When he touched Dori's boob, he thought 
he could feel his own fingers playing teasingly upon 
it.  When he opened his blurry eyes to the early dawn's
light, he saw Dori's breasts, but the odd thing was 
that he couldn't see Dori at all -- just her breasts.  

     "God, what a dream!" he muttered.

     His chest started itching as he lay there, but
when he scratched himself he felt soft, tender mounds
of flesh which were hurt by his nails as if they were
his own.  He grimaced; he just couldn't seem to get out
of that lucid dream about women's breasts.  Just then
his sleepy fingers went to his groin, which was also
itching.  Instead of his scrotum, he found there a
wooly patch occupying an emptiness where his
well-oiled equipment always had parked.  What the
hell?  he wondered.  Then he understood.  He was
dreaming that he was a woman!  Kinky, he chuckled.  
Rob couldn't recall ever having had such a dream 
before.  On impulse, he decided to go look at himself
in the dream mirror.  Robert Wescott as a woman, he 
supposed in his sleep-drugged state, should be
something to see.

     The nearly somnambulant Rob staggered to the
full-length mirror and he wasn't disappointed.  A slim
girl with long, soft honey-blond curls looked back at 
him from the glass.  She looked like a healthy and 
athletic sort of miss, as if she swam and ran a lot, 
just like Rob did himself.  Her breasts were nicer 
than Dori's -- not as big Dolly  Parton's, of course, 
but would have done credit to Christy Brinkley.   

     The reflected girl had a nest of light brown pubic
hair that almost hid the pursed lips of her pussy.  Her
waist was narrow, Rob noted, but her hips were
becomingly round.  Rob touched his buttocks and saw the
girl's hands go behind her also, mimicking him
perfectly.  The girl's derriere felt full and hard,
just the sort of backside that he loved most to fondle.

     The girl in the glass smiled with pleasure.  Both
fondling and being fondled felt very good.  Intrigued
by the heightened sensitivity of his dream-body, Rob
reached forward and stroked his pussy lightly.  One
touch of its sensitive labia sent something like an
electric shock coursing through his body.  The
pleasure of it made him shudder.

     An amazing dream, Rob thought, but one so
intriguing that he didn't want it to end just yet.
He carefully studied the girl's oval face with its
pert little chin.  If she looked familiar it was 
because she looked so much like him.  The angles of 
her cheeks and jaw were soften by her feminine sex,
however, and they framed a prettily turned-up nose 
and a pair big robin-egg blue eyes with long 
lashes.  Her lips were so full and sensual that they
reminded Rob of his mother's when she was young.

     The young man grinned as he sleepily considered
the experience.  If he had been unfortunate enough to
be born a girl, it might not have been quite so
intolerable as he might have imagined had Mother Nature
graced him with the gentle beauty of the girl in the
mirror.  

     Rob yawned.  Standing there so long had made him
weak in the legs; he had to lie down or fall.  So,
forgetting the strange dream, he wobbled over to the
bed and plopped down.  He was out cold as soon as his
face hit the pillow.

     The seven o'clock alarm bell work Rob fully.  He
yawned and rubbed his chest.
     Then Robert Wescott yelled in horror.
                           #     

     Wrapped tightly in his robe, Rob paced back
and forth across the kitchen floor.  It hadn't been a
dream!  He had been really looking at himself in the
mirror.  Somehow -- by some incredible somehow -- he
had turned into a girl during the night!

     Things like this happened in stupid movies, he
knew, but not in reality.  He had lately watched a
weird one called SYNAPSE -- about a male-to-female
brain transplant and a lot of automatic weapons combat.
He also remembered that video cassette that Cassandra
had once brought home.  It was called SWAT or STITCH,
or something like that.  It starred Perry King, who God
turned into Ellen Barkin for having treated women so
shabbily.  But Perry's character had had to die before
he was zapped with a female shape, while Rob knew that
he was still alive.  At least, he thought he was. 
Suddenly he remembered the statuette in the bedroom.

     Cassandra!  Now it all started making some sense. 
When he knew her she had already been getting into
primitive fertility magic studies and that Mother
Goddess stuff.  In fact, she had even done research
among those crazy Wicca cultists.

     That was it!  Cassandra had cursed him!  She had
found a magic idol and cursed him with it.  In fact,
maybe she had even used it on herself first,
considering her silly male-envy.  Was there now man
named Cass wandering around?  Rob hoped never to run
into the bum -- without a gun in his hand, at least!

     "I've got to see a doctor -- fast!" he -- or
rather, she -- muttered to herself.

     Rob ran back into the bedroom and threw on her
much-too-large male pants, shirt, and shoes.  The
hapless young woman walked right out of her size-twelve
loafers at her very first step.

     Damn! she thought, I can't go outside looking like
this.  I need women's clothes, at least until I get to
the hospital.  Maybe Dori left something behind that'll
fit this stupid body!  

     Rob, her heart pounded in her throat, rushed to
the closet hoping to find a pair of jeans and a shirt
that she could wear without embarrassment.  The closet
was empty, as were the drawers.  Dori didn't leave much
of anything behind, just a little cloth purse with
nothing in it but lint; it had fallen behind Rob's
tennis shoes and been overlooked in her haste.  Then
the girl got the idea to check the clothes hamper and,
sure enough, Dori had missed something.  Rob found an
orange halter top and a pair of panties.  The clothes
from the bottom of the hamper had a sweaty, musky
scent, but Rob wasn't worrying about that as she put
them on.
 
     She was able to get into the halter fairly easy
since Rob had watched lots of girl friends dressing. 
To her annoyance, the halter seemed too snug to be
comfortable.  Then the young woman realized that she
actually had boobs bigger than Dori's!  That was
incredible!

     She could go out barefoot, but didn't want to. 
Suddenly remembering having seen Dori's sandals under
the bed a couple days earlier, she got down on her
hands and knees to have another look.  Sure enough,
they were still there.  Rob now had some footgear!

     But the bikini top and panties weren't enough to
cloth her decently.  Just then Rob remembered that
pair of cut-offs back in the kitchen.  Without pausing
for breath, she ran to get the denim shorts.

     With the cut-offs in hand again, she felt a twinge
of dismay.  They were so skimpily cut!  Why did Dori
have to be such a bimbo?  In Rob's state of mind she
had forgotten how much Dori's lack of fashion sense had
excited her as male.  It was the brassy way with which
she presented herself in public that had first caught
her -- then his -- eye.  At first Rob had wondered if
the girl so willing to show off so much in public was a
hooker in the wrong neighborhood.  But she wasn't. 
Dori was something better.  An honest woman who
fulfilled a man's fantasies about bad girls. 

     Realizing she had no choice, Rob climbed into the
cut-offs and found that she had to exhale hard to get
the snaps closed.  Apparently her remolded hips were a
size or two wider than Dori's.  If the shorts were
tight on their owner, they were less than a second skin
on Rob.  

