Perchance to Dream part 4 :: BigCloset Classic :: BigCloset TG Stories <br /> June 2001 to November 2004

Funny how things work out. Or not.

Perchance to Dream

Part 4

by Lavender Shadow

While Don was calling the police, I pulled her back into our bedroom and use the compliance hold to its very best effect while I somehow managed to find some shorts and a Tshirt and shrug into them one handed, changing grips as needed. I had just gotten her into the living room and was sitting down on the couch with her in front of me when the police knocked on the door.

Don came in and opened the door and again surprised me, "Hi, my mom has been hurting my dad for along time and today I made her stop and she tried to hurt me. He had to protect me and now I called you and he has her in here." He finished opening the door to show us to them. They came in almost literally scratching their heads. The sergeant that had come along to back up the two officers looked at me long and hard.

"Hey, I recognize you. Kind of. I think. But aren't you a guy? I mean the guy who runs the local photo lab? I'm sorry, this is really really confusing." I grinned and answered, "I kind of sort of am and kind of sort of used to be, but now I'm me, whatever that means. This happened to me in my sleep and no one knows why. Meanwhile, as badly as I hate to do it, I need to press charges on her for trying to assult our 12 year old. She was going to beat on me and he told her to stop and she got so furious for being interrupted, she tried to get him. I had to restrain her forcibly to protect him."

I mentally crossed my fingers and hoped we didn't both go to jail, leaving Don out in the cold until something could be arranged. The sergeant looked at me and blinked. Then he looked at her and blinked. Then he looked at Don and blinked. "Oooooooo-kay. So, you're holding her down because......?"

"Because," I answsered, "firstly, I'm protecting my son from further threat and secondly, I'm holding her to release to your custody for an offial arrest. She had already attempted to injure me multiple times this morning and became enraged when I prevented her from striking my son. I used minimum force to ensure compliance and held as gently and as carefully as I could to minimize pain, injury, and discomfort."

The sergeant sighed expressively. "My first impulse is to lock up all three of you and let the lawyers fight it out. But, are you _sure_ he's only twelve?" Even the spousal abuser laughed. "Yes, sarge, he is only twelve." The sergeant nodded. "Ok then, the law is pretty clear. You took the correct and proper action and she looks unmarked and unharmed and you have a collaborating witness. I'll leave an officer here to take your statement and take her down for booking." He had one of the officers take my son to his room to get his statement.

He looked at me. "You realize this is going to be a media circus what with how you look and so forth?" This time it was my turn to sigh. "Yes, but here I am for all I am. I guess I'll deal with it when the time comes." He grimmaced. "It won't be pretty, I'm afraid," he said. We will do what we can within the framework of the law, though, to keep you from the worst of it. You've helped us before with some critical photographs and we don't forget favors like that. Well, I better get her booked." He had already taken her from me and had cuffed her to walked her out to the car.

The other officer had finished getting Don's statement and left with him to follow him back to the station to help process and book the spousal abuser. The last one, who stayed to get my statement, was one with whom I'd worked before with various photographs and other such issues. He was a nice guy and had always been respectful and didn't seem to be any kind of person who let his uniform, badge, and authority go to his head. He looked at me and shook his head. "I know who you are. I know you are, ar at least were, a guy. But you look really good. Like a woman. How much weight did you loose?" He was trying to keep a straight, professional face, but I could tell he was struggling.

I took a deep breath, "I went to bed and had a weird dream. When I woke up, I was like.... not ugly.... or whatever. I mean, I don't know how it happened. As far as I can tell, it happened overnight, by itself. So, the spousal abuser was going nuts. She's always hit on me, since just a few months after we got married. At first I thought it was funny. Cute, even. But I was young, dumb, and didn't have much in the way of life experience. By the time I realized how bad it had gotten and what mess I was in, I had been married a while and had a kid. I figured no one would believe some Sunday school teacher would be doing all that so I kept it to myself."

He managed to keep his eyes from popping out of his head, a very good trick after that story and asked, "So this isn't a new story? And your son knew about it? What made today different from the past?" He was shaking his head slightly and kept moving to make notes on his notepad then pulling away his pencil as though he just didn't know where to start.

It suddenly dawned on me. "Oh, if you hadn't asked me in just that way, I wouldn't have realized. He sees me as a girl, a woman. He's been taught all his life to not just not hit women, but to protect them if he can. I thought he had just gotten fed up with her abuse of me. Oh well. He was still in the right place at the right time. There is no telling how long this would have gone on if he hadn't intervened. It was time to stop the cycle of violence."

He finally started writing and asked various questions, establishing a time line, pertinent details, getting me to give him a narrative of the entire ugly incident. I knew they had seperated us to get our stories independently to see if they matched. I was amazed that it had all gone so smoothly. When we were done, I accompanied him to the door. As I stepped out on the front porch, I noticed the police cars had drawn quite a crowd. Ut oh. Our preacher was among the on-lookers. I stepped out to approach him. He saw me and did a double take, but I knew by now he'd heard of my sudden transformation and he came towards me, too.

I stopped a few feet from him. "Hi preacher. Umm.... you might be short a Sunday school teacher this morning. I think she's going to be a bit.... tied up for a while."

He scowled darkly. "Can you take her class? You're pretty sharp and since you usually don't attend Sunday school at all, I know you're not otherwise need anywhere else." Ouch. "As smart as you are, I know you could pick up and do something." Ooops, now I'm trapped. "Besides, it appears you are responsible for her not being available so you can help fix the problem." No way, Sherlock.

I drew myself up to my full 5'11+", still less than his 6'2" but as my face hardened, I saw his color drain slightly. Tersely, I responded, "ExCUSE YOU! What I did... for what I am responsible.... is... I protected my son from imminent danger. She made her own decisions and I simply minimized the damage. If you want to blame someone, blame yourself for not doing more to check and see what was going on in the life of one of your own Sunday school teacher. NOW... I will help, but if you want me, I'll be in a dress and wearing make up and I'll will have my hair nicely arranged. If you can deal with that, I will substitute this once."

To my amazement, he shrugged and said, "Fine. You'd look ridiculous dressed as a man and I believe women should always wear dresses and appear as feminine as is reasonably possible, given what ever they are doing at the time. I accept your offer to substitute and if you like the class, you're welcome to take it over until such time as you either change your mind or your wife is once again available." Sweet. The first major stumbling block to be socially accepted as a woman turned out to be a non-issue.

I said my good byes and uneasily eyed the crowd but turned my back and went back inside to get ready for Sunday school. I still had about an hour. Now I needed a dress. Oh, and makeup. I had some that I had squirreled away from when I still had to hide what and who I was that should be fine for an emergency like this. I found a purse the spousal abuser had discarded after she'd grown bored with it, I put my money, phone, keys, and ID in it and slipped into some sandals and rushed back to Walmart.

Somehow, I managed to get the exact same front parking spot and jogged inside. I grabbed the same lovely woman from lingerie and asked her what I should do for a nice Sunday school dress. She found me a beautiful royal blue number with an elasticized waist and sent me to jewelry to get some accessories. A triple ear piercing later, I was ready but realized my new shoes were black and I had a royal blue dress. I checked my watch. I had 37 minutes left until Sunday School. I hustled to the shoe department as quickly as I could with any grace and managed to find some strappy 3" heel sandals that fit, even though they were mostly clear lucite with subdued silvery straps. Oh well, with my shoe size, I couldn't be too picky.

I even managed to get to a checkout lane just as the person before me was leaving so I didn't have to wait in line. I paid and made it back to the house with 22 minutes left.

I walked into the Sunday school area with 1 minute to spare, wearing only light makeup but still looking pretty good in the royal blue with gold jewelry and the clear sandals. I'd found some hose in the spousal abuser's drawers and used some of her perfume. I got some odd looks but it seemed that I was expected. My assistant grabbed me by the hand and pulled into the classroom and asked me if I had looked over the lesson. I shook my head and asked for a lesson book. She scowled at me but I knew she was too big a chicken to try teaching, even to a room of easily pleased 2nd graders.

As it turned out, it was Daniel with Meshak, Radshak and Abednigo. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was fairly certain I remembered the story and noticed that the flannelgraph visual aides were ready and the kids were even semi-quiet. "Hi kids! Do you kids like ovens?" I grinned as they scowled at me. "Well, do you like what _comes_ from ovens? Like cakes and cookies and biscuits and muffins and pies?" Now I had their attention. I had furtively shot a glance at my assistant several times and realized she was impressed. The lesson went pretty smoothly from there and and thanks to a fortunate coincidence, the assistant and brought some cheap cookies that helped me illustrate the lesson. I had them so captivated that we didn't even do a craft.

When we got done, they were disappointed and asked when I'd be doing the class again. I dismissed them to go to church started straightening the room. The assistant stepped in front of me and just stared. "I have _no_ idea what you have been popping or smoking or whatever, but _want_ some. You look great, you sound great, and those kids thought you were Barney the dinosaur or Glenda the good witch or some damn thing. Damn, listen to me cuss at church. Do you see what you've done to me? I have never, ever seen those kids pay attention to a lesson like that! But why did you did you call the cops on Julie (the spousal abuser)?"

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I can't discuss for legal and criminal reasons. After all, what if you are called as a witness or for the jury or something?" Good save, huh?

"Well, I guess so. Oh, we'd better get our fannies up to the sanctuary for services." She lead me up and for the first time in years, I sat at the front of the sanctuary instead of hiding in the back. I even sang in the choir. She had me sit with her and her family and afterwards, she insisted that Don and I come to lunch with them and that they would pay for it all. Normally, when I was along, they made us pay for our own but always paid for Don's and the spousal abuser's if I wasn't present. I could get used to this.

We sat and chatted after lunch, everyone avoiding the obvious issues of me, the spousal abuser's current status, and how NOSY they wanted to be, but knowing I would never give in. I had a reputation for being extremely stubborn when I didn't want to discuss something.

Don and I went home when lunch and chatting was over and he went to play with his computers, game consoles and the other myriad things 12 year olds have these days. I went in the living room and laid down on the couch to comtemplate my current status and circumstances. A bit later I realized I was flying...

Note: TG transformations dreams Rated-M
Read Chapter 1.2.3.4.5.