The radio droned on, some politician talking about the rise in youth
crime...Mike wasn't listening though. He was leaning forward in the
driving seat, trying to look through the sheets of rain lashing the
windscreen. He glanced at the time - almost one in the morning, and here
was, on this Godforsaken back road. What in idiot! He thought bitterly. He
had to try and cut some time off the journey, but apparently this road
wasn't on the map, or at least it wasn't the road he thought it was. Wind
had begun to blow the car around and he clutched the steering wheel
nervously.

The politician on the radio was now talking about illegal immigrants, and
in irritation Mike switched the radio off. Quite suddenly he felt so alone
without that comforting voice. The rain seemed to be coming down harder,
and it was then that Mike made the decision to stop the car, and turn
back.

His mobile phone rang so suddenly and loudly that he jumped. It was
Louise, he picked up, slowing the car gently to a halt, afraid if he took
one hand off the wheel the wind might blow him off the road altogether.

"Mike, it's me." Her voice was an immense comfort to him.

"Hey, why are you calling me so late?"

"I was worried, the weather said there was a hell of a storm up there."

"There is - but I'm almost there, I got a bit lost, but I'm back on track
now."

"I love you."

His heart skipped a little. "I love you too." He wanted to be with her so
much at that moment, it hurt. There was a short silence.

"Look," he said, brisk again, "I'll be at the hotel in Crackleish pretty
soon, I'll call you tommorow."

"Call me when you get there."

"I will. I love you." He clicked the phone off.

The reality was pretty far from the truth, he didn't know where Crackleish
was, some Scottish town up here in the Highlands, and miserably he started
to turn the car around. And suddenly, without warning, the engine
spluttered and died.

Mike twisted the key in the ignition, but nothing - it turned over a few
times but nothing else. "Great." He said softly. He would have to call the
AA to tow him to Crackleish, picking up his phone only to see the words NO
SIGNAL across the display. Feebly he lifted the phone up higher - NO
SIGNAL. Mike closed his eyes, the storm blew the car, rocking it in the
wind. What was he going to do now? He'd seen no signs, no houses, nothing
for the last fifteen miles. Sitting alone in the car he tried to work out
what to do. Maybe he could carry on up the road on foot? Or maybe he could
sleep in the car until the storm blew itself out, but then he'd be late
for the meeting.

While his mind turned over the possibilities, a light appeared
illuminating the bend in the road ahead. A Car! He put on his hazard
warning lights and got out to wave the driver down. Torrential rain
splattered him as he stood by his car, waiting for the other vehicle to
approach. It was going very slow, he hunched his shoulders and waited. A
few moments later and he saw it was a Rolls Royce, cruising gently along,
it's wipers flapping madly. To his immense relief it started to slow as it
pulled even with him. An old man, in a driver's cap wound the window down.


Leaning across the seat he said, "Are you alright?"

"My car's just died on me, and my mobile has no signal."

"It'll be the storm I imagine," said the old man knowledgeably. "We have a
phone up at the house you could use." This was music to Mike's ears.

"Yes, yes please!"

"Get in," smiled the old man, although he didn't have the kind of face to
which a smile easily arose. The rear door opened and Mike bent down to get
in. He was shocked to see a man in the back seat. He was in his mid
twenties by the looks of it, same as Mike, and was dressed smartly as if
he was returning from a function of some kind. "Please, get in," said the
man in a soft English accent. Mike did so, sliding across the leather seat
next to the stranger who nodded at his driver to continue.

Mike felt the comforting metal of his keys in his pocket, he was a black
belt in Karate so if anything happened to him he could defend himself. But
his relief at being rescued overwhelmed any sense of unease he might have,
and he slumped back in the seat as the car drove away.

The stranger turned to Mike. "I'm John Campbell." He gripped Mike's hand
firmly. "It's a good job we were passing."

"It is!" said Mike warmly. "I'm Michael Stevens."

"What are you doing out here at this time?" enquired John calmly.

"I was on my way to Crackleish, and got lost. I've got a meeting there
tomorrow, I was meant to be checked into a hotel tonight."

"Well..." smiled John, "We'll get you warm and dry, you can make your call
and be off again as soon as you please."

"Thank you so much for this, you're a lifesaver."

John Campbell simply nodded in return as the car sped through the storm.