     Though now dressed as well as she could be, Rob
felt like she was standing around in underwear -- and
girl's underwear at that!  Her cleavage was pushed up
by the constraint of the halter and the panties weren't
designed to be worn with shorts so sparing and they 
showed.  Dori had always worn little thong panties 
with shorts so teensy.  Rob stuffed the visible hems 
of her panties up under the tight denim and then went 
to get her wallet and keys.  As she fumbled them out 
of the drawer, she realized that the pockets of her 
cut-offs were much too tight for her to put anything 
into them.  Women always had a pocket problem, she 
remembered, and they solved it by carrying purses. 

     Resourcefully, Rob seized Dori's forgotten purse
and stuffed the wallet and keys inside it.  Then, as an
afterthought, she put the magic statuette in along with
them.  Maybe the hospital could have it analyzed and
find the antidote.  Finally, Rob hurried down to the
residents' garage, got into her Dodge Avenger, hastily
readjusted the seat forward, and started the engine.

                         #

     Trembly and preoccupied, Rob almost had an
accident in the morning traffic, but she finally
managed to get to the hospital parking ramp safely. 
Without pausing to lock the doors, the distraught girl
raced into the emergency room.

     "I've got to s-see a doctor!" she stammered to the
receptionist.  The middle-aged woman regarded the
dishabilled girl coolly and asked, "What's the
problem?"

     "I'm under a curse!"

     "A what?"

     "A curse!  I've been changed!"

     "What do you mean you've been changed?"

     "I -- I'd rather save that news for the doctor."

     "Do you wanted to see our staff psychiatrist?"

     "I'm not crazy!  I want to see the doctor who
knows the most about breaking curses!"

     As distraught as she was, Rob realized that she
wasn't making much sense.  But who else should she ask
for?  A gynecologist?

     "Maybe we should start you out with a family
medicine practitioner," the receptionist suggested. 
"What's your insurance company?"
     "Metro Group Health," Rob answered, frustrated by
the way hospitals did business.  She dug deeply into
her wallet to find her medical services card.

     The receptionist took the plastic rectangle from
her shaking hand and frowned.  "This is a card for a
Robert Wescott."
     Rob thought quickly.  "Ah, he's my husband.  We
have the family plan."

     "No you don't.  This card says `individual only.' 
Do yo have any other means of paying, Miss?"

     She wanted to scream, to shriek to the world that
she was Robert Wescott, but who would believe that a
pretty girl wearing an overstuffed halter and a pair of
flirtatious cut-offs had a grown man hidden inside her?
Anyway, people were watching, listening.  Rob didn't
want anyone to know who she was.  It was just too
humiliating.

     The blonde checked her wallet for cash.  She --
then he -- had shown Dori a good time at dinner the
night before.  There wasn't more than a few dollars
left.  "I've got a credit card," she gasped in
agitation.

     The receptionist took the card patiently, but
again had to frown.  "This is your husband's, my dear. 
We can't accept your card unless you can prove that
you're really Mrs. Wescott.  Do you have a picture ID?"

     Rob was so distressed that she wasn't thinking at
all well.  She fumbled inside her wallet again, saying,
"Sure I've got a driver's license!"

     She pulled out the license and shoved it in front
of the woman.

     The receptionist sighed wearily.  "No, Miss, we
can't use Mr. Wescott's license.  We have to see
yours."

     "I guess -- I guess I forgot it," Bobbi mumbled
hopelessly.  Now she was getting frightened.  In
another moment they'd be accusing her of having stolen 
some man's wallet and trying to use his health plan and
credit card illegally.  If she got arrested, what could
she say?

     "I hope you can get home without being arrested,"
the receptionist remarked.

     "What?!" Rob cried out, as if her mind had been
picked of its most terrible anxiety.

     "You don't have your own license on you.  Drive
carefully."
     Rob shuddered as the horror sank in.  She couldn't
prove who she was, but still had to get help.  If she
didn't get a vaccination for this terrible condition
soon, it might go too far -- and might even become
permanent!

     "Can't you put me on welfare, then.  I -- I'm
terribly sick!"

     The receptionist took another look and felt sorry
for the pretty, but naughtily-clad and very messed-up
waif.  She suspected that the little blonde was on
drugs.  Well, that was nothing new.  Every year the
emergency room got hundreds of cases of people who had
put all their money up their arm or up their nose. 
They were a terrible burden on the system, but they had
to be taken take care of, even if the taxpayer had to
foot the bill.

     "All right honey, we'll see what we can do. 
What's your name?"

     "Ah -- R-Rob --"

     "Excuse me?"

     "Ah, Bobbi!  -- Bobbi Wescott."

     "What is your Social Security number, Bobbi," she
asked in a subdued voice, trying not to set off the
distraught girl.

     "I'll find it," Bobbi stammered as she looked for
her card.  Then she stopped suddenly.  It would have
the Robert Wescott name on it, too.  Showing it would
just compound her problems.  "Please, I don't need any
more questions, Miss."  She began to sob.  "I need
help!"  

                           #     

     Finally she got to see a doctor.  He suspected 
drugs and checked for them.  While he did so, she 
tried to explain her transformation calmly and 
clearly to him, but only convinced the physician 
that she was delusional.  He prescribed valium and 
made her an appointment with a hospital psychiatrist.  
By that time Bobbi had steadied herself enough to 
appear rational to the untutored eye.

     Leaving the hospital, Bobbi realized that medical
science couldn't help her.  Scientists didn't
understand magic.  She guessed that she would have to
see a witch.  But how did one find a practicing
warlock? she wondered.  They didn't advertise in the 
phone book.  There was an occult book store downtown,
the girl suddenly remembered.  Maybe she could ask the
clerks there for a lead.  

     Bobbi drove home without mishap and, used up,
emotionally spent, she put her key into the lock.  She
just wanted to get into bed, to cover up her head and
cry herself empty.  Much to her surprise, the door
only opened a couple inches; the security chain was
set.  As she shook the door in frustration, Dori 
stepped into view.            

     "Dori!  You're back!" cried Bobbi.

     "You're damned right I'm back!" Dori snarled
through the crack.  "Who in hell are you and what are
you doing with Rob's key?"

     "Damn it Dori, I live here!"

     What do you mean you live here?  That bastard sure
didn't waste any time replacing me, did he!   Well, I'm
going to fight for my man!  Take a hike, bitch!"

     "No, Dori, you don't understand!"

     Dori was opening the door.  "I understand, all
right, you little tramp!  Rob thinks you're moving in
with him!  Well, he's got another thing coming!  Give
me those keys!  You'll stay in this apartment over my
dead body!"

     Dori shoved Bobbi hard against the wall and
grabbed at her keys.  Dori's strength seemed
incredible!  Being manhandled by a sleek girl like Dori
so shocked Bobbi that she defended herself very poorly;
she couldn't prevent the keys from being torn from her
nerveless grasp.  Then the Dori stormed back into the
apartment, slammed the door shut, and threw the
deadbolt.

     "Let me in, you stupid slut!" Bobbi yelled,
beating on the panel with her tender fists.  "At least
give me back my car keys!"

     "Your car keys?  They've got Rob's name on them
and they're for his Dodge!  Get out of here, or I'll
call the police!"

