Copyright 1996
Revised 11/99


				BOBBI McGEE

			   by Christopher Leeson

	"Uuhh," Dori moaned as Rob's hips began a powerful up and down
movement, like flint to her steel.  The sparks he generated triggered a
series of emotional rockets-flares in her -- fire-burners jetting scorching
energy along the million arterial ways of her body. . . .

	Suddenly the doorbell chimed and with a mutter of frustration, Rob
stopped what he was doing and rolled over.

	"Keey-rist!" the young man panted.  "That's timing for you."

	Dori gasped for breath and moaned: "Get rid of them!".

	"I'll just be a minute, doll," Rob promised, rising to dry himself
with a tissue.  Then he threw on his plaid robe and hurried into the living
room.  In just a minute he was back, carrying a small package in a brown
wrapper.

	"Who was it?" asked Dori.

	"Nobody.  Just a twenty-four hour delivery service."

	Excited, she got up on her knees.  "What did you get?  Who sent
it?"

	"There's no return address."  Rob sat down beside her and started
tearing the wrapping paper.  "Well, well, well," he muttered as he finally
removed the contents of the box.  "Cute."

	Dori frowned.  It was some sort of primitive female sculpture --
naked except for a strange headdress.  No wonder Rob liked it; he always
did admire full-figured girls, she knew.  As Rob turned the thing around
Dori noted that it was two-faced; a male figure was cast behind the female
one.  Dori knew immediately which side her man would be setting outward for
viewing!  He was a horny guy, but he was at least hers!

	"-- Look, here's a card," Rob said, plucking a piece of paper from
the box.  "`To Rob with hate.  Cassandra.'  I never thought I'd hear that
name again."

	"Who's Cassandra?" asked Dori suspiciously.

	"Nobody.  -- She and I used to live together.  It ended badly."

	"You never mentioned her!"

	"Why should I?  I know what a jealous woman you are."

	"She was nobody?  Just a live-in girlfriend?!  Who am I then?
Nobody plus one, or two, or three, or five?"

	"Listen, cute stuff, how do you think I got to be so good if this
was strictly amateur hour?"

	"So you DID have a lot of girls before you met me!"

	 "So sue me because I've always been popular!  -- Dori, don't be a
pain."

	"Pain?!  I just want some respect."

	"Baby bottom, you're going nuts over nothing!  Settle down."

	I don't like the idea of old girlfriends sending you gifts!  Does
it say that she's going to be visiting?"

	"I told you what it said!  For crying out loud, Dori, give me some
credit.  I've only had eyes for you from the day we met!"

	"But you've only known me a month.  Who will it be next month?"

	"Honey!"

	"I must have been crazy to think that what we had was something
special."

	"It is -- sort of!"

	"Sort of?!  That does it!  Let your old girlfriend know there's a
vacancy, because I'm quitting the fan club!"

	Dori scrambled away, but Rob kept mum.  Actually, there was nothing
he could say when Dori Elrick was in one of her snits.  He resignedly
watched her pull on her clothes with a speed never seen before.  Once
dressed in the same peasant blouse and miniskirt worn earlier that evening
to the restaurant (a get-up that made her look more like a loafing cocktail
waitress than a customer to be served), she started emptying the drawers
and stuffing her cheap plastic-over-cardboard suitcases.

	Rob was tempted to try mollifying her, but Dori was prone to
erratic flare-ups and sudden mood-changes and the best thing for it was
giving her a little breathing space.  After all, he hadn't done anything
wrong, except live a life of his own before he had ever met her.  The
little brunette could walk out of his life if she wanted to, or else she
could stay, but, either way, he didn't see any reason to beg.

	Leaving Dori alone to finish her packing, Rob shuffled out to the
kitchen and turned on the radio.  Set to the oldies channel that Dori liked
so well it was playing a familiar tune:

	"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose. . . ."

	That was Janis Joplin's "Bobbie McGee," a song that Rob had always
enjoyed, but right now the lyrics depressed him.  They were about a great
relationship that just couldn't hold together for the long term and it
reminded the realtor of his own history with women.

	The next song was Frank Sinatra's "I Could Write a Book."  I bet
you could, you old Mafiosi, Rob thought with a chuckle as he went to the
refrigerator and broke open a Coors.  By the time he finished it Dori was
coming out of the bedroom, loaded down with suitcases and even paper bags
full of her wash-and-wear things.  As she stormed past him, Rob noticed an
article fall and plop down on the kitchen floor.

	"Dori!" he said.

	She turned angrily.  "Don't plead with me to stay, Rob!"

	"I wouldn't do that; I think we both need some space, but you
dropped --"

	"Ooh, men!  Listen, Rob, I'll give you so much space that you'll
never see me again!"

	With that final pronouncement, Dori stomped out the back door; Rob
heard her footsteps on the stairs leading down to the residents' garage
where her Toyota was parked.

	"Women!" he sighed.  Well, he consoled himself, this one had stayed
longer than most.  No big deal.  Rob could cook better than Dori on her
best day, and her sloppy housekeeping always drove him crazy.

	The young man got up from his chair and plucked the fallen object
from the tiles -- a skimpy pair of blue denim cut-offs.  He had seen her in
it, cut so small that the lush curves of her lower buttocks were left bare.
Rob shook his head, turned on by the memory, then tossed the shorts on the
counter top regretfully.  Unlike some males, Rob didn't get excited about
women's clothes -- unless, that is, they were filled with a woman who could
do them justice.

	The night's fun and games had tired Rob out and so he padded
sleepily back to the bedroom where he again noticed the two-faced idol
lying on the coverlets.  His curiosity renewed, he picked the thing up and
turned it about in his hands.  The face on either side of it had little gem
eyes and he wondered whether it was valuable or just some cheap import.
Just then he spied an inscription on its bottom which looked very much like
Indian script.

