Cassandra's Wonderful Adventure, Part I

“Who are you?”

“I—I hardly know, sir, just at present—at least I know who

I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have

changed several times since then”

==========

Cortlandt, NY

FRIDAY

Cassandra was depressed.

She stood before the full-length dressing mirror she had purchased

the day before. Her charcoal gray skirt and white embroidered blouse

draped fittingly over her four foot eleven inch, eighty three pound frame.

The matching shoes and the elegant paisley scarf wrapped around her neck,

secured by an equally elegant brooch, served to highlight her ensemble.

Her gaze rose up from her clothing and focused on the reflection of her

eyes and facial traits. Her face was easily her best feature, just

rounded enough along the line from temple to jaw, her nose just the right

size, her eyes neither too close together nor far apart; no turkey neck,

no elephant ears. Her lips were thick and naturally curved into a smile.

Cassandra was actually quite pretty—-she was largely ignorant of the fact

that she was considered the attractive girl-next-door type by people who

knew her—-and she had a pleasant, intelligent personality, save for one

character flaw which had chosen this one moment to manifest itself: on the

first day she put her new mirror to its intended use, she wondered why she

had bothered buying it in the first place, for as she looked she was

overwhelmed by a repetition of a feeling of inadequacy occasioned by her

tiny size and shape.

Cassandra had stopped growing when she started high school. It was

the influence of her fathers’ family, she had been told by her five-and-a-

half foot-tall mother; all the women in his side of the family were tiny,

and Cassie had inherited their average size and dainty eating habits along

with her mother’s auburn hair and blue-green eyes. Her lack of physical

development increasingly occupied her attention as she noticed her friends

all suddenly beginning to shoot up (and out) while she stayed as she was.

Her small stature combined with a manifesting, increscent shyness to

guarantee that attracting the interest of boys would be difficult and

ultimately unsuccessful—-not when there were taller, more built and more

aggressive girls around her. Cassandra stopped participating in outdoor

or social events where (she felt) her appearance was more noticeable and

the resulting time spent in more scholarly pursuits which, combined with

an affection for organization, her native intellect and an intense desire

to succeed, won the notice of her teachers and the occasional envy of her

classmates. Encased in a defensive shell of overt unconcern to shield

herself from teasing and comparisons, and the need to appear superior to

her own physical diminutiveness hardened into habit, Cassandra would never

let anyone see how unhappy being diminutive made her, and she was

victorious most of the time. She was now a successful adult with a

superior income and a good future in front of her—-if she could just

diminish the feeling of being undersized and reedy which had intruded once

again into her thinking.

“Pop,” she sighed to her reflection, “why couldn’t you have kept

your genes to yourself.”

She inspected her reflection again. Her dress was appropriate for

her job at the small but highly respected brokerage firm of Bellante and

Claus in Manhattan. It was a good place to work, privately owned by two

men who lived by an old-fashioned work ethic and demanded top performance,

rewarding the successful and leaving back the mediocre. Cassandra had

displayed near-uncanny skills and had rapidly earned a place in the

company, and she had the bank balances and stock options to prove it. She

also felt she had the respect of her fellow brokers (all of whom save one

were male), and it was always pleasant to talk shop during her working

day—but it was all professional. Cassandra always dreamed of meeting “the

right man” but never met him. She sighed. It would be nice if she were

to wake up in the morning having had someone next to her to help

disarrange the covers!

Cassandra shook her head and turned her thoughts to the upcoming

day. Bellante and Claus had been interviewing candidates for a new vice

president slot, and she had put in for the position. With her company

history and a little luck she would be the only twenty-five year old vice

president in the company, and the thought pleased her. I may be small,

but I’ll be a boss, she thought. The thought cheered her.

She read the alarm clock on her dresser and frowned. Grabbing the

gray jacket that completed her ensemble she scurried from her bedroom,

pacing rapidly down the hallway separating the bedroom wing of her house

from the rest. She peered quickly out the window at the weather outside.

The weather people were correct when they said a touch of winter was going

to spoil the early spring the region had been experiencing today—-low

clouds were scudding across the sky and the budding branches of the old

apple tree that graced her front yard were swinging in the wind. She

yanked her trench coat from off its peg of the coat tree in the foyer and

shrugged into it.

A blast of cold, damp air greeted her as she walked down the brick

walkway to her car, her briefcase heavy in her hand. She pulled open the

door and flung her case inside, then jumped in behind it. She reached out

with the car key only to find the ignition switch in the cars’ steering

wheel column too far away. The car seat had slipped back again, a

recurring problem since the spring which normally held the seat secure

against its adjusting rack broke three days ago. And it’s only a year-old

car, for crying out loud, she thought. Cassandra reached between her legs

and lifted the seat adjust lever, body-englished the seat forward to where

she could reach the pedals and ignition switch and started on her way to

the train station.

The trip in to Manhattan was routine. She stopped at a kiosk in the

Harmon train station for her morning breakfast—one black coffee and a bran

roll—and made her way onto her train. Quickly seizing a seat, she ate,

then began to examine the electronic files in the laptop computer filling

her briefcase. Forty six minutes later saw her walking through Grand

Central Station, heading towards the number 1 subway line, which took her

to Wall street and the Bellante and Claus offices. Her morning was

equally routine—-sitting in on the morning sales strategy session given by

David (one of the V.P.’s), fielding calls from clients and rising from her

chair in unison with the rest of the staff when Mr. Bellante and Mr. Claus

came out of their offices in their daily ritual of greeting their staff.

Eddie, occupying the desk nest to Cassandra’s, waited until the owners had

gone, then leaned towards her desk.

“I hear that the big cheeses have come to a decision today, Cassie,”

he stage whispered, waggling his eyebrows for emphasis. Cassandra leaned

back in her chair and eyed his round face.

“How do you know that?”

Eddie put his forefinger beside his nose and rubbed it, his smirk

threatening to split his face in two.

“I pumped Charlene for info, of course,” he replied. Charlene was

the two owners’ executive secretary. She was easily thirty years his

senior, a jovial grandmother who acted as both matron and drill sergeant

to the office staff. “They were closeted with the other execs for two

hours after closing yesterday and then they told Charlene to call the Kilt

and reserve a room for a party—-for today.”

Among the many traditional events that made up the culture of

Bellante and Claus was the traditional party to celebrate a major

promotion, Cassandra knew, and the party was always held at the Scotsman’s

Kilt, a pub at Tenth and Fifth Avenue. The other two candidates for the

new V.P. slot were Bhupta, who had joined the company one year after she

did, and Karen, who had joined three months before. Cassandra felt a

growing sense of excitement which she carefully masked. She would let no

one see how she desired the recognition the new position would entail.

Eddie was watching her closely to see any evidence of reaction, and his

face fell at the lack of response to his news.

“So, did you find out anything else while you were throwing yourself

at Charlene?” she asked, making a show of stretching her legs under her

desk. Eddie bobbed his head.

“Yep. Charlene overhear Mr. Bellante saying, ‘this is the first

time we ever had two females in the office, and both of them are up for

the job’. Sounds like it’s between you and Karen.”

Cassandra reacted to his gossip by sitting bolt upright in her chair

so quickly it squeaked. Karen was the other candidate? Cassandra felt

her face warm. Karen was book-smart, and worked hard, but she had never

developed the knack for picking up exactly what clients wanted or needed,

and her track record contained both one or two real successes and a couple

of blunders, while Cassandra had been a non-stop success story. Cassandra

struggled not to turn in her chair toward the opposite corner of the main

floor where Karen’s desk was located—-not for worlds would she let Eddie

or any of the other brokers around her (Eddie’s whispers were clearly

audible three desks away) see how she’d been affected by the news.

Eddie’s desk phone rang, ending their conversation, and Cassandra turned

back to her own work.

Cassandra was about to depart for lunch when Karen appeared beside

her desk. Physically Karen was her opposite: tall, brunette-haired, long-

legged, and stacked. Karen was friendly and pleasant to everyone, and

moved with an assurance borne of her all-natural ability to focus

attention on by moving just the right way, by wearing figure-accentuating

clothing, or just by breathing deeply—-traits that Cassandra detested, and

secretly envied. Cassandra returned her smile of greeting.

“Listen, I hear that the two of us are the candidates for the new

vice prez slot,” she said in her soft voice. “I just wanted to say good

luck to you, and I hope you get it.”

Cassandra flushed, but recovered quickly and reached out to shake

Karen’s proffered hand.

“You, too, and thank you” she replied, and Karen smiled, nodded, and

walked away. Cassandra again felt the butterflies in her stomach, and

decided to ground them by eating lunch.

On her return Cassandra found a handwritten note on her desk, asking

her to see Charlene. She immediately made her way into the inner offices

and presented herself at Charlene’s desk.

“Hi, Cassie. Mr. Bellante is free, you can go right in,” she said.

“Good luck.”

Cassandra found herself exceptionally nervous, and she inhaled

deeply to dispel those butterflies with roller skates which put in a

reappearance. She squared her shoulders, took two steps to the door

bearing the nameplate J. BELLANTE, knocked, and entered.

With a polite greeting and a cigar-stained smile, James Bellante

rose from behind his desk and gestured Cassandra into a chair. He spent a

moment in polite inquiry, which Cassandra answered with increasing

confidence. Then he put on his business face.

“The reason I asked you to step in here was that I wanted to let you

know that Karen will be getting the new Vice President position,” he said.

Cassandra blinked.

“Understand that this is not a reflection on your abilities,”

Bellante continued. “You are one of the best people I have ever seen in

thirty years in this business, and you are assured of an excellent career

here.”

Cassandra swallowed. The thin wreath of cigar smoke that hung in

the room suddenly soured her stomach.

“Why? What am I-what am I lacking?” she heard herself say.

Bellante’s eyebrows rose.

“The new position will require someone who can bring home very

wealthy clients, especially foreign clients,” he replied. “We are trying

for the first time to set up a client base in the Middle and Far East.

Our point person must be someone who will be sufficiently flexible as well

as experienced, and Karen has those qualifications.”

“I’m as flexible as she is,” Cassandra said.

“You are also uncomfortable face-to-face with people, Cassandra,”

Bellante replied. “We are going to need an outgoing, confident

personality to work hand-in-hand with new clients. Karen is superior to

you in that consideration. Greeting new clients in person seems to give

you difficulty.”

The old men were too observant by half, Cassandra thought grimly.

If ever she had a weakness, it was the inability to deal with people

because with her small stature she could never avoid the uncomfortable

sensation of being at the bottom of a well. She felt her face color a

little, and Bellante’s eyes narrowed. He puffed negligently on his cigar,

blowing a thin, greasy smoke ring, then continued.

“There are also other considerations when dealing with new clients

for the first time, especially foreign clients. We are investing a great

deal in this new venture overseas—setting up offices in Japan, Singapore,

Dhahran. We already have had feelers from several very big possible

customers who are going to demand nothing less than top service and we

need to be sure that they get the best first impression we can offer.”

Cassandra choked on her bile. Bellante’s unchanging expression and

toneless voice spoke volumes where his words did not. Karen natural

endowments could indeed make the difference in negotiating with wealthy

overseas clients (most of whom were male) who liked their eye candy along

with the potential of making money. Cassandra’s detached self-examination

caused her to realize that Bellante was speaking a harsh truth, that

Karen’s physique and appearance could indeed make the difference in

landing a multi-million dollar investment contract from some sheik or

business magnate with a yen for American. It didn’t help, though, and

Cassandra’s feelings of inadequacy multiplied.

“We also want to keep you here,” Bellante went on when the silence

in the room stretched too long. “We decided therefore to award you an

early bonus.” He produced an and reached out to offer it to her.

Cassandra numbly took the envelope but did not open it.

“I will also tell you that we are considering another opening

domestically which will have the same demands that Karen’s slot will have—

-travel, customer contact, eye-level detentes. If our overseas venture is

successful before summer, the position will be yours in September or

October.”

Cassandra nodded automatically at Bellante’s tone, her introspection

still gripping her. She paid no attention to what she said in return, and

Bellante escorted her out of his office. Charlene looked up at her

appearance, glanced at Cassandra’s dazed, hurt expression, rose gracefully

from behind her cluttered desk and put her arm around Cassandra’s

shoulders, both to comfort and help guide her back to her place.

Cassandra didn’t know whether to be glad of the considerate contact or

angry at the feeling of being a wayward child comforted by a mother.

Cassandra would not remember any details of the rest of that

workday. The owners made their appearance two hours before closing to

announce the new title holder, and Karen literally bounced-—bounced,

dammit!--for five minutes with joy, surrounded by a cadre of males.

Eddie, Bertrand and Steve came over to Cassandra’s desk, all of them

making the sympathetic noises common to those who suffer setbacks in their

careers. The office broke up early and the day staff emerged en masse,

heading towards the subways. Cassandra tagged along, mindful that the old

men disliked people who failed to show for functions like the upcoming

party. She knew that she was responding to her friends’ efforts to

console her with a brittle, unpleasant silence but could not help herself.

The Scotsman’s Kilt was characteristically crowded, but the staff

made its way to the traditional back room, where tables covered with white

damask cloths had been set up and decorated. The bar was open, and the

variety of available drink better than average. The crowd broke into

groups, and Cassandra found herself in the largest, with Eddie, senior

broker Bertrand, and the newest office hire Steve—-Cassandra’s three best

buddies in the company—-adopting the task of alternately acting as

bartenders and bodyguards. By five-thirty the majority of the staff was

half in the bag, and Cassandra found herself feeling a little light-headed

from the frozen concoction she was sipping—-it was called a Bahama

Painkiller, and she had accepted it as per Eddie’s recommendation—-and she

listened to the increasingly inebriated conversation passing over her.

