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Adjustable Magic

  Three short pieces by

  Wayne Benham

  The Oddly Even Couple

  *

  Social Dynamics for the Teflon Mind

  *

  One Hand Clapping

  Copyright 2013 by Wayne Benham

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or distributed to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The Oddly Even Couple

  As he drifts slowly into morning wakefulness, a subtle but disturbing feeling of wrong begins to gather in his mind.

  Automatically, his right hand slides down to grasp his erection.

  Almost every morning when he awakens- 19 out of 20 would be a conservative estimate, 29 of 30 likely closer to accurate- Ryan Keller greets the new day with an erection. A real erection. Not some half-hearted minor tumescence, but full-blooded, primetime, as good as it gets hardwood. An erection a 37-year old man can be proud of. And by all rights deserves to be shared. Not in any social networked, photo-posted, phone sexted modus of immature operandi. Rather, shared in the old fashioned, reach out and poke someone kind of way.

  A consenting and receptive someone, of course.

  Add reasonably attractive, appreciative, and female and that pretty much covers the essential attributes of the very someone that Ryan often wishes were present in his bed for a bit of morning sharing.

  In fact, he might even be willing to drop appreciative from the list.

  Regrettably, with or without appreciation, the list also summarizes the very someone whose shareable presence has remained a woefully uncommon event in recent times. And that’s using a rather loose and liberal definition of the word ‘recent’.

  So it is that almost every morning upon awakening, Ryan’s hand, acting from some unbidden force of habit, seeks out to grasp his erection. And in so doing his mind is then at peace.

  It is a new day and Ryan Keller has a bone of significant contention. All is right with the world.

  Except for that pesky lack of sharing angle.

  On those rare occasions when his penis is pliantly noncompliant without justification (illness and abrupt/unpleasant waking the most common contributory exemptions) Ryan Keller begins his day feeling slightly out of sorts and mildly depressed.

  Therefore it is with initial disappointment when Ryan’s right hand does not discover an erection on this morning.

  But it is a much deeper concern… bordering on panic… when that hand cannot locate a penis at all.

  Ryan is now fully awake. At the same time he’s probably never felt more certain that he simply cannot be.

  Lying on his left side, Ryan’s fingers continue to search the area of the missing member and quickly make another startling discovery.

  A vagina.

  Oh, surely not. Impossible. And yet, a second cautious digital palpation seems to confirm the previous diagnosis.

  It is a new day and Ryan Keller has a vagina. Something is monumentally not all right in the world.

  Ryan is suddenly awash with a pervasive sense of physical incorrectness.

  He rolls onto his back and pulls the bedcovers aside. It is his habit to sleep nude and even in the minimal morning light of the curtained room he can see the twin mounds on his chest. Smallish, perhaps, but unquestionably present.

  He raises his hand directly before his eyes. It looks so small. Feminine. He touches his face in several areas. It too feels alien.

  Ryan closes his eyes, takes a deep, cleansing breath and releases it slowly. Relax. Calm. He wills his mind and body to wake up and exit this dreamscape.

  He opens his eyes and contemplates his breasts. No longer under the warm cocoon of blankets, the cool air of the bedroom has prompted the nipples to harden.

  Oh good, he thinks, they’re erect. Dual erections.

  Somehow this numerical increase fails to brighten his mood.

  Ryan clambers out of bed and, moving awkwardly in his now strange body, crosses to the bathroom, flips on the light, and looks into the mirror above the sink.

  “Oh my…” he begins, instantly startling himself. He hadn’t yet considered that his voice would also be transformed and re-gendered. Not to mention that looking into a mirror and seeing a distinctly different person gazing back at you, echoing every subtle gesture and movement, is a profoundly disturbing and disorienting situation.

  A true out of body experience.

  Further still is yet another new discovery. Ryan recognizes the person in the mirror. Leila. Leila Bose. At least the face and hair are hers. Ryan has never seen Leila naked, or partially naked, or anything even vaguely close to naked. In fact on the three occasions he has seen Leila she was always fully attired for chilly January in California weather. Head, neck, hands, a little arm perhaps. That’s all he’s seen. Nothing more.