	Rob couldn't help wondering why Cassandra had sent him the curio.
They shared very few tastes; he'd known her when she was a graduate student
in anthropology, but Rob was more into sports cars, and they'd never talked
much about her favorite subject -- except where they touched upon exotic
mating rituals.  Their sex had been hot, but her strident feminism
eventually turned him off; with one breath Cassandra would be expressing
the superiority of woman, and with the next complaining that she hadn't
been born a man.

	His life would be a lot simpler, he thought, if he understood women
better.  Men never went around wishing they were female -- at least the
sort of men Rob felt comfortable with didn't.  What was the big deal
anyway? he wondered.  Whatever sex you were dealt, the sensible person
accepted it and enjoyed it for all that it was worth.  The one thing which
Rob had really liked about Dori was the way she seemed to have a hell of a
good time being a girl -- the exact opposite of Cassandra.  Too bad that
her peeves and snits always drove him up the wall.

	That was the way it was: When something was right with a girl,
something else was wrong.  I just wish that I could find my perfect match,
Rob thought seriously.  He was getting more than a little tired of these
empty affairs.  Why couldn't he have a relationship like his parents'?  Up
until the terrible accident that had taken both their lives, they had
enjoyed a wonderful partnership.

	Rob was beginning to think that he had a lousy taste in women -- or
was it something in his personality, some quirk in him that attracted women
powerfully for a little while, but then drove them away?  Rob knew he was
in a rut -- and not for the first time he found himself wishing that he
could get out of it somehow.  He shook his head wondering how that would be
possible.  He was what he was; it would probably take a miracle to change a
quality so fundamental to his character.

	But the young man couldn't help but wonder what comprised the
happiness that some lucky couples found with one another.  Common
interests, he thought, and also trust, sharing, and patience?  Kindness,
forgiveness, and respect?  And he shouldn't leave out friendship.  Of all
the women he had known, not one real friend stood out among them.  That was
a sad commentary.

	It all had seemed so simple when Rob had been a hormonal teenager.
In those days he'd supposed that a lot of high-quality screwing would bring
happiness.  Well, the jaded veteran had learned that the merchandise wasn't
bad, but it was no happiness pill either.  Sex was only one element of a
good relationship, not the bricks and stone.  If two people had nothing
else going, it was an unsatisfactory thing.

	He put the idol on the nightstand with the female-side out,
intending to admire it again when he was less tired.  Then Rob threw off
his robe and slipped under the covers.  He was dead to the world a few
minutes later.

	As the young man lay half-asleep, he dreamed he was fondling Dori's
breast; it felt larger than he remembered and when he touched Dori's boob,
he thought that he could feel his own fingers upon it.  When he opened his
blurry eyes to the early dawn's light, he saw Dori's breasts, but couldn't
see Dori at all -- just her knockers.

	"God, what a dream!" he muttered.

	His chest had begun to itch as he lay there, but when he scratched
himself he felt soft, tender mounds of flesh which were hurt by his nails.
He grimaced bemusedly; he just couldn't get out of that lucid dream about
women's breasts.  Just then his sleepy fingers went to his groin, which was
also tingling, and instead of his scrotum, he found there a wooly patch
occupying an emptiness where his well-oiled equipment had always parked.
What the hell? he wondered.  Then he understood -- he was dreaming that he
was a woman!  Kinky, he chuckled.  Rob couldn't recall ever having had such
a dream before and on impulse decided to go look at himself in the
dream-mirror.

	The nearly somnambulant Rob staggered to the full-length mirror and
wasn't disappointed when he saw a slim girl with long, soft honey-blond
curls gazing back at him.  She looked like a healthy and athletic sort of
miss, as if she swam and ran a lot -- just like Rob did himself.  Her
breasts were even nicer than Dori's -- not as big as Dolly Parton's, of
course, but they'd have done credit to Christie Brinkley.

	Of considerable interest was the reflected girl's nest of light
brown pubic hair.  Her waist was narrow, Rob noted, but her hips were
becomingly round.  Rob touched his buttocks and saw the girl's hands go
behind her also, mimicking him perfectly.  The girl's derriere felt full
and hard, just the sort of love-cushion that he most enjoyed fondling.

	The miss in the mirror smiled with pleasure.  Both fondling and
being fondled felt very good, he realized.  Intrigued by the heightened
sensitivity of his dream-body, Rob reached forward and stroked his
dream-pussy lightly, one touch of which sent something like an electric
shock shuddering through his body.

	An amazing dream, Rob thought, but one so intriguing that he didn't
want to end it just yet.  He carefully studied the girl's oval face with
its pert little chin, and if she looked familiar it was because she looked
so much like him.  The angles of his cheeks and jaw were softened by her
feminine sex, however, and they framed both a prettily turned-up nose and a
pair of big robin-egg blue eyes with long blonde lashes.  Her lips were so
full and sensual that they reminded him of pictures of his mother's when
she was young.

	The young man grinned as he sleepily considered the experience.  If
he had ever thought about what it would have been like to be born a girl,
up to now he would have dismissed it as a disaster.  But gazing into the
reflection he wondered whether it might have tolerable had Mother Nature
graced him with the sensuosity of the girl in the glass.

	Rob yawned.  Standing there had made him weak in the legs and now
he had to lie down or fall.  So, forgetting all about the strange dream, he
wobbled to the bed and was out cold as soon as his face hit the pillow.

	The seven o'clock alarm bell woke Rob fully.  He yawned and rubbed
his chest.

	Then Robert Wescott yelled in horror.
			