“What you need to get ahead in this world is to kiss major booty,”

Eddie announced, a little too loudly. Bertrand, who was easily ten years

older than anyone in the group, shook his head and fixed Eddie with his

best ex-Marine Corps drill instructor glare.

“I don’t understand it, myself,” Steve confessed.

“You’re only six months in the shop, so I don’t suppose you would,”

Bertrand grunted as he moistened his mouth with his Jack Daniel’s and

water. The circle of faces surrounding them reflected either cynical

knowledge or bewilderment. Eddie took another swig of his drink, then

waved people away from him and fell unsteadily to one knee.

“I like the one knee approach, myself” he offered. Half the faces

rolled their eyes at his imitation of a movie character in the film

_Independence Day._ “It puts what you gotta kiss in just the right

place—“

“Stifle it, would you,” Bertrand growled. He rubbed his tight,

graying afro and turned his attention to Cassandra, who had finished off

one frozen drink and found another in its place. “I can guess what

happened when Bellante called you into his office, Cassie. Sex sells in

foreign markets, yes?”

Cassandra nodded.

“It figures,” Bertrand continued. “That’ll be Claus’ decision, and

the opinion of the consultants they called in. Bellante was the

messenger.”

She nodded again. “He said I would get the domestic market point

position in the fall. I don’t think I’m going to, though.” She smiled

cynically. “I choke up with people face-to-face, and—-“ she looked down

at herself—-“I don’t have what it takes.”

“Sex sells?--“ Steve piped up. Bertrand shook his head.

“You are a little too new in the workplace, Smallville,” Bertrand

growled. He began to say something else but a squeal from a PA speaker

stopped him. The crowd turned toward the dais set up in one corner of the

room to see Mr. Claus adjusting the microphone. The speakers squealed

again, setting Cassandra’s teeth on edge. She finished her drink and set

the empty glass on the sideboard. A replacement arrived just in time for

Claus’ opening remarks, and Cassandra downed it. Claus was replaced by

Bellante, and then Karen made her way up to the podium. Cassandra, who by

now hard difficulty feeling her face, watched as Karen inhaled in just the

right way, her skintight-—skintight!--dress accentuating every curve.

Cassandra dropped her eyes and felt tears well up as Karen began an

impromptu speech.

Briefcase in hand, Cassandra left the party as soon as socially

possible. Steve offered to escort her to Grand Central, but she refused.

Bertrand stopped her before she left.

“Don’t take it too hard, Cassie,” he said slowly. “See what

tomorrow brings first, okay?”

She nodded and swayed a little, but successfully navigated her way

first to the subway and then to Grand Central. She found the next Hudson

line train heading home was leaving in five minutes and rushed to get to

the platform. The idea of being snug at home was increasingly appealing

to her. There she could pull up her imaginary drawbridge and inure

herself in her castle, surrounded by an imaginary moat filled with

protective dragons. The train was packed full of commuters but she

ignored the noise and push. Her head was starting to throb from those

drinks she had—she suspected that extra liquor had been added to her

drinks, probably arranged by Eddie. Her stomach was beginning to roil

again now that its anesthesia was wearing off, reminding her why she drank

so little. So much for the good stuff not giving you a headache, she

thought. When the Harmon station came into view she struggled around the

passenger sitting beside her and made her way to the car door.

A thin, cold wind off the Hudson river flapped Cassandra’s

trenchcoat around her as she found herself outside her car, shuffling her

keys in her hand. She slipped inside her car and hefted the briefcase

into the passenger seat. For a wonder, the damned seat stayed in place

this time. She took it as a good omen and waited for the car to warm up,

for the thin crisp rain that had been falling periodically during the day

in Manhattan was mixed with sleet further north. Her need to withdraw

behind her own front door grew greater, and she slipped the car into gear

and made her way out of the parking lot.

She made her way onto Route 9. Just away from the entrance ramp she

found the traffic at a near-standstill. The long snake of red taillights

mocked her efforts to get home. She turned up the heat in the car in an

effort to ease her aching head—-damn Eddie for spiking the punch bowl!--

and grew increasingly impatient as the line of cars slowly advanced.

Darkness completed its arrival as the cause of the delay hove into view—-a

mass of flashing beacons, red and blue, told of a serious accident that

appeared to have closed of traffic in both directions. Cassandra spit out

several workmanlike curses and looked around. The Senasqua Road exit was

just ahead, and she rapidly thought up an alternate route. She thumped

the gas pedal too hard and skidded a little as she made her way into the

breakdown lane to the exit. She turned right, staring as another car

loomed out of the weather towards her0—the warmth in the car was making

her a little sleepy, and her headache had not abated—and headed into the

town of Croton. A few quick turns, skidding on the last one, and she was

rolling up Route 129. The idea of being warm and snug in her own home

became more urgent, and she pressed down a little more on the gas pedal.

She drove rapidly out of the town and the road began to twist and roll

more. Cassandra ignored the slight sensation of looseness in the car’s

steering column caused by the slippery pavement and pressed harder on the

accelerator. What looked like a tree limb suddenly appeared on the road

in her headlights, and her foot fumbled for the brake pedal. It was too

late. The car bounced violently over the limb and her seat popped free,

slamming into its rearmost position, her seatbelt locking.

Cassandra was dazed by the violent impact. The car accelerated and

she couldn’t reach the pedals or steering wheel. A guardrail appeared and

she was thrown around in her seat as the car impacted and then turned

wildly off the road with a deafening screech. The car displayed a

malicious ingenuity, losing none of its sixty-plus speed as it chose a

furious, random course. Cassandra tried to get back control by seizing

the steering wheel and dragging herself close enough to the console to

reach the pedals. She thought she saw the massive shadow of the Croton

aqueduct dam to her left. The car bounced insanely, then the engine

raced, the car yawed crazily, and she felt and heard a tremendous splash

of her car falling into the aqueduct spillway.

Cassandra tried hard to get a grip on her situation. The car’s

engine quit as it sank into the spillway, relieving one noise to be

supplanted by another. A loud hissing filled the cabin of the car, and

she felt ice seizing hold of her feet, her ankles, her legs. She thumbed

on the interior light and began to panic. Cold, cold water was rapidly

filling the car. She could see nothing out the car windows—-she must be

completely underwater. The liquid was silty and carried the mixed smells

of raw water, hot engine, rust and some other unpleasant things. It

rapidly reached chest height, making her feel as though her heart had

stopped. She tried to open the door, but external pressure kept it shut.

She started screaming and pounded on the window glass with her hands. The

dome light flickered and went out, leaving her in darkness. The water

quickly found the level of her throat, and she gagged on it. She tried to

rise with the water level but her seat belt restrained her. Panic and

confusion overwhelmed her, and she felt herself slipping into

unconsciousness.

Suddenly a loud bang made her jump in the seat. The water around

her swirled and something brushed against her. Something grabbed her left

arm, and she was tugged halfway out of the car. She swallowed some water

and gagged, and what air she had in her lungs left her. She clamped her

mouth tight and kicked mindlessly, felt a tug across her waist and chest,

and then her head was out of the water and she could breathe again, cold

air. The cold air and water were too much, and she fainted.

Cassandra was conscious of a glowing light penetrating her eyelids.

She tried to open her eyes but the glare quickly made her shut them again.

She could make out voices around her, and she was cold. She tried to open

her eyes again, and the voices rose in pitch.

“Miss?” one voice said. She oriented toward the voice and saw a

dark-complected man wearing a white jacket and hospital scrub suit

standing over her. Other faces came into view. Some voice said she was

in the emergency room of some hospital—Hudson Valley something-or-other.

Another began to ask questions, and she struggled to make sense of it.

“Can you hear me?” the doctor said.

“Yes,” she replied.

“What day is it?”

“Uh, Friday,” she said.

“Do you know where you are?”

“A hospital?”

“Yes. You were brought here. You were in a traffic accident.

You’re going to be okay now.”

Yes, it was coming back. Cassandra attempted a deep breath, and

coughed violently. She became aware that she was naked save for a sheet

draped over her lower half, and she shivered. A soft hissing noise in

front of her face must be from an oxygen mask. She gasped, coughed less

forcefully, then made a conscious effort to relax and draw air into her

lungs. The oxygen was rejuvenating and she essayed another breath, and

another. Cold objects were being pressed against her chest and belly, and

she shivered again.

“Okay, Miss, can you please take a deep breath for me,” the doctor

said. “And another. Nurse, remove the mask. And another. Breathe deep.

Good.”

The doctor made a gesture, and several hands helped raise her to a

sitting position, one artfully pulling the sheet up and across her chest.

She felt the room begin to spin around her. The doctor pressed his

stethoscope against her back and repeated his orders. She complied as

well as her swimming head would allow, and the doctors’ mobile face and

broad, gaptoothed smile reappeared in her vision.

“You are very lucky, Miss,” he said. “You probably swallowed some

water, but your lungs sound clear.”

“I feel dizzy,” she complained. The doctor nodded.

“You may have a mild concussion,” the doctor responded. “I’ll know

more when the x-rays come back. But, I don’t think you need to worry.

You are going to be all right.”

Cassandra was grateful to lie back on the hospital bed. The OR-

suited crowd that had surrounded her moved to the foot of the bed and a

low-voiced conversation arose. She looked about her and saw only

curtains, trays loaded with obscure equipment, and her clothing lying in a

puddle of dirty water. She saw the doctor looked over his shoulder and

the crowd scattered, one nurse quickly pulling a light blanket over her

and drawing the curtain around her bed so she was isolated from the rest

of the room. Another babble of voices arose, but she felt warmer and

ignored them.

After a while the doctor came back, followed by another man. The

doctor looked at Cassandra and smiled.

“I thought you should meet the fine man who found you,” he

announced, then he withdrew, pulling the curtains closed behind him.

Cassandra looked at the man. He was big, broad shouldered, and totally

bedraggled. His white dress shirt was smeared with stains. His pants

shared the same marks in a haphazard pattern. His hair was hanging damply

around his forehead and ears. He smiled at her, and she raised one hand.

“Thank you for helping me,” she said. He took her hand in his. It

was so warm it felt hot to her touch.

“You’re welcome. I was glad to help.” His voice was deep-pitched

and musical, like a bass trumpet.

“How–-what happened to me?” she asked.

“I was right behind you and I saw your the car go out of control and

head towards the river. It was a good thing you only got tossed into the

shallows there. If you’d gone in the middle of that thing I don’t think I

would have been able to help you.”

Shallows? Cassandra saw again the absolute darkness and felt the

terrible cold of water seeping over her. Was it all an hysterical

illusion?

“Shallows?”

“Yes. I followed you down that exit ramp and through the town.

Then I saw you bounce over that log in the road and go out of control. I

followed and saw your car door open, and you getting tossed from the car

into a mud puddle near that river. I grabbed you up and went looking for

a hospital, and here we are. My name’s Mike, by the way, Michael

Fingall.” His broad smile revealed straight white teeth that contrasted

with the mud coating his face.

“Cassandra Brooks,” she replied, echoing his smile, “but call me

Cassie.”

For the next half hour Cassandra talked to her rescuer. She learned

that her car was sitting beside the river where it had come to a stop.

Mike had already told what had happened to the local police, and they

seemed satisfied for the moment. He was the owner of a specialty import

firm on a business trip. He was a native American but had spent several

years overseas. Cassandra told him a little about herself, and he nodded

in recognition of her company’s name, but she said nothing about the

unpleasant events that had transpired during the day. All the time they

talked he kept hold of her hand, and she was mildly surprised that she

liked it. Then the doctor suddenly reappeared, waving several x-rays.

“I’ve good news, Miss,” he announced. Cassandra looked at him, then

at Michael, and blinked. Either the doctor was the shortest man she’d

ever seen, or Michael was the tallest.

“Your films show no broken bones or concussion,” the doctor

continued. You have bruising around the thoracic region from your seat

belt, and some bruising around your hips, some bumps and cuts, but

otherwise you are unharmed. I am still waiting for some additional tests,

and I would like to keep you a while longer for observation, but I don’t

think you need to be admitted.”

“Thank you, doctor. Honestly, I’d like to go home now.” How she

was to get home, though, was another matter. “If I can get hold of my

bag, I can call a cab or something.” She stopped. Her bag, and with it

her wallet and laptop computer, was sitting in the passenger seat of a car

decorating some dirt road ten miles away.

“May I see you home?” Mike offered. “My car’s right here in the

lot.”

Cassandra stifled a curse. Her long day as getting longer. She

looked up at Mike, and managed a small smile.

“Thank you, Mike. I’ll take you up on your offer.”

It was still raining outside when Cassandra departed the hospital.

