by Paula Guran
With that, she slipped off the bar stool and excused herself to run to the ladies’ room.
“Hold my seat!” she squealed.
I sat there, stunned. I gulped the rest of my beer. I had to come up with an excuse fast. There was no way—What the hell—She can’t be—My mind kept slipping its track right up till the second she returned.
“Now then, listen up,” she said, then pulled me close so she could whisper right in my ear: “The extraordinary thing you do not see about this body is that it is imbued with pleasure receptors from head to toe. Kiss me.”
I did.
She shuddered.
“I came just from that little smooch, my darling pervert. Why, you ask? Because I have rearranged my own nerve endings, which was incredibly freaking hard, even for me. But worth it! So, so worth it! My lips now have the nerve endings of a clit. Kiss me again!”
I did. Deeper, this time, and the hell with who watched. She clamped hold of my wrist when her body spasmed. It hurt; she is very strong; but I kept kissing her until she finally pulled away. Her face and neck were flushed a deep crimson.
“My God,” I said.
“The night is still young,” she purred. “Did my mouth taste like pussy?”
“Yes! Yes, it did.”
“Did you enjoy tongue-fucking me here in front of all these people?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“We’ll hop from bar to bar. Tonight my body is one big cunt. Does that suit you? Will you indulge my depraved fantasy? You can make me get off just by playing with one finger.”
I kissed her again and ran my hands up and down her arms. She told me to stop.
“I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”
“We need to go someplace with really loud music if you’re going to do that,” she breathed, “because if you keep it up, I’ll be screaming.”
We found a crowded place with blaring music. I licked the palm of her hand and she screamed herself hoarse.
We went from bar to bar to bar.
“Did I keep my promise?” she asked later. “Did I show you a woman like you’ve never seen before?”
Oh yeah, she certainly had.
It was too much, too much sensation, too much pleasure, too much, too much, too much! She kissed him good-bye outside some dive on Rush Street and pushed him away when he tried to get in the cab with her. “No more, my love, no more. I’m all orgasmed-out!”
She slammed the door and told the driver where to go. Sensations kept assailing her: the press of the cushion seat, the currents of air, her clothes. Her body shuddered with every touch and every breeze.
Pleasure and pain intertwined and even sounds mixed in. She paid the driver and the rumble of his “Thank you, ma’am,” moved through her body like warm, soapy water. She ran inside her building, drunk on sensations. Somehow, she made it to her condo, but once inside, her system finally reached overload.
A familiar voice called to her. A boy’s voice, one she had known long ago.
“Xiang?” she whispered.
“Yes,” called the voice.
She whirled about, but of course there was nobody else in her condo.
She heard music. Music! Beautiful music, just as she always heard right before a transformation. But she couldn’t be transforming, not this soon, and not without willing it.
She felt her consciousness ebbing away.
6. A Nasty, Undignified Process
Song is wearing a short, slightly pudgy, almost girlish body. I take her to Japonais, a very nice Asian place. Celebrities sometimes go there. We drink saké and order the duck.
No sooner am I pulling the ring from my vest pocket than Song is slapping my hand.
“Put that damn thing away!”
I blink at her.
“I know what it is. Now put it away.”
She pours more saké and orders me to drink. I do so. She pours me another.
“I was going to ask—”
“I know what you were going to say. I’m not an idiot!”
She smiles at the waiter and signals for more water.
“I morph tomorrow, so gotta drink lots of water.”
“Does that mean the answer is no?”
She clicks a fingernail against the pot of saké.
We look at each other. Song rarely answers a question directly. Instead, she says, “You have not been to my place yet.”
“You haven’t asked me over. You won’t even tell me where it is.”
“If I won’t even have you over, what makes you think I’d marry you?”
“Um.”
“Um is right. We should just go on as we are. If we had any sense, we would. But we’re both idiots. I’m having neurochemical reactions toward you, Alex. It’s stupid. And I suppose your brain is dumping a shitload of oxytocin into your system, making you just as stupid. We’re two stupid creatures mistaking simple biological drives for something grand and significant. How much did you waste on that ring?”
“It’s an heirloom, actually.”
“Good. I’m glad it was just your ancestors who wasted good money and not you. If you still want to persist in being stupid, then you can come over to my place tonight. Do you have any idea how hard it is for an Adept to maintain long-term relationships? Do you have any clue?”
“I can’t even imagine.”
“No, you can’t. I’m glad you’ve stopped deluding yourself into thinking you can. I’ve taught you well, little grasshopper. Drink more saké. You will need it.”
I drank more. Fortunately, we were traveling by cab. Only this time, we went to her condo instead of mine. It was a short-term-stay condominium in Old Town, the kind favored by businessmen who make frequent weeklong visits to the city.
“Do you know why I don’t live in a regular apartment building?” Song asked as we headed toward the elevator.
My head was still reeling from the saké. I had no answer.
“It’s because people would notice a different woman living there every week. Word would get around that a shape-shifter was in the building. But here, people come and go all the time. A government agent rents out the same condo for me every week, but under a different name. It isn’t like the other condos in the building. It is custom-built to serve the special needs of a Polymorph Adept.”