     Bobbi slumped back against the wall, overwhelmed. 
Locked out of her apartment, her car keys lost, having
almost no money, barely dressed, she realized now that
she didn't even have an identity.  The girl suddenly
grasped that her problem wasn't just facing life as a
woman, it was a matter of basic survival -- food,
shelter, clothing!
     She shuddered.  What a heartless revenge Cassandra
had taken upon her!  Sure, Rob had told her that he had
had his fill of her nutty ideas and had ordered her
out of his life -- but this was too much retribution. 
It was like shooting a person in the heart for taking
someone's potato chip.  Black despair overcame the
young woman and a ghastly image flashed before her
inner mind -- an image of herself standing on a high
bridge ready to jump, hopelessness and horror snatching
at her from behind, death and darkness waiting to
receive her up ahead.

     I don't want to die, she thought desperately. 
Jim!  He's my best friend.  He'll know who I am! 
He'll help me!

                         #     

     The door to Jim's apartment opened slowly.  A face
that wasn't Jim's appeared, saying,  "Well, hello! 
What can I do for you?"

     Bobbi recognized Rona Spears.  In fact, she knew
that this had always been Rona's apartment -- it had
been Jim who had moved in with her.  "Am I glad
somebody's home!"  Bobbi jabbered.  " -- Listen, I'm
Bobbi, uh, McGee, a friend of Robert Wescott.  I wanted
to stay with Rob while I'm visiting the city, but, uh,
he's not in town.  So I thought about Jim and you.  Rob
said that you were such good friends of his.  Is it
okay?"                            

     Rona sized up the girl.  Yes, she looked
just like the type that Rob Wescott would be interested
in.  In fact, maybe his taste was improving.  There was
a natural charm to this young miss.  The business
woman sensed a vulnerability in Bobbi McGee that called
out something benign and sisterly from deep inside her. 

     "Any friend of Rob's is a friend of ours," she
said pleasantly.  "I'm afraid that Jim is seeing
clients in Sacramento and won't be back until tomorrow
night.  You can stay here until either he or Rob shows
up."

     "That's great, Rona!"

     "Don't mention it, Bobbi."  Just then Rona caught
the scent of her guest's musty clothing and
perspiration.  "Did you walk all the way here from
Rob's?"

     "Yes, I wanted to save the cab fare."

     Rona stood aside to let Bobbi enter.  "Well, why
don't you freshen up with a shower?  Do you have an
overnight bag?"

     "Ah, no.  It was stolen from the cart at the bus
station," Bobbi lied agilely.

     "Damn, this city!" Rona commiserated.

                            #     

     A half hour later found Bobbi resting upon a
stuffed chair.  Now wearing a pair of Rona's jeans and
a shirt, it felt so good to be out Dori's mix-and-match
bimbo outfit.  The shower, too, been restorative, but
touching her strange new body was hard for Bobbi.  She
had kept her eyes closed through the whole bath.

     Rona stepped back into the room wearing a dress
suit and a sting tie.  "Well, Bobbi, I hate to leave,
but I have a dinner engagement with an important
client."

     "You'd leave me here alone?  A stranger?"

     "It's obvious that you know Rob very well. 
Somehow, I don't think anyone with such sad, gentle
eyes could be a thief.  And, besides, there's something
about you that makes me feel like I know you already."

     "You won't be sorry," Bobbi promised gratefully.

     Left alone, Bobbi grew a little restless as the
afternoon wore on.  She got up and paced about the
apartment, already very familiar to her from her --
then his -- earlier visits.  She took a Diet Coke, made
a salami, sandwich and found that just one filled her 
up.  Maybe a smaller body meant a smaller appetite.  
That's good, she thought -- lower grocery bills.  
Then she wandered over to the full-length mirror.

     "Look at you!" Bobbi rebuked her own reflection. 
"What a sight you are!"  She folded her arms over the
swollen front of her shirt and cast a troubled glance
out the window.  "How long am I going to be like this? 
Forever?"

     Screwing up her courage, Bobbi regarded her
reflection yet again.  This time she nodded 
grudgingly, saying, "You're good-looking, I'll 
grant you that!"

     The young woman's curiosity at last got the better
of her.  She took off her shirt and studied herself
carefully.  Rona's clothes fitted very well, Bobbi had
discovered, but, like Dori's, Rona's bra was just too 
snug.  In fact, the discomfort was enough to prompt the
new-minted girl to take it off entirely.  Now bare to
the waist, Bobbi cupped her bra-pinched breasts in her
hands and massaged the soreness away.

     "I really grew a big crop of America's best last
night," she chuckled sadly.  Were they hers for keeps? 
Was there any way to break the magic spell?  How long
did spells last if you didn't break them?  She tried to
think of all the stories she had read about magic, all
the movies she had seen.  The Shaggy Dog had to do
something brave and heroic to become a boy again, she
recalled.  The Frog Prince had to get a princess to
kiss him.  The Beast had to make Beauty love him.

     Bobbi grinned, enjoying the idea of being kissed
by Princess Di and being restored to gorgeous manhood
in her arms.  But it wasn't a practical solution.

     The blonde put her hands on her hips and tilted
her head from side to side.

     If I'm stuck as a girl for any time at all, Bobbi
thought, I've got to earn a living.  How do I do that? 
I can't even prove I have a high school diploma now. 
Maybe I could become a model.  Bobbi fantasized herself
in a bikini and leaning sexily against a red Nissan 
240SX, or a glossy black Acura Integra upon the cover 
of some future issue of SPORTS CAR.  Not much hard work
in modeling, she thought; wearing a bikini in public 
would be the roughest part.  But then she reconsidered.
Fat chance!  Those jobs were hard to get.  Every model 
that she had known as Rob had at one time or other
complained that she had had to sleep with somebody to
get a shot at the worthwhile assignments.

     Bobbi winced.  The idea of sleeping with a man 
was decidedly unpleasant, even if it meant earning 
a good living.  Now that she was a girl, Bobbi
wondered if it meant that she liked boys.  She called
up a large image of Fabio in her mind's eye and decided
that it didn't to a thing for her.  But Cindy Crawford
- -- ahh, that was a body to set her heart strings
strumming!  But could Bobbi thrill Cindy as she was
now?  Maybe; she had heard some of the tabloid stories
about the supermodel.  Be that as it may, Bobbi could
console herself that plenty of girls were willing 
sleep with other girls.  Especially girls like the 
one in the mirror.

     I need a drink, she thought, if I'm ever going 
to sort this thing out.  Damn, what if Jim won't 
believe me?  What then?  Bobbi went over to the 
liquor cabinet and poured herself a Scotch and soda.  

     As she consumed the hard liquor, she felt
depressed.  Rob had worked very hard at building a
career in real estate.  Now it was lost.  As Bobbi
she might have to start all over again.  Well, there
were plenty of female realtors, and though the
feminists among them might whine and feel sorry for
themselves, the average customer related well to the
feminine style of salesmanship.  The women in the
business did well on the whole, as long as they 
applied themselves as vigorously as a man.  

     In fact, it was at a realtor's convention where
Rob had first met Rona, and there discovered that they
both lived in the same city.  The two of them were
friendly from the start, but they had never quite made
it into bed together.  It was Jim's heart -- or loins
- -- that Rona had set on fire when Rob introduced them. 
Rob didn't really resent the way things had worked out,
since he thought that Rona would be good for his friend
and, besides, Rob's hands were full just then with a 
postal worker named Charlotte who liked to lick whipped
cream off his bare feet.