She was bundled in Michael’s voluminous leather bomber jacket, her

shredded trench coat and suit jacket hung over her arm. As Mike led the

way, she looked up at him—and up, and up. He looked to be nearly eight

feet tall. The thin drizzle plastered his shirt to his broad back. As

they walked under one of the sodium-vapor lights illuminating the hospital

parking lot, Cassandra saw steam rising from him. His bomber jacket was

shapeless on her, but was warm and kept the rain off. He stopped in front

of a long, sleek-looking car and tapped quickly on a softly glowing panel

above the left door handle. Cassandra heard a tiny beep and watched him

pull the door open—swinging up, not across. He then drew one of the two

towels the hospital staff had lent him from under his arm and spread it on

the car seat. Cassandra stopped, momentarily confused when Mike motioned

her into the car. By the bright dome light she saw that the steering

controls were on the right side of the car, British-style. She slipped

in, and Mike closed the door behind her. Then he moved quickly to the

other side, arranged the other towel, stepped in himself, and shut his

door.

Cassandra watched as he quickly pressed his hand against a small

glass panel in the dash. There was a soft reddish flash, and the car

started, revealing a console that lit up like a Christmas tree. Cassandra

had never seen anything like it. He pulled a sodden handkerchief from his

pants pocket and rubbed his hair, then turned to her and grinned.

“Now, where do you live?”

She gave him the address and watched as he reached out and drew on a

long, thin tray bearing an exotic-looking display. He tapped shortly, and

a map appeared on the screen, a bright crosshair flashing.

“Satnav,” he explained. “I can locate where I am or where I need to

go within five meters of anywhere on the globe in this car.” He worked

the gearshift, and the car accelerated. Mike drove slowly and

deliberately, turning up the heat in the car’s cabin, and the car rolled

smoothly and very quietly from the parking area of the hospital.

“This is pretty amazing,” she said, nodding towards the flashing

multicolored displays. Mike nodded.

“It’s a custom build,” he replied. “There’s no other car like it.”

“Is that what you do? Import custom-built cars?”

“Oh, no. I did put together the design for my car, but I’m not a

professional designer. I guess you could call me a specialized

contractor.”

“You build things?”

“When I have to. Here.” He thumbed one part of the front console,

and a small compartment popped open, revealing a sheaf of white business

cards. He pulled out one and handed in to Cassandra, then snapped on a

light over her head in one smooth motion. Cassandra focused on the plain

white card and its simple print:

1 - U - V - A - KIND GIFTS

SPECIALIZING IN THE RARE,

UNUSUAL AND IMPOSSIBLE

This print was followed by his name, a telex and e-mail address, but

no street address or business locale. The business card seemed plain

until she saw the ink begin to change color. She exclaimed in surprise

and looked across to Michael, who grinned.

“The ink on the card is reacting you the warmth of your hand,” he

explained. He reached over and put his hand under hers. She was struck

again by how warm his hand was. She wondered if he felt the cold at all.

“Now, watch the card,” he said, his eyes on the road. She watched,

and the ink on the card rapidly flashed through several colors, growing

brighter each time. The printing itself seemed to glow as his warmth

combined with hers. Then he released her hand and the sparkling colors

began to fade.

“Wow, “ she said. “That is remarkable. Do you make those?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Those were one of my first efforts.”

“You’re an inventor?”

“When I need to be. I guess the best way to describe what I do is I go where I need to, to find—or create—very special items for special people.”

“Special items? You’re a buyer?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes what my clients desire or need is just not available. Then I try to create what they wish for.”

“May I ask, how big is your staff?” Cassandra wondered. A company that made or found rare gifts for (judging from the obvious value of Mike’s car) wealthy clients was something she had never heard of before.

“My staff? Just one, I’m afraid. Me,” he replied.

“So you have no home office?”

“No.” He grinned again. “I’m afraid that I’m my own company. I do have a small warehouse where I keep some of my special stock, but no office as such.”

“You work out of your home?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

A mystery man. This guy gets more intriguing by the second, she thought. Mike thrust his hand back into his pocket to retrieve his handkerchief and began to rub at the drying mud that daubed his face. Cassandra wondered how she could feel so comfortable being in this car with him. His sheer size alone must be intimidating to everyone he meets, and his air of secrecy would seem almost boorish at any other time. Why was he so interesting?

“Are you staying at a hotel?” she asked. He nodded.

“I have reservations at the Hyatt in Albany.” He looked down at himself. “They’ll probably take one look at me and toss me out as a beggar.”

“You’re welcome to use my house to change your clothes.”

“Thank you, I appreciate the offer. Unfortunately, my luggage managed to get lost somewhere in Kennedy so I’m afraid I haven’t got a stitch of extra clothing available to me.”

“Lost? How?”

“I wasn’t able to find out. I went to get my bags through customs, and they disappeared. It’s possible someone may have stolen them. My luggage is—-was-—one-of-a-kind, and looked very expensive. It wouldn’t be the first time.” His suddenly darkened expression made her think that anyone who crossed him would be in for a seriously bad time, then he shrugged and grinned again. “It’s a good thing I keep my wallet next to my heart. Don’t worry about my clothes, though—-I’ll find a laundromat and they’ll be good as new in no time”

Yes, they will,” Cassandra offered. “You can use my machine at my

home. It’s the least I can do.”

“Okay, thanks. It’ll be nice not to smell like a bog,” he replied.

Cassandra was content to warm up, and she hugged Mike’s bomber jacket close to her. It smelled like new leather with a hint of something else. Looking around the car she got a similar impression of newness. Everything was neat and clean. This Michael was obviously a careful person, and actually a pleasant man. She began to understand how he could be successful . He was so pleasant and outgoing—-he smiled so often he seemed like a beneficent Cheshire Cat—-he could make people comfortable

around him despite his great size. She was surprised to realize she found him attractive. There was something about, some air, some scent which made her want him to be more than just a casual acquaintance.

Cassandra began to realize that there was in fact a distinct perfume around him she was inhaling. It permeated his jacket that she held close around her. She couldn’t identify the scent, but she knew she had never smelled anything life it before. The warm air wafting from the car vents did nothing to dispel it. It was intoxicating. As she breathed in the scent on his jacket she began to feel a sense not just of attraction but of arousal that made her blush. When she found her gaze wandering from the road to his thighs and crotch she blushed again.

“Here we are,” he announced suddenly, and the navigation screen beeped. She looked out the car window and saw that he had stopped immediately in front of her house. Cassandra looked for a door release, but there wasn’t one. Mike pressed part of the featureless door panel on his side of the car and both doors opened, admitting cold outside air which made her shiver again. Her home was completely dark and it took a

moment for her eyes to adapt sufficiently to make out her front steps in the indirect light cast by her neighbors house across the street. She heard him shut the passenger side door and she jumped a little, startled. Standing next to her, he looked like a cliff. She fought off her unusual bemusement, made a welcoming smile and motioned for him to follow her.

Cassandra stopped before her front door and rummaged in her mailbox. She pulled out several letters and felt in the bottom of the box until she came across the spare key she had squirreled away inside it. Opening the door, she reached out, found a light switch, and illuminated her foyer. Michael looked around as he followed her in. His eyes were alert, moving everywhere, and he smiled.

“That’s a Winslow Homer,” he said, gesturing towards a large framed print on the wall.

“Yes,” Cassandra replied. She was surprised. Few people could spontaneously recognize the works of the western American master from a casual glance. She threw another light switch, lighting up the kitchen and dining area of her home. She was thankful for her neat habits that ensured most of her home was passable as she led him into her kitchen.

She drew off his jacket.

“Thank you for this, and for everything else you did for me today,” she said, coloring unaccountably. She returned his smile as he accepted his jacket.

“No problem. Now, if you could point out a towel and your shower, I’ll clean myself up.”

“Oh, of course,” she replied. Opening a closet, she produced a towel which she handed to Mike. He looked at its bright pink color and crinkled up his nose.

“Hmmm, well, it’s not dignified—-but it’ll do,” he quipped. Cassandra grinned.

“The shower is this way.” She led him down the hall and turned to the bathroom door. She tapped the light plate, and the light and exhaust fan switched on. He nodded.

“Leave your clothes outside the door, and I’ll run them through the wash,” she said.

He lumbered through the doorway—-she wondered if any door less than three feet wide would be a challenge for him—-and closed the door quietly. She listened for a few seconds, heard the rattle of his belt on the tile floor, then retreated. She felt herself blush again as she made her way quickly to her bedroom. She began to fumble in her dresser drawers for some clothes to wear when she heard the bathroom door reopen and then close again. Peeking around the bedroom doorjamb, she saw a pile of

clothes lying in the hall. She heard the shower start, and began to hear deep-pitched humming that quickly became a rendition of Home on the Range. Donning her thick terrycloth bathrobe, Cassandra slipped out of her room. Outside the bathroom she paused, listening to his singing. Like many people she had no knowledge of the entire rendition of the American folk song, and was suitably impressed that Michael seemed to. His clothes and other possessions were in two neat piles. All of it appeared custom-made, without a manufacturer’s tag anywhere in sight. Her eye was caught by his large gold wristwatch. She picked it up by its flexible band and

looked, curious. It was slightly oval in shape and had a bright LCD display which flashed around the dial, counting the seconds. She entertained the idea of trying to see what other displays it had built into it when suddenly it began to flash the time from several time zones overlaid on a Lambert projection of the Earth’s surface, followed by the date, day and several other numbers she did not recognize. The thing was mesmerizing. She smiled at her curiosity and put the watch down, and it

stopped displaying instantly. Almost as though it read my mind, she thought. Amused by such a concept, she snorted as she gathered Mike’s bundle of clothes in her arms. She quickly made her way to the pantry, thrust his shirt, pants, socks and briefs into her laundry machine, added soap, and started the cycle. She caught another whiff of that curious, exciting scent as she did so, and she brought his shirt closer to her nose for a better sample. It was amazingly heady. She sniffed strongly and felt the flesh between her legs begin to warm. She blinked, stuffed his shirt deep into the wash water, closed the washer lid and went into the kitchen.

Ten minutes later Michael reappeared, clad only in the borrowed

towel. Cassandra looked up from rummaging in her refrigerator and stared,

open-mouthed. He was built like a wedge. His shoulders looked double the

size of his waist. His neck sloped into his shoulders at a broad angle.

He was covered with muscle that flowed with the slightest movement. A mat

of black hair ran from below his shoulders, across his chest and belly and

into the towel around his middle. His massive arms were similarly

thatched. Each of his thighs were easily as big as her waist, his calves

were broad triangles, his feet huge. Cassandra gulped and looked up into

his face. His hair was damp and combed straight back, revealing a high

forehead, a strong jaw sprouting a distinct five o’clock shadow, and those

clear blue eyes. Only his nose was short of flawlessness, just one size

too large for the rest of his face.

“Thank you for letting me use your shower,” he said after a moment.

“I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your comb. I’m afraid my fingers

weren’t up to the task.”

“Um, that’s okay,” she managed to say. He took two steps closer to

her. In the confines of the kitchen he seemed to fill the entire room.

“Here, let me help,” he said, reaching down and seizing the paper

bucket that was slowly slipping out of her grasp. She released the bucket

and stepped back, shaking her head.

“Are you all right?” he asked, touching her elbow. Cassandra was

completely flustered, but nodded.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m afraid that I haven’t had any—-any visitors

in my house recently.”

“At least, not any seven-foot tall ones,” he said, grinning. She

laughed.

“Nope, not at all,” she said. His smile broadened.

“You have a nice laugh,” he replied. “Here, let me loose in your

kitchen and I’ll rustle up something for you to eat while you shower.”

Cassandra made herself stop rubbing of the dried mud on her forearm.

He gently gripped her elbow, turned her around and gave her a push down

the hallway. She walked slowly. Behind her came the sounds of cupboards

opening and the clatter of dishes, and she hesitated. What was she doing,

standing in her kitchen with a complete stranger, dressed only in a

bathrobe? He was so pleasant and friendly and charming he had completely

disarmed her. He was unlike any man she had ever met in her life.

Setting the water to the temperature she like, she prepared to step

into the shower. Her eyes strayed to the mirror over the vanity. Only

her head and shoulders appeared in it—-she usually needed to stand on

tiptoe to anything more in the glass—-and she looked down at herself.

“Yeah, right,” she muttered. She couldn’t imagine Michael liking a

toy-sized woman like herself. She caught herself wishing, not for the

first time that day, that she could instantly grow bigger and taller, then

snorted in derision and shelved her fantasy. She locked the door and got

under the shower.

Cassandra was rubbing her hair with a towel when she heard the loud

ding of her microwave come through the bathroom door. She shucked the

towel wrapped around her middle, quickly combed her hair into a rough

semblance of order, pulled on her bathrobe and opened the door. A smell

wafted down the hallway. It was wonderful, and Cassandra’s stomach

growled. She turned decisively to the kitchen.

Mike had set the table and prepared a few leftovers from her

refrigerator into a real meal. She noticed that there were two place

settings.

“May I eat with you?” Mike asked. He grimaced in remembered

distaste. “I’m afraid I didn’t eat at all on the plane.”

“Yes, of course,” she replied.

“When will my things be done?” he asked, looking down at the towel

girdling his middle. “I don’t think a sarong is quite the right fashion

statement for me.”

She grinned again and cocked her ear. “Sounds like the washer is

about ready to stop. Another thirty minutes should do it.”

They ate the leftovers-turned-supper and drank from a bottle of

white Riesling wine retrieved from the rack on the kitchen counter.

Cassandra forgot her misgivings over sitting in her private home with a

and chatted with him more freely than she had done with any man in her

adult life. Michael was curiously evasive about any details of his

profession, but he clearly felt deeply about certain aspects of it.

“My favorite clients are children,” he said. “Especially the ones

who’ve had a hard time in their lives. I make sure that their dreams are

realized, as best I can.”

“That could be very expensive,” she suggested. He frowned (the

second time she had ever seen him do so), and shook his head.

“The deserving never have to pay me for what I do. The majority of

gifts I provide are usually run-of-the-mill, and sometimes for people who

are a little tedious. Those people pay well for my efforts. The special

ones, though, that’s another matter.”

Mike was witty and intelligent, and altogether good company. Almost

without realizing it she told him about her day at Bellante and Claus, and

his face became a study in polite concern.

“What will you do?” he asked.

“I honestly don’t know,” she said. All at once a weight of

depression fell on her, and her shoulders sagged. She listened in the

silence that followed her statement and realized the washer had stopped.

She sighed softly and rose from her chair. Michael also rose, in a quaint

gesture of old-fashioned politeness. She almost wish he hadn’t—standing

right beside him she found herself lost in his shadow. She stopped.

“What’s it like?” she asked softly, looking down at the floor.

“What’s what like?”

“Being tall.” This is stupid, she thought. This nice guy is going to

mark me down as a total buckethead.

“Not all it’s cracked up to be, sometimes,” he replied in an equally

soft voice. “Sometimes it is a disadvantage. And, sometimes, it’s a

help.”

“I wish-I wish I was tall, and-and big,” she blurted. She shook her

head at her whimsy, and turned to face him. He reached down with his hand

and gently tilted her chin up until she was facing him, then he gripped

her shoulders, his hands draping down her upper arms.

“Ever hear the old saw, ‘Be careful’—“

“Yes,” she replied. “I still wish I was, because then there would

be nothing that could hold me back. I would have got that position,

except that I’m too tiny—“

“Cassie, you are a very nice, pleasant person. Never sell

yourself—-“ he began, then he clamped his mouth shut and flushed.

“Short?” she finished, her face folded into a sneer. He dropped his

eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid that’s my favorite catchphrase.

I use it too much. I’m sorry.”

She felt contrite at his apology. She looked up—-he was so big—-and

smiled, slowly.

“I’m sorry, too,” she replied. “You’re the most wonderful man I’ve

ever met.” And what I wouldn’t do to keep you. Oh, God, I really do wish

I was the biggest, tallest woman ever.

She blinked. It had to be an optical illusion, but for one instant

Mike’s clear blue eyes seemed to flash at her, as though lit from within.

Mike said nothing in return, but bent his middle and his knees until his

face was level with Cassandra’s, and he kissed her gently on the lips.

Cassandra felt an electric rapture that went from her lips to her

crotch. Instantly she felt the unfamiliar warmth there increase. She

reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed harder into

his mouth. The taste of his lips was an extraordinary aphrodisiac, like

his body scent multiplied many times over. She part of her mind told her

he wasn’t wearing any sort of exotic cologne, or one of those supposedly

attracting pheromone sprays—-she could smell her soap on him when she

breathed-—but that he was surrounded by some kind of atmosphere which was

so utterly stimulating it was unbelievable. She felt him stiffen a

little in surprise, but he moved his hands from her shoulders to her neck.

She felt him smile under her kiss. She drew back from him but did not

release her hold around his massive neck.

“Please stay with me tonight,” she said. His eyes widened, and he

smiled, reached around her and lifted her quickly off the floor. She

gripped the powerful sinew of his arms. He put one hand just below her

neck, the other cradling her buttocks, and he began to walk to her

bedroom, never taking his eyes from hers.

He let Cassandra down as he passed through the threshold of the

room. Cassandra found a light switch, and the small lamp on her

nightstand illuminated. She looked at the disarranged bedcovers and

remembered the unspoken fancy she had thought before leaving for work and

began to giggle softly. She suddenly was scooped up again, and Michael

kissed her until she purred with pleasure. He began to move again, from

the bed’s foot to its right side, and Cassandra realized he was going to

put her down on the bed. The thought of such an immense man lying on top

of her caused a stab of fear. He stopped, smiled again, and slowly

dropped to his knees beside her bed and stretched her out on it in one

smooth motion.

Michael began to nibble at her lips, sending little electric thrills

running up and down her spine. He remained on his knees, running his

hands around her neck, under her chin, stroking her hair, rubbing across

her shoulders and chest. He stopped to touch the cord knotted around her

waist. Cassandra felt apprehension warring with the euphoric, amusement-

park-ride thrill running through her, and she hesitated, then suddenly

helped him undo it. He grasped the folds of her bathrobe and slowly drew

them away from her, revealing her naked body to his inspection. She

watched his face carefully, expecting to see some shade of disappointment

cross it, but he smiled and stood up. From her perspective on the bed he

was so big it was amazing—-he looked like his head and shoulders were

touching the ceiling. He circled the bed slowly, never taking his eyes

off her.

Once on the left side of her bed he joined her, the boxspring

creaking in protest of his weight. He placed one arm across her, rubbing

across her breasts, and began to kiss the hollow in her throat. She

wriggled under his questing lips, and then his tongue. She was perspiring

and he licked her skin. He stopped momentarily, and placed his ear on her

chest, which was quivering from the pounding of her heart. He sought out

her left nipple, which he nibbled and kissed and licked. Cassandra’s

nipples reacted immediately, becoming erect. He took her nipple in his

lips and began to suck gently, rubbing her tit-flesh, her pulse pounding

in her breasts as they swelled. His hand began to knead her right breast,

teasing her nipple, then he moved his mouth to it, kissing, sucking,

redoubling the sensation. Her cunt became wet, and she felt a pressure

deep inside her which rose rapidly and then expended itself. She groaned

from the pleasure and ran her hands through his thick black hair.

“Oh, that was so fast,” she said. Mike’s eyebrows rose in surprise,

and he chuckled softly. He slid himself upwards to kiss her quickly on

the lips, then he returned to her breasts. Cassandra pressed his head

into her chest, willing his mouth and hand to go on forever. She felt one

of his hands slowly traveling down her belly until it reached her crotch.

She spread her legs, folding her right leg over his body, her foot

dangling in the air. His hand slowly circled, slipping up one inner thigh

and down the other, then fondled her labia. First one finger, then

another gently pressed into her. She felt him explore her. He fondled

her clitoris and began to caress it, faster and faster, until she arched

her back and orgasmed again, more strongly this time. His fingers went

into her vagina, then stopped, and he looked up in surprise. She nodded

and saw him flush.

He began to move further down her, his mouth tickling her belly,

licking her navel. He slid his body down her bed until he was near its

foot. His hands grasped her waist and he brushed his lips down her mons,

stimulating her even more. She gasped as his hands surrounded her thighs

and slowly drew them apart again. His hands fully spread her thighs and

his mouth followed. She felt him spreading and pulling and kissing her.

The sensation was incredible, and she moved her hips, willing him deeper

inside her. She felt his tongue began to wend its way up her vagina,

stopping along the way to tease her clitoris. She sat upright in the

throes of animal pleasure and gripped his head in her hands, spreading her

legs as far apart as she could to allow him the greatest possible entry.

She felt the same pressure inside her build, again more strongly. Mike

tongued her clitoris between his lips and sucked on it, and Cassandra

rocked back and forth as sexual sparks rocketed up and down her, traveling

the length of her body, building, building. She howled in ecstasy as

another massive orgasm flooded her.

Cassandra leaned on her outstretched arms and tried to get back her

breath. Her heart pounded so hard it made a roaring noise in her ears.

She focused on Mike and saw that he had adopted a tight crouch to

accommodate himself at the foot of her bed. He straightened and Cassandra

threw her arms around his waist, pressing her chest against the towel that

still girdled his waist. She kissed his hard-ribbed belly below his

breastbone, and began to tug at the towel. His hands shot out and caught

hers in a firm grip.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” she said, her voice husky.

Michael touched the towel around his waist, and it slipped away.

Cassandra looked down at his manhood, awed. He gently pulled at the

bathrobe still hanging from her shoulders, and she shrugged it off.

“Let me be on the bottom this time,” he suggested. She almost

clapped her hands in joy as he gripped her in his arms, rising from the

bed. Feeling his warm skin against hers made her heart pound again. He

turned around and fell backwards on the bed, slipping up the bedcovers

until his head was on her pillow, Cassandra riding on his hips. She

straddled him and slid up his hard belly until her lips could reach his.

They kissed deeply, his tongue chasing hers. She licked at his

perspiration and almost climaxed right then and there, it was so strong

and wonderful. She began to move down, licking his chest, finding and

sucking on one of his nipples. He stroked her body until he reached her

buttocks, which he massaged. The flesh between her legs tingled under his

ministrations, and she slipped down further, until she felt something

touch the crack between her cheeks. She looked over her shoulder,

startled, and saw his erect cock sticking up between her buttocks. I

won’t be able to fit him inside me, she thought. He’s too big!

As if he read her thought again, Mike used one hand to turn her face

towards his while the other slipped under her belly and pressed upward

gently. She obeyed his gestured instruction and moved her legs to support

herself, rising off his body. He touched his forefinger to her lips to

silence her and moved his other hand to his crotch. She felt him move his

cock across her crack. His fingers spread the lips of her labia, and she

felt the head of his cock slipping inside her. Inch by inch he penetrated

her, and she felt herself tensing closer and closer to the strongest

orgasm ever with each inch of his insertion, gasping and moaning in sheer

sexual delight. He stopped momentarily, then pushed, and she felt a short

stab of pain. She smiled as the pain in her vagina disappeared.

“I’m glad you are the first,” she said. His face colored, and he

bent himself in the middle to kiss her. She stretched as best she could

to prolong the kiss, until he was gasping for breath from the constriction

of his ribs.

“I am going to do my very best for you, Cassie,” he breathed, and he

lay back and grasped her buttocks again. He began to fondle her buttocks,

pressing her gently down on his cock.

“Ah—-ah—-ah—-AH—-AH,” she breathed as she felt him begin to move

inside her. Cassandra swiveled her hips to aid the process, until he was

fully inserted. She prepared to set her legs to begin thrusting against

him, but he stopped her with a firm pressure against her butt. Out of the

corner of her eye she thought she saw his eyes flash again, then the

reason for his action suddenly became clear.

He began to breathe, deeply and rapidly, and Cassandra felt him

growing inside her. His cock was growing, swelling, pressing more and

more into her vagina. Then he began to vibrate and undulate, his cock

moving of its own accord. His hands pressed her firmly against him as his

cock continued its increasingly frenzied dance inside her. What she

experienced as a result was more spectacular than anything she could have

imagined. She felt herself dripping as his organ sent wave after wave of

utter sexual enjoyment coursing through her crotch, up her spine, down her

legs. She tried to work her vaginal muscles against his cock, but he had

grown too big inside her for that. His base of his cock swelled still

more until it pressed against her clit then it too began to vibrate, like

a natural-made dildo. She rapidly reached her strongest climax yet, and

cried out her approval. Then the sensation seemed to redouble, and she

felt herself swelling even more in her vulva and breasts. His hands moved

from her buttocks to her chest, and he began to massage her swollen

breasts, his fingers rubbing around her aureoles and twisting her nipples,

sending sparks through her entire body. Again she reached orgasm, but he

did not stop. She was gasping for air and her throat was parched, but she

couldn’t pull away—he was so big inside her his organ was locked in her

vagina—and she felt herself building to another climax.

On her final orgasm, she collapsed on top of him, spent. Waves of

energy coursed through her, making her squirm. She felt him begin to

shrink inside her, although he had not come and showed no signs of real

diminishment in size. She was hot and soaking wet and she felt her own

juices coating his crotch.

“Thank you, God,” she managed to croak. She felt Mike laugh

silently, and his big, warm, wonderful hands stroked her hair. She

swallowed to clear her throat and looked up at him. His was smiling

broadly, his face and body coated with sweat.

“You are a special person, Cassie,” he said. She lay for a moment

on his hard belly, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing under her.

She put her ear on his chest and listened to his beating heart, then she

inhaled deeply and began to lift herself from him. It took a moment to

work his cock loose from her body. Amazingly it still stood erect when

she finally broke free. She looked between her legs and gulped at its

immense size. Cassandra turned herself around until she straddled him

while facing his feet. She took his cock in her hands and began to stroke

it, and it re-engorged. She rubbed faster and faster, and bent to lick

and blow on its tip. She felt his cock literally pulsing and it swelled

even more. Cassandra slipped it into her mouth and began to work her

tongue around its head. She could feel it vibrating against the roof of

her mouth. She heard Michael begin to moan, his bell-like voice rising

rapidly in volume. She opened her mouth wider and accept more of it,

stroking him furiously. He in turn began to rub her back and his hips

wriggled under her butt. He swelled up more inside her mouth, so big her

jaws started to hurt, but she did not stop. Suddenly he arched his back,

and a hot spray of come invade her mouth. He continued to pump, filling

her mouth with more and more come. His come was a savory ambrosia which

flowed down her throat and made a warm feeling inside her belly, filling

her with a sexual rapture so complete it defied description. He seemed to

go on forever, and she swallowed twice to accept it all. His hands

gripped her hips as she popped his cock out of her mouth and licked at the

juices still coating it.

After swallowing as much as she could find she lay back on top of

him, letting his hands run up and down her front, more waves of pleasure

coursing through her.