On seeing John's house, Mike was awe-struck. It was a huge manor house,
set back a couple of miles on a private road. The Rolls swept into the
drive and the ancient driver opened the rear door, escorting Mike and John
Campbell to the door with an umbrella. He then opened the door for the two
men, and Mike was ushered into a beautiful oak panelled drawing room. The
driver then closed the door and went back to the car. Mike heard the
crunch of gravel as it drove away. He looked around; the house was old and
very beautiful. It had all the trappings of a stately home. Large
paintings, a suit of armour, a crystal chandelier illuminated a sweeping
staircase that lead up to the upper floors. Mike spotted a telephone on a
round table and breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'll just call the AA and let you get to bed."

"Wait Michael, at least have a brandy and warm yourself up." It was
tempting. Mike was cold, he checked the time on his phone - still no
signal - almost two now. He felt like he was really imposing.

"Thank you Mr Campbell, but I should get going."

"Nonsense! Look, stay here tonight. By the time the mechanic arrives it
will be almost three, and you're going to be exhausted for you meeting
tomorrow. We have plenty of room here, clean sheets. Its not often I get
visitors."

"Thank you, but I really can't-"

"Have a brandy," interrupted John smoothly "and then decide."

And soon both men were sitting in large leather armchairs in front of a
roaring fire. The brandy was clearly an excellent vintage, and it warmed
Mike to tips of his toes. He yawned and felt himself relax. "What do you
do here, John?" he asked.

"Exist mostly. I inherited this land from my father when he died and live
here now with Benson, by butler, and my mother."

"It must be hard to keep the place looking so nice."

"Do you like it?" asked John suddenly, not blinking.

"Very much so."

John smiled, his eyes were distant. "Let me show you your room."

"Thank you, but I should go."

"Please don't. It's a filthy storm." Mike looked at the young man before
him. He had a sadness about it, he looked too young to be lord and master
of all this, and there was loneliness in his eyes.

"Ok," said Mike softly, "I'll stay."

They went up the stairs; numerous doors were lined along the first floor.
John hesitated outside one - "that is my mother's room" - he said flatly,
and then opened the next door. The room was warm and comforting. There was
an ornate vanity, a full-length antique mirror, pink and gold everywhere.
But what caught Mike's eye was the picture above the fireplace. It was a
huge oil painting of a nude woman. She was blonde, looked in her early
twenties, she looked out at the viewer with a sense of defiance, despite
her nudity. The painting was incredibly detailed, each blonde hair could
be easily defined, each curve of her body, her almost elfin face looked so
lifelike it gave Mike the shivers, as if he was trespassing on her in a
strictly private moment.

John saw Mike's expression at the painting. "This was my fiancee,
Jennifer." Mike honestly had no idea what to say. "These were her quarters
before we were to be married. It seems a long time ago, but it's only been
four years.

"I'm sorry," was all Mike could say.

"So am I," replied John softly, his eyes on the painting. Mike wondered
what sort of woman would keep a full nude of herself in the room, and why
would John want Mike to sleep there?

"I'd feel more comfortable in a different room, John."

"It's fine Michael. All the other rooms are in a state of disrepair,
please, make yourself at home, and I'll..." he swallowed, "see you later."

"Thanks again for this..."

"No bother. Goodnight Jennifer."

"Goodnight" answered Mike.

He didn't have the heart to correct John, he was clearly not over the
death of his fiancée. John closed the door, and Mike looked up again at
the picture. She was so beautiful. Her skin as subtly tanned, her blonde
hair spilled in curls over slender shoulders, her thighs shapely, the
small tuft of pubic hair with just a hint of a crease between her legs.
Mike checked his phone again, still no signal. He slipped out of his
jeans, shirt and socks, wearing only jockey shorts he was about to get
into bed when he noticed the drawer of the vanity was slightly open.
Creeping across the room he gently opened it. Inside was of all things - a
silver dildo. "Jesus," he said aloud. There was also a pile of Playgirl
magazines from a few years back. He opened another drawer, it was full of
stockings, tights, bras.

Closing the drawer gently he froze as he heard voices outside. There was
John, and he was talking to a woman - it must be his mother. It sounded a
heated argument. Mike listened carefully. The woman was talking.

"You need a woman John, he's perfect."

"I know, but he's only my age, he has a girlfriend himself, Mother, we
can't."

"We can John, and we will. I will not die here without the sound of
children again. Children John!"

There was silence. Mike swallowed.

"You're right Mother."

"He is a fine choice, the fact you like him will make it so much easier
for you to love him when he changes."

"When will it happen?" asked John heavily.

"You gave him the brandy? Soon, in the next few minutes."

