A Djinn's Solution to Marital Strife

by Lorna Samuels

Copyright 1999, 2000 by Lorna Samuels.
All rights reserved.
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A Djinn's Solution to Marital Strife

by Lorna Samuels


             Sure, our marriage was in trouble, and part of that was
probably my fault.  Like many couples, over the years we
simply drifted apart into our own worlds.  The natural
outcome was conflict, for which we were both to blame. 
Almost certainly Sharon had other objections, but the most
preeminent was that I spent virtually every waking hour at
the office.
             But I had to make a living, didn't I?  After all,
developing marketable software for business systems was
challenging and labor-intensive at best, especially for a
one-man operation like mine.
             From my perspective, Sharon was equally at fault by
stubbornly clinging to her traditional concept of marriage. 
She quit work after we married, to 'be a good wifey', as she
put it, which was fine with me since my business's profit
level provided us with an upper-level income.  But without
the advent of children, domesticity soon palled for Sharon
and she promptly pursued 'outside interests'.  Soon she was
'into' antiquities, invariably paying scandalous prices for
someone else's junk, then trying to convince me that they
were 'antiques'.  Hell.., if that stuff was so valuable, why
were they trying so hard to find shmucks like my wife who
were willing to pay exorbitant prices for their worthless
garbage.  The least she could do is go back to work to
offset the ruin she perpetrated on my hard-earned assets.
             What's worse, her so-called 'passion for antiques and
collectibles' bordered on the insatiable!  Seeing what she
spent on other people's offal always got me furious,
resulting in a recurrence of the same argument every time I
saw the checkbook.  Sharon inevitably countered with ardent
protestations of her own about my preoccupation with
computers, ...and on... and on.. and on.  Before long
neither of us was listening anymore, while minor irritations
merged rapidly toward hate.  
             Eventually, during an infrequent moment when our guards
were down, and we actually communicated, we both realized
two things:  our marriage was in deep trouble; and we both
cared!  Amazingly, we had agreed on something for the first
time in ages, that a long vacation together away from all
the worldly influences that spawned our fights might help us
rebuild our marriage.
             "What about the business?" I balked.  "We're talking
about a good deal of lost income."
             "Well, then maybe its time you decided whether our
marriage is worth the sacrifice?" Sharon argued.
             Under the circumstances, further hesitation would have
only fueled the flames of contention, so I agreed to the
vacation.
             Within a week Sharon found an agency that would guarantee
a lush tropical island all to ourselves.  It was a dream
come true, with ample opportunity to patch together our
fragmented relationship.  Besides, it would be a wonderfully
romantic adventure.  We reserved the island paradise for an
entire month!
             But the travel agent never warned us that beach combing
could have dire consequences!
             From Bora Bora, we were shuttled to 'our' island in a
small amphibious plane, a ride that lasted a tedious,
cacophonous, and jarring two hours.  My spirits soared,
despite the non-too-gentle water landing between a dazzling
white beach and a formidable reef two-hundred yards from
shore over which the sea thrashed ominously.  Within the
reef's ring, the blue-green water was so calm and crystal
clear that you could almost count the oysters and crabs in
the fifty-foot depths.
             The island was larger than we had expected.  Apparently
formed by the combination of volcanism and reef-building,
from the air the island was almost perfectly round,
resembling a target with a central bull's-eye, surrounded by
a ring of azure ocean, then an outer circle of frothing
reef.  The land area comprised a central mound no more than
one-hundred feet above sea level, and measuring somewhat
over two miles across, completely ringed by a wide beach of
sparkling white sand.  The interior was overgrown with a
lush tropical undergrowth of bamboo and fern beneath a
forest of banana and coconut palms.  (When first sighted
from a distance, I reflected that the island very much
resembled a large green nipple with a double-ringed areola,
sitting upon a gigantic sapphire teat.)
             Near the center crown, on a gentle slope with a western
leeward exposure, stood a thatched bungalow.  It had been
built at the edge of a small clearing where the fronds and
palms provided moderate protection from the elements. 
Sturdily constructed of thick stucco and thatch, the cottage
appeared comfortably appointed, but lacked most modern
amenities.   Electricity was nonexistent, but a gas
generator was available to power the ham radio used for the
required weekly communication, and (God forbid) for
emergencies.  A hand-operated well pump in the kitchen area
provided potable water,  There was plenty of oil for the
stove that doubled as a cooking stove and as a heater on
chill nights.  And the large pantry was filled with canned
goods.
             It wouldn't be home, but we loved it anyway.

             After mastering the culinary situation to our
satisfaction, we determined to work things out between us,
and the only way to do that was by doing things together. 
It only took a couple of days to acclimate ourselves,
meanwhile exploring the island that would be our home until
'pickup day' in four weeks.
             During the first few days we actually made a genuine
attempt to work out our problems.  While adjusting to the
primitive conditions, we talked for hours, sharing our
thoughts, dreams, and aspirations.
             But it was so pleasant simply being with Sharon and
sharing the peaceful island paradise that more and more of
our time together was spent playing and simply enjoying
ourselves, swimming, exploring the island, and walking for
hours along the wide sandy beach that ringed our little
hedonist's dreamland.  Unfortunately, despite my efforts to
promote the obvious importance of sex in this situation,
Sharon's frigidity frustrated my efforts.  After being
consistently rebuffed, my enthusiasm waned, and was
channeled elsewhere.  Soon our original reason for coming
there slipped further and further into oblivion as we buried
ourselves progressively more deeply into indulging in the
carefree experience of island living.
             Late one evening, we sat at our favorite beach spot,
backs braced against a tide-borne log, watching the
magnificent tropical sunset.
             "Honey?" Sharon asked softly, just as the red-orange sun
touched the turquoise sea.
             "Hmmm?"  I wasn't feeling very talkative at the moment. 
With Sharon nestled against my shoulder, it was hard to
imagine a more romantic situation, and conversation would
interfere with the moment.  Especially if I suggested an
activity that had been thoroughly shunned, but was being
fierce demanded by the animal in my shorts.
             Sharon continued, "Darrel, why haven't you ever tried to
appreciate, or even tolerate my interests?"
             Her question dropped an icy cold bucket of water on my
decidedly erotic musings.  "Aww..., Sharon.  Why'd you hafta
bring that up now and ruin the moment?  Can't it wait?"
             "No," she replied emphatically.  "If we don't work these
things out now we never will.  Well?"
             Grudgingly, I was forced to admit, "Yea..., I suppose
you're right."  I stared at the blazing half circle of the
setting sun, suddenly seeing it as an angry ball of fire
instead of a source of romantic warmth.
             "Well, why don't you...."
             "Darling,"I admitted, turning abruptly to face her, "I
know you need your own outside interests, but I can't
understand why you think it's so much fun to spend our
hard-earned income on other peoples junk!"
             Her eyes narrowed at hearing my reiteration of the same
oft-repeated question, and I could see in her eyes that she
was restraining herself admirably, but her reply came
through clenched teeth.  "In the first place, I enjoy the
diversion.  Secondly, you make more than enough to support
both our 'hobbies'.  And besides, I'm careful to buy only
worthy items that might accrue value."
             "Yea..., like that grandfather clock you paid a small
fortune for, then turned around and GAVE it to a friend when
she got married.  That's what I call a wise investment!"  My
snide retaliation was hardly helpful to the situation,
but... damn it..., she'd thoroughly killed the mode.
             Tears at the corner of her eyes caught the last glimmer
of sunlight.  "Oh...you'll never understand.  Dear God, how
I wish you could..., but you never will," she lamented.
             Obviously our exchange was swiftly deteriorating into a
rehash of the heated dialogues that always developed
whenever these matters surfaced, and which I was in no mood
to repeat.
             "You know, Sharon, I could say the same," I charged. 
"But the only way either of us could ever realize THAT kind
of understanding would be to get inside each other's heads,
and neither of us are psychologists, are we?"  Before she
could respond, I brandished an arm at the sky in
frustration.  "Look, debating this again won't do any good. 
We know that all too well.  Maybe after so many hours
together, it'd be easier to work things out if we spent some
time by ourselves, separate.  I'm gonna take a long slow
walk around the island."  Even though it seemed diplomatic
to make a hasty exit before the conversation turned ugly, I
still knew it hurt Sharon that we couldn't make any
progress.
             Rising and brushing sand from my shorts and legs, I had a
sudden thought and turned back, hoping to soothe Sharon's
disappointment.  "Honey..., I still love you.., really.  I
want you to understand me too.  Besides, that's why we're
here, isn't it?  But we can't just recycle all the old
grievances.  There's gotta be another way.  And if we both
want it bad enough, it'll happen."
             The surf's low murmur quickly drowned the sounds of her
despair as I meandered down the beach.  Before long I was
alone in the darkness.  On the eastern shore, a large
promontory of dark lava rock jutted into the sea.  Warm
tropical water lapped gently at my ankles as climbed into a
small saddle that formed a perfect (but hard) seat. 
Settling in, I gazed at the far-off horizon of blue-black
ocean and sky, troubled thoughts dulling my appreciation of
the surrounding beauty.