     Bobbi sighed.  Those were the good old days.  Were
the really gone forever?  What could she replace them
with?  The small blonde downed the rest of her drink,
and then tackled a second.  How strangely and how
suddenly her fate had changed! she thought.  She
suddenly got worried that this experience was some sort
of punishment -- from Heaven, not just from the weird
and vindictive Cassandra.  Was it possible that
Cassandra might actually have been acting --
unwittingly -- as Heaven's agent?  

     Bobbi decided that it couldn't be.  Rob never hurt
women.  In fact, he had made scores of women very happy
- -- for a while.  At least he had never committed the
big faux pas and gotten one of them pregnant.  That is,
he never knew for certain that any of his girls were
pregnant when split-up time arrived.  She checked
herself, supposing that in another minute she'd be
feeling guilty for absolutely nothing.  Damn it, birth
control was a woman's problem anyway!

     Birth control.  That was a strange thought under
the present circumstances.  Bobbi had become a woman
herself and so she suddenly wondered, with a
strangely-melded sense of alarm and amazement, whether
this new-edition body of hers could conceive a child. 
Motherhood.  Imagine that!  She looked down at herself
and touched her small, slightly convex belly.  Could it
happen?  If it could, what should she think about it?

     Bobbi remembered how the tough gang boss trapped
in Kathy Duffy's body in SYNAPSE had finally achieved a
happy ending by becoming a loving wife and the proud
mother of a little boy.  And in Ellen Barkin's movie,
too, the character had had a baby.  But she had
tragically died in childbirth.  That was such a sad
scene, Bobbi remembered -- and it was supposed to have
been a comedy!  Very tipsy now, she felt the tickle of
tears rilling down her cheeks.  A sudden rush of
sadness made her sniffle, and then beagin to shake 
with sobs.  The thought of Ellen's little girl growing
up without a mother to love her seemed an idea so awful
that the young woman tried as hard as she could not to
think about it.  She finished her drink to steady her 
nerves.

    Once she had released her pent-up emotions Bobbi
felt much better.  She mopped away her tears with the
backs of her hands.  The crying had stuffed up her
nose, so she blew it in a napkin.  The girl considered
whether she needed another drink and decided that she
did.

     A little later, staggering drunk, Bobbi wobbled
into the  bedroom and clumsily stripped off her jeans. 
She didn't actually mean to shed the panties along with
them, but her thumbs had gotten into their waistband
and so she dragged them off, too.  As she fell into
bed, Bobbi's forehead struck her purse and it hurt. 
"Damned idol," she muttered as she rolled over and dug
the thing from the handbag.

     Seeing the statuette again gave Bobbi a sudden
idea.  If it had changed her sex once just by sleeping
near it, maybe it would change her back if she repeated
the process.  "I'll just put this little doodad beside
the bed here," she slurred, "and maybe it'll turn me
into a man by morning.  Fight magic with magic!  What
have I got to lose?"  

     As she settled the statuette upon the nightstand,
she noticed a bottle of perfume sitting there next to
the lamp.  Its label read "Magic Midnight."  Bobbi had
always loved the scent of perfume on beautiful women. 
With a crooked smile, she fumbled the bottle open to
take a whiff.  She found its odor wonderfully sensuous
but, unfortunately, the girl's quaking fingers dropped
the bottle on her lap, not spilling much, but tossing
several powerfully aromatic droplets into her pubic
hair and across her bare thighs.  Bobbi recapped the
bottle hastily, then turned off the lamp and fell into
a deep sleep.
                             #

      Jim Cardwell opened the bedroom door quietly.  He
was a tall, clear-eyed man with dark hair and a strong
jaw.  The  Japanese investors he had gone to Sacramento
to see had cut their series of meetings short due to a
banking emergency back home.  That had left Jim with
nothing to do other than catch an evening return
flight.  "Rona?  Are you awake?" he whispered.  He
heard a woman's deep breathing and her wordless
murmuring.  "No, she's sleeping."

     The young investment broker sniffed the sweetened
air.  It was his favorite perfume, Magic Midnight. 
Rona always wore it to make him hot to trot!  Grinning
with anticipation, he began to strip off his clothes. 
Jim hadn't cheated on Rona since he had known her,
though he had been sorely tempted just the night
before.  The Japanese had held an extravagant party at
the Imperial Hotel with all the amenities provided. 
Jim had let the opportunity to make it with a
high-class call girl pass, though, because his old
free-and-easy ways had always brought him grief in the
past and, besides, he cared about Rona and wanted what
they had to work out.  But his near miss with
infidelity had made him very anxious to get back to
Rona's side.  Now that he had caught scent of her,
those feelings were rushing back into his id with
powerful urgency.  He would either have to plunge into
a very cold shower or into some very hot action.  With
Rona and him in the same bedroom, the idea of taking a
shower came in a very poor second.

     Jim softly approached the bed.  Sitting down
beside the one whom he thought was his girl friend, he
grouped in the dark and touched her slowly rising and
falling boobies.  He smiled; if anything, they felt 
even larger than he remembered them to be.  Funny 
the tricks that the memory can play! he thought.  Jim 
sucked in an excited breath as he stroked Bobbi's 
breasts.  She stirred, but didn't wake. 

     Jim, trying not to disturb her sleep, checked her
for panties; she was wearing none.  He slipped his own
briefs to the floor, tossed them aside, and positioned
himself on the bed above the girl.  He took hold her
hips to steady them, then, as he moved his face closer,
Jim discovered that "Rona" had used perfume on her
pubic hair.  To him that meant that the little mix had
been hoping that he'd find a way to come home early and
had decked herself out like a carnal feast so that not
a second would be wasted.  What a woman!   

     He flicked his tongue against the outer lips of
Bobbi's pussy.  The sleeper shifted and moaned, but her
alcohol-reenforced slumber was a heavy one.  Jim
chuckled quietly as he moved his mouth to her breasts,
licking the nipples as if they had they been dabbed
with honey.  Bobbi groaned and shifted a bit as the
sharp tickling sensation penetrated her deep sleep.

     The young man's cock was now swollen and aching. 
He knew that there wouldn't be much time for foreplay,
so he took the woman passionately in his arms and
kissed her hard on the lips.

     "Whaa --?!" Bobbi mumbled as she awoke to feel her
mouth and nose smothered under something wet.

     "Easy, Rona.  It's Jim.  I just got back.  I need
you, baby."

     "J-Jim?" the girl muttered confusedly.

     But Jim wasn't listening, he just kept on kissing
her face and neck, using all the techniques that he had
developed over twenty-six years of living free.  He
opened his mouth and captured on of her large, erect
nipples between his hungry lips.  Jim sucked first on
one and then on the other.  He pressed his face into
her smooth, resilient breasts, firm with the golden
kiss of youth.

     "M-My God!" muttered Bobbi.