  Ryan met Leila eleven days ago. Eleven and a half if you want to be more precise. It was a purely by chance meeting with both of them short on time. It lasted all of seven minutes and concluded with him suggesting he’d like to get together again, intentionally and preferably soon, giving her his business card, and asking that she call if interested. She did two days later and they arranged a somewhat lengthier daylight encounter at a benign location of her choosing where, over non-alcoholic beverages, they each determined that the other was not a potential psycho/sociopath, a rabid idolater of Rush Limbaugh, or indelibly stamped with a large letter L in the center of their forehead.

  Last night was their first real date. A nice date to be sure. Very nice. Possibly the best first date Ryan has ever attended. Regardless, certainly nothing that would warrant a wholesale exchange of body parts.

  Not that he can readily conceive of any date that would.

  He is willing however to assume that the complete visible package before him is in fact Leila. Beyond willing, he’s rather hopeful of the thought. Although under the current circumstances that hope would seem both more problematic and more perverse than it might if presented in a more favorable climate.

  The woman is killer. All of her. He already knew that her face was beautiful, of course, and that she was neither chunky nor rail thin. And he had entertained thoughts about the unseen details and how she might look, but damn, this is actually better than he ever imagined.

  Knowing the person in the mirror elicits mixed emotions. It is easier now for Ryan to separate that image, that body, from himself. Leila has a really great body, he thinks. Her breasts are petite, like the rest of her, but perfect in form and texture and general appearance. They’re well matched and balanced, not riding too high or drooping too low or spread too far apart or looking in different directions. Basically, the woman has perfect breasts. Not me. I don’t have perfect breasts. She does.

  On the other hand a new element of discomfort has been ignited. It’s hard enough to deal with the idea that you’ve somehow turned into a woman. Some generic female form substituted for your own. But now to find you’re wearing the body of someone you know, well, that’s taking things over to the creepy side of town. Unsavory. Like rummaging through someone’s drawers and personal things without their knowledge or permission.

  I shouldn’t be doing this, he thinks. Gawking and appraising her body like this. God, I was practically playing with it earlier.

  He steps away from the mirror.

  It might be different if he were occupying someone he already knew more intimately. His ex-wife perhaps. Oh, no, bad example. A whole new level of discomfort would surely accompany any aspect of her participation.

  Seeking something to put on, Ryan sees a few items of women’s clothing scattered amongst others on a chair in the corner where he often tosses his clothes temporarily. (Again, loose application of
the word.) He immediately recognizes the woman’s top as the same one Leila was wearing the night before. Not really a big surprise, but another added bit of mystery.

  He had assumed, though with little basis, that this inexplicable transformation had occurred in his sleep, probably shortly before awakening, and had no direct correlation with or to Leila. The clothes, however, would seem to indicate that Leila herself was here last night. And he knew that not to be true.

  And with that thought a previously unnoticed glitch in his thinking is exposed.

  He pushes that aside however, for the moment, to concentrate on getting dressed. Retrieving Leila’s top uncovers a bra. Not overtly frilly or sexy, but not purely utilitarian either. Ryan rejects any consideration of putting it on. All he really wants at this time is basic coverage, not support. He rejects the silky panties as well, although for different reasons, instead opting for his own grey sweatpants semi-draped over same chair. The sweats are far too large, but with elastic bands at waist and cuffs, size is somewhat of irrelevant concern.

  The clothing does improve his attitude. He can now view himself and feel less a freak and more a responsible steward of someone else’s private property.

  Now, back to his recollection of the previous night.

  Ryan picked Leila up and they drove over the hill to Rocoso Beach for a simple dinner followed by a concert. After that they returned to Santa Bella and… and what? He can’t actually remember arriving in Santa Bella, or taking Leila home, or going home himself. He keeps replaying it in his head, but it doesn’t help. He remembers leaving the concert, he remembers beginning the 25 minute drive, and then somewhere about halfway there, it all goes blank. Completely blank.

  No memory of anything else until he woke up this morning with no penis and a perfect pair of tits.

  Obviously something of rather critical importance is missing here. In more ways than one.

  A phone rings softly in the apartment’s second bedroom. Ryan is a commercial artist and uses that room as a home office and studio. That phone number he only gives out to his regular clients and none of them should be calling at this early hour.

  He leaves the bedroom, hurries toward the office, but then slows as the phone rings a second time.

  Because, really, what’s the point? He can’t answer the phone. Even if he wanted to, which is still uncertain, Ryan Keller at this time is incapable of answering his own phone. His secretary, his sister, his goddamn Great Aunt Matilda can answer the phone, but he cannot.