                          				 #

	Wrapped tightly in his robe, Rob paced back and forth across the
kitchen floor.  It hadn't been a dream!  He had actually been looking at
himself in the mirror.  Somehow -- by some incredible somehow -- he had
turned into a girl during the night!

	Things like this only happened in stupid movies, he knew, but never
in reality.  In fact, he had lately watched a weird video called SYNAPSE --
about a male-to-female brain transplant and a lot of automatic weapons
combat.  He also remembered that movie that Cassandra had once brought
home, one called SWAT or STITCH, or something like that.  It starred Perry
King, who God turned into Ellen Barkin for having treated women so
shabbily.  But Perry's character had had to die before being zapped with a
female shape and Rob knew that he was still alive -- or at least, he
thought that he was.  What had happened?  Suddenly he remembered the
statuette in the bedroom.

	Cassandra!  Now it all started making sense.  When he'd known her
she had already been getting into primitive fertility magic and that Mother
Goddess stuff.  In fact, she'd even done research among those crazy Wicca
cultists.

	Sorcery!  That was it!  Cassandra had cursed him!  She had found a
magic idol and sent it to him with a curse.  In fact, maybe she had even
used it on herself first; he wouldn't put it past her, considering her
silly male-envy.  Was there now a man named Cass wandering around?  Rob
hoped never to run into the bum -- without a gun in his hand, at least!

	"I've got to see a doctor -- fast!" he -- or rather, she --
muttered to herself.

	Rob ran back into the bedroom and threw on her much-too-large male
pants, shirt, and shoes.  The hapless young woman walked right out of her
size-twelve loafers at her very first step.

	Damn! she thought, I can't go outside looking like this.  I need
women's clothes, at least until I get to the hospital.  Maybe Dori left
some things behind that'll fit this stupid body!

	Her heart pounding in her throat, Rob rushed to the closet hoping
to find a pair of jeans and a shirt that she could wear without
embarrassment.  The closet, unfortunately, was empty, as were the drawers.
Dori didn't leave much of anything behind -- just a little cloth purse with
nothing in it but lint.  It had fallen behind Rob's tennis shoes and been
overlooked in her haste.

	Then the girl got the idea to check the clothes hamper and, as luck
would have it, Rob found an orange halter top and a pair of panties that
Dori had missed.  The clothes from the bottom of the hamper had a sweaty,
musky scent, but Rob wasn't worrying about that as she put them on.
Donning the halter was fairly easy, since Rob had watched lots of
girlfriends dressing.  But, to her annoyance, it seemed too snug to be
comfortable.  Only then did the young woman realize that she actually had a
bust bigger than Dori's!

	That only made her more anxious to get back to normal.  Rob could
have gone out barefoot, but didn't want to.  Suddenly remembering having
seen Dori's sandals under the bed a couple days back, she got down on her
hands and knees for another look.  Sure enough, they were still there; Rob
now had some footgear!

	But the bikini top and panties weren't enough to clothe her
decently.  Just then Rob recalled that pair of cut-offs back in the kitchen
and without pausing for breath she ran to fetch the denim shorts.

	With the cut-offs once more in hand, she felt a twinge of dismay.
They were so skimpily cut!  Why did Dori have to be such a bimbo?  In her
distraught state of mind Rob had forgotten just how much Dori's lack of
fashion sense had excited her as male, had made him feel proud to be seen
escorting such an overtly sexy woman.

	Realizing that she had no choice, Rob reluctantly climbed into the
cut-offs only to find that she had to exhale hard to get the snaps closed.
Apparently her remolded hips were a size or two wider than Dori's, who was,
admittedly, somewhat boy-like in outline.  So now, if the shorts were tight
on their owner, they were less than a second skin on Rob.

	Having dressed as completely as possible, Rob still felt like she
was standing around in underwear -- and girl's underwear at that!  The
panties, not designed to be worn with such skimpy shorts, showed.

	Exasperated, Rob stuffed the visible hems up under the tight denim
and then went to get her wallet and keys.  As she fumbled them out of the
drawer, she realized that the pockets of her shorts were much too tight to
serve their proper function.  Women always had a pocket problem, Rob
remembered, and they solved it by carrying purses.

	Resourcefully, Rob retrieved Dori's forgotten purse and stuffed the
wallet and keys inside it.  Then, as an afterthought, she put the magic
statuette in along with them, hoping that the hospital could have it
analyzed and find the antidote.  Finally, Rob hurried down to the
residents' garage, got into her Dodge Avenger, hastily readjusted the seat
forward, and started the engine.

                          				 #

	Trembling and preoccupied, Rob almost had an accident in the
morning traffic, but finally managed to get into the hospital parking ramp
safely.  Without pausing to lock the car doors, the distraught girl raced
up to the emergency room.

	"I-I've got to s-see a doctor!" she stammered to the receptionist.
The middle-aged woman regarded the girl coolly, asking, "What's the
problem?"

	"I'm under a curse!"

	"A what?"

	"A curse!  I've been changed!"

	"What do you mean you've been changed?"

	"I -- I'd rather explain that to the doctor."

	"Do you wanted to see our staff psychiatrist?"

	"I'm not crazy!  I want to see the doctor who knows the most about
breaking curses!"

	As distraught as she was, Rob realized that she wasn't making much
sense, but who else should she ask for?  A gynecologist?

	"Maybe we should start you out with a family-medicine
practitioner," the receptionist suggested.  "What's your insurance
company?"

	 "Metro Group Health," Rob answered, then dug deeply into her
wallet to find her medical services card.

	The receptionist took the plastic rectangle from her shaking hand
and immediately frowned.  "This card is for Robert Wescott."