             After what seemed like only minutes, I noticed a soft
light in the eastern sky, and realized with a start that I
had been sitting there all night!  My mind had been
virtually turned off, oblivious to the rising tide that now
nearly lapped at my feet.  Hours had passed with nothing
accomplished.  Here I was isolated on a remote isolated
island with only my lovely wife for company, and a nagging
ache in the heart of our marriage that needed immediate
attention.  But nothing at all had come to mind that could
resolve our differences.  For the first time since our
arrival, I found myself wondering if divorce was in our
future.
             Rising stiffly, I stretched to loosen cramped muscles,
and resumed my circum-navigation of the beach.  If sitting
couldn't help me think, maybe walking could.
             In the dim predawn light, my toe rammed painfully against
something hard.  Cursing at what I thought was a lump of
driftwood hidden in the frothing surf, I hopped on one foot
to knead relief back into the offended toes.  Then I reached
down to reek vengeance on the offender.
             The object turned out to be a large sun-blued bottle that
lay half buried in the sand.  When I pulled it free, the
glass appeared oddly shaped, somewhat like a wine carafe,
but fatter at the base, with an elongated neck and flared
spout that was firmly sealed by a cork stopper and wax. 
Dirt and sea-borne filth caked its surface, and a small
barnacle had even found purchase one side.  What small
portion of the smooth exterior was exposed revealed opaque
brownish-green glass.  It was heavy, too, as though its
contents had remained intact, but heavier than if it
actually still contained a liquid like wine.  A bit of
cautious shaking produced no indication of what was inside,
if anything.
             It was terribly tempting to extract the cork immediately
and satisfy my peeked curiosity, but that idea was canceled
by another.  Since our arrival, Sharon and I had passed
countless hours walking those beaches, finding nothing more
interesting than a few crabs, a mundane assortment of
shells, and some rather ordinary driftwood, though not even
much of that.  So, even to my untrained eye, this bottle was
obviously a perfect gift for my wife.  Although I had
deliberately spurned her 'antique-itis', I knew with a
certainty borne of familiarity that she would simply drool
over my little find like a Pavlovian dog.  I was even
actually sorry that she wasn't there to share the initial
discovery so I could enjoy watching her excitement at
finding such a unique 'treasure' (at least from her
perspective.  To me it was simply a filthy old bottle whose
origin was probably somebody's yacht).
             Not bothering to clean it up because I knew Sharon would
enjoy doing that, I hefted the bottle and strode inland
toward the bungalow.
             By the time I arrived back at the bungalow, the sun had
risen.  Sharon had spread a blanket over the soft sandy
ground and was stretched out for an early tanning session. 
My approach startled her enough that she neglected to
retrieve her bikini top when jumping to her feet at my
approach.  The sight of her beautifully proportioned body
and full breasts gave me even greater cause to make amends.
             But she didn't seem too eager to make up.  "Why didn't
you come back last night, Darrel.  I was worried sil.... 
What's that?"  Her countenance shifted dramatically upon
noticing the bottle.
             "Oh, just something my foot found on the beach," I
quipped casually.
             "Let me see," she insisted, reaching excitedly to seize
it.  Her exquisitely unencumbered breasts bounding
deliciously with the motion, since she still had not
retrieved her bikini top, despite her painfully puritanical
inclinations.
             After thoroughly examining every detail of the container
for several seconds, she proclaimed, "It's beautiful, and
terribly old too, ...maybe even Persian!  Dear Lord, Darrel,
wherever did you find this?"  Her eyes were wide as saucers
by now, and I knew I'd scored points.  How many would be
decided soon enough.  For now, it was important to fuel her
zealot's fire.
             "I told you..., on the beach.  It was buried in the sand
and I practically dislocated my big toe stumbling over it."
             She feverishly clutched that nondescript bottle against
her lovely bosom like it was a long lost child.  Ignoring my
pointed reference to my 'wound', she headed seaward.  "If we
clean it up, maybe there're some markings that'll reveal its
origin."
             "Whatever," I shrugged.
             There was little else going on at the moment, so I
followed Sharon back on the beach, smirking at the
realization that she had never even seemed to notice that
her bikini top was left behind.  I'd never seen her so
preoccupied!
             When we reached the shore she insisted on being shown
exactly where I had found the bottle.  The spot was not far,
but we arrived only to find that tide had advanced a few
yards and the spot was awash beneath two feet of surf.
             "Oh well," she sighed, "it's probably not very important
anyway.  But I sure wish I'd been there with you."
             "Me too, Babe.  Me too," I replied lovingly.  And meant
it!
             Wading out a few feet, Sharon proceeded to rub at the
encrusted grime, dislodging the barnacle along with most of
the rest.  When finished, the bottle still carried a few
smears of stubborn crustaceous matter, but overall it was a
passable job.  The brown-green glass was almost fully
exposed.
             Sharon hefted it and squinted closely at the cork-and-wax
plug.  "I wonder if there's anything interesting inside. 
Like a thousand- year-old brandy, maybe?"  Mischief shown on
her face, but she was absolutely serious.
             "Let me get the wine glasses and we'll see," I
wisecracked.
             Sharon dug at the seal with a fingernail without success. 
"Here, see if you can open it."
             I wasn't about to bore into that age-old seal with chewed
fingernails, but there was an abundance of devices about
that would work better.  It was an easy matter to find a
sharp sprig of sun-dried and -hardened driftwood of about
the right diameter.  Within seconds, I had the wax scraped
away, but the cork was almost as hard as the wood, so it
only came out in bits and pieces.  Whatever was inside
wasn't going to remain there long.
             With one particularly forceful jab, my makeshift
corkscrew suddenly thrust through into the bottle, pushing
about half the dislodged cork in with it.  I was so intent
on my task that it was a few seconds before I noticed that a
weird blue-white vapor being issuing from the opening. 
Acting purely by defensive reflex, I threw the bottle into
the sand like it was a venomous snake.  No telling what
noxious gas might was inside.  Nevertheless, even though the
mist hit me full in the face, I could sense no immediate
effects.  That didn't rule out the hope that I wouldn't die
immediately.  Meanwhile, the oddly colored vapor continued
to vent, but did not disperse like it should.  Instead, it
concentrated into a thick sapphire-blue cloud that steadily
grew while contorting as if trying to achieve some definite
shape.
             While Sharon and I stared in open-mouthed amazement, the
cloud molded itself slowly into a beautiful woman with
chestnut hair that fell past her waist and a phenomenal
figure.  Her clothing, what there was of it, resembled a
classic Arabic harem costume.  Diaphanous translucent silk
pantaloons secured at her high waist by a three-inch wide
jewel-encrusted gold belt, and at her ankles by gold chains. 
The silver halter that supported her ample bosom was
patterned in a swirling design of gold thread and jewels
that spiraled around each cup in a whirlpool effect that
made her breasts into pointed cones.
             Suddenly, we were facing a specter that bore an uncanny
resemblance to a gorgeous Arab belly dancer.
             "Oooohhh..., MMMY GGGOD!" Sharon exclaimed.  "J...Just
like 'I Dream of Jeannie'!"
             "Uh huh...," I wheezed, then added with more emphasis,
"either that bottle's a lot older than you thought, or we're
both dreaming!"  All I could do was stare and hope the dream
wouldn't end too soon.
             The beautiful wraith knelt in the hot sand, extended her
arms with hands clasped, and bowed ceremoniously.  Her light
musical voice sounded of tiny bells.  "Moroshti netafra
flasento..."
             My jaw dropped so hard it hurt.  "YOU'RE KIDDING, RIGHT?"
             "This can't be happening," Sharon groaned.
             The lovely sprite looked up, then regained her feet and
declared,  "Ah..., Innngeelllisshh, no?" she observed.  "I
am at your service..., most esteemed Master and lovely
Mistress.  My name is Shawntise Avalorea Krastinjani
Jakorla, but you may simply call me 'Sasha'!"  She accented
her introduction by touching her right hand to her forehead
in a classic Arabic gesture.  Her dark sparkling eyes never
strayed from their intense scrutiny of us.  "I will be
honored to do you Service."
             "Uuuhhh..., Sasha?"  I couldn't get over how beautiful
she was, and tried desperately not to sound like an idiot. 
"You're not really a Genie, are you?"  The question seemed
foolish, considering that we had just seen her materialize
from a cloud of mist discharged from that strange bottle. 
But even that fact in itself was too preposterous a concept. 
After all, we did live in the 'enlightened' 20th Century,
didn't we, when genie's, trolls, and munchkins were
constructs of fantasy and folklore.
             'Sasha's' winsome smile was totally captivating. 
"Yes...and No, Oh Wise and Perceptive Master.  Genies are
decidedly masculine," she corrected meekly, "while I,
obviously, am not.  My actual title is Sorceress Third
Class, but if I serve my masters well, My Lord Askalarene
has promised me advancement after only another century. 
Now, Master and Mistress, how may I be of service to YOU?"
             Sharon found her voice again.  "Wh..Where did you come
from, young lady? ...A..An...And why are you here?"
             "Your eyes do not deceive you, Mistress.  I am from the
bottle, as you saw.  Since you two have freed me, I am yours
to command.  It will be my privilege to provide the Three
Boons to which you are entitled."
             "You're gonna what?" Sharon retorted.
             Sasha seemed rather annoyed by the continued skepticism. 
"It is always difficult at first, but do not doubt your own
eyes.  I am as real as this island or yourselves.  In a way,
I am very much like that pretty lady you mentioned,
...'Jeannie' was it?  Yes..., I have seen that television
episode program.  Rather quaint and predictable, but I
enjoyed it very much.  But my existence is very different
from hers."
             "You live in a bottle too, don't you?" Sharon countered. 
"What's so different about that?"
             "Nothing, Mistress, except that our powers are vastly
dissimilar.  While she could conjure at will, I am
considerably more limited.  You are allowed only the Three
Boons to which you are entitled.  Upon their fulfillment, I
must return immediately to my glass home and await the next
'engagement'.  Of course, while physically embodied, I will
perform any task that is within my physical capacity.  For
instance, I am an expert masseuse, and a masterful epicurien
chef."
             Sharon's pale blue eyes turned excitedly to me. 
"Honey..., this is the chance we've been looking for.  With
three...."
             "Please," Sasha interrupted, "....there's more.  The
rules by which I must function require that your situation
be handled in a very specific way.  Normally I serve only
one Master, or Mistress.  However, since you cooperated in
my release, I will provide service to you equally by
providing both of you with a single Boon, while the third
will be by joint agreement."
             "So we have one each, and one together?" I summarized
impatiently.  By now I had adjusted to the novelty of
Shasha's presence.  She was a really cute piece, but her
rule book must have rivaled the IRS's tax codes!
             "Exactly, Most Perceptive of All Masters.  The only
restriction is that you cannot use a Wish to cancel ..."
             I was a step ahead of her for a change.  "...Meaning that
if I wish for something that Sharon doesn't like, she can't
cancel it out with hers?"
             "Most assuredly, Sahib," she beamed, folding her arms in
anticipation.  "You may make your wishes at anytime.  I am
ready to Serve."
             "Don't we get some time to think about it?" I queried.
             "Of course, take as long as you need, Sir.  When you've
decided, simply call and I'll attend to your desires
straight away."  She crossed her legs in mid-air, Indian
fashion, then reverted to a vaporous form that was promptly
sucked back into the bottle that still lay on the sand. 
Sasha gave new meaning to the term 'mystique spirit'.
             A long silence followed, punctuated only by the steady
whisper of waves lapping the beach.
             Sharon finally spoke.  "Honey..., if this is genuine,
maybe our joint wish should involve what we came here for in
the first place.  You know..., understanding... and all
that?"
             "Yea, you're probably right," I admitted.  It was almost
as though we were being tested to see if we really were
serious about repairing our crippled marriage by handing us
a solution on a silver platter, so to speak.  But I was far
more concerned with the single wish I had coming, and which
had already formed itself in my mind.
             Sharon spoke up and took the words right out of my mouth. 
"Hmmmm..., it's funny, but I know exactly what I want. 
"Sasha...," she called without another glance in my
direction.  "I'm ready!"
             "Me too."
             The fog ballooned from the flask and quickly solidified
into Sasha's delectable features.  "Your wish is my
command," she announced solemnly with a gracious bow that
almost flattened her to the ground.  Then she stood and
crossed her arms.  "Which is first, please?"
             A thought suddenly occurred to me, and I saw no reason to
delay asking, "Uh..., Shasha.., how does this work?  Are
your powers limited in any way?  Is there any particular
order required?  What....?"
             The pretty Djinn giggled sweetly.  "When accomplishing my
Master's wishes, Sahib, my abilities are limitless.  There
is no particular order."
             "Well, Sharon..., ladies first?" I suggested.
             She seemed a bit hesitant, but quickly decided, "Yeah,
why not. Uhhh.., I wish for Darrel to want children, and be
able to produce them with me."
             "Honey...!" I exclaimed, "You knew before we married that
I abhor the thought of bringing children into this horrible
world.  That's why I had a vasectomy.  And raising someone
else's is just as distasteful."
             "Yes, Dear, and I loved you too much to let that reason
alone stand in the way of our happiness.  But, regardless of
how impossible it seemed, I've always wanted to have
children with you, and continued to hope for a change in
your attitude toward adoption.  When I finally accepted the
fact that my maternal instincts would be forever frustrated,
I knew I'd go crazy if I didn't divert my energies
elsewhere.  That's why I got into antiquities so heavily. 
It was a diversion..., filling that gap in my life, at least
superficially.  Now, with Sasha's help, your feelings will
be 'repaired', along with your body, and I can...."
             "Ahumph...," Shasha interrupted, "Mistress.., you
expressed TWO wishes when only one is allowed.  That is now
allowed."
             "But I..." The Djinn's shrug made her pause.  "...Ok...,
let's see.  AHA...that's it....  Sasha, I wish for my
husband's vasectomy to be negated so that he can father
children, but with the stipulation that he be endowed with a
desire to procreate."
             Shasha smiled broadly.  "An excellent choice of words,
Most Astute Mistress.  Master, said capability and
aspiration are restored to you."  There was no mysterious
waving of her arms, not even a 'SPOING' when she blinked
(ala "Jeannie" of the TV series).
             I felt nothing..., except resentment that Sharon would be
so selfish, ignoring my feelings.  I was being forced to
submit to my wife's edict, unable to cancel her Wish with my
own.  Well, I decided, that multi-million dollar bank
account would have improved our situation immensely, but it
would have to wait until another bottle turned up.  I simply
HAD to reciprocate, and knew immediately what had to be
done.
             "ALRIGHT, Sharon," I declared deliberately, "...if that's
the way you want it...  Sasha, my wife has expressed a
desire to have children, yet she has never been a
particularly enthusiastic sexual partner.  Therefore, it is
my wish that you replace her passion for antiques with an
equal or greater enthusiasm for sex, bordering on
nymphomania, with the provision...,"  I glared at my wife,
making sure she realized I was using the same tactic of
getting a single wish, but with more than one part, "...that
I am able to perform well enough to appease her near-
insatiable desires."
             My smug grin faded slightly upon observing Sharon's
exasperated expression.  "You never complained before," she
wailed.
             "Well, neither did you, ...Darling," I countered
pointedly.
             "But that's...."
             "....different?  How?"
             "Well, it just IS!"  She sat down in the warm sand, her
breasts bouncing provocatively with the movement.
             Again, I was amazed that she seemed totally oblivious to
her nakedness, despite her raging modesty.  Hell, she always
insisted on making love with the lights off, and never in
daylight!  As if in response to my brooding thoughts, she
crossed her arms over her bosom and began to rock back and
forth, a posture she always assumed when wanting to be alone
with her thoughts.
             Just as she had done with me only moments before, Sasha
was staring deliberately at her, apparently invoking MY
wish.
             Within seconds, Sharon's musing was over.  Looking up
with glazed eyes, she murmured, "Darrel.., Honey, I don't
feel very good.  Could we go back to the hut.  I'd like to
lie down."
             "Sure, Hon.  I guess our 'joint' wish can wait.  Besides,
maybe it'd be nice to see just how good a masseuse Sasha
really is, eh?"
             Sharon favored me with a hooded glance that spoke volumes
about what she thought of THAT idea.
             Sasha stepped forward a pace, and I noticed that she left
no footprints in the sand.  She was walking on six inches of
air!  "Sahib and Sahibin, it would be most convenient if you
would declare your Third Wish at this time, as I am most
anxious to proceed to my next fulfillment."
             My conscious suddenly yanked at the roots of my soul, and
I was prompted to make a concession toward our Third Wish.
             But Sharon beat me to it, repeating her earlier
suggestion.  "Darrel, after what we've just done TO each
other, do you think that maybe we could still agree on
something..., like the very thing that brought us here in
the first place?"
             "Yea, maybe we can," I conceded.  "Sasha, do you know why
we're here?"
             "Of course, Master," she replied knowingly.  "You sought
seclusion for a most honorable and brave purpose -- to see
if together you could repair your failing marriage."
             Sharon rose, but her arms remained crisscrossed over her
chest.  "Uh..., Sasha?  After having done even more damage
to our relationship by making such selfish wishes, can you
say whether we will ever be happy together?"
             "Mistress, The Great ALA asserts that all things are
possible.  Almost certainly you may yet gain the bliss you
both seek."
             "That's all I needed to know."  Tears pooled in her eyes
when she turned to me.  "Honey, if being a nypho is the
price I must pay for a family, so be it!  Can you forgive me
for my own selfishness?"
             Damn, I was about to bawl too!  "Sure, Babe.  I guess
having kids isn't all that bad an idea anyway.  Besides, now
that you won't be spending so much on junk furniture, we can
afford 'em, right?"
             Her grin was lopsided, but sincere.  "Yea, right."
             Knowing what Sharon and I both wanted, it was easy to
articulate.  "Sasha, it may take all the power you can
muster..., but we both want to salvage our marriage, or we
wouldn't have come here in the first place."  At my side,
Sharon nodded eager agreement.  "So, it is our Joint Wish
that we be given a thorough knowledge of and sensitivity to
each other's needs, desires, wants..., all that corny
stuff."
             Sasha smiled broadly.  "That is a most wonderful and
selfless of you two.  However, to accomplish you desire I
must retire and consult my Tomes as to the best method."
             Her image was fading into the gathering fog when I asked,
"How long before you return?"
             "I will return at dawn to invoke your final Boon...." 
The last words faded as the final wisps of mist trailed into
the bottle.
             Grabbing the bottle with one hand, I took Sharon's arm in
the other and guided her inland toward the hutch.