The horrible thought that they had poisoned him ran though Mike's head.
His heart beating hard he swung open the door, and saw John and his
mother. They looked so alike, both dark haired, the same green eyes. "What
was in the Brandy?" demanded Mike, trying to look confident, standing
there in his pants. The mother looked at him, she was younger than he'd
imagined, in her mid forties or so. I smile twitched across her lips.

"I see the bride joins us." John shot a look at her.

"Mother, please."

Mike didn't know what to say. All he knew is that he got such a feeling of
malevolence from this woman he wanted to leave. Immediately. He sensed
power in her, power which made him feel weak and scared.

"I've got to go." He turned round, back into the room and started to pull
his jeans on.

"Wait Mike, you don't understand. We haven't poisoned you, I promise,"
John followed.

"Look, I don't know what you and you mother were talking about, but it's
nothing to do with me." Mrs Campbell walked in behind her son, she had an
almost serene look about her.

"You can't leave young man. Not now."

"I am."

"No you can't. Not in your condition."

"What do you mean?" Mike shouted.

"I mean," she replied steadily. "Not when you're about to...transform.
Have you not worked it out yet? You're about to become John's new
fiancée."

"Well I'm sorry your Son is gay, but I'm going."

She laughed mockingly. John was starting at Mike intently.

"He's not gay. He likes...women."

As she said the word, Mike felt a strange jolt throughout his body. Women.
Woman. He felt dizzy for a moment and sat on the bed. He turned to the
mother and son. "What have you done to me?"

He felt little electric pulses running up his spine, tingling his
sphincter, making his knees jump. He went to stand up, almost falling, as
blood seemed to rush to his head. To his scalp. He could feel a numb,
buzzing sensation and he reached up to touch his hair. It felt longer...he
always shaved his head, and now it felt like he hadn't cut it for a month.
Without a word a staggered across to the ornate mirror and stared. His
hair was longer, but what made his heart jump was the roots. Right next to
the scalp they were coming in blonde. As he watched there was another
spurt of growth - he felt it - and saw it reflected back at him. His hair
now 2 inches long - with blonde seeping along his hair, turning it from
black to pure honey. The young man's jaw dropped open in surprise. He
didn't know what to do or say until the silky voice of Mrs Campbell cut
through his thoughts.

"Look at his hair, isn't it getting beautiful..." Mike spun round, and saw
Mrs Campbell's hands, literally clasped in glee at the sight of him. Mike
shut his eyes and tried to focus - he felt another wave of the same
sensation, and when he turned back to the mirror his hair had pushed out
another couple of inches.

He dropped the shirt he was going to put on and turned back to Mrs
Campbell. "What's happening to me?"

She just smiled.

"Look at your chest dear, that should give you a clue."

He did. And it took him a second to realise his dark chest hair was
thinning. He touched it, only for it to drop away. Then he caught sight of
his nipples. They were hard. Like it was cold. But then he realised with a
jolt that that they were sticking out further that they should. They were
growing. His nipples were getting larger - sitting on his now smooth pecs,
they looked like...like girl's nipples.

He touched his right one, nerve endings were becoming active in it judging
by how sensitive it was - and the whole horror of what was happening
struck him. "You're turning me into a woman!" he shrieked.

Mrs Campbell smiled. His hair was not about 5 inches long and was getting
in his eyes.

"I don't want to be a woman!" His nipples were starting to ache now, and
although he hadn't yet noticed his muscles were just starting to atrophy.
He was an athlete, and worked out a lot - his classic male shape still
intact, but with the honey blonde hair and now lack of body hair he was
starting to already look markedly different. Little clicks and snaps were
coming from, his body as he started to lose mass. All his body hair, even
that under his jeans was being rejected from his skin - simply unable to
grow hair of that density any more. Even his underarm hair was dropping
out.

He felt a shift in his lower belly, and felt there, his six pack still
hard with exertion. He couldn't know of course that the shifting feeling
was the development of a womb making its appearance. One of the many
unseen changes he was going to experience. He probed his stomach, then
caught sight of his hands. His fingernails had been growing the whole
time. Long, clear and perfectly manicured. He held a hand up to his eyes -
watching, dumbstruck, as his nails crept long and feminine.

His hair was starting to curl at the ends now - brushing his shoulders.
His body was tingling and sweating - the reality of what was happening to
him out of his grasp. He fixed a feverish eye on Mrs Campbell. "Please, I
have a girlfriend...she'll wonder where I am. Don't make me a...urghhh" he
gasped as his shoulder started to slim and narrow - pain shot right down
his spine "...woman!"