	 Rob thought quickly.  "Ah, he's my husband.  We have the family
plan."

	"No you don't.  This card says `individual only.'  Do you have any
other means of paying, Miss?"

	She wanted to scream, to shriek to the world that she was Robert
Wescott -- but who would believe that a pretty girl wearing an overstuffed
halter and a pair of flirtatious cut-offs had a grown man hidden inside
her?  Anyway, people were watching, listening and Rob didn't want anyone to
know who she was; it was just too humiliating.

	The blonde checked her wallet for cash.  She -- then he -- had
shown Dori a good time at dinner the night before and there wasn't more
than a few dollars left.  "I've got a credit card," she gasped.

	The receptionist took the card patiently, but again had to scowl.
"This is your husband's, my dear.  We can't accept your card unless you can
prove that you're really Mrs. Wescott.  Do you have a picture ID?"

	Rob was so distressed that she wasn't thinking at all well.  She
fumbled inside her wallet again, saying, "Sure I've got a driver's
license!"

	She found the license and shoved it down in front of the woman.

	The receptionist sighed wearily.  "No, Miss, we can't use
Mr. Wescott's license.  We have to see yours."

	"I guess -- I guess I forgot it," Rob mumbled hopelessly.  Now she
was getting frightened that in another moment they'd be accusing her of
having stolen some man's wallet and trying to use his health plan and
credit card illegally.  If questioned by a policeman, what could she say?

	"I hope you can get home without being arrested," the receptionist
remarked.

	"What?!" Rob cried out, as if her mind had been picked of its
darkest nightmare.

	"I mean, you don't have your own license on you.  Drive carefully."

	 Rob shuddered as the horror sank in.  She couldn't prove who she
was, but still had to get help.  If she didn't get a vaccination for this
terrible condition soon, it might go too far -- and might even become
permanent!

	"Can't you put me on welfare, then?  I -- I'm terribly sick!"

	The receptionist took another look at the naughtily-clad and very
messed-up, waif, suspecting that the little blonde was on drugs.  Well,
that would be nothing new; every year the emergency room got hundreds of
cases of people who had put all their money into their arm or up their
nose.  They were a terrible burden on the system, but they had to be taken
take care of, even if the taxpayer had to foot the bill.

	"All right honey, we'll see what we can do.  What's your name?"

	"Ah -- R-Rob --"

	"Excuse me?"

	"Ah, Bobbi!  -- Bobbi Wescott."

	"What is your Social Security number, Bobbi," she asked carefully,
trying not to set the distraught girl off.

	"I'll find it," Bobbi stammered as she looked for her card, but she
stopped suddenly; it would have the Robert Wescott name on it, too.
Showing it would just compound her problems.  "Please, I don't need any
more questions, Miss.  I need help!"  She began to sob.

							#

	Finally Bobbi got to see a doctor.  Like the receptionist, he
suspected drugs and checked for them carefully.  While he did so, Bobbi
tried to explain her transformation as calmly and clearly as possible, but
only convinced the physician that she was delusional.

	Finding nothing physically wrong, he at last prescribed Valium and
made her an appointment with a hospital psychiatrist.  By that time Bobbi
had steadied herself enough to appear rational to the untutored eye.

	Upon leaving the hospital, Bobbi realized that medical science
couldn't help her, because scientists didn't understand magic.  She guessed
that she would have to see a witch instead.

	But how did one find a practicing warlock? she wondered.  They
didn't advertise in the phone book, or did they?  There was an occult book
store downtown, the girl suddenly remembered.  Maybe she could ask the
clerks there for a lead.

	Bobbi drove home without mishap.  She just wanted to get into bed,
to cover up her head and cry herself empty.  Much to her surprise, the
apartment door only opened a couple inches; the security chain was set.  As
she shook the door in frustration, Dori peered at her through the crack.

	"Dori!  You're back!" cried Bobbi.

	"You're damned right I'm back!" Dori snarled.  "Who in hell are you
and what are you doing with Rob's key?"


	"Damn it Dori, I live here!"

	"What do you mean you live here?  That bastard sure didn't waste
any time replacing me, did he!  Well, I'm going to fight for my man!  Take
a hike, bitch!"

	"No, Dori, you don't understand!"

	Dori was opening the door.  "I understand, all right, you little
tramp!  Rob thinks you're moving in with him but he's got another thing
coming!  Give me those keys!  You'll stay in this apartment over my dead
body!"

	Dori shoved Bobbi hard against the wall and grabbed at her keys,
her strength seeming incredible!  Being manhandled by a sleek girl so
shocked Bobbi that she defended herself so poorly that she couldn't even
prevent the keys from being torn from her nerveless grasp.  Then Dori
stormed back into the apartment, slammed the door shut, and threw the dead
bolt.

	"Let me in, you stupid slut!" Bobbi yelled through the panels.  "At
least give me back my car keys!"

	"Your car keys?  They've got Rob's name on them and they're for his
Dodge!  Get out of here, or I'll call the police!"

	Bobbi slumped back against the wall, overwhelmed.  Locked out of
her apartment, her car keys lost, having almost no money and barely
dressed, she realized now that she didn't even have an identity.  The girl
suddenly grasped that her problem wasn't just facing life as a woman, it
was a matter of basic survival -- food, shelter, clothing!

	She shuddered.  What a heartless revenge Cassandra had taken!
Sure, Rob had told her that he had had his fill of her nutty ideas; sure he
had ordered her out of his life -- but this reprisal was too extreme.  It
was like shooting a person in the heart for lifting someone's potato chip.

	Black despair overcame the young woman and a ghastly image flashed
before her inner mind -- herself standing on a high bridge ready to jump,
hopelessness and horror clawing at her, death and darkness waiting up
ahead.