             That night was the most erotically magnificent of our
married life.  In fact, for me it was the best night we had
spent together since our honeymoon!
             It turned out that, instead of being sick Sharon was
really horny, only she didn't recognize the erotic
sensations of which she had previously been ignorant.  We
were no more than halfway back to the cabin when she slowed
and began to feverishly caress herself, oblivious to her
surroundings.  This was definitely uncharacteristic of
Sharon, but I couldn't resist a little self-satisfied smirk
since, unlike her, I recognized what was happening and was
not particularly concerned.
             "What's wrong with me?" she sighed unsteadily.
             I grinned widely.  "Can't you recognize erotic cravings
anymore, Darling?"
             "Oh, mercy!"  Her eyes widened with comprehension even as
she responded quiveringly to the attention her magnificent
breasts were receiving from her own hands.  "Oh GOD...,
Honey..., you're right..., and I want you so bad it almost
hurts.  Let's get back to the cabin and make love before I
explode!"
             With a sudden burst of energy, Sharon grasped my hand and
we rushed headlong up the trail.  The instant we arrived she
pulled me impatiently toward the bed.
             We made love all night.
             Sharon's inhibitions vanished entirely, and her appetite
was unbelievable.  To my great surprise and satisfaction, we
also discovered that I had been given a phenomenal level of
stamina and control, far beyond my previous capacity,
allowing me to satisfy Sharon's ravenous desires quite
admirably.  If she was a nymphomaniac, I was a satyr, and we
were both incredibly busy for many hours.
             "...I...I...I... could... make love... to you...
forever...!", she gasped at one point, filling her mouth
with my manhood between words.  Most amazing of all, even
above and beyond her enthusiasm, was that very early in our
relationship I had suggested oral sex, and was promptly
rebuffed by her revulsion at the prospect.  Now she was
playing popsicle with my shaft so hungrily that it was hard
to believe this was the same woman who almost retched when I
was obliged to explain the maneuver.
             Seconds, minutes.., hours later, I pulled Sharon's head
away from my groin and climbed between her sweat-streaked
thighs.
             As the blissful night wore on, I began to detect
differences in my own sentiments.  The ability to prolong
coitus almost indefinitely was wondrous indeed, especially
when my performance allowed me to relish my expertise at
driving Sharon to several orgasms before venting my own
volcanic explosion deep within her receptive cavern.
             Yet, while recovering from my third such release, I found
myself desperately anticipating that my discharges would
achieve their goal and make us parents!  This was a totally
alien thought for me, having always loathed the prospect of
parenthood.  Now I was excitedly embracing the concept, even
relishing the image that grew in my mind's eye of Sharon's
belly growing more gravid with each passing week until I
could sit by her side, hold her sweating hands, and coach
her through the throws of birthing pains as our child
emerged to be loved and cherished by its parents.  Dear God,
I wanted so desperately to be a father that my heart almost
ached in anticipation.
             "Will you help me make a baby, Darling?" I murmured
softly into her shell-like ear.
             "Oh YES..YES..YES..," she squealed, emphasizing her
response with a crushing hug.  A delicate hand reached down,
grasped my solid pole, and pulled me into her body with an
zeal that eclipsed all that had gone before.
             When I finally succumbed to the enormous pressure and
released yet another load deep into my wife's body, a
strange but confident certainty consumed me.  For some
unfathomable reason, I believed beyond all reason that we
were in the process of procreating a human life.  The
emotions washing over me were so extraordinary that my
erection never waned, and I almost immediately vented yet
another and no less powerful geyser toward Sharon's fertile
womb.
             Eventually, we collapsed together in a sweat-drenched
heap, welcoming the oblivion of exhausted sleep that almost
instantly overcame both of us.