  Let the machine get it. If it’s important they’ll leave a message. He pauses near the office’s closed door.

  “Ryan,” a male voice says. “This is… Lee.”

  Who? The voice seems familiar.

  “Ryan, if you’re there, please pick up. We really need to talk.”

  Well, of course it sounds familiar. Ryan is hearing his own voice. He pushes through the door and races for the phone.

  “I don’t know how,” his voice continues, “But I have something here of yours, and…”

  “Hello,” he almost shouts into the phone. “Lee? Leila?”

  “Yes. Oh my god. That is you, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. It’s me. Or it’s you. Take your pick.”

  “And you understand what I mean about me having something…”

  “Yes, you have my penis,” he blurts out without thinking, and immediately regrets it.

  “Okay,” Leila says, drawing the second syllable out. “Well, at least we know your basic male priorities are still intact.”

  “Yeah, sorry. That was bad. But, please, cut me a little slack, okay? I’ve only been awake for maybe five minutes and, if you’ll pardon the expression, I’m not really my usual self today.”

  “You’re forgiven,” she says. “I think I’ve got about twenty minutes or so on you. After the initial shock I decided it had to be a dream and I tried to just roll with it for awhile. Which was interesting, I have to admit. Really… well…” she tapers off.

  Ryan is about to ask for elaboration on the interesting, but she continues.

  “Then I moved on to questioning my mental state. You know? Have I completely lost it? Delusions, hallucinations, altered reality. And that’s where I was when I decided to call you. Took a while to work up the courage and decide how to broach the subject without sounding insane even if I was. Because- ‘hey, Ryan, it’s Leila, and I might be crazy but I think I have your penis’ didn’t have quite the subtlety I was looking for.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m not crazy, right?”

  “I definitely have your head. I assume all the other parts are yours as well.”

  “Shit. This is whacked.”

  “Maybe we’re both crazy,” Ryan suggests.

  “And having the exact same delusion. I don’t think so.”

  “Well, then maybe this really is a dream.”

  “All right. Whose?”

  “From my perspective, mine. Of course. It’s all a dream, including this phone call. You’re actually still in bed, sound asleep and safe and secure in your own body.”

  Leila makes a dismissive sound. “So, do I simply repeat the same thing now? This is my dream, and you’re just a figmentation of it. What good does that do?”

  “I didn’t say it was a satisfying explanation. At least not for both of us. And I don’t think figmentation is a real word.”

  “Hey. My dream. My word. Your opinion has no standing.”

  “Wait a minute,” Ryan says, recalling something. “My dream. How could you call me on this line? In reality you don’t have this number.”

  “Well,” she begins. “In my dream, I did call your cell first. However, that phone is here, in the pocket of your coat, which is now hanging in my bedroom closet. And, my apologies, but I didn’t know how else to reach you so I snooped in your phone and found a number that you identified as work. And since you told me you worked at home, I thought it was worth a try.”

  “Oh.”

  “Can I make a suggestion?” Leila asks, but without pause for response. “I think you should come over here. Now. As soon as possible. We have a problem, and I think we need to work together to figure out what to do about it. And maybe, if some freak of nature is behind this, maybe all we need is to be physically closer to one another for it to change back.”

  No response from Ryan.

  “Okay. Do you have a better idea?”

  “No,” he admits. “Not at the moment.”

  “Frankly, I don’t have much confidence in the idea myself. And that’s why I’d like you to bring some stuff over here with you. Pack a bag. Think of it as if you were going away for a long weekend.”

  Ryan begins to sputter, she quickly cuts him off.

  “It’s not for you, Ryan. Remember? It’s for me. You’re at least six inches taller and seventy-five pounds heavier than I am. All I have that will fit me now are the clothes you were wearing yesterday. And I refuse to put those on until they’ve been washed. So, please, bring clean underwear, socks, three or four changes of clothes, keep it on the casual side. More shoes. Again, comfortable please. And the whole toiletries side of things. Oh god, you probably didn’t even wash my face before you went to bed last night. Ryan, hurry. Please.”

  “Leila?”

  “Yes?”

  “I have to pee first.”

  “Okay.”

  “Well, is there anything I should know about that?”

  “Sit down, sweetie. After that, let nature take over. You’ll do fine.”