	I don't want to die, she thought desperately.  Jim!  He's my best
friend.  He'll know who I am!  He'll help me!

                          				 #

	The door to Jim's apartment opened to her knock and a face that
wasn't Jim's appeared, smiling pleasantly.  "Well, hello!  What can I do
for you?"

	Bobbi recognized Rona Spears.  In fact, she knew that this had
always been Rona's apartment before Jim moved in with her.

	"Am I glad that somebody's home!"  Bobbi jabbered.  " -- Listen,
I'm Bobbi, uh, McGee, a friend of Robert Wescott.  I wanted to stay with
him while I'm visiting the city, but, uh, he's not in town.  So I thought
about Jim and you.  Rob said that you were such good friends.  Is it okay?"

	Rona sized up the girl; yes, she looked just like the type that
would interest Rob Wescott.  In fact, maybe his taste was improving; there
was a natural charm to this young miss and the businesswoman sensed a
vulnerability in Bobbi McGee that evoked something sisterly from deep
within her.

	"Any friend of Rob's is a friend of ours," she said, still smiling.
"I'm afraid that Jim is seeing clients in Sacramento and won't be back
until tomorrow night.  You can stay here until either he or Rob shows up."

	"That's great, Rona!"

	"Don't mention it, Bobbi."  Just then Rona caught the scent of her
guest's musty clothing reinforced with the perspiration of a long walk.
"Did you jog all the way here from Rob's?"

	"Yes, I wanted to save the cab fare."

	Rona stood aside to let Bobbi enter.  "Well, why don't you freshen
up with a shower?  Do you have an overnight bag?"

	"Ah, no.  It was stolen from the cart at the bus station," Bobbi
lied agilely.

	"Damn this city!" Rona commiserated.

	 					#

	A half-hour later found Bobbi resting upon a stuffed chair and
wearing a pair of Rona's jeans and a borrowed shirt; it felt good to be out
Dori's mix-and-match bimbo outfit.  The shower, too, had been restorative,
but touching her strange new body while bathing had been hard for Bobbi;
she'd kept her eyes closed through the whole process.

	Rona stepped back into the room wearing a dress suit and a string
tie.  "Well, Bobbi, I hate to leave, but I have a dinner engagement with an
important client."

	"You'd leave me here alone?  A stranger?"

	"It's obvious that you know Rob very well and something about you
gives me good vibes.  It's like I've known you for a long time already."

	"You won't be sorry," Bobbi promised gratefully.

	Left alone, Bobbi grew a little restless as the afternoon wore on.
She got up and paced about the apartment, first taking a Diet Coke, and
then making a salami sandwich.  She discovered that just one filled her up.
Maybe a smaller body meant a smaller appetite; that's good, she thought --
lower grocery bills.  Then newly-minted girl wandered over to the
full-length mirror.

	"Look at you!" Bobbi rebuked her own reflection.  "What a sight you
are!"  She folded her arms over her forward swell and cast a troubled
glance out the window.

	"How long am I going to be like this?" she mused.  "Forever?"

	Screwing up her courage, Bobbi regarded her reflection yet again
and this time she had to nod grudgingly and sigh, "You're good-looking,
I'll grant you that!"

	The young woman's curiosity at last got the better of her and she
took off her shirt, as much for comfort as for anything else.  Rona's
clothes fitted well, Bobbi had discovered, but, like Dori's, Rona's bra was
just too snug.  Impulsively, the she took it off entirely, then cupped her
bra-pinched breasts in her hands, massaging the soreness away.

	"I really grew a big crop of America's best last night," she
grinned sadly.  Were they hers for keeps or was there a way to break the
magic spell?  How long did spells last if you didn't do something to break
them?

	She tried to think of all the stories she had read about magic, all
the movies she had seen.  The Shaggy Dog had to do something brave and
heroic to become a boy again, she recalled.  The Frog Prince had to get a
princess to kiss him.  The Beast had to make Beauty love him.

	Bobbi chuckled, enjoying the idea of being kissed by Princess Di
and being restored to gorgeous manhood in her arms.  But it wasn't a
practical solution.

	The blonde put her hands on her hips and tilted her head from side
to side, observing herself from every angle.

	If I'm stuck as a girl for any time at all, Bobbi thought, I've got
to earn a living.  How, if I can't even prove I have a high school diploma.
Maybe I could become a model.  With that, Bobbi fantasized herself in a
bikini and leaning sexily against a red Nissan 240SX, or a glossy black
Acura Integra upon the cover of some future issue of SPORTS CAR.  Not much
hard work in modeling, she thought; in fact, wearing a bikini in public
would be the roughest part.  But then she reconsidered.  Those jobs were
hard to get and every model that she had dated as Rob had, at one time or
other, complained that she had had to sleep with somebody to get the really
worthwhile assignments.

	Bobbi winced.  The idea of sleeping with a man was decidedly
unpleasant, even if it meant earning a good living.  That thought led her
to wonder whether she would like boys from here on.  For an experiment, she
called up a large image of Fabio in her mind's eye only to decide that it
didn't do a thing for her.  But Cindy Crawford -- ahh, now that was a body
to set her heart strings strumming!  But could Bobbi thrill Cindy in her
present shape?  Maybe, considering some of those tabloid stories about the
supermodel.  Be that as it may, Bobbi could console herself that plenty of
beautiful girls were willing to sleep with other girls -- especially girls
like the one in the mirror.

	I need a drink, she thought, if I'm ever going to sort this thing
out.  -- Damn, what if Jim won't believe me?  Wrestling with this
disconcerting possibility, Bobbi went over to the liquor cabinet and poured
herself a Scotch and soda.