“What’s so bad about people knowing what you are?”
“After all this time, you still don’t get it? There are people who don’t exactly like us. Being a P6 is like being in Witness Protection. You read the news. People hate us. There’s even a black market ring for polymorph organs.”
“But you can’t spend your life running and hiding.”
“Sure I can. I’m a natural at it.”
We went up to her floor. Her condo had one of the thickest doors I’ve ever seen outside of a bank. It was equipped with three locks. Once we stepped inside, she had to disarm the security system. She closed the door behind us and reset all the locks.
“Home sweet home!”
Artwork covered her walls. A lot of Norman Rockwell, a couple pieces by Pissarro, and our old friend Renoir.
“Nice.”
“Don’t sit down,” Song said. “Not yet. I told you, I’ve never brought anyone here before. Do you really want to marry me?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s good that you drank a lot of saké. Would you like another drink?”
“I’m okay.”
“Come with me.”
She took my hand and led me through the living room, through her bedroom, into her bathroom. The bathroom had a door that looked very out of place. Song unlocked it. It was almost as secure as her front door. She led me through it, into another bathroom and shower. A computer screen was built into one wall.
She closed the door behind us. My heart began to pound. Something about the way Song was acting really had me alarmed. She seemed unsure of herself.
“Before I morph, I shower and scrub myself all over. Then I input data about the form I intend
to morph into. The computer is moisture-resistant, by the way. The form has to be pre-approved before I can proceed. I took some CAD classes, so now I can generate my own 3D image. I send the image off to the regulatory agency and they approve it or reject it. Sometimes, I have to make minor alterations. Can you imagine trying to come up with a different appearance every single week of your life?”
“No, I can’t.”
“It took me years to be able to actually succeed in morphing into exactly what I set out to. Some of my attempts were hideous. Made the ugly little girl you met in the museum that first day look like Angelina Jolie. Sometimes I hid myself. Other times I went out and terrorized the villagers. Anyway, I get it all approved, then step out of my clothes. We’ll keep our clothes on. But take your shoes off, if you don’t mind.”
We took our shoes off.
Song stood at the next door for a long time before punching in a key code. She led me through and the door hissed shut, leaving us in what was basically a padded cell with smooth walls.
“And this is it. My morphing pod. This is where I change from one person to another. Please, don’t touch me. Not in here. It’s not you. I just don’t feel right with you, or with anyone, in here with me. Morphing is a very intimate act.”
“Like making love.”
“More like taking a shit. You really wouldn’t want anyone there with you. You want to be in a relationship with me, then you have to know this. This is a big part of what I am, and if we’re going to share our lives, you need to be aware of it. Oh, by the way, there is no privacy in here. Look there.”
She pointed. I looked.
“That’s right, wave for the cameras. My transformations are monitored, recorded, regulated. The government wants to make sure I don’t change into somebody else and rob a bank or something. It’s not all fun and games being an Adept.”
She spoke in a flat, dull voice, very unlike her. I stood like a shadow and let her take whatever time she needed. She seemed almost listless.
“There’s still time to back out, if you want.”
“No.”
“It’s a messy and undignified process. We’re not talking Lon Chaney turning into the werewolf here. This is ugly. You have a question.”
“Is it voluntary? I mean it seems strange that it’s scheduled.”
A half-smile played across her lips.
She stepped over to one wall and opened a panel. Recessed within was a touch pad. “The old B sci-fi flicks didn’t get everything wrong.” She punched a few buttons. Overhead, servo motors whined. The ceiling opened to reveal what looked like a large space heater. “With a flick of a few more switches, I can flood this place with gamma rays.”
I think I took an involuntary step toward the door.
“Yeah, a good blast of radiation and the monster comes out. It’s just like a full moon. I can control the dose, depending on how much of a nudge I need. Usually, I don’t even need any prompting. All I gotta do is take some long, deep breaths, hyper-oxygenate my system, and presto chango! Sometimes it’s a struggle to hold off till Thursday. The pod is also rigged with speakers so I can morph to a soundtrack.”
She closed the panel.
Her gaze locked onto mine.
“The first thing that happens is I hear music. Incredible, beautiful music. Sometimes the music in my head is so intense it drowns out whatever I’ve got blasting from the speakers. Other times, it all sort of swirls together. In any case, when the music in my head starts, I hit the deck because the next thing to happen is I go into ataxia. You’re a smart guy, I bet you know what ataxia is, right?”
“Loss of muscle control.”
“That’s one way to put it. Another way is to say I flop around like a fish on a hardwood floor. It means any waste in my system comes out, and you really wouldn’t believe how much there is. It’s nasty and undignified. Do you get the picture?”
She spat this last bit like an accusation. I nodded. I wanted to reach out to her, take her in my arms, but even I could tell this was not the time.