     Jim now shifted to run his tongue along "Rona's"
inner thighs, while very gently spreading wet kisses on
her skin.  He brought his face to the thick fleece
between her legs and rubbed his nose in it, inhaling
deeply of her sweet perfume and natural woman-scent.  

     Bobbi gasped and her hips involuntarily lurched
as her bedfellow slipped his long wet tongue between
her dewy labia.  Jim forced it as far up her love 
channel as he could, then let it slide out with 
teasing slowness.  Her reaction encouraged him to 
torment her all the more by running the tip of his 
tongue all over her pussy without making contact with
her small clitoris.  He knew that stunt was always 
slow torture for Rona.  He heard the girl's breath 
catch in her throat and felt her body quiver as
if stung by an electric jolt.  He guessed that she was
now ready to be brought to an even higher pitch.  Equal
to the task, Jim put the tip of his probing tongue into
direct contact with her sensitive nether bud and began
flicking it back and forth.  That never failed to drive
Rona wild.

     "Oh, Jim!  Christ, Jim!" Bobbi moaned as she felt
the hot-bladed thrills of excitement shooting through
every nerve of her body.  

     Unable to hold himself back, Jim repositioned
himself to mount her, guiding his rock-hard organ to
her furred aperture.  Tiny, pulsing shocks raced
through him as Bobbi reacted to the first touch of his
maleness by trying to wriggle away like a
frightened virgin.  Jim steadied her with a firm grip
and then, with a hard thrust, he shoved himself as
deeply as he could into the unplumbed well of
Bobbi's scented maidenhood.

     "Oh!" Bobbi gasped as the tender walls of her
interior expanded to accommodate the penetration.  
Jim was surprised to find "Rona's" pussy so tight.
He felt his foreskin stretched back to the limit, 
until it almost pained him.  Then his breath caught
in his throat when her vaginal muscles seemed to 
contract around his throbbing organ, trapping it in
a powerful grip.  Now that was his girl Rona!

     Jim began fucking poor Bobbi with quick, hard
thrusts, his hips moving like pistons, plunging him
to the very depths of her maidenly recesses.

     "Ayiiii!  Ayiii!" Bobbi cried, throwing her head
back and holding to Jim's waist with clawing fingers. 
Her nails hurt him, but Jim let everything fade from
his mind, except the thought that he was a young and
healthy male fucking that special young woman that
belonged to him alone.  He dug his toes into the
mattress and pumped himself into her for all he was
worth.  Each hard, long stroke made his heart beat
faster.  He felt Bobbi's vaginal muscles go into
action, not by any direction on her part, but by the
stern dictates of Mother Nature, who decreed that man
and woman should mate.  Bobbi, her body operating on
pure instinct, frantically milked his rigid prick of
his clear preliminary secretions, while her silken 
legs entangled themselves with his in a lock that 
not even Houdini could have picked.

     Jim was rapidly approaching climax, but he wanted
to be sure that Rona came with him.  Delaying his own
pleasure with a mighty exertion of will, he
deliberately brought himself into contact with her
clitoris, subjecting her tight pussy to the relentless
friction of his love-making until she was moaning with
pleasure.  Jim could hear the loud slurping noise of
his cock sliding in and out of Bobbi's wet, fleshy vise
while his testicles began to ache with an urgency that
begged release.
     Suddenly Bobbi felt Jim's prick expand within her
- -- and the first jet of searing hot viscous nectar
splashed against her cervix, igniting a series of
explosions deep inside her body.  "Aaaaiii!" the girl
cried out at the top of her lungs, digging her heels
into his thighs and raking her fingernails across his
back as an irresistible series of passion-quakes shot
through her.

     Jim's hips went on pumping even after the last
drop had been drained from him by Bobbi's hungry, if
involuntary, contractions.  He could finally bear his
herculean exertion no longer and collapsed upon her. 
He heard the hot rasp of her breath in his ear, felt
her velvety arms wrapping themselves tightly around
his neck, clinging to him desperately.

     Bobbi, overwhelmed with drink and the aftermath of
her orgasmic release, didn't hear the sound of the
doorknob turning.  Even Jim missed it and only when the
bedroom light went on suddenly did he look back in
surprise.  The surprise became pure horror when he saw
Rona's astonished face.  

     "Jim!  What are you doing!?"

     Jim really didn't know what he had been doing.  Or
rather he did know -- he just didn't know whom he had
been doing it to.  He looked down at the face of the
girl under him, with its big dewy eyes and lips
half-parted with astonishment.  Confusion filled those
eyes as Bobbi blinked up into Jim's face, then they
glazed over as she passed out cold.

     "Who is she?" Jim gasped.  "I never saw her before
in my life!"

     "Don't play innocent, Jim!" sobbed Rona.  "Can't I
even let a friend sleep over without you jumping her?"

     "So she's a friend of yours!" Jim jabbered as he
rolled off of Bobbi and threw a sheet over his nudity. 
"Honest, Rona, I didn't know.  It was dark and I
thought she was you.  She was wearing your perfume!"

     "A likely story!  I've had it, Jim!  I can't trust
you anymore!  I was such a fool!"  Suddenly her anger
turned against Bobbi when she spotted the girl's
cut-offs and halter hanging upon the back of a chair.

      She snatched them up and threw them into Jim's
face.  "Here, these are hers!  Get your playmate
dressed and then both of you get out of here!  This is
my apartment and I don't want to see either one of you
in it again!"

                            #

     Again dressed in the halter, cut-offs, and sandals
inherited from Dori, Bobbi was sitting opposite Jim in
the booth of a small all-night cafe.  With a pounding
hangover and fighting hard to control the trauma of
what had happened to her, she had been doing her best
to explain who she really was, to no avail.  

     Jim shook his head.  "Miss, that's the nuttiest
story I ever heard!  Rob put you up to this gag, didn't
he?"

     "You stupid son of a bitch!  I'm me!  If you won't
believe me, nobody else in the world will either!"

     "Hey, calm down, honey.  You'll make a scene."

     Tears of frustration ran down Bobbi's cheeks.  Her
headache alone was enough to bring tears to her eyes. 
She rested her elbows on the table and her face in her
hands.  "God, Jim, don't you have any shame?  You take
my virginity, maybe even knock me up, and now you're
calling me a liar!"

     "Come on -- I'll grant that you look enough like
Rob to be his sister, but you can't be Rob, magic or
not.  Rob would have died before he'd dress like that. 
Anyhow, the way you acted in bed tells me that you're 
a one hundred percent wild woman -- and Rob Wescott
didn't like boys!"

     "All right," said Bobbi, forcing a rush of anger
through her despair, "if you won't believe me, try
sleeping next to the idol I've got here.  It'll turn
into a girl too, I bet, and I hope somebody treats you
just the way you're treating me!"  She realized the
instant that she touched her purse that the statuette
was gone. "-- Hell, I must have left the damned thing
back at Rona's."

     "I'm too tired for all this crap," Jim sighed. 
"Look, you're a kook, but I like you.  There's
something, well, kind of sweet about you.  I'd like to
get to know you better.  Do you have a place to stay? 
We can get a room together."
     Bobbi sprang up and grabbed her purse.  "That's
enough, Jim!  You've been rotten to me!  I thought we
were friends, but you're out of lunch now that I 
really need you.  I never want to see you again!"       
     