“That was…unique,” he said. Cassandra put her hands on top of his

as he continued to explore her, and looked up to see his face. His eyes

were misted and he looked down at her with an intensity that was

surprising.

“I’m glad you approve,” she said, smiling. He laughed, bouncing her

on his diaphragm.

“You,” he said, his hands squeezing her waist for emphasis, “are the

most special person I have ever met.”

He stopped as Cassandra suddenly hissed in pain, and sat up. He

swiveled to bring his legs off the bed as she slipped into his lap.

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” she said quickly, her elbow

warding him away from the bruising on the point of her hip. She gripped

his right hand and pulled his arm from her waist to across her upper

belly, then pressed against him. He kissed the top of her head. Neither

said anything for a few moments. Cassandra tasted the salty sweetness of

his come still in her mouth, felt its spreading warmth in her belly. She

felt a sense of lassitude creeping over her, and she turned her head to

look at the clock on her nightstand. It had been a very long, surprising

and interesting day, she thought, and she closed her eyes.

SATURDAY

“I’ll come back to you. I promise.”

Cassandra woke from an wholly pleasant dream. She lay naked on her

stomach, the bed sheets an untidy mess around her middle. An overloud

chorus of songbirds outside her window commanded her attention, and she

oriented towards the music. She felt a weak ray of sunlight touch her

eyelids. She opened her eyes and looked at the window. The outer

curtains were drawn back, allowing light to flood the room. She sighed

and thrust her face down into her pillow. She caught the faintest taste

of a familiar and intoxicating scent, and smiled.

Memories of the events of the previous day flooded into Cassandra

and her eyes snapped open. She rolled over, looking around the room.

Michael was gone. She listened hard, but no sound came to her ears from

the house. She turned over to face the other side of her bed and saw a

flower lying on her nightstand. She reached out to pick it up. It was a

crimson long-stemmed rose, its head compact, ready to bloom. Careful to

avoid its thorns, she turned the white card tied to its stem with a piece

of what looked like gold thread in her fingers. It was one of Michael’s

business cards. Cassandra turned it over and saw neat, precise

handwriting:

for a special person

Cassandra smiled, and sniffed the rose. It’s perfume was perfect.

It was slightly moist and looked freshly picked. It was a thoughtful—-

parting gift? Cassandra felt saddened at the thought. He’d said he would

return to her, didn’t he? She had been through so much yesterday it was

hard to remember all the details of what had happened to her. She lay

back on her bed and remembered the erotic calisthenics she had engaged in

yesterday, wriggling with remembered excitement. What an amazing lover

he’d been. She stretched herself, straining until she could hear her

bones popping in her shoulders, back and hips. She felt the warmth of

blood flowing through her body as she relaxed completely. She visualized

what Michael looked like—-his clear blue eyes, his massive build, his

huge, kind hands, his immense, athletic cock. She smiled at the last,

stretched again, then rolled out of bed.

Cassandra’s feet thumped the floor with unexpected force. She

looked down and started in surprise. Two distinct round breasts intruded

into her view. They had stayed distended from the night before? She

rubbed them and felt firm flesh under her fingers. She massaged her

breasts more forcefully, squeezed them against her chest. They stayed,

bounced back. Cassandra jumped up from the bed.

Something was wrong.

She looked around her room. Everything was the same: the bed, the

nightstand, the dresser, the chair. She reached out to her right to touch

her nightstand but she could not reach its surface. She had to bend

slightly to the right to bring her fingers in contact with its wooden top.

She shifted sideways until her hip—no, her upper thigh—nearly touched the

edge of the nightstand, and tried again. Again she needed to bend

slightly to brush the top of the table with her fingers.

Cassandra shook her head, and looked down at her chest. The bruise

between her breasts was gone. She rubbed her breastbone and felt no pain.

Her hands then went to her hips and waist and pressed experimentally.

Again, no pain. A little voice in her head told her that one does not

recover from such bruising like she received yesterday (only yesterday?)

overnight—but the hurt and discoloration of her skin was gone.

Cassandra bent her head to look around her breasts to her middle.

Her belly was flat and rippled slightly as she bent forward. A thick

patch of auburn-colored hair spread from between her thighs up to her

mons. Her narrow, boyish hips now flared, describing a sharp curve from

her waist to her thighs.

Cassandra looked around her room again. Everything was the same, but it did not look the same. She struggled to find a word that would express

the sensation she was experiencing as she turned slowly, eyeing every

object within view in the space.

Scale. That was the word. Everything looked wrong, because it

seemed—smaller? Lower? Cassandra turned around.

“What’s happened to m—GAAAK!”

Cassandra saw the reflection in her dressing mirror and nearly

jumped clear off the floor. A stranger wearing her face stood naked in

her bedroom. She involuntarily put her hands up to her face, and the

impostor in the mirror did the same. She almost ran around her bed to

stand directly in front of the mirror.

It couldn’t be her. That woman was bigger, more curved than

Cassandra had ever been in her life. It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be her!

Cassandra felt her knees go weak. Her breathing was shallow and

rapid and she forced herself to take several long, slow, deep breaths.

She slowly sagged to the floor. She looked at the mirror again and saw

her body down to mid-torso in the glass. She put her hands to her face

again. Her neck looked longer, her shoulders broader. Her breasts looked

double their previous dimensions. She struggled up from the floor and

began to turn this way and that. Her buttocks were more pert, more

curved. Her thighs and calves were definitely longer and not as bony as

before. She looked up at her face , carefully. It was the same,

surrounded by a thick thatch of auburn hair that now almost touched her

shoulders. No, not exactly the same. She bent closer to the glass. Was

her nose slightly smaller, her lips fuller? Her attention wandered back

down to her chest. She crossed her arms under her bosom and pressed her

boobs together with her hands. There actually was enough flesh there for

them to rub against one another, now. Cassandra backed up until she felt

the edge of her bed come in contact with the back of her calves—-and not

her knees. She sat abruptly, bouncing on the mattress. Her heart was

racing from the stress discovery of her—-change? enlargement?—-and she

pressed her hand against her chest to ease the sensation.

It wasn’t a dream or an illusion. Somehow, she had grown from the

petite framework she had lived with all her adult life into this new form.

It defied all explanation. There was no possible rationale that could

explain it. Women eleven years after puberty don’t suddenly grow several

inches bigger in the space of—-a few hours? The clock had read midnight

when she fell asleep in Michael’s arms. Michael. Could he be responsible

for this? Ridiculous, she thought. He was an amazing lover-—every orgasm

she had experienced was graven into her memory—-and he did and owned some

unusual things but that was silly. She stared hard at her image, shifting

this way and that on her bed, trying to remember every nuance and curve,

comparing her remembered physical shape to her new one. She tried to

recall everything that had happened to her since yesterday and was

disturbed to realize her usually sharp memory was fuzzy about what had

happened last night. Her imagination began to take flight in a fashion

she had not indulged in since high school. What had happened to her was

beyond any experience she had ever heard of or about. In fact, the only

thing which matched her current reality had been her adolescent fantasies...

Cassandra’s hands involuntarily went to her face in surprise. It

was ridiculous to even begin to believe that fairy tales and magic wishes

can come true, but it had to be. What was that old saying: when all

other possibilities have been eliminated, then the last possibility,

however remarkable, must be the truth. Who said that? Sherlock Holmes,

she remembered—-a fictional character. I’m living a fiction right now.

Here she is, Cassandra Brooke, who spent one night with a magic man and

went from petite to tall the next day! She lay across her bed, reaching

out to her nightstand. Retrieving the rose with its card she read his

neat words again. What had he said, about “special clients”? I make sure

that their dreams are realized.

Be careful what you wish for—-

The realization hit Cassandra like a physical blow. What had she

said—-no, thought—-last night before she and Michael had made their

incredible lovemaking? What had she said?

“I wished I was bigger and taller,” she said aloud, and a smile of

pure, innocent delight crossed her face. Cassandra felt like a child

unexpectedly gifted with an immense box filled with the greatest toys in

all the world. She explored her body with her hands, feeling, measuring.

Wow. Now I really do have an attractive body now. It is the greatest

gift I could’ve ever gotten—-

Her alarm clock suddenly buzzed, a raucous noise that made her jump.

Cassandra stretched out across her bed and turned off the noise. She felt

a youthful glee at how much she could stretch herself now—-she had more

body to stretch with! She leaped from the bed and stood before her mirror

again. She raised both arms above her head, laced her fingers together,

and raised her shoulders. Her new breasts obediently rose and fell,

bouncing slightly, pleasurably. She turned her head to give her

reflection her best come-hither look, and caught a whiff of herself. Well,

that was hardly surprising, given all the exercise she had engaged in last

night.

Her first effort at brushing her teeth was another surprise. Her

toothbrush felt small in her mouth, as though someone had snuck into her

home and replaced it with another, smaller model. She leaned over the

vanity and looked carefully at her face in the mirror. Her nose did look

a little smaller—-perhaps her cheekbones had grown along with the rest of

her?—-but otherwise she looked the same. She continued her examination in

the shower. Whatever had happened to her wasn’t the result of fluid

swelling—-she felt no numbness and it wasn’t puffiness but new flesh that

slid under her soap-slick hands. It was now obvious that her legs had

filled out from their sticklike dimensions to a more respectable size and

were definitely longer. She felt a surprising ripple of muscle around her

hips and stomach. Her boobs were wonderfully sensual, reacting to her

touch as she rubbed soap on them, her nipples rising to attention. She

thought of last night, and felt her vaginal muscles twitch, sending a

little electrical thrill through her spine to the base of her skull. She

wriggled with delight at the sensation and slowly inserted a finger into

her vagina. She found her clit and began to stroke it gently. It

immediately distended and her excitement doubled. She rubbed it faster

and faster. The lightning jolts of sexual pleasure made her engage in a

primal dance, her feet mincing on the tub floor as she moved her hips and

legs in search of body positions that improved the sensations in her

crotch. She rotated feverishly under the shower, gasping in delight until

she came. Her finger was dripping as she withdrew it.

Jesus, she thought as she came down from her self-exploration, not

only am I a more-grown but I’ve turned into a sexual dynamo. I brought

myself to climax in only a few minutes! She stood under the jet of warm

water for a moment until her breathing had returned to normal, then she

reapplied soap to her crotch and completed her ablutions.

Cassandra quickly dried herself and reached under her bathroom

vanity to retrieve the scale she had hidden there. She placed it on the

bare floor and stepped on the top plate gingerly. The digital readout

flashed into life and promptly read: 118.1 LBS. She was shocked again. She

had gained thirty five pounds overnight! She rubbed her hands around her

middle, feeling the bones of her hips through that new layer of flesh, the

flatness of her belly, the gentle protrusions of her ribs under her boobs.

She patted the top of her head. How much? she thought. Gotta find out.

Cassandra stepped off the scale and ran naked from the bathroom to

her study in the front of the house. She chose one of the ornate bookends

adorning her desk and, seizing a pencil, strode to the nearest blank wall.

She backed up to the wall and stood as straight as possible, placing the

bookend atop her head, pressing its base flat against the wall. She

quickly scribed a line on the wall and stepped away. She looked up at the

mark. It was so high off the floor! She quickly pulled her desk drawers

open until she had retrieved a ruler, then carefully measured up the wall

until she reached the pencil mark. She gasped at the result and measured

it again to be sure.

“My God,” she breathed.

The pencil mark stood at sixty-six inches from the carpeted floor.

Cassandra had grown seven inches taller! She ran back to her bedroom

and the mirror, and pirouetted before it, trying to detect every subtle

difference in her body, her expression a hundred variations of shock,

surprise, and wonder.

During one rotation before the mirror she saw the time on her clock

and looked at the sun beaming strongly through the curtains. It was

obviously a vastly different day from yesterday. Cassandra wriggled

voluptuously. The first thing to do is to pay a visit to the mall. Got

to get some clothes—-

Sobering suddenly, she moved to her dresser and rummaged among her

clothes. She first drew out one of her bras and cursed softly. Would

anything she owned fit her? She chose a bra at random and brought it

under her bust, linking the hooks after some pulling. The thing was too

small, digging into her ribs. She tried rotating the bra around her ribs

it faced front. By dint of much yanking and twisting she succeeded,

painfully abrading her skin in the process, and sighed at the result. Her

new boobs obviously overwhelmed the cups of this bra, and none of the

others were any bigger. She tried to twist the bra strap around again and

it suddenly gave and broke, coming free in her hands.

“Nuts,” she said aloud. She examined the hook pad on the bra and

found the seams had stretched until the hooks lost alignment. The bra was

history. Returning to the drawer she pulled out several pair of panties.

She shuffled them in her hands and then chose one at random. She stepped

into the leg holes and began to draw them up. They gripped first her

calves and then her legs at the knees. She continued to pull until they

reached her crotch, and she stretched the fabric over her buttocks and

hips. When she released her hold the panty immediately slipped down until

it barely covered her crotch, held in place only by the curve of the

bottom of her hips. She pinched herself twice trying to get a grip on the

fabric. The thing clung like a second skin. She finally rolled them off

her hips, tearing a leg hole in the process.

“Nuts!” Cassandra repeated and grimaced in frustration. She grabbed

her bathrobe and thrust her hands into its sleeves, and discovered that it

now barely covered her knees. She tugged the belt tight and tied it in a

knot. It was swell to have a bigger body, but not to have it happen

overnight would have been better. Then Cassandra remembered the contents

of the attic of her home, and brightened.

Walking quickly out of her room Cassandra stubbed her toe on the

door jamb. She hopped on one foot for a moment, spitting in pain. She

bent her toes gingerly, then more forcefully. Nothing broken. She looked

at the door jamb for an explanation and saw none. She began to realize

that she would need to get used to having longer legs than before. I have

to go through puberty again? She thought. Despite her sore toes she

laughed out loud. The idea of having a coltish body at twenty five years

of age!

In the hallway Cassandra pulled down the folding stair leading to

the attic and (more carefully) stepped into the musty space, waving her

hand above her head until she found the light pull. With the light on she

searched the space, carefully holding on hand overhead to avoid rapping

her skull on the roof beams. She quickly found the storage boxes she

sought in a corner and dragged them across the floor until they stood in

the pool of light from the light fixture.

She brushed away the worst of the dust before opening the first box.

Her sister’s extra clothes were there all right. Cassandra rubbed her

hands together to clear the dust adhering to her palms and pawed in the

box until she came up with some tops and jeans. Further poking found a

small cardboard box filled with some filmy underwear—-a sheer lace bra and

bikini briefs. She felt the sheer fabric, and sniffed. As she had hoped,

the musty smells in the attic had not reached inside the box. Marlene

must not have worn these, she thought. They look brand new. Hope she

doesn’t mind if I do.

Cassandra hefted the box and let it drop down the folding stair to

the ground floor. She followed, scattering the boxes’ contents across the

floor as she began to sort out the treasures she found. Once back in

front of her mirror she tried on the bra. It’s cups were just too big.

An inner modesty forbade Cassandra not wearing something to cover herself,

and she returned to her dresser and retrieved one of her sport bras. She

thrust herself into it, examined the result in the mirror and decided she

was sufficiently covered by the tight spandex material. She slipped on

the borrowed, embroidered panties. The were a little loose but would

serve the purpose. Next, a pair of faded denims. The hems of the jeans

dragged on the floor, but otherwise they were fine. Then she sorted out

two knit tops, pulling one over her head. It’s ribbed-weave fabric

gripped satisfactorily around her middle and the sleeves were just a

fraction too long, and therefore perfect. Cassandra twisted the sleeves

to straighten their seams, and began to giggle. Talk about reversals, her

growing into her younger sister’s clothes! She rotated in front of the

mirror, judging. She looked almost like her sister, body-wise, and she

smiled broadly enough to split her face in two. Then her stomach growled,

loudly. Her morning’s discoveries had given her an appetite. But first,

she retrieved the clothes scattered along the path from attic stair to

bedroom and moved (more carefully) to the pantry and the washer. The

clothes she was borrowing needed to be cleaned of the moldy smells they’d

acquired.

Sergeant Paul Castellani of the Croton Police Department pulled his

unmarked car out of the sparse traffic along the road in Cortlandt where

according to the information he had collected the previous nights’

accident victim lived. He turned off the car engine and picked up the

metal clipboard sitting on the seat beside him. Cassandra Brooks, he

read. Nice address. One of the older ranch-style houses done in local-

make brick with a modern addition sheathed in siding. Vehicular accident

on Route 129 at eight ten p.m., the report continued. Vehicle located on

Bullet Pock Road, abandoned. Victim taken to hospital by passerby,

discharged at ten fifty p.m. Age 25, female. He looked at the house

again, then by long habit peered around his car, looking at everything

around him. Castellani had arrived some fifteen minutes after the Croton

PD had received the first call from the hospital about the accident, and

had taken the reports of the on-scene officer and sent an officer to

interview the victim, and now needed to complete the necessary reports on

the incident. He sat up in the car seat and looked at the blue-and-white

Cortlandt Town Police car moving down the road towards him.

Castellani seized his report board and stepped out of his car. The

Cortlandt police officer, a female whose nameplate said BURKE and whose

unmarked sleeves, newish uniform and earnest manner showed she was newly

appointed to her job, did the same and walked across the street to meet

him. They exchanged greetings.

“Do you have a copy of the accident report?” Burke asked, flipping

open her own aluminum clipboard. Castellani obligingly produced a xerox

of the five pages of reports written out about the accident, which Burke

read.

“A bad weather accident, do you think?” she asked. “We had four

pileups ourselves last night. Pulled the entire shift plus three

troopers.”

“Everything points that way,” Castellani replied, fighting the

crossness that filtered into his voice from fatigue occasioned by his

working a double shift. His own village had several minor bumper bangers

and two serious accidents themselves, occasioned by the slippery

conditions. That state troopers had to help out the Cortlandt PD, which

suffered more than Croton from manpower shortages, was unsurprising. This

morning, however, he was the accident investigator, Burke as the

interested official party from the town in which the victim lived. He

gave a thumbnail sketch of his investigation, then looked at his

wristwatch.

“When was she discharged?” Burke asked.

“Around eleven. The passerby who brought her to the hospital took

her home. Sounds like a nice guy.”

“He’s the one with the UK drivers’ license?” Burke thumbed through

the REMARKS section of the reports.

“Yep. Let’s go in.”

Castellani marched up the walkway to the front door of the house,

Burke right behind him. Out of long habit he looked carefully at

everything around him. The front yard of the home was neat and formally

landscaped. Castellani murmured a warning and ducked under the low

branches of a carefully pruned fruit tree which acted as both centerpiece

and specimen plant for the front yard. A soft thwack announced that

Burke, deep in the accident reports, had found the threatening branch the

hard way, and Castellani grinned. The house was moderately sized, old,

and well-kept. The only thing unusual was the half-open post box next to

the front door. The front door itself was a heavy wood door with panels

of frosted glass. Otherwise, everything else indicated a conscientious

homeowner. Castellani pressed the doorbell, then used the ornate knocker.

After a moments’ pause, he knocked again, and heard a feminine voice

reply. Then the door opened.

“Good morning,” Castellani replied to the woman’s greeting. “Are

you Cassandra Brooke?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“I’m Sergeant Castellani of the Croton Police Department. This is

officer Burke of the Cortlandt Town Police. We are conducting an

investigation into the traffic accident you had last night. May we come

in?”

“Uh, sure,” the woman replied, opening the door fully and admitting

the two officers. Castellani led the way again, doffing his CROTON

POLICE baseball cap to reveal his balding, dark-haired scalp. Once inside

he saw that the outer door opened into an alcove from which the inner door

had been removed. The walls were covered in a striped-pattern wallpaper

and ornamented by several paintings of various sizes. The alcove was

friendly and warm with live plants in pots on one side and a wall bench on

the other. The woman led them across the alcove and through a walkway

into her kitchen. She walked rapidly to the wall counter and turned off

the tap filling the sink. The used dishes on the kitchenette table showed

she had just finished eating.

The woman turned to face the two officers. Castellani automatically

noted her description: five-seven, slim, young, red-brown hair, wearing a

striped shirt and jeans, pale but apparently with no obvious physical

injuries. She seemed however dazed and preoccupied. Probably post-

accident jitters.

“Please sit down,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. Burke

readily settled herself on a kitchen stools, flipping open her clipboard

and clicking her pen in a show of official readiness. Castellani slouched

into his chair after Brooke chose hers.

“What can I do for you?” Brooke said with a touch of formality.

“I didn’t the get opportunity to interview you last night at the

hospital,” Castellani began. He flipped open his own clipboard carelessly

and glanced at the report. “We’d like to hear from you what happened last

night.”

The woman began to describe what had happened prior to her accident,

aided by questions from Castellani. Burke chose to stay out of the

interview and occupied herself by scribbling in her own report.

“There was a tree limb in the road,” the woman went on. “I hit it

and my car seat popped back.”

“Your car seat broke free?” Castellani asked. She shook her head.

“It’s been broken for three-no, sorry, four days now, and it tends

to snap back on its own. I’ve been meaning to get it into the shop for

repair. I lost control and the car zoomed off the road and down to-to

wherever it got to.”

Castellani nodded. His examination of her vehicle had shown it had

been inspected two months previously and had no obvious defects. The

broken car seat adjustment was a bit of a surprise, however.

“I guess the car finally came to a stop near the dam,” she

continued. “I thought I had driven completely off the road into the river

down there and I was under the water. I-I guess I blacked out, and the

next thing I remember I woke up in the hospital.”

“What happened then?”

“Well, the doctors said I was OK, and they let me go home. The guy

who found me gave me a ride here.”

Castellani noted how her face colored as she related her story.

Embarrassment, obviously, and maybe something else. She shifted on her

stool.

“Have you had any previous problems with your car?” Castellani

asked.

“Other than the car seat, no. It’s only a year old and it’s been

running fine.”

“There was no other traffic on the road?”

“No-—except for Michael. He’s the man who took me to the hospital.

He was right behind me, he saw the entire thing.”

“Okay,” Castellani replied. He had already read the eyewitness

report. This was a satisfactory interview. Save for the woman’s

understandable if overreactive post-accident mental distraction,

everything fit together.

“Michael?” Burke suddenly piped up. The woman turned to face her,

nodded, and flushed, a hint of a smile curving her lips. Castellani’s

eyebrows drew together in a frown and he looked at Burke. She held up a

page of his xeroxed report like a shield.

“His name is wrong on the report, then. He’s called Mark here.”

Castellani quickly looked through his own copy and snorted. Sure

enough, somebody had written down the wrong name. There’s going to be an

unpleasant meeting soon at Croton PD headquarters. Now it was his turn to

be embarrassed and he quickly drew a pen from his uniform pocket and

scribbled in the correct name. He continued to ask questions,

occasionally filling in information on his report. He noticed that Burke

intermittently stopped writing in her report and stared at Brooke, an

unreadable expression on her face. The woman for her part answered each

question in turn. Castellani drew out one of his own calling cards and

wrote down the location of her car on the back. She smiled in thanks, a

pretty smile that seemed to light up her face.

“Okay, Miss Brooke. If we need any more information we’ll contact

you,” Castellani said firmly. Burke took her cue and immediately folded

up her equipment. The woman led them back to her front door and smiled

her goodbye, then her door closed. Castellani followed Burke down the

walkway to their cars.

“Funny,” Burke said conversationally. “She seemed very distracted

by something.”

“It probably was one hell of a ride she went through last night,”

Castellani remarked. “That would’ve shaken anybody up.”

“I suppose so,” Burke replied. “Another thing that was funny was

her description of the accident.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Burke replied. She thumbed through the report until she

found the section she was looking for. “She said her seat went back and

she couldn’t reach the pedals. It seems funny to me that someone her

size would have that problem. I’m five-four and she was taller than me.

Why would she find it hard to stretch and reach the pedals?”

Castellani stopped. The woman said she lost control of her car when

her seat snapped back. Was it accident jitters, momentary amnesia, or

something else? He found himself beginning to agree with this young

officer, that there may be something more here then meets the eye. He

shrugged. He had seem plenty of serious and even fatal accidents where a

broken part, mental distraction, alcohol or plain stupidity had

contributed to the event. His next task would be to rip a new hole into

the officer who went to the hospital last night for his lousy report

writing.

Cassandra watched the two police officers walk towards their

vehicles with a sense of relief. She had forgotten Friday’s events in her

flurry of discovery over her changed body and she had felt a peculiar need

to hide the details of her transformation from those two figures of

authority. Cassandra shook her head to clear it. She definitely needed

to get a grip on herself and begin to adapt to her new circumstances. The

first thing to do would be to call a wrecker company and get her car off

the road it was parked on and into a shop. Cassandra made her way to her

study and grabbed up the phone book. Five minutes of searching found a

tow company and a local repair shop. Another five minutes had her on the

telephone in contact with Jake’s Super Service. Jake himself answered and

said, sure, he’d be happy to pick up her car, and where would she like it

taken? Cassandra had already decided that Wanamaker’s Auto Repair and

Body Shop in Croton would be ideal. Jake said OK, fine, he’ll pick it up

within the hour, but Wanamaker’s was closed today and would she like him

to leave a note on her car for the mechanics at the garage? Cassandra

declined the courtesy and ended the conversation. She automatically wrote

down a thumbnail sketch of her conversation on a scrap of paper occupying

a corner of her desk, absently tugging at the top she was wearing.

Cassandra stopped. She had begun to adjust the top she had

purloined from her sister’s stored clothing just after she had finished

her breakfast, and she realized she had performed the same gesture several

times during her interview with the police. It wasn’t uncomfortable at

all; in fact, with the elastic sport bra beneath it, it fit her just fine.

She looked closely at the top. It’s ribbed weaving and cut exemplified a

figure like her own. Why was she so occupied with trying to adjust it?

Cassandra decided it must be just her getting used to her new, expanded—-

and wonderful!—-form. Thinking about clothing brought up another concern,

and she cheerfully returned to the phone book. She obviously needed to get

some new clothes. Hopefully there would be a local car rental place open

on Saturday.

Cassandra was secretly nervous about her first public appearance

since her physical change. She did not fail to notice the cabdriver’s

eyes measuring her up and down as she stepped into the cab, and she found

herself grinning. The ride was short, and she stepped out into the

parking lot of the dealer. Putting her longer legs to the task, she

strode across the lot, counting her steps, jarring herself only a little

as she spread her stride too far once or twice. Save time—-grow your

legs, she though, and laughed to herself. The rent-a-car’s staff was

courteous and swift, and after a few moments she chose a very nice Ford

sedan and signed a contract for the week. She had embarrassed herself by

fiddling with the seat adjust mechanism for almost a minute in the full

view of the rental manager who had escorted her to her car of choice,

trying to decided just how far back she needed to put the seat, her

sandals (the only things that would fit on her feet, and they were too

snug by half) leaving her feet open to attack from the sharp edges of the

pedals. She had smiled and turned over the car’s engine and pretended to

be waiting for it to warm up as an excuse for her delay while she finally

found a position that was comfortable.

Cassandra rapidly became used to the feel of the car and made her

way south. Driving along I-287, she came towards the ramp bridge leading

to exit 4. At the top of the exit she turned right onto Route 22and made

her way into the city of White Plains, turning right on Hamilton Avenue

and making her way to an open-air parking lot opposite of the large and

well-stocked (she hoped) Gallery Mall.

Cassandra mingled with the crowd entering the mall. It was an

amazing feeling, to stand among a large group of people and be able to see

eye-to-eye with them. She took the escalator to the second floor and

began to window shop. When her eye fell on the Karen Charles’ Store, she

decided, and walked in confidently. The store was uncrowded, and a

saleswoman made an appearance before her almost immediately.

The saleswoman’s eyes visibly boggled when Cassandra outlined her

shopping plan, and she immediately called over another person who

introduced herself as the floor manager. They shepherded Cassandra from

one rack to another, making suggestions that Cassandra thought excellent.

“For you a size 6 would be fine, but I would suggest an 7 tall for

your height,” the saleswoman offered. Cassandra nodded, and rapidly found

herself the head of a procession burdened with several articles of

clothing. She spent three-quarters of an hour in a fitting room, trying

on all the pieces. All of the ensembles assembled by the very helpful

staff were superb, fit well—-and were at least four sizes or better than

Cassandra had ever bought before. She smiled broadly as she made her

choices, and both store employees needed almost ten minutes to fold and

pack away her purchases into several boxes and shopping bags. Cassandra

hefted the bags and boxes and returned to her car, nearly losing her

purchases more than once as she teetered across the street. The clothing

went into the trunk, filling it to capacity, and she fed the parking meter

to the max and headed back to the mall.

Her next stop was at the Frederick’s outlet, and she grinned with

anticipation as she walked into the store. She picked out several pair of

panties based largely on her memory of her sister’s underwear

requirements. Then she hunted up a salesperson. The woman obligingly

procured a measuring tape which she wrapped around Cassandra’s chest.

“Chest 34,” she announced, then rode the tape up over Cassandra’s

breasts. Cassandra inhaled and the woman nodded. “Thirty seven and a

little over. That puts you in our B-plus range. I’ll show you.”

Cassandra’s smile nearly met behind her head as she made her

choices. Ten minutes later found her burdened with more packages, and she

stopped three stores down for new shoes, then two doors further down for

casual clothes and more shoes. It was nearly noon before she stopped,

pausing twice more to stuff bags in the back seat of the car and feed the

parking meter. She slipped off the sandals and put on a pair of

comfortable running shoes before returning to the food court in the mall’s

basement for lunch, were she purchased three pieces of pizza and a soft

drink and picked out a small table to eat.

After her repast she leaned back in her chair and stretched herself.

She looked around at the people occupying the other tables and began to

smile again. She realized that for the first time she was actually able

to look straight ahead and see over the other many of the females sitting

nearby.. Being taller was a heady feeling. She played absently with her

hair and was surprised to discover that it was long enough for her to pull

some strands across her eyes from the side of her head. She ran her hand

down her hair. It felt like it was now shoulder length. A wolf whistle

distracted her and she looked up to see several teenage boys looking at

her as they walked by. She was secretly thrilled. When the boys passed

by she snuck a peek at herself. She really did have an attractive body

now; tiny little Cassandra, with her bony body and insect-bite boobs, was

no more! It was a good feeling. She smiled, and fiddled with her top

again.

Cassandra sighed and slouched, letting her buttocks slip down the

wooden seat to the edge, her legs straight out before her. Her lunch

gave her new energy but made her borrowed jeans tight across her waist.

She casually opened the belt she had purloined from her sisters’ stored

supplies and it slipped two notches, one notch short of the end of the

tongue. She slipped her thumbs under the waist of her jeans and pulled

experimentally. She was filling them out to the point where the belt

wasn’t required to keep them up over her hips. Could three slices of

pizza and a coke fill her up that much? Cassandra sat up straight and

found herself shifting in her seat. The chair was wooden and unpadded,

but it wasn’t that uncomfortable—-or was it? Why did her seat feel

constrained? Cassandra felt a faint alarm bell go off deep inside her.

She stood up abruptly and left the mall, choosing the basement exit. She

returned to her car and stepped into it, and settled herself into the car

seat. She stretched out her legs.

Something was wrong. It didn’t feel right when her feet pressed

against the floorboard of the car. Her legs weren’t straightening like

before, as if they hadn’t the same distance to go, and it wasn’t due to

the running shoes she was wearing—-or was it? She could not help the

feeling that her legs had become longer. Cassandra reached up to the

driver-side sun visor and pulled it down. As expected, it had a lighted

mirror on the other side, and she flipped it open. Her hair was

definitely longer than before; thicker, too. She dragged a handful of

hair before her face and looked at it like she had never seen anything

like it before.

“Get a hold of yourself, kiddo,” she muttered. Cassandra looked

down at her legs and saw her ankles sticking out of the legs of her

jeans—-but four hours ago the hems were dragging on the floor. Her eyes

followed the inseam of her leg and the swell of her calf in the fabric,

something which had not been visible before. She felt a momentary panic,

and rubbed her chest to ease the tightness there.

“I’m still growing?” she said softly. That’s why my clothes feel

funny, she thought. I’m changing inside them, getting bigger—-

“God—-“ Cassandra cried. She turned the car over and drove, heading

back to her home. She found she was spending as much time looking down at

herself in anticipation of more evidence of her growing as she gave to the

road, until she caught herself swaying from one lane to another as she

drove. It was just afternoon now on a Saturday. Hopefully the troopers

would be changing shifts. She pressed down the pedal and drove faster.

Cassandra left her shopping in the car and moved quickly to her font

door. One overhanging branch of her apple tree told her she hadn’t ducked

low enough by rapping her on the head. Closing the front door behind her,

she leaned against it as if to shut something out. She stood there for a

moment, breathing deeply, feeling for the first time the pressure exerted

on her ribs by her sports bra, feeling the top she wore riding up and down

across her. A warm draft replaced the cool spring air admitted into the

alcove, swirling around her bare, exposed ankles. Cassandra looked down

at herself. It was obvious that she was outgrowing her sister’s

clothes—-she had filled every curve of the jeans to the point of near-

discomfort, her boobs were two mounds pushing against the restraint of her

top, her wrists extended past the cuffs of her sleeves and her forearms

were following. Cassandra nearly ran to her study, hopping from one foot

to the other to pull off her new shoes as she did so. She grabbed up the

bookend and pencil and found her previous pencil mark on the wall. A

small noise escaped her throat as she realized the previous measuring mark

was now below her eye level. She pressed herself up straight against the

wall and made a new mark, scribing it twice to be sure, then retrieved her

ruler and measured, twice. She shook her head at the result and measured

again.

She was seventy one inches tall.

Cassandra stepped back in shock and consternation.

“What the hell is happening to me?” she said to herself. “How can

this be happening? Christ, this had got to be some sort of dream and I’ve

got to wake up.”

She moved as if drawn by some unseen force to her bedroom and stared

hard at herself in the mirror. She tried to recall what she had looked

like before in these same clothes. She realized that stretch wrinkles had

appeared between the outline of her breasts against the fabric. Those

lines hadn’t been there before. Her knees were visible through the denim

and her thighs and calves had assumed rounded, almost exaggerated

proportions, squeezed in the cloth. Her ankles stuck out completely, her

crotch outlined behind the zipper. She turned and looked over her

shoulder. The seat seam of her denims now pressed firmly into the crack

between two high, round cheeks that shelved out from her back. Her hips

looked like they had broadened. Her waist appeared the same width but was

longer, too. She pulled up on her top and revealed perhaps two inches of

fabric stuck down through her waist where before the hem of the top had

reached down to the point of her hips.

Cassandra felt like a balloon figure being deliberately stretched

and inflated. This was completely ridiculous. It was insane. People

just don’t start growing and growing like this. She shook her head, her

hair swirling around her neck.

“This can’t be happening,” she said aloud.

She inhaled once, deeply, trying to chase away the tension in her

chest and neck. Her bra squeezed back, pressing her breasts closer to

her. She looked down and realized that she had to get out of her bra and

these borrowed clothes before getting out of them became really difficult.

Now I’m really the big sister. Fitting her sister’s clothes so tightly

was even more nuts, and she shook her head again.

Cassandra put back on her shoes and retrieved her shopping, making

two trips. She quickly flung her former-sized attire out and then placed

her new business clothes in her closet—-it was yet another shock to go in

her closet and be able to see the contents of the shelf over the hanger

rod so easily—-and scattered her other purchases across her bed. She

pulled off the borrowed top and denims and her T-shirt, sighing with

relief as she dragged her old sport bra off her bouncy bosom. She picked

up on of her new bras—-a lacy white one without underwires--and slipped it

on. It still fit.

Cassandra sat down on her bed atop the pile of her new clothes, the

tightness in her chest vanishing. She breathed a sigh of relief. What a

ninny she was, reacting to her changed body that way. She had simply

mismeasured herself earlier. Her new conclusion was sensible, given the

primitive means she had used. There was another measure she could verify

easily, however.

In her bathroom she shifted the position of her scale and stood on

it. She LED readout flashed and the displayed her weight. It beeped, and

then read 144.4 LB. The pressure in her chest returned. A hundred thirty

five pounds, and this morning she had weighted one hundred twenty. She

had gained fifteen pounds in the space of—-how long was it? She had woken

at seven thirty, and had spent an hour looking at her new condition?

Cassandra reached out to steady herself. It was just noon now. She had

gained twenty five pounds in the space of four and a half hours.

“It’s not possible, it’s not possible,” she began to chant. The

scale beeped again, and she looked down at its readout.

144.5 LB

Cassandra sucked in her breath, and clenched her fists, her nails

digging into her palms.

Beep. 144.6 LB

She felt her belly and chest tighten, her muscles knotting.

Beep. 146.0 LB

Cassandra jumped off the scale, feet thudding on the tile floor.

The scale lost its benign nature and became malevolent and threatening.

Her backward motion was stopped by the cool tiled surface of the wall and

she pressed herself up against it, her arms still outstretched as if to

support herself.

Her arms. Cassandra looked carefully at her forearms. She could

see a ripple of muscle, real muscle, underneath her skin. Did her hands

looked bigger than before? Her fingernails had grown along with the rest

of her, sticking out from her fingertips like claws. She made a fist in

either hand, watched her forearms bulge each time. Did they look a little

bigger each time, too? Cassandra slowly sank into a crouch. She rubbed

one hand across her forehead, fighting the sensation of feeling faint.

Her folded legs looked thicker, too. It wasn’t fat that was engirding her

body. It was flesh and muscle—-and it was growing.

Cassandra’s attention returned to her bust. She pressed upward

under each cup with her hands. Was she growing there, too? She stared at

the mounds on her chest, encased in the bra cups. Were her breasts

starting to swell over the top of her new, larger bra? Cassandra lashed

out with her clenched hands at the wall behind her, thumping the tiles.

“This is impossible, this is impossible, it can’t be happening,” she

murmured to herself. She swallowed and stood up, too fast. She felt

herself go a little dizzy, like last night in the hospital. God, I’m so

tall I’m making myself dizzy just by standing up! Cassandra got a grip on

herself, mentally, and slowly stepped on the scale again.

Beep. 148.0 LB

A low moan escaped Cassandra’s lips. She stumbled off the scale,

its rubber surface scratching her soles of her feet. The scale must be

malfunctioning, running low on battery power, something. She couldn’t

possibly gain two pounds in the space of five minutes! Cassandra cast

back in her memory, trying desperately to remember when she had last

changed the batteries in the thing. Her innate sense of organization told

her she could not condemn the scale for an error when she recalled that

she changed those power cells in the scale just after Christmas.

Cassandra moved slowly out of her powder room, steadying herself

against the door jamb and the hallway wall as she returned to her bedroom.

She frowned at the immense pile of clothes hiding her bed, other clothing

scattered on the floor. She was too obsessed with her changed—-changing—-

body. Better to have a distraction for a while, and her house was rapidly

assuming the condition of a disaster area. Cassandra looked down at her

breasts once more, and reached behind her to unhook her bra. Her breasts

bounced only slightly and stayed proud as she freed them.

“Well, at least I don’t sag,” she said to herself, and giggled

softly at such an irrelevancy. She tossed the bra on her bed and

rummaged among the other clothing there until she found the sweatsuit she

had bought. She pulled on the pants and cinched the drawstring tight,

then pulled the top over her head, pulling the sweatshirt hood off her

hair. She grabbed up a pair of socks, its plastic packaging tearing

easily in her hands. Then her shoes. She straightened up looked once

more in the mirror.

“Well,” she muttered, reaching out to stroke away a thin film of

dust that adhered to its surface, “I sure am getting my money’s worth out

of you today.”

Cassandra spent the next few hours going through her home. She

quickly emptied her dresser drawers and her closet, her movements swift

and economical. Her new clothes quickly filled the empty spaces and she

amassed a collection of several garbage bags filled with her old clothes,

save for one entire ensemble, which she felt compelled to retain despite

the compounding evidence that she was already far too big to fit any of it

(and was still growing?). Her neat habits resulted in everything being

neatly folded before being stuffed into the plastic bags. Goodwill’s

gonna love me, she thought as she hefted two bags and carried them from

bedroom to foyer. She returned for more bags. Her eye counted the number

of bags she had and she stopped for a moment, astonished by the mass of

stuff she was planning to get rid of. She remembered how years ago one of

her brothers had made a wisecrack about all the females in the house being

clothes horses (both she and her sister had flung several heavy items in

his direction in retaliation), but Cassandra had to admit that the sheer

bulk of her clothes granted credence to his remark. She felt increasingly

buoyant as she grabbed up the next set of bags—-three, this time—-and

trudged to the hallway, dropping her cargo on the floor.

Feeling really energetic, she retrieved her vacuum and cleaning

tools—-she managed to ignore how small and toylike everything seemed,

now—-and went over her entire home with a Stakhanovite thoroughness. Her

bedroom was the first room and she wholly re-ordered it, only pausing once

of twice to examine herself in that mirror. Then she attacked the

bathroom with cleanser and elbow grease, followed by the kitchen. An

armful of used towels—-Cassandra made sure she stuffed the towel Michael

used inside the others as his scent was all over it and as much as she

liked (and, to her own surprise, desired) her reaction to his scent she

did not want that particular distraction right now—-and other clothing

filled the washer to capacity and it rumbled into action as she went over

the carpeting in study and bedroom and the rug in her bedroom.

Back in the hallway Cassandra minced over the pile of plastic bags

that mined the pathway to her front door. She struggled the bags out the

door onto the porch and peered at the sunset. Time had really passed

since her return home. Cassandra went back inside and leaned around the

corner of the foyer to see the clock on her kitchen wall. Five p.m. One

more task, then it was time for some dinner. Cassandra reached out to the

kitchen counter, seized the rental car keys and began to stuff the bags

into her car.

Cassandra pulled back into the parking space she had occupied. She

turned in her seat and grabbed up the bag of groceries she purchased—-she

remembered the bare condition of her larder from the previous night just

as she was about to leave the Shop-Right parking lot—-and angled herself

out of the car. Back inside her own home, she distributed the contents of

the bag and turned on her oven. She prepared the chicken cutlets she

bought and put them under the broiler, then placed a pot on the stove for

the prepared pasta-vegetable side dish that had caught her eye in the

frozen food section. Thirty minutes later she leaned over her prepared

plate, her mouth watering at the smells coming from the meal.

A glass from that bottle of white wine she and Michael had drunk the

night before in one hand, Cassandra walked her dinner into the living room

and set it on the coffee table. She overlooked how much her legs had to

bend to sit on the couch and set her impromptu place, grabbing up the

television remote control with one hand while she speared some pasta and

vegetables with the fork in the other. She thumbed the ON switch and was

rewarded by a blast of static. The television warmed up, revealing a

pattern of snow and distortion with no visible picture on its screen.

Cassandra muttered under her breath. Great, she thought. I’ve grown a

foot taller in the last twenty four hours, I’ve had to completely replace

my wardrobe, and now my cable is on the fritz. What else can go wrong

today? She tried turning off the television with the remote. It didn’t

work. She tried again. This time the TV snapped off, with a technicolor

fireworks display arcing across the screen before it went dead. Maybe the

TV was bad, and not cable. Cassandra frowned in frustration, then

shrugged and turned to her dinner, eating quickly. For some reason it

tasted better than any similar meal she had prepared before. She had

added a few extra spices to the prepared sauce, and she could taste every

spice distinctly: white pepper, cumin, basil and sage. Her mood

improved, and she emptied her plate and sat back on the couch. She leaned

back and thumped her head against the wall. Cassandra cursed and rubbed

the back of her head, her hair pulling from between the hood of her

sweatshirt and the upholstered back rail of the couch.

Cassandra stopped. She ran both hands through her hair and drew it

forward, letting it drape over her shoulders and down her front. Her hair

fell below her shoulders now, thick and lustrous. She felt her heart

flutter.

“Oh, c’mon,” she whispered.

Cassandra stood up--and up. She straightened her back and squared

her shoulders. She felt a sudden draft of cool air insinuate itself

around her middle. She looked down and saw that there was now a gap

between the hem of her shirt and the waist of her pants. She broke out in

a cold sweat as she looked further down and saw that the elastic hems of

her pants had ridden up past the cover of her socks and now gripped her

calves. The softness and elasticity of the cotton material was all that

was keeping her from feeling discomfort, she realized. She was still

growing. Her new sweatsuit was now too small for her, which meant her

other new clothes would be too small, too.

“No,” she moaned softly. “No more.”

Cassandra yanked off her now-tight shoes and returned to the

kitchen. She grabbed up the one item she had purchased at the grocery

store but had hoped she would not have to use and found her way to her

study. She found the marks on her wall. Her heart began to race as she

saw her last mark looked like it now came up somewhere around her neck.

She employed the bookend and pencil, then took up the tape measure she had

bought. She drew it out and pressed the bracket on its end under the

baseboard of the floor. The tape rattled as she drew it out. She

measured carefully.

She was eighty five inches tall.

Cassandra had no idea how long she stood there, staring at the

innocent marks on her study wall.

“No,” she said aloud. “No, no, no, no.”

She wrapped her arms around her middle and grasped her elbows. Her

motion caused the elastic hem of the sweatshirt to ride higher on her

torso. She grabbed it, tugged it back down and heard one of the shoulder

seams start, a sibilant noise that startled her more than anything else

she had experienced this day. She turned from one side to the other. It

was her left shoulder. She could see the pulled threads in the seam. In

her discomfiture Cassandra had nearly torn open the shoulder of her new

shirt—-without any real effort.

She found herself gravitating towards her bedroom and the mirror.

She moved slowly into range of her image, choking on fear she had never

tasted before. In the twilight of the evening she could see how she was

overfilling the suit. Her lower legs stuck out of the pants halfway to

her knees. Her middle was tightly outlined. The sleeves she had pushed

up to her elbows would now not slip down further than mid-forearm. Her

breasts pressed against the front of the shirt, pulling up its hem to

reveal her navel. Her head and shoulders did not appear in the mirror at

all.

Cassandra reeled. She backed up slowly until she felt her frame of

her bed against her legs. She began to sit, and lost balance. Arms

flailing, she fell into a near-crouch before making contact with the bed,

which protested loudly. She tried pulling down on her shirt again,

feebly. It didn’t work. She looked at her chest. Her nipples were

visible, pressing against the fabric.

Cassandra lay back slowly. Her upper back came into contact with

the other side of the bed, leaving her shoulders and head unsupported.

She lay in the position, the cords in her neck straining to keep her head

level. She tried to make some order of the chaotic thoughts coursing

through her head. Why was this happening to her? She never wanted to be

a giant. She had just wished she was taller. It made no sense at all.

Science couldn't possibly explain this and she did not believe in magic,

yet there had to be some cause for her growing and growing. She rubbed

her face fiercely. Michael. Her lovemaking with Michael had to be the

source of what was happening to her. She mentally tossed aside her

reluctance to embrace the idea that he possessed some kind of fantastic

ability to make miraculous things happen. She embraced her new conviction

and rolled it around, examining every possibility. He had rescued her

from drowning—that she was certain of, now. Her memory of being trapped

underwater in her car was too vivid to be engineered by her imagination.

He had taken kindly to her after bringing her to the hospital and then

home. She had been utterly entranced by his unique—-persona? Chemistry?

She made love with him—-for her, the first time with any man—-and what

amazing lovemaking it had been. Cassandra caught her hands moving towards

her suddenly erect nipples and forced them to her sides with an effort.

Just thinking about him made her horny, she realized. Had the two of them

become bound to one another by some mystical force? She cast back in her

memory again, and thoughts of their sex the previous night surfaced again.

She could effortlessly recall each orgasm she enjoyed. How each climax had

been better, stronger, longer than the previous one. She had reciprocated

when he hadn’t come, sucking on his huge, throbbing organ. She remembered

the salty sweetness of his come as she swallowed it over and over again,

trying to get each drop of that incredible ambrosia he had pumped out of his

body.

Cassandra sat up. She found herself licking her lips as she

remembered the taste of his semen. Was that it? Did he somehow excrete

something that was inside her, making her grow? How could he do so, and

why? She never, ever wanted to be gigantic in stature, just taller.

Be careful what you wish for—you just might get it, she remembered him

warning her.

Cassandra lost focus on the outside world as she concentrated on

remembering every thing they had said to one another. She remembered how

foolish she felt when she asked him what it was like to be tall. Sometimes

it’s a help, and sometimes a hindrance, he had said.

Oh, God, I really do wish I was the biggest, tallest woman ever, she

had thought.

Cassandra realized with a start what she had actually wished for.

“And I got my wish,” she said to herself. “I GOT MY WISH.”

Washington, DC

Matilda Grosvenor was in the middle of refereeing the latest episode

of fisticuffs that erupted between her two oldest boys when the phone

rang. She glanced at her watch, pinned both boys with a stare that froze

them in their tracks, and moved quickly to the nearest extension.

“Hello?”

“Mattie? It’s me, Cass.”

“Hi, Sis! What’s up? You sound funny. Is everything OK?”

“No, Mattie. I need to see you right away.”

The warfare between Brian and Sean started up again, moving towards

Matilda, and she pressed the receiver closer to her ear, reaching out with

one arm to pin a squirming body against the nearest wall while she locked

her eyes on the other. Both quieted sufficiently for her to continue her

conversation.

“Cassie, what’s wrong? Tell me what going on.”

“It’s a long story, Mattie. Something--something’s happening to me.

I--well, I’m--I’m growing.”

“Cassie, what does that mean? Are you drunk?”

“I wish I was.”

Matilda looked at the receiver. She heard her sister’s voice coming

faintly from the earpiece and put it against her ear.

“-—cause was the man I met yesterday,” Cassandra was saying. “Look,

it’ll take too long to explain, and you wouldn’t believe me no matter how

I told it to you. I don’t believe it happening to me myself. Mattie,

please come up. I really need somebody to talk to about this. I can’t

stop growing.”

“It that Aunt Cassandra?” her youngest son, Sean, piped up, his eyes

bright. Cassandra was very popular with both her boys because of her

generous gifts to them every time she appeared. Matilda nodded and

shushed both boys again.

“Cassie, George isn’t home yet—-wait, hold on.” Matilda heard the

rattle of keys at her front door and turned too see her husband, briefcase

in hand, coming through the door. Both boys exploded into noise and

proceeded to turn their father into a jungle gym. Matilda pressed her

finger in her free ear.

“Cassie, do you need help? I can call-—“

“NO!” The volume in the receiver made Matilda jump. “No, Mattie,

don’t call ANYBODY. Just—-just get here, okay? I really need to see

someone—-someone from my family right now.”

“Okay, Cassie. I’ll put some things together and come up tonight.

The boys’ll be happy to see you—-“

“NO! Don’t bring the kids. Please. Just yourself. And, Mattie,

please hurry. I—-I keep changing. You might not recognize me soon.

Please?”

“Cassie, I’m coming up. Hang on, okay? I’m coming. Are you home?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll call Amtrak and find the first train up there.

Whatever’s happened to you, we can work it out. Hang in there. I’ll see

you in a bit.”

“Hello, dear.” George paused in the act of bending to kiss his wife

as she hung up the phone. “What’s wrong?”

“Cassie just called. Something’s happened to her. I’ve got to get

up there.”

Her husband nodded shortly.

“Is aunt Cassie all right?” Sean’s innate childhood telepathy had

picked up immediately on his mother’s distress.

“I don’t know dear. Ah, I’m sure she’s all right. She just sounded

funny on the phone. I’ve never heard her sound like that before. Look,

George I’ve got to get up there.”

“Okay, guys,” her husband announced as if on cue. “It’s eight

o’clock. Have you two done your homework yet? Now, what did your mother

and I tell you would happen to you if you didn’t do your homework? Come

on, let’s go. To your room, quick march!”

The boys were properly solemnized by their father’s faux-harsh tone,

but neither had missed Matilda’s words about being “up there”. Both

grinned and resumed their perennial sibling rivalry by pushing at one

another. Her husband herded his charges into their room. Matilda heard

him say how for this one night only he would allow them more time on their

own computer, and they cheered. Matilda moved quickly. Their suitcases

lay in a heap on the floor of the linen closet, and she retrieved her

overnight bag. She was in the middle of packing away enough for a couple

of days when her husband appeared in the door of their room.

“Did Cassie say what’s wrong?”

“No. All she said was that she had met a man, or seen a man

yesterday, and something about her growing and changing. She said if I

didn’t get there soon I wouldn’t recognize her. It made no sense.”

“That doesn’t sound like her.”

“No, it doesn’t. I’m worried about this, dear. Can you call Sally

tomorrow morning and ask her to look after the boys tomorrow?”

He nodded. “I’ll also call Amtrak and find out what’s scheduled for

tonight. There should be at least one more shuttle train to Grand Central

station. That’s get you halfway there.”

“Thank you, dear.”