             Awakening slowly, a distinctively musky odor was
assaulting my drowsy senses.  By the angle of the sun, it
must have been late morning, and the source of that pungent
aroma was standing beside our bed.
             Sasha stood over us with a self-satisfied grin plastered
across her otherwise lovely features.  "Master.., Mistress,"
she acknowledged, "I have returned as promised."
             "Uhng..., whaaaa..., Oh!"  Sharon stirred sleepily, but
made no move to cover her voluptuous nudity.  I didn't mind
either.  Of course, in that climate sheets or blankets would
have superfluous anyway.
             "And...?" I prodded.
             "I have researched the Tomes thoroughly for guidance in
granting your Third Wish," the pretty Genie announced
confidently.  "They suggest a particularly appropriate
resolution."
             "All we want is to understand each other better," I
recanted, then mirrored Sharon's contented smile.  "But if
last night is any indication, we're already a long way
there."
             "That may be quite true, Master, but it was your Third
Wish to 'be given a thorough knowledge of and sensitivity to
each other's needs, desires, wants', and I shall comply with
your desires!"
             Raising her arms, Sasha's slim fingers began inscribing
complex patterns in the air, leaving little contrails of
mist in their wake.  It looked like she was building a
latticework of colorful smokey webbing that formed a tight
though seemingly insubstantial mesh about three feet above
our prone forms.
             The sight was thoroughly entrancing, her gesticulations
almost mesmerizing, ....until I tried shifting position and
found myself frozen in place.  Not a single muscle would
respond to my insistent command, except my eyes and voice.
             "What're you doing?" I demanded somewhat hoarsely.
             Ceasing the bizarre pantomime, Sasha folded her arms
across her chest.  "Granting you Third Wish, of course," she
replied in a smug tone that reflected her expression.  "When
the incantation is assimilated, I will have further
instructions for you."
             The psychedelic pattern of cloudy strings hung above the
bed for a few seconds, before slowly but uniformly sinking
toward us.  Cringing involuntarily, I watched anxiously as
the latticework descended, and cringed when it finally
touched me.  Then relief followed at the sight of those
multicolored strands dispersing quickly into nothingness. 
There was a sensation of contact, but the gaseous fibers
seemed to leave a strange cooling breeze in their wake.
             "Now, will you both please rise?"  Sasha was painfully
polite, but the undertone was commanding.
             We both climbed to our feet without hesitation.  Although
in my case it was not so much to do Sasha's bidding as to
stretch and gain a better command of the situation by virtue
of my larger and more aggressive male presence.  Besides, we
were Sasha's masters, right?
             "Aren't you....?" I began.
             "I will soon be finished here," she declared.  "Now,
Mistress, please put on a pair of your husband's briefs."
             Sharon gawked at her.  "Not on your life!"
             Ignoring her reply, Sasha turned to me.  Her tone was
even, but the inflection was resolute.  "And you, Master...,
please do the same with your wife's bikini."
             Glancing toward Sharon, I shrugged.  "Yeah, maybe she
thinks we'll improve our sensibilities by wearing each
other's clothes?"
             "Not likely!"
             "Your husband's right, you know," Sasha interceded. 
"Remember the saying 'to know another, walk a mile in their
shoes'?  Well, that's exactly what you must do."
             "Uh huh, I see..., I think," Sharon replied hesitantly,
"but it seems so silly...., and unnatural!"
             "Hey, how the hell do you think I feel?" I added.
             "It will certainly seem strange at first, but you WILL
get results, I assure you.  Besides, this is what you wished
for."
             Sharon wasn't convinced.  "Maybe so, but you didn't go to
this much trouble last night when you granted our individual
wishes.  Can't you just twiddle your fingers or flutter your
eyelashes and spare us the embarrassment of having to become
transvestites."
             "I'm afraid it is not that easy, Ma'am.  You must show a
determination to cooperate if understanding and happiness
are to flourish in your relationship.  Please do as I ask,"
Sasha implored.  "You will attain a level of mutual
sensitivity that will astound you."
             "Well?" I prodded Sharon.
             "Oh...alright," she shrugged, while rummaging through the
small dresser that contained our meager supply of clothing.
             When she turned around it was apparent that she had
retrieved more that just a pair of my shorts.  Within
seconds my wife was wearing my dark blue swimming suit, and
looking pretty weird with the nylon fabric straining across
her ample hips.
             I wasn't given much time to critique her appearance,
since she threw something flimsy in my direction.  What I
caught was Sharon's pale pink string bikini.
             "AH...HON..." I balked.
             "If I can do it, so can you," she insisted cynically.
             It was a struggle, but Sharon's bikini eventually
strained itself about my person.  The elastic strings
stretched across my hips without much difficulty, but
immediately rode up into the between my ass cheeks.  The
triangular crotch panel cut between my balls, which hung
around it ludicrously, with my cock pressed firmly against
my abdomen.  Although pliant, the top's elastic straps cut
into my back, and neck strap, with the cups hanging loosely
across my chest.  I felt pretty stupid standing there,
despite Sasha's reassurances to the contrary!
             "So, now what?" I demanded testily.
             "I fulfill your Third Wish and leave," Sasha graciously
replied.  "But first you must promise me that immediately
afterward you will return my bottle to the sea, so that I
may proceed to yet another worthy circumstance."
             "Yea.., okay.  That's easy.  Anything else?"
             A wry grin turned her cupid-bow mouth.  "Only that you
must remain in those suits for at least half an hour."
             Sasha stood motionless for several seconds, staring at us
alternately, but without seeming to do anything.  Then she
sighed deeply and exclaimed, "THERE..., your Third Wish is
being realized."
             She extended a hand palm up toward Sharon.  It held a
fresh cork stopper.  "When I have returned to my bottle,
please seal it securely with this, before returning it to
the sea.  This must be done during the waning tide, which
starts in about ten minutes."
             Abruptly, Sasha's image began to fade into a murky blur
that summarily retreated into the flask.  While
disappearing, her parting words came clearly.  "Have a
wonderfully uncommon life together, my Dears."
             Staring in utter mortification at the bikini cutting into
my flesh, I yelled, "HEY, you can't just leave us here like
this!  What about....?"
             There could be no response from the swiftly vanishing
mist that receded into the bottle like a vacuum pulling in
dust.
             Seconds later, Sharon had picked up the decanter and
wedged the cork securely into the neck.
             "Shall we send her off together?"  She headed down the
trail toward the beach without waiting for my reply, still
wearing my trunks, and nothing else.
             The short walk to the beach was at least a little
entertaining, as watched her womanly girth sway within the
roomy suit.  But I was decidedly uncomfortable wearing her
woefully under-sized bikini.  Every step seemed to make the
straps cut more deeply into my hips, shoulders, and chest. 
By the time we reached those strips of material were digging
painfully into my flesh.
             Gritting my teeath against the discomfort, I watched in
melancholy silence as Sharon waded out to about knee depth,
drew back her arm, and pitched Sasha's bottle into the light
surf.  It bobbed over several waves before we noticed it
slowly retreating with the ebbing tide.
             Suddenly, a vicious cramp screamed through my chest,
spreading rapidly into my groin, legs, and arms.  Within
seconds my vision was blurred by the reddish haze of pain
that racked my entire body.
             "ARRGGHHH!" I groaned, doubling over and collapsing into
the sand.
             "What is it, Darrel?"
             "Oooo..., ooohhh......  Looks...like its (gasp)...my turn
to ...have the...aches...and pains....." I smiled wanly, but
that hurt too!
             Leaning close, Sharon hooked her hands under my arms. 
"Let's get you back to the cabin, uh?"
             It was hard work for both of us, and took far longer than
last time since Sharon couldn't carry me.  Hell, she was
having enough trouble just helping, and since I was doubled
over in pain her efforts were not particularly effective. 
By the time I dropped helplessly onto the bed, we were both
exhausted.
             "I'll get you some aspirin from the first-aid kit, then
you better rest."
             I took three, but waiting for the pills to work was
torture.  The pain wouldn't let me get comfortable.  It
seemed to take forever for the aspirin to have enough effect
that I could curl up in a fetal position and relax.  Without
realizing it, I fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