     "I'm sorry.  We could have started something
beautiful."

     "Oooo!" Bobbi exclaimed in fury as she stalked
away from the table, but the hopelessness of her
situation dawned on her just then and she stopped in
her tracks.

     "Did you forget something, baby cakes?" asked Jim.

     "For Pete's sake, Jim, I -- I'm penniless.  I
can't go home, and the streets aren't safe at night for
a -- a woman.  I just don't know what to do anymore!  I
might get raped or killed!  My life is over."

     Jim started feeling very uncomfortable as he 
looked into Bobbi's big bloodshot eyes.  But the 
events of the night had made him cranky and even 
unsympathetic.  "Look, kid, I don't want to see you 
go away empty-handed.  You were good in bed.  I almost
dropped a bundle on a girl in Sacramento last night 
anyway, so you can have it instead.  I'd say you earned 
about a hundred tonight."  Jim opened his wallet, took 
out five twenties, and laid them on the table.

     Bobbi looked at the money with a face that
registered horror and sickness.  "Are you calling me a
whore, Jim?  Is that it?"  She stared with a hurt 
that made him cringe.  "Why, Jim?  What did I do to 
make you think I was a whore?"

     Her legs felt weak and she weaved; for a second
she looked like she might fall over.  Fighting to keep
on her feet, Bobbi passed a hand over her face. 
"Cassandra did something very cruel to me," she began
again, "but with a little help and some trust I could
have bounced back.  But I can't bounce back from this,
Jim."  Her voice cracked.  "Not this."

     Bobbi McGee stood looking down at the
money, her tears moistening it like a warm summer 
rain.  "I'd throw it back in your face," she
whispered, "but I need it.  God help me, I need it." 
She broke into sobs and hid her face in her hands.

     Jim dropped his glance, embarrassed.  "It's 
yours -- Miss.  I'm sorry.  I didn't mean --"

     The girl straightened.  "I know what you 
meant!"

     Bobbi picked up the money as quickly as she could
and then fled out the door.  Left alone, Jim drank
deeply of his coffee, thinking about all the craziness
that had happened that night.  This girl, whoever she
was, had deserved something better, though he didn't
know exactly why he should think that.  He did know
that he could have handled the situation better.  If
only he hadn't been so upset about his quarrel with 
Rona, and if Bobbi hadn't thrown him for a loop with 
that crazy story about being Robert Wescott.  As mixed
- -up as Bobbi seemed to be, there was something about her 
that touched him where he really lived.  He was left 
feeling about as bad as a man could.

                          #

     Jim had never lived through a day like the one
which followed his strange encounter with Bobbi McGee. 
Before it was over, he was frantically driving around
the city, anxiously questioning the clerk of every
motel located near the cafe where he had last seen her.
Finally he had managed to discover that the mysterious
girl had stayed in the Balmoral, but only for one
night, then had checked out.  The clerk on duty only
knew that she had bought a newspaper at the office just
before she had left, and had asked him if he had heard
about any unskilled labor jobs in the city.

     Thank God she's planning to stay in the city for
now! Jim thought.  He got himself a copy of the same
newspaper and checked out every job that a girl without
a past might apply for.  Some businesses remembered
seeing the scantily-clad young woman -- in fact very
few could forget her -- but none of them would hire a
person who didn't even have a library card for
identification.  Jim exhausted every possibility and
for weeks thereafter he spent a large part of each day
just driving around, looking for Bobbi's face,
especially in those areas where poor working class
people worked, ate, or shopped.  And every day made 
him hate himself the more for what he had done.  

     But then, one afternoon --

                              #

     Working hard carrying soft drinks and burgers to
hungry motorists, Bobbi had gradually lost her loathing
for her uniform, the white, hip-hugging short-shorts
and the tight, sleeveless, midriff-baring red T-shirt.
Being a carhop at Spanky's Root Beer Station didn't pay
well, but at least it kept Bobbi from getting drooled
on by the homeless at the free shelter, or needing to
sell her body.  She was having her first period,
though, and felt both ill-humored and uncomfortable. 
Thankfully, menstruation, as bad as it was, meant that
she wasn't carrying Jim's child.  That was certainly
one of the few good discoveries to come her way since
she had turned into a woman.

     Lost in thought, Bobbi tripped over a teenager who
was so preoccupied with her legs that he couldn't keep
his own big feet out of her way.  The carhop dropped
her tray of waste Styrofoam and paper cups on the
concrete before she caught herself.  The brisk wind
threatened to spread it far and wide.  "S-Sorry, Miss,"
the youth stammered as he slipped away without offering
to help her.  Shaking her head, Bobbi bent down to
resignedly pick up the mess while she still could.   

     "I'm glad to see that you're all right, Rob!"
someone said from behind her.  Startled to hear her
real name spoken, Bobbi stood up, turned, and saw a
familiar Ford Taurus.

     "Jim!" Bobbi cried as she recognized the driver. 
Then she remembered what had happened the last time
they had been together and got angry all over again. 
"Oh, it's you!"  She turned away and stomped back to
the serving counter; Jim switched off his ignition, 
got out of the car, and pursued her.

     "Rob, wait!" yelled Jim.  "I haven't been able to
sleep for worrying about you!"  

     When she wouldn't turn, he caught her by the arm. 
"Will you leave me alone!" Bobbi exclaimed.  "If you
want a whore, swing down that street!"

     "Bobbi, don't.  I've been going crazy.  I've been
watching for your face everywhere, I've been calling
your friends, visiting the shelters, checking the
hospitals -- reading the obituaries."

     "Hey, you're calling me Rob!  Do you finally
believe me?"

     "I had to believe you -- after I saw Rona."
     "What do you mean?"

     "She went to sleep next to that idol that you left
in her bedroom -- and she turned into -- a guy."

     "Oh, no!  Poor Rona!"

     Jim put his hand on his friend's shoulder.  "It
wasn't so bad.  She got used to it really quick.  We
became great buddies.  It turned out that we even liked
the same sort of women!"

     "Rona had to change sex in front of your eyes
before you'd believe me?" Bobbi asked sarcastically.
     "I'm trying to say that I'm sorry for the way I
treated you, Rob.  Can you ever forgive me?"

     Bobbi looked him over critically.  "What if I
don't?  Maybe I should keep you on a guilt trip for 
the rest of your life."

     "Maybe you should," Jim replied grimly.

     Bobbi shook her head and gave him a friendly 
punch in the arm.  "Screw that!  You're forgiven, 
you big dumb lug.  You're a fourteen caret bastard,
but what the hell good does it do me to carry a 
grudge?"

     "Great!" cried Jim and, without thinking, he
threw his arms around Bobbi, crushing her against 
his chest.  Then, realizing what he was doing, and 
who he was doing it to, he let her go.

     "Sorry."

     Bobbi smoothed her hair.  "Forget it.  I've been
needing a hug for a long time."

     "A hug?  I'm so glad to see you that I could kiss
you.  Get in the car.  I'll take you out of here."

     "Where are we going?"

     "You can stay with me."