	As the girl consumed the hard liquor, she grew increasingly
depressed.  Rob had worked very hard at building a career in real estate
and now it was lost; as Bobbi she might have to start all over again.
Well, there were plenty of female realtors; the women did well in the
business, as long as they applied themselves as vigorously as a man would.

	In fact, it was at a realtor's convention where Rob had first met
Rona, and there discovered that they both lived in the same city.  The two
of them became friends from the start, but they had never quite made it
into bed together.  It was Jim's heart -- or loins -- that Rona had set on
fire early on, when Rob had first introduced them.  Pretty soon the two of
them were an item, but Rob hadn't really resented the way that things
worked out.  After all, he thought that Rona would be good for Jim and,
besides, Rob's hands were full just then with a postal worker named
Charlotte who liked to lick whipped cream off his bare feet.

	Bobbi sighed.  Those were the good old days; were they really gone
forever?  What could replace them?  The small blonde downed the rest of her
drink and then tackled a second, obsessing about how strangely and how
suddenly her fate had changed.  Was this experience some sort of punishment
-- from Heaven, not just from the weird and vindictive Cassandra?  Was it
possible that Cassandra might actually have been acting -- unwittingly --
as Heaven's agent?

	But Bobbi decided that it couldn't be.  Rob had never hurt women.
In fact, he had made more than his share of women very happy -- for a
while.  At least he had never committed the big faux pas and gotten anyone
pregnant.  That is, he never knew for certain that any of his girls were
pregnant when split-up time arrived -- and if one or two ever had been,
they never bothered to tell him about it.

	What should she do now?  Bobbi thought back to another movie she
remembered for ideas.  She remembered how a tough gang boss was trapped in
Kathy Duffy's body in a low-budget feature called SYNAPSE.  He finally
achieved a happy ending by becoming the wife of a heroic resistance-fighter
and the proud mother of a little boy.  In fact, in that Ellen Barkin movie
the heroine had had a baby, too, but then she had tragically died in
childbirth.  That was such a sad scene, Bobbi remembered -- and the film
was supposed to have been a comedy!

	Bobbi blew her nose on a napkin.  The thought of Ellen's little
girl growing up without a mother suddenly seemed so terrible that the young
woman felt awful and tried hard not to think about it more.  She finished
her second drink to steady her nerves and then considered whether she
needed yet another refill; her melancholy tipped the scales and she decided
that she did.

	A little later, staggering drunk, Bobbi wobbled into the bedroom
and clumsily wriggled out of her jeans.  She didn't actually mean to shed
the panties along with them, but they came off, too, and it didn't seem
important.

	Falling into bed, Bobbi's head struck her purse and it hurt.
"Damned idol," she muttered as she grabbed the handbag and dug the accursed
thing from it.

	Seeing the statuette again gave Bobbi an idea.  If it had changed
her once just by sleeping near it, maybe it would change her back if she
repeated the process.  "I'll just put this little doodad beside the bed
here," she slurred, "and maybe it'll turn me into a man by morning.  Fight
magic with magic!  What have I got to lose?"

	As she settled the statuette upon the nightstand, she noticed a
bottle of perfume sitting there next to the lamp.  Its label read "Magic
Midnight."  Bobbi had always loved the scent of perfume on beautiful women,
and so, with a crooked smile, she fumbled the bottle open to take a whiff.
The bouquet was wonderfully sensuous but, unfortunately, the girl's
Scotch-impaired fingers spilled the bottle on her lap -- several powerfully
aromatic droplets sloshed over her bare thighs and ran down between them.
Bobbi clumsily recapped the bottle, turned off the lamp, and almost
immediately fell into a deep sleep.

                           			#

	 Jim Cardwell quietly opened the bedroom door, whispering, "Rona?
Are you awake?"  He heard a woman's deep breathing and her wordless
murmuring.  "No, she's sleeping" he informed himself.

	The young investment broker sniffed the fragrant air, at once
recognizing his favorite perfume, Magic Midnight.  Rona always wore it to
make him hot to trot, and so, grinning with anticipation, he stripped off
his clothes and made for the pillow beside her head.

	Jim hadn't cheated on Rona since he had known her, though he'd been
sorely tempted just the night before.  His Japanese investors had held a
party at the Imperial Hotel with all the amenities provided.  Jim had let
an opportunity to make it with a high-class call girl pass because his old
free-and-easy ways had always brought him grief in the past -- and,
besides, he genuinely cared about Rona and wanted what they had to work
out.

	But his near miss with infidelity had stimulated Jim painfully and
made him very anxious to get back to Rona.  Now that he was in the same
room with her all those cravings were rushing back with insistent urgency.
He would either have to plunge into a very cold shower before bedtime, or
into some very hot action -- and a shower shaped up as a very poor second
when Rona was around.

	Sitting down, he touched the girl in the darkness and realized she
was sleeping naked on top of the covers.  Jim sucked in an excited breath
as stroked Bobbi's breasts.  In the dark they felt even larger than he knew
them to be.

	The girl stirred, but didn't wake.  Jim, trying not to disturb
"Rona's" sleep, checked her for panties and found with satisfaction that
she was wearing none.  He slipped his own briefs down to his ankles, kicked
them aside, and positioned himself on the bed.  Taking hold of Bobbi's hips
to steady them, he moved in to nuzzle her love nest, only to discover that
"Rona" had used the perfume on her pubic hair.  The little minx, he thought
-- she must have been hoping that he'd come home early.  What a woman!

	He flicked his tongue against the outer lips of Bobbi's pussy and
the sleeper shifted and moaned in response, but her alcohol-enforced
slumber was a heavy one.  Jim chuckled quietly as he moved his mouth up to
her breasts, licking the nipples deliciously, as if they had been dabbed
with honey.  Bobbi groaned once more as the delectable sensation penetrated
her deep trance.