             When I awoke, a stranger was sleeping beside me.  It was
another man, and he was sound asleep!  A quick scan of the
cabin found no sign of Sharon, but something strange was
nagging at the edges of awareness.
             Pushing hair from my eyes, I gripped the intruder's
shoulder and shook.  "Hey, who the Hell're you?  And
how'd...?  WHAT THE...?"
             Was that my voice?  Hell..., I sounded like a Vienna
Choirboy, or worse..., a girl!
             "Hey, you?" I tried again, but my vocal cords wouldn't
form the words properly.
             I reached up to knead my misbehaving throat, but stopped
short when a rush of panic wrenched at my soul at their
appearance.  Attached to MY wrists were amazingly small
hands, with thin tapered fingers, and long manicured nails. 
In fact both of my arms seemed to have been dipped in
whitewash.
             Bounding from the bed was a terrible mistake, because my
tenuous grip on sanity was almost lost.  Long honey blonde
hair streamed down my back and over my shoulders, and kept
getting into my mouth and eyes.  That's when I realized that
I was still wearing Sharon's bikini, but it no longer
strained at my torso.  In fact, it fit perfectly, and now,
the reasons were all too obvious through the cloud of long
thick hair that thoroughly obstructed my vision.
             I HAD TITS, and more!  Bulbous lumps of flesh protruded
from my chest.  Their massive twin pillars strained
ponderously against the bikini's tenuous grip.  Instead of a
developing paunch, my waist was so narrow I couldn't even
see my navel past the corpulent barrier of my burgeoning
chest.  My hips had expanded into shelf-like protrusions
upon which the high-cut bikini bottom firmly rested.  In
between, the material hid most but not all of the triangular
dark-blonde thatch that carpeted my groin.  Below there was
no longer anything in my crotch for the elastic to cut,
except soft fleshy folds.
             Somehow, during my nap, I had been transformed into a
WOMAN!!
             "OH DEAR GOD...!  What's happened to me?" I moaned
pitifully with a voice two octaves too high.
             A low grunt issued from the stranger still lounging on
the bed.  "Awe, come on, Honey, try to sleep it off. 
You'll.....What the....?"  The low male tone changed pitch
and volume in mid-sentence, as the man stirred excitedly,
then turned toward me.
             Deep down, I somehow knew who this person was, but the
shock of seeing that all-too-familiar face from such a
different perspective was a paralyzing experience.  My
emotions seemed to be reflected in the expression on the
man's expression as he rose cautiously.
             I was looking at myself!  "You...WE....uh..., OH DEAR
GOD, Sharon!  Look what she did to us!"
             Inspecting 'himself' thoroughly, I saw shock, dismay,
awe, terror, and finally realization cross 'Sharon's' face
in rapid succession.  "So this is the result of our third
wish?  No wonder Sasha needed a while to set it up. 
Jeez...., this feels weird."  'His' thick hand was grasping
the crotch of my former trunks.
             "Look, we've gotta catch Sasha and get this undone. 
Shit..., I can't live like this," I anguished, clutching
desperately at the two fleshy balloons that were so firmly
attached to my chest.  "What the Hell do I do with these? 
And what if we're not changed back by the time we're picked
up?"
             Under the circumstances, 'Sharon' seemed far too calm,
and that damned lopsided smile was not the least bit
reassuring.  "Why worry about all that now?  Don't you
realize what Sasha has done?  In granting our wish for
mutual understanding she furnished the most logical means
for doing so:  we get to live as each other for a while. 
'Walk a mile in the other's shoes...', right?"  'His' eyes
wandered over both our bodies with an enthusiasm that gave
me pause to consider just exactly what might be brewing
behind their fixed gaze.
             "Don't you're DARE think what I think you're thinking," I
asserted. "And if you do, just FORGET IT!"
             "But don't you realize the opportunity we've been given? 
We can actually experience each other's physical reality
first hand.  Why, it's empathy taken to a logical
conclusion," 'he' mused, making a fist and flexing his arms. 
"My God, the strength in these muscles is incredible.  I
never realized how much power men actually have in their
body."
             "And I feel like the Pillsbury Doughboy!" I replied
caustically.  "This damned body's so weak I can hardly even
lift my arm over my head.  How the hell do women manage in
such a weakened condition?"
             Struggling to see through the dense curtain of hair, I
ran dainty fingers over my thick thighs, expansive hips,
narrow waist, and the ten-pound sand bags fastened to my
chest.  Everything I touched was too big, too small, too
smooth, too strange, and definitely too female.
             Glancing toward the sea, my shrill woman's voice
desperately moaned, "Dear Lord, this is simply unbearable! 
I hope Sasha comes back soon."
             Sharon shook 'his' head.  "I don't think so, Dear.  In
fact, unless the tide brings her back, I suspect we'll never
see Sasha again."  A heavy and very hairy arm looped over my
shoulder.  Ignoring my feeble resistance, 'he' pulled me
into a firm embrace.  The heavy male tone was far from
soothing.  "Tsk, tsk..., is my darling having a hard time?"
             Cuddling into those sturdy unyielding arms was so
reassuring that I was reluctant to spoil the moment. 
Suddenly nothing else mattered except enjoying and savoring
this tender moment.  The awful tension that had built so
rapidly while discovering and trying to deal with our sudden
transformations was soothed away almost before I could
realize it was gone.  Holding each other tightly was
incredibly comforting, and a glow of soothing warmth quickly
grew from a spot somewhere in my groin until it felt like my
entire body was consumed by a raging inferno.  The globular
masses on my chest felt like pent-up volcanoes about to
erupt, with the huge nipples forming rigid thumbnail-sized
knobs that strained against the bikini's insubstantial
fabric.
             Suddenly, Sharon's firm weathered hands were describing
long sweeping arches across my back and along my spine;
fueling the raging flames that threatened to consume me
entirely.
             "I always enjoyed getting my back rubbed," 'he'
whispered.  "Why don't you lay down so I can do it right?"
             "Mmmmmm..." I agreed.  It was so easy to simply turn and
collapse onto the bed, practically swooning from the loss of
contact when we separated.  But that was a mistake.
             Landing on my stomach like that, I was pointedly reminded
of the rampant feminine existence that had been forced upon
my person.  A mass of long, thick, flowing hair blanketed
the sheets, and those monumental breasts dangled beneath my
body as I stretched out onto my stomach.  Which was a
dreadful mistake!  It was like lying on top of two dense
balls of foam whose volume was displaced only slightly to
either side as I pressed into the mattress.  Crushed beneath
those substantial globes, my nipples felt like hard,
throbbing lumps that itched intensely.  When I scratched at
them my elongated nails only to aggravated the situation
further.
             GOD..., those monstrous boobs were sensitive!
             I was about to flop back onto the bed, hoping to ease the
sense that my nipples were six-inches thick and as sensitive
as a man's raging erection, when the bikini's support was
suddenly withdrawn and those globular masses sprang free in
all their prodigious splendor.
             "Can't give you a good massage with that in the way, now
can I?" Sharon explained playfully while pulling the straps
from my limp arms and dropping the scanty top on the floor.
             Even that insubstantial fabric had been some protection. 
Now, fully exposed and unfettered, from my perspective those
breasts appeared even more monumental.  Intellectually, I
knew that my body was now an exact copy of my wife's former
succulence, and as her husband I had always considered
Sharon's proportions quite magnificent.  Of course, my
tastes did tend toward the bustier variety, but it never
occurred to me that her assets were particular monstrous. 
However, the corpulent bags now suspended from MY chest
appeared enormous, and were too, because it took both my
hands together to engulf just one of them!
             But I was left little time to contemplate these matters,
except briefly.  A firm but gently hand pushed me down and
began rubbing soothing warmth and delicious relaxing
pleasure into my back.  Before long the only things I
noticed were the irritating itchings in my rigid nipples,
the pounding of my heart that reverberated through my
breasts, and the soothing action of Sharon's hands across my
shoulders and lower back.  The only trouble was that my head
was buried beneath a mass of blonde locks that tickled my
nose and eyes, and kept trying to get into my mouth.
             Under these combined sensory onslaughts, conscious
thought was virtually impossible.  Wonderful perceptions
roiled through my mind and consumed me until only the
pleasant sensations mattered.
             After a long but active silence, Sharon paused. "Well,
Honey, do you recognize the erotic needs of your woman's
body?"
             "HUH...?" I replied from far away.
             "Remember yesterday?  You accused me of not realizing
when I was horny?  Well..., what about you?  I'll bet that
until now it hadn't occurred to you that your new body is
telling you something....  And it's not about to be ignored
either."
             Judging by the sensations that threatened to immerse my
mind and body in carnal euphoria, I realized that she might
be disturbingly correct.  Once identified, the throbbing
ache in my breasts, the twitching within my groin, and the
yearning sense of incompleteness, confirmed Sharon's
'diagnosis' all too conclusively.
             But I was not at all prepared for dealing with female
sexuality, and strained to counteract those thriving
sensations.
             Turning, I tried responding with a snide repart‚. 
Instead, a muffled gurgle clogged my throat when Sharon
firmly grasped my exposed breasts in her large hands and
pinched both turgid nipples.  An instant later I was
writhing and moaning like a wanton slut, reveling in the
scrumptious pleasure those fingers were generating in my
massive tits. 
             Eyes closed in a submissive swoon, I felt one hand shift
beneath a breast to heft and uplift the heavy flesh toward
the sky.  I vaulted another high step into the stratosphere
when moist warm lips engulfed my hyper-sensitive nipple and
started a slow, deliberate suckling.  It felt like the
swollen point was a volcanic peak that had erupted
violently.  Soon 'his' attention turned to the other nipple,
resulting in the same riotous explosion of prurient passion
that reached almost unbearable heights when both nipples
were consumed and sucked HARD!  Through a stupor of
sensation I found myself wishing that those turgid lumps
could actually produce sustenance so I could feel my own
essence flow from my body into that delicious nursing maw.
             Unexpectedly, with the force of a runaway roller-coaster
I was hurdled a towering pinnacle of eroticism, then slid
slowly downward.  Oh my God, I observe nervously, that was
an orgasm!  And it felt wonderful!  My body was totally
beyond my control, as I sighed ecstatically from the
delirious joy of every touch, squirming like a beached whale
beneath Sharon's ministrations.
             Again, I was climbing, and it promised to be an even
loftier height.  Such a euphoria of titillation was so
overwhelming that I prayed it would never end.
             Those deliciously strange and wondrous sensations
emanating from the stout tips of my heaving breasts that I
hardly noticed when Sharon shifted position.  Firmly, but
very astutely, 'he' pushed 'his' legs between mine, then
rolled on top without slowing 'his' suckling pace.
             Through a haze of orgiastic delight, my mind gave only
casual attention of the realization that there was a huge
pole of flesh rubbing against my inner thigh.  A slight
intimation of disgust flitted past my conscience and was
gone almost before it could be noticed.  In its place, the
roiling sensations of womanly sexuality that consumed my
groin had already appraised the tumescent presence, then
welcomed its advance toward the center of my world.  When
the dull point of flesh insinuated upon the newly acquired
portal between my thighs, I eagerly accepted the impaling
pole until its thick shaft stuffed my humid tunnel almost to
overflowing, and was knocked at the very gateway to my inner
being.
             Riding that throbbing, pumping lance was the most
magnificent experience of my life.  Meeting each pelvic
thrust with my own, our union seemed continue interminably. 
Incredibly, my orgasms grew in strength and intensity,
despite the fact that each summit felt impossible to
surpass.
             By the time Sharon finally stiffened in 'his' own
orgasmic throes, countless cataclysms had already swept
carried me up an ever-rising spiral to heights that I never
dreamed could be reached.  I had just attained a monumental
crest when the pumping suddenly stopped.  Deep within the
cock-filled chasm that now occupied my groin, those
wonderful new 'love muscles' perceived the distinct rhythmic
palpitations of my lovers volatile detonation.