     "With you and Rona?"

     "No.  Rona calls herself -- himself -- Ron now and
she's taken off.  He met this girl whose father owns a
chemical plant out East.  Actually, they've known each
other for years and were best girl friends.  But when
they got together accidently as a man and a woman, this
strange chemistry just took over.  They dated, they
slept together, and finally Ron popped the question. 
He even admitted to her who he really was.  She
actually believed him, liked the idea, and accepted!" 
Jim shook his head.  "I told Ron that he shouldn't jump
into a hasty marriage, but --"

     "Marriage after only one month a man!  Jeez, I
wish I could adjust that easily -- not that I want to
be anyone's wife."

     "Well, you'll feel much better once you're back
among friends."

     "Friends?  What friend did I ever have, except
you?  I had acquaintances, colleagues, lovers, but not
friends."

     "Make new friends, then!  Start small and build
from the foundations, right?"

     A horn honked; a customer needed service.  "I have
to get back to work, Jim.  Come back for me at seven
and I'll go home with you."

     "Seven?  Why?"

     "I get off work then."

     "Rob!"     

     I can't run out on these people on such a busy
day.  In fact, I'd better give Spanky's a couple days
notice so they can find a replacement for me."

     "Are you heat-struck?  You don't have to give
notice to a root beer stand!"

     "I think I should, Jim.  The managers saved my
life.  When I showed up here I was at my last gasp.  I
was ready to jump off a bridge.  The only other job
offer I had was from a pimp downtown.  I didn't have
any identity; only the fact that I cast a shadow proved
that I actually existed!  The Spanky people thought
that I was an illegal alien, but they helped me anyway.
I owe them a lot."

     Jim touched her chin, lifted it, and gazed
understandingly into her blue eyes.  "You were always a
great guy, Rob Wescott.  Now you're a great gal.  You
just keep getting better and better."

     "You'd better get used to calling me Bobbi McGee,"
the young woman advised him with a wane smile.
                            #

     By the end of the weekend, Bobbi's carhop career
lay behind her.  The last few days had been full of
settling in and busy planning. The two friends were now
taking a needed break, sitting upon the carpet, a deck
of cards and a discard pile between them.  Bobbi was
wondering whether she should risk her twenty cents in
the pot on just one pair of kings, or go for an
outside straight.  

     That first night at Jim's apartment he had asked
her whether she had any plans.  Bobbi had stared at him
very seriously.  "There's a lot more to this curse than
we thought, Jim," she had said.  "I have this
compulsion.  It's been eating on me and eating on me." 
She covered her face.  "I can't fight it any longer. 
Whatever you think, whatever the world thinks, I just
have to give in to it.  I hope you'll still be able to
respect me."

     "What do you mean?" asked Jim.

     "I have to become a French maid!"

     "That's good," Jim had replied with a thoughtful
nod.  "Terrific working conditions, great benefits. 
And there's lots of jobs out there.  In fact, I could
use a little French maid myself.  I saw this really
cute uniform in one of Rona's lingerie catalogs.  Lacy
panties, short-short skirt, and an itsy-bitsy
five-layered petticoat.  You'll love it!  I'll love
it!"

     "Then wear it yourself, sucker!" 

     "I'm glad you can joke about this, Bobbi," Jim had
laughed.  "I think you're going to be all right."

     "I'm not going to let this thing beat me, that's
for sure," Bobbi had declared firmly.  "Cassandra
probably wanted me to commit suicide, or become a
drunk, or a druggie or something.  Well, she's not
going to have the satisfaction!  I'm going to live a
good and productive life, Jim, even if it kills me. 
That's the best way I know of to get back at her."

      "You can do it, and I'm going to help you.  As I
see it, what you need most right now is a solid
identity."

      "Yeh?  How do I get one?"

     "You can be Rona!"
     Bobbi had looked up, her brow furrowed.  "Rona?!"

     "She and I talked the idea over, just in case we
ever found you.  She left all her old documents with
me, for you to use.  She left everything, in fact,
except her money."

     "She'd do that for me?!"
     "Rona was a little excitable, Bobbi, but a great
- -- person -- at heart.  And she always did like you as
Rob."

     Bobbi had concurred.  "She even liked me as Bobbi
McGee, until she thought I'd double-crossed her.  But
how can I go around as Rona?  People knew her."
     Jim had shook his head.  "She wrote all her
friends and told them that she was entering a reclusive
religious order and that she wouldn't be coming back. 
That took care of one angle.  Better yet, she doesn't
have any close relatives who'll ever bother to check 
up on her."

     Bobbi had considered the possibility carefully. 
"It could work.  She and I were both in the realty
business.  I could apply for a decent job using Rona's
resume.  But it still might be smart if I moved to a
different city."

     "If you do that," Jim had begun carefully, "would
you mind it very much if I came along with you?"

     Bobbi had looked at him intensely just then, as if
seeing him for the first time.

                            #

     "Two cards," Jim called suddenly, bringing Bobbi
back from the past.  She peeled a couple cards off the
deck and tossed them to his side.

     "I'll stay," she told him.

     Bobbi thought of Rona's hasty marriage.  Rona had
become a straight guy in a matter of just a couple
weeks.  But even after a month, Bobbi still didn't know
where she stood.  She had been fighting the idea of
having a sexual attraction to men with more ferocity
than Custer fighting the Indians.  But, deep down, what
did she really feel?  It was a troubling thought for a
person who had never had a gay bone in his -- her --
body.

     Bobbi decided that she could not afford to be
rigidly fixed upon the past.  She had to stop thinking
left to right and start thinking right to left. 
Cassandra's magic certainly could change the body.  But
did it change the emotions also?  Bobbi was beginning
to think that it did.  Maybe the witch herself hadn't
fully understood power of the idol, that the wound it
inflicted actually carried its own healing.  Bobbi
smiled to herself.  That was why Cassandra's revenge
would always be a hollow one.

     Would Bobbi want to be a man again if she could? 
Yes --  in a minute!  It would have been a relief to be
able to take refuge once again in what was safe and
familiar.  Rob had had a routine, a past, he was
working toward a future.  He had been able to take
comfort in the familiar things around him.  Now those 
familiar things were gone and Bobbi suspected that 
there would be no going back to them.  But what lay 
ahead in this strange new life?  That was the question
that kept her lying awake at night.

     Bobbi was pretty sure that she could not recreate
the female equivalent of Rob's bon vivant style.  It
wasn't just the physical obstacles that her anatomy
presented.  Events had changed her heart even more than
magic had changed her shape.  She had no more taste for
the promiscuous adventuring that had defined Rob's
social life.  Bobbi suddenly had a frightening thought.

     Was it a woman's instinct taking over her mind,
urging her to seek stability and permanence in her
relationships, crowding out her former penchant for
variety and adventure -- or was it just the kind of 
enlightenment that a human being sometimes must come 
by the hard way?  

     Bobbi had kept to her little rented room near
Spanky's, drinking the bitter drops of loneliness to
their dregs.  She had finally grasped the fact that
though she had had many lovers as Rob, Rob had had no 
love to speak of.  Had that situation been Rob's fault?
she had wondered.  Was it because Rob had failed again
and again to truly give of himself that no one now had
anything to give to Bobbi in return?  That had to
change, the young woman vowed.  She couldn't remain a
spiritual hermit; she had to be a part of life, she 
even accept the drab and the risky parts of life.

     A new body, a new identity, a new job, a new
style, even a new sex.  This was a good time to make
some serious changes.

     Bobbi looked up at her companion.  She had begun 
to feel very strangely about Jim.  She had been deeply
touched by his efforts to find and to save her.  But it
was more than just that.  Bobbi was starting to enjoy 
his company -- no, his nearness -- in ways that she 
never had before.  The sound of Jim's voice, that 
cocky expression in his brown eyes, even the knot in 
his necktie, stirred her like only the beauty of 
a girl had before.  

     The young woman watched her comrade as he poured
over his cards.  More and more with passing time
her mind had gone back to the night that she and Jim
had made love.  During those first few days afterwards
she had recoiled from the memory in horror.  But,
over the following empty weeks, it had come back to
her in a new aspect, like a butterfly escaping from
a hideous pupa.  The substance of the act remained 
the same, of course, but she could see it now in a
different and brighter guise.

     But what was she thinking?  Her and Jim? 
That was nuts.  They loved one another, truly, 
and in so many ways, but they never could love
one another that way -- could they?  Bobbi couldn't
forget that Rona had found love with her own best
friend.  

     Best friends.  What a wonderful phrase that
was.  For some reason the Frank Sinatra song that she 
had heard on her last night as a man came back as if 
in answer to her dilemma:

     "The simple secret of the plot,
     Is just to tell them that I love you a lot.      
     Then the world discovers as my book ends,      
     How to make two lovers of friends."

     No!  That was crazy! Bobbi thought.  It would be
much smarter, if she had to get involved with a male,
to make it someone -- anyone -- other than Jim. 
Somebody who didn't know about her past, someone who
wouldn't carry around all that baggage of bygone 
associations, who wouldn't have had his ideas about 
her forged in their former skirt-chasing and 
masculine camaraderie.  

     But Rona had found love with an old friend.  Their
friendship must not have been a hindrance, but might
even have helped things along.  Jim and she, Bobbi
knew, had so much in common.  Sports, politics, music
- -- as well as that indefinable trust that allowed two
friends to tell one another their problems and worries
without self-consciousness.  Maybe what the pair of
them had had up to now presented a good foundation on
which to build something new.  

     To his credit, Jim had been cleaning up his act
lately.  He had been loyal to one girl while Rob had
been going though more than a half dozen.  Could Jim be
faithful to one person for the very long haul?  Could
Bobbi?  Bobbi had definitely acquired a new respect for
loyalty and consistency of late.  She wondered whether
the two of them --
     Damn!  She had to stop thinking that way!  Oh,
this man-woman business was so confusing!

     Suddenly Jim passed his hand in front of her eyes.
"Earth to Bobbi.  This is Houston.  Are you reading us,
Bobbi?"

     "Sorry, Jim.  I've got a lot to think about."
     "I guess you do.  It must be hard coping.  What's
it like, being a woman?

     Bobbi shrugged.  "I'm still on the first chapter,
buddy.  I'll tell you when I'm deeper into the book."

     "Maybe you could write a book of your own!"

     "Maybe I could."  

     But how would the book end? Bobbi wondered.

     "I wouldn't like reading the part about what we 
two did together.  It must have been pretty bad for
you, right?"

     Bobby tossed down her cards.  "Don't keep beating
yourself up about that, Jim.  To tell the truth, I
wasn't so drunk that night that I couldn't have said
something if it was really terrible.  Even while it 
was happening I guess I thought that it was 
- -- well, sort of interesting."

      "I knew it!" crowed Jim, at once happy and
relieved.  "A man can always tell when the woman under
him is liking it!"

     "Yeh, I guess we can," nodded Bobbi absently.  She
had for so long been thinking along those lines that
old habits were hard to break. 

     "By the way Jim," she suddenly asked, "what did
you do with that idol?"

     "Oh, that.  Rona and I tried to use it turn her
back into a woman that second night, but when that
didn't work, I put it into a safe-deposit box.  I hope
nobody falls asleep in the bank vault."

     "I'd have smashed the thing -- or sent it to a
politician that I didn't like!"  Then she added with a
naughty laugh, "Hey, we could have our first woman
president!"

     "You're not thinking, buddy.  That idol might be
valuable someday, especially I can just find a rich,
frustrated transsexual.  In fact, why sell it at all? 
Just rent it out a night at a time.  It can make people
happy.  You know, doing well by doing good."

     "Hey!  If you're going into business, I deserve a
cut of the action!   It's my statue!"

     "You've got it, Partner!" Jim replied with that
same grin that had been sending shivers up and down 
Bobbi's spine lately.  He extended his hand.  "Shake
on it?"

     Bobbi's eyes met his enigmatically but didn't take
the proffered hand.  It seemed to Jim that she was
making some sort of important decision.  

     "You know, in the old days men and women thought
it was uncouth to shake hands together."

     Jim lowered his hand.  "Yeh?  What did they do?"

     "Maybe it's time I demonstrated."

     Jim had turned over to Bobbi Rona's entire 
wardrobe -- and that woman had been a clothes horse.  
Now she had everything she needed for every occasion 
- -- except that she had to replace Rona's B-cups with 
C's.  At the moment she was wearing a pair of old 
yellow pajamas bought for a dollar at the Salvation 
Army store a couple weeks earlier.  She had been 
briefly tempted to lounge around instead in one of 
Rona's little baby dolls or camis.  If she had been 
alone, she definitely would have.  But clothing sent 
a message, and when the evening had begun, Bobbi still 
hadn't decided what sort of message she should be 
sending to her friend Jim.

     But now Bobbi began to unbutton her pajama tops,
very slowly, very deliberately, her eyes whimsical and
coy.  Jim sucked nearly all the air in the room when he
saw his best friend's breasts fall bare.  

     "Oh, Bobbi," he said with a dry swallow, "I'm
game, but -- but are you sure --?

     Bobbi was sure.  She put her thumbs into the
waistband of her bottoms, pushed them down to her
ankles, and then kicked them off.  She wished now that
she had worn one of Rona's outfits after all.  Yes, a
baby doll, some make-up, and maybe a dab of perfume --
Magic Midnight would have been perfect.  Poker was fun,
she was thinking, but strip poker would add a challenge
the following night.  Both her and her buddy liked
chess.  She wondered if there was such a thing as strip
chess. In her mind she was already in bed with Jim.

     Jim reached out, both hesitation and desire
written deeply into his expression, and placed his hand
upon the roundness of the girl's hip.  Bobbi put
her hand over his, squeezed it, and with her other arm
enfolding his neck, she drew Jim's mouth up against 
hers.  The sandpaper-like texture of his chin and upper 
lip felt strange to one used to kissing the tender faces
of girls, but Bobbi McGee knew that she would have to 
get used to it.  She would have to get used to a lot of
new things, in fact.  The weeks ahead would certainly be
a learning process.

     But Robert Wescott had always been a quick study. 



THE END