Thoughts of escape ran through his blonde head, but he was already losing
height! He couldn't hope to challenge John and his mother now. He must
have lost a foot already, taking him below 6ft. Feminine, shaping fat was
developing naturally around his thighs, but as he shrunk his pants slipped
down - showing smooth, tanned legs. With rounder thighs, running up in his
jockey shorts.

"I wonder what he looks like downstairs?" mused Mrs Campbell, "after all
you should know being her fiancée and all..."

John was silent though, inwardly fighting the destruction of Mike's
manhood and relishing the birth of the woman he was becoming. His mother
was more active though - she approached Mike's almost naked form. "Get
away from me!" he cried, stepping backwards - however she smartly grasped
the front of his jockey shorts and yanked them down. His genitals bounced
free - and he immediately tried to cover them with his shrinking hands.

"Still male where it counts," she said flatly. "We'll wait."

Poor Mike looked down and saw his pecs and six pack had quite gone, in
fact he was developing a little protective layer of fat on his lower
abdomen, an inch above his penis - to protect the womb he was growing
inside. He was almost rabid with fright now - his hands cupping his
genitals. When he noticed movement behind his nipples. They were swelling.
Budding. Breasts. And they were growing on him. It didn't seem real. His
nipples were large and pink - and tender as breast tissue began to build.

"No!" was all he could cry - but just at that moment he felt his ballsack
tighten. His hands slowly came away and he looked down. Down past that
smooth, soft belly and saw, and felt his scrotum literally tightening.
Blonde curls fell into his vision, and he heard Mrs Campbell laugh again.
In horror he looked at John. "Please John, this can't happen to me,
please, don't make me your girl!"

"It's too late," said John, "We'll be making love as man and wife before
the sunrises - please, don't fight it Jennifer."

"I'll NEVER be your fucking wife - ARGHHHH!" his sentence was cut short by
his balls tightening again. They were drawing into his body. He fell hard
onto his knees - and his budding breasts jiggled as they swelled to an A
cup.

His dick started to shrink in little pulses, he held it firmly in his
small hand, eyes closed, trying to resist but not even knowing how. He
felt it shrinking in his palm. Above his half-sized dick, his pubes were
now configured in an inverted triangle. A pain shot through his hips as
his pelvis started to judder wider - and he took his hands away
inadvertently showing John and his mother a tiny cock - his ballsack now
empty was thickening into a labia. His hands were on his hips though, as
they started to widen into their female counterpart. The classic female
crotch gap appeared as the tops of his legs moved apart and then the
indignity of hearing his grunts of discomfort break into a higher timbre.
His buttocks started to swell like ripening fruit, setting his wider hips
off perfectly. He tried to get to his feet, but fell onto his back. Legs
jumping as his penis was reduced to a mere nub.

Folds were developing from his anus, to the front of his crotch - the
rudiments of a vagina, and his breasts were now a B cup. Hips were curved
now, and the sweat, which ran down his smooth skin, was reeking with
pheromones. His face too had been subtly changing, it looked younger, more
boyish than it did. But already his lips had swollen, kissable and soft.
With a gasp, he felt cold air make contact with the tender folds between
his legs, and he became a she.

Her voice cracked higher again, her throat soft with no sign of the Adam's
apple that she had had earlier. Eyelashes were curling, even as inside,
those testicles were turning into ovaries, ready for her first period a
month from now. The pain and tenderness was leaving Mike now, and she
found the strength to get to her feet. Little changes were still
occurring, her nose was getting smaller, her eyebrows arched and plucked.
But within minute she stood there - naked and devastatingly female before
the mother and son who had witnessed the change.

"I thought you said you were a man," smiled Mrs Campbell after a pause. A
salty tear ran down her soft cheek.

"I am a man," said her high voice as mother and son laughed openly.

"You're a woman now, you look so much like the painting I can't believe
it," said Mrs Campbell without a trace of sarcasm. "I'll leave you both to
it." Apparently satisfied her work was done she swept out of the room,
leaving Mike and John alone.

John smiled at her. "I'm sorry you had to go through this, Mike. But now,
now we can be a family again. We can start a family again."

"This isn't happening..." cried Mike. "This isn't real..."

"Please, please get dressed. Either that or I'll have to get naked."

Mike's beautiful eyes widened in shock. The choice lay ahead, to wear the
clothes that were stacked away in the cupboards and drawers of the room,
or have this man, this person, now of the opposite sex strip before her.

"I'll dress," she said, trying to keep her composure. Hormones were
flooding her brain. John knew of course that from here on in Mike's mind
would transform, as thoughts no man would have would start to blossom. He
just had to wait. He looked at the woman opposite him, she was so
beautiful, so fertile, and his.

All his.