             After that first phenomenal coupling, I couldn't get
enough.  Sexual congress with my new and marvelously
erogenous female body was so spectacular that nothing could
prevent my making every effort to repeat it as often as
possible, and once again climb to those awesome heights. 
Every minute that passed without sex was endured only by
anticipating the wonder of our next fusion.  And I was
delighted to find that for once we shared this passion.
             As a consequence of 'Darrel's' comparable reaction to
'his' own experience, and with 'his' incredible capacity to
control 'himself', we humped like a pair of freaked-out
rabbits almost continuously for several days.  Our stamina,
especially 'Darrel's, was remarkable, and we passed long
hours enjoying each other's bodies and our own sensations.
             Only when coupling were my thoughts at all coherent or
rational.  I wasn't too sure about 'Darrel', but it seemed
that 'he' was coping with our situation considerably more
easily that I did.  Other than the thoroughly enjoyable
sexual benefits, I had to face the fact that, at least until
Sasha returned to reverse or cancel her spell on us, I was
stuck with this curvateous female body.  Which meant that I
learn to tolerate (and occasionally enjoy?) my newly
acquired womanhood.  Resolving to adjust to and accept the
reality of my new shape turned out to be was a major chore. 
I had to consciously practice at being female.
             Everything felt odd, was certainly shaped different, and
moved strangely.  I had to practically relearn some of the
simplest things, like walking, and where to put my hands. 
Dictated by indisputable physiology, my previous lumbering
male stride quickly adjusted to a mincing swivel-hip gait,
which felt pretty strange, particularly when an arm brushed
against the bulging side of a breast and hip.  I had always
wanted a leaner, more svelte physique, but having a twenty-
four inch waist made me feel like I had been pinched almost
in half.
             Having never found nudity particularly palatable, even in
a tropical paradise, I dreaded the necessity of wearing
women's clothes.  However, since we had brought few clothes
to the island other than those suitable for the equatorial
climate, the ordeal never fully materialized.  Of course,
there were low points, but overall the strain was less than
expected.
             Panties resembled their male equivalent enough to assuage
my reservations.  Unfortunately, in both underwear and
swimming apparel, Sharon had a penchant for the briefer
variety (with my hearty concurrence, that I now regretted),
so I was obliged to wear lacy bikini styles that stretched
high over my hips and crawled between my ass cheeks.  The
only real problem I had was in the way the material lay so
snybly flat against my crotch.  After having spent a
lifetime with genital 'clutter' between my legs, their
sudden abscence was distracting, to say the least.
             Containing my massive breasts was another matter. 
Whenever I made the smallest move or gesture they jostled
heavily like thick gelatin.  Walking braless was
particularly disconcerting when they bounced and thumped on
my chest, flopping against my arms like two fish out of
water.   Running was out of the question, unless I wanted to
beat myself to death with my bazzooms!  With no REAL
brassieres available, at least not the typical white cotton
over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder variety (all of which had
been left behind), I was reconciled to wearing bikini tops
or halters to discourage my breasts from careening about
whenever I so much as walked slowly.              
             Then there was the constant bother of controlling the
mass of hair that sprouted from my head.  Here again I
quickly regretted my masculine predilection to consider
long-haired women sexier.  No matter how sexy it may be, I
soon discovered that long thick hair is a real bitch to
maintain.  It was a terribly time-consuming and labor-
intensive chore to care for such a massive mane.  Under
'Darrel's' strict tutelage, I must have spent hours combing,
brushing, curling, and washing my lush tresses, then working
the soreness and cramps out of my over-worked and under-
muscled arms and hands.  But having my hair thoroughly
brushed was incredibly soothing, and an almost sensual
experience.
             With our preoccupation for prurient diversions, little
conversation transpired.  Of course, we had certainly been
given a extraordinary opportunity to develop empathy for
each other.  But communication, possibly the most important
part of that process, was virtually nonexistent.  The only
things we did accomplish on any sort of communicative level
involved helping each other adjust to and deal with our
transposed realities, and we sorted out the confusing issue
of names and pronouns.  After several rather laughable
episodes, we finally reconciled ourselves to the obvious. 
At least until Sasha returned (if ever) to 'correct' the
situation, I was now Sharon/wife/she/her, and my lover/mate
was Darrel/husband/he/him.  Calling 'him' Darrel was
dreadfully awkward, but as with all things, time and
practice healed our qualms until we were both almost
comfortable with the way things were.  After all, we were
alone, we had each other, and, despite the reversal of
roles, and our love making was far and away superior to
anything either of us had experienced before. 