	The young man's swollen and aching cock informed him that there
wouldn't be much time for foreplay, so he took the woman passionately into
his arms and pressed a hard kiss to her lips.

	"Whaa --?!" Bobbi mumbled as she awoke blearily and felt her mouth
and nose smothered under something warm and wet.

	"Easy, Rona.  It's Jim.  I just got back.  I need you, baby."

	"J-Jim?" the girl muttered confusedly.

	But Jim wasn't listening; he just kept on kissing Bobbi's face and
neck, using all the Masters and Johnson-approved techniques.  He opened his
mouth and captured one of her nipples between his hungry lips and sucked,
first on one and then on the other.  He delighted to feel them become
larger and harder.  Following that, he pressed his face into her smooth,
resilient breasts and smooched her with a hundred little lip-nibbles.

	"M-My God!" muttered Bobbi, her breath coming in ragged gulps.

	Shifting toward another angle of attack, Jim ran his tongue along
"Rona's" inner thighs, and coming up to the thick fleece between her legs
he touched his nose to it, inhaling deeply of Midnight Magic and the
maiden's natural woman-scent.

	As her bedfellow slipped his eager tongue between her dewy labia,
forcing it as far up her love canal as he could, Bobbi's hips involuntarily
lurched.  Then, as he drew his lingua back with teasing slowness, her heavy
gasps and shifting motion encouraged him -- encouraged him to run the tip
of his tongue all over her pussy while scrupulously avoiding contact with
her small clitoris -- a maneuver which he knew to be slow torture for Rona.

	Hearing the girl's breath catch in her throat and feeling her body
quiver, he guessed that she was now ready to be brought to an even higher
pitch of erotic ecstasy.  Equal to his self-appointed task, Jim put the tip
of his probing tongue into direct contact with her nether bud and began
flicking it back and fort -- a service that had never failed to drive Rona
wild.

	"Oh, Jim!  Christ, Jim!" Bobbi whimpered as she felt hot blades of
excitement shooting through her.

	Able to hold himself back no longer, Jim repositioned himself to
guide his rock-hard love-lance to the door of her furry aperture.  Tiny,
pulsing shocks raced through him as he shoved himself between the scented
lips of Bobbi's unplumbed maidenhood.

	"Oh!" Bobbi gasped as her virginal inner walls expanded to
accommodate his lengthy mass.  Jim was surprised to find "Rona" so tight;
perseverance stretched his foreskin back until it almost pained him.  Then
his breath caught when her vaginal muscles came to life, contracting around
his throbbing organ, trapping it in its powerful grip.  Ah, yes, he
thought-- that was his girl Rona!

	Further restraint impossible, Jim began fucking poor Bobbi with
quick, hard thrusts, his hips moved like pistons plunging into the very
depths of her.

	"Ayiiii!  Ayiii!" Bobbi cried, throwing her head back, clutching
Jim's waist with clawing fingers.  Her nails felt like blades, but Jim dug
his toes into the mattress and pumped for all he was worth -- each long
lunge driving his heartbeat faster.  After a minute he felt Bobbi's vaginal
muscles surrender to her female need -- not by any will of her own, but by
the stern dictates of Mother Nature.

	Bobbi's loins, having assumed a life of their own, frantically
milked Jim's rigid prick of his preliminary secretions while her silken
legs locked him in so tight that not even Houdini could have escaped her.

	Jim was rapidly approaching climax, but he wanted to hold back
until Rona could come with him.  To force her, he deliberately shifted to
maximize the friction upon her clitoris, the girl in his arms was moaning
with pleasure.  Now Jim could hear the loud sound of his cock sliding in
and out of Bobbi's increasingly wet vagina, while his testicles began to
ache with the undeniable need of release.

	Then his spasm came.

	Bobbi felt Jim's first jet of hot nectar christen her virgin
cervix, igniting a series of discharges deep within her.  "Aaaaiii!" she
cried out at the top of her lungs, her heels digging into his thighs and
her fingernails raking across his back as her irresistible series of
passion-quakes shuddered.

	Jim's hips went on pumping even after the last drop of virility had
been expended, until his herculean exertion flagged and he collapsed upon
her.  Somewhere from within a world of his own, the young lover heard the
girl's hot, rasping breath in his ear, felt her velvety arms wrapped around
his neck.

	Neither he nor Bobbi, the latter overwhelmed with drink and in the
backwash of release, heard the sound of the doorknob turning.  Suddenly the
light clicked on.

	"Jim!  What are you doing!?"

	The surprise on Jim's face transmogrified into pure horror when he
saw Rona's astonished face.  The innocent man really didn't know what he
had been doing; or rather, he did know -- it was only that he didn't know
whom he'd been doing it with.  Now for the first time he looked down at the
girl under him, her eyes big and dewy, her lips half-parted with daze and
astonishment.  Confusion filled those robin-egg eyes, -- and then they
glazed over as Bobbi passed out cold.

	"Who is she?" Jim gasped.  "I never saw her before in my life!"

	"Don't play innocent, Jim!" sobbed Rona.  "Can't I even let a
friend sleep over without you jumping her?"

	"So she's a friend of yours!" Jim jabbered as he sprang up and
threw a sheet over his nudity.  "Honest, Rona, I didn't know; it was dark
and I thought she was you.  She was wearing your perfume!"

	"A likely story!  I've had it, Jim!  I can't trust you anymore!  I
was such a fool!"  Suddenly she spotted Bobbi's cut-offs and halter hanging
upon the back of a chair.  Snatching them up, she threw them into Jim's
face.