“After that, my bones break, then break some more, then crumble. Is that something you can even imagine? I don’t mean, can you see it happening to me—but could you imagine your own bones breaking apart into smaller and smaller fragments, crumbling, crunching? Remember when you held my hand at the Art Institute? You felt my bones crumble just a tiny bit and you wanted to snatch your hand away. I can do something like that at will without becoming ataxic. Do you know that what I was doing with you out in public was technically illegal? Imagine that happening all through your own body, your hands, feet, hips, face, skull, all over and all at once. Did you know a morphing pod is completely soundproof? There’s a reason for that.”
I felt physically ill and I know it must have shown, but Song did not relent.
“Here. Hold my hand. And my arm. Go on. You wanted to touch me. You wanted to comfort your damsel in distress. Now’s your chance. Do it.”
I almost ran.
Run. Run like fucking hell. That’s what she said to me that Thursday in front of the Seurat. I will make your life a living hell. And now I found myself thinking, Yes, yes, you will.
I looked at Song but I wasn’t really seeing her. I was seeing one incarnation out of myriads of possibilities. Today, it was a cute, chubby girl. Had she chosen this innocent-looking form expressly for the purpose of underscoring her vulnerability during tonight’s presentation?
I thought of her other forms and they all seemed meaningless. A hand was extended toward me now, but what did it have to do with my lover, my sweetheart, my soul mate? My mind flipped back, back, back through the weeks and months until it finally landed on the homely, lopsided girl I first approached at the Natural History Museum.
I wanted that girl, blotchy skin, big nose, and all, just so long as we could live a normal life together. I would take that in a heartbeat. The first thing I had noticed about her was her eyes. Blue and deep and sad.
I looked up from her outstretched hand and there they were: those wonderful eyes. I took her hand in mine. I grasped her arm. She let her arm go limp and watched the look of surprise cross my face.
“Heavy, isn’t it?”
Her arm weighed in my hands like concrete.
“The smaller I am, the denser my bones. I can be tall or short, big or small, but my mass stays about the same. The smaller I am, the more compact and strong I am. Although I’m extremely strong at any size. Don’t let go.”
Then I felt her bones break and crumble beneath her skin until her arm was like a heavy bag of sand. And now it was my turn to weep, as Song had wept when she placed her hands on that slab of bone that had not changed or broken for sixty-five million years. Even after all the transformations she had undergone in the time we were together, I never really thought about the actual mechanics of it. Not like this.
I wanted to save her from it, but I am only a man. My legs gave out, I went to my knees even as I held on to her hand and arm.
“Does it hurt? It must hurt. I’m so sorry.”
Song bent down so I could look into her eyes. “It hurts more than any orgasm you’ve ever had. It feels so purple you can hardly stand it. You see the craziest sounds. All your wires get crossed. It’s like you’re back in the womb and your body is still deciding what it’s going to be when it grows up. There is a moment when you exist as nothing more than pure potentiality. Then you must draw upon all your willpower and call to mind what you want to be next. Are you going to be sick, my love?”
“I’m okay.”
“It took me years to perfect the process, to actually come out looking presentable. You have more questions but they will have to wait. Tomorrow is Thursday, when I go through all this. I step in here first thing in the morning and don’t step out until late afternoon. I am literally a different person when I step out from when I go in. Yes, there is an essential me, but each body type gives me a different experience of the world. People treat me differently, depending on how I look. If I come o
ut all ugly, nobody talks to me except museum geeks who don’t know any better. Are you glad you talked to me, my love?”
“Yes. More than you know.”
“Good answer. You want me to be her again? That ugly runt you met at the Field?”
“I will love you whatever form you take. It isn’t your body I love, it’s you.”
“But what am I? No matter, we’ve been over that before. I won’t be her again. I like being your hot babe. I like growing thick, cocksucker lips all for you. Let’s get out of here. I spend enough time in this place as it is.”
The bones in her arm suddenly solidified and something slimy oozed from her skin. I jerked my hand away.
“Oh, that gunk is a by-product of the whole process. I’m completely covered in the stuff when I’m done and have to shower and rinse this whole place down. Werewolves don’t know how easy they got it. Come on.”
We went back through the doors to her living room and sat on her couch. She cuddled against me, not so much as a lover but as a sad little girl. I put my arms around her and wanted so much to protect her and make it so she never had to suffer another horrifying transformation again.
“So, what did you think of the tour, Alex? Have I scared you off yet?”
“No, my dear Sing Song. Nothing could scare me off. Nothing.”
“Still want to marry me?”
“More than ever.”
She sighed and held me tight.
“I don’t wear rings, so we’ll just have to put your family heirloom on a shelf somewhere. And you will never make a proper lady out of me.”
“I don’t want a proper lady. I want you.”
“I guess we’re engaged then. At least until you come to your senses.”
“I will never come to my senses,” I said. “Not as long as I’m with you.”
“I want you to take tomorrow off work,” she mumbled into my shoulder. “Stay here while I ooze into a new shape. You won’t hear a thing. The pod is soundproof and self-contained. I won’t be able to see or hear you, either, but I just want to know you’re here. Will you do that for me?”
I told her yes.
I’d do anything for her. I would endure anything for her.