             Days and nights often converged into indistinction during
flurries of sexual tumult, generally interrupted only
briefly by restive pauses for sleep, short 'training' and
'tutoring' sessions, or short relaxing strolls along the
beach.  And, more often than not, the latter ventures to
'commune with nature' were suspended in favor of
'conjugating au naturel'.
             Two days before the plane was scheduled to retrieve us, I
sat on my favorite 'rock seat', watching the surf roll over
the ivory brilliance of the sandy beach, and considered the
future.  Staring numbly at the tidal flow that and borne
Sasha away, I faced the frightening likelihood of living out
the rest of my days as a voluptuous nymphomaniac, ....and
MORE!
             Just hours before, after making slow delicious love on
the beach, Darrel offered a blindingly simple observation
that shocked us both to the core of our souls.  "Honey, I
don't mean to put a damper on things, but I just thought of
something that's probably important."
             "Hmmm?" I sighed softly, snuggling into his firm embrace
and running my dainty fingers through the dark mat of his
chest that tickled my nipples so deliciously whenever we
embraced.
             "I..uh...," he continued uneasily, "....as Sharon, my
last period ended just before we arrived here.  Uh..., so,
since you now apparently have my old body, ...and assuming
that you would be as regular as I was..., ..uh...,
...well..., ...you should have started three days ago."  His
worried tone spoke far more than did his words, but there
was an rather disconcerting undertow of delight and
gratification.
             Suddenly remembering Sharon's wish to produce her own
family, I did a classic double-take.  In the grip of a
pervasive panic, I pushed myself away from him like he was a
horrible disease, and jumped up to my feet like a scalded
cat.
              "Oooohhhhh....sssshhhhhiiiittttt! "Th..Th..that
..m..m..means!" My struggling mind contorted at the
convoluted memories of so many hours of blissfully satiating
coitus, and the massive accumulation of gism with which my
womanly viscera had been so zealously inundated.
             Considering the overwhelming evidence, I was almost
certainly PREGNANT!
             "Dear GOD..., Sasha better show up soon!" I screamed
insanely.

             Of course, she didn't.
             Darrel spent every waking moment of those two remaining
days trying to calm me down.  But it wasn't easy, and I
wasn't about to make it so either.
             But the likelihood that I would be obliged to remain
female and bare the child became incredibly enticing once I
accepted even the remotest possibility that Sasha might not
return.  Having passed that point of acceptance, I found
myself focusing almost entirely on the miraculous event
occuring beneath my navel.  As the natural course of events
played itself through my mind, I was soon relishing the
prospect of carrying that developing life within my body. 
Ignoring rational thought, I imagined that I could already
perceive faint stirrings, and looked forward to giving it
life.  Visualizing myself nurturing my own child by
supplying milk from my own breasts to provide it with life-
giving essence caused a rush much akin to orgasmic delight,
only more fulfilling!
             The plane arrived only two hours late to retrieve us,
along with our meager belongings, and provide transport back
to civilization.
             Darrel and I both knew that difficulties lay ahead.  In
fact, the prospect of adjusting to life as a housewife and
mother was terrifying, at best.  Hell..., I'd have to learn
about cosmetics, women's clothes..., and go to a beauty
parlor at least twice a week.  Having to wear a dress and
high heels seemed totally absurd, too.  But we had already
agreed that, to whatever degree possible, we would help each
other settle into our new transposed lives.
             With a sudden rush of comprehension we both realized
that, after all those years of frustration and anger, we
were finally communicating on a meaningful level.  Too bad
it took a Djinn's enchantment to make it happen.
             During the long flight home, I drifted into a fitful
sleep with Darrel's large fingers intertwined with mine and
nestled across my abdomen.  In my dream our child suckled
enthusiastically at my copious breasts, and I was the
happiest mother in the known universe.

-----------------------------------------------
Copyright 1999, 2000 by Lorna Samuels.
All rights reserved.

Copyright © 1999, 2000 by Lorna Samuels. All rights reserved.
Email comments to lorna@wizards.net.

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