	"Here, these are hers!  Get your playmate dressed and then both of
you clear out of here!  This is my apartment and I don't ever want to see
either one of you in it again!"

						#

	Once again dressed in the halter, cut-offs, and sandals inherited
from Dori, Bobbi found herself sitting opposite Jim in the booth of a small
all-night café.  Battered by a pounding hangover and fighting hard to
emotionally deal with what had lately happened, she'd been doing her best
to explain to her friend who she really was and how she came to be as she
was, all to no avail.

	Jim shook his head.  "Miss, that's the nuttiest story I ever heard!
Rob put you up to this gag, didn't he?"

	"You stupid son of a bitch!  I'm me!  If you won't believe me, then
nobody else in the world will either!"

	"Hey, calm down, honey.  Don't make a scene."

	Tears of frustration ran down Bobbi's cheeks as she rested her
elbows on the table and her face in her hands.  "God, Jim, don't you have
any shame?  You take my virginity, maybe even knocked me up, and now you're
calling me a liar!"

	"Come on -- I'll grant that you look enough like Rob to be his
sister, but you can't be Rob, magic or not.  Rob would have died before
he'd dress himself up like that.  Anyway, don't forget that I've been in
bed with you.  You're a one hundred percent wild woman -- and Rob Wescott
didn't like boys!"

	Bobbi started digging through her purse.  "All right," she growled,
"if you won't believe me, try sleeping next to the idol yourself; it'll
turn you into a girl too, I bet, and I hope somebody treats you exactly the
way you're treating me!"  She realized the instant that she touched her
purse that the statuette was gone.  "-- Hell, I must have left the damned
thing back at Rona's."

	"I'm too tired for all this crap," Jim sighed.  "Look, baby, you're
a kook, but well, there's something sweet about you and I'd like to get to
know you a lot better.  Do you have a place to stay?  We can get a room
together."

	 Bobbi sprang to her feet.  "That's enough, Jim!  You've been
rotten to me!  I thought we were friends, but you're out to lunch now that
I really need you.  I never want to see you again!"

	Jim leaned back, disappointed.  "I'm sorry.  We could have started
something beautiful."

	"Oooo!" Bobbi exclaimed as she stalked away from the table, but
then, with an expression of utter hopelessness, she stopped in her tracks.

	"Did you forget something, baby cakes?" asked Jim.

	"For Pete's sake, Jim, I -- I'm penniless.  I can't go home, and
the streets aren't safe at night for a -- a woman.  I just don't know what
to do anymore!  I might get raped or killed!  My life is over."

	Jim was starting to feel very uncomfortable, even guilty, but the
events of the night had made him cranky and very angry with women as a
class.  "Look, kid, I don't want to see you go away empty-handed.  I almost
dropped a bundle on a girl in Sacramento last night.  I guess it only fair
that I give you what I would have given her since well, you know what I
mean.  I'd say I owe you about a hundred."  Jim opened his wallet, took out
five crisp twenties and laid them on the table.

	Bobbi looked at the money with horror and repulsion.  "Are you
calling me a whore, Jim?  Is that it?"  She stared into his eyes with such
a look of hurt and betrayal that it made him cringe.  "Why, Jim?  What did
I do to make you think that I was a whore?"

	Jim saw her weaving, as if she might fall over, but she caught hold
of the back of the chair and began again: "Cassandra did something very
cruel to me, but with a little help and some trust from you I could have
bounced back.  But I can't bounce back from this, Jim --" her voice
cracked.  "-- not ever."

	Jim shifted in his seat, not knowing what to say and not wanting to
injure her more.  Bobbi McGee was looking down at the money, her tears
falling on it like warm summer rain.

	"I'd throw it back in your face," she whispered, "but I need it.
God help me, I need it."

	Jim dropped his glance, embarrassed.  "It's yours -- Miss.  I'm
sorry.  I didn't mean --"

	The girl straightened.  "I know what you meant!"

	Bobbi picked up the money as quickly as she could and then fled out
the door.  Left alone, Jim drank deeply of his coffee, dazed by all the
craziness that had blind-sided him that night.  This girl, whoever she was,
seemed to be a good kid and something told him that she had deserved better
at his hands.  He wondered how he could have handled the situation
differently.

	If only his quarrel with Rona hadn't so upset him, and if only
Bobbi hadn't thrown him for a loop with that crazy story about being Robert
Wescott.  As mixed-up as Bobbi seemed to be, there was something about her
that touched him where he really lived; her sobbing departure had left him
feeling about as bad as a man could.

						 #

	Jim had never before lived through a day like the one which
immediately followed his strange encounter with Bobbi McGee.  Before it was
over, he was frantically driving around the city and anxiously questioning
the clerk of every motel, hotel, and rooming house near the cafe where he
had last seen her.  Finally, the clerk at the Balmoral was able to tell him
that a girl matching his description had stayed the night, but had already
checked out.  He could only add that she had bought a morning newspaper and
had asked him if he had heard about any unskilled labor jobs around the
city.

	Thank God she's planning to stay local! Jim thought.  He dug
through the trash for a copy of the morning edition and spent the next day
checking out every job that a girl without a past might apply for.  Some
businesses remembered seeing the scantily-clad young woman -- in fact very
few could forget her -- but none of them would hire a person who didn't
even have a library card for identification.

	Jim exhausted every possibility and for then weeks afterwards spent
a large part of each day just driving around, looking for Bobbi's face,
especially along those streets where poor working-class people worked, ate,
or shopped.  And every day of failure made him hate himself a little more
for what he had done.

	But then, one afternoon --

						#

	Working hard carrying drinks and burgers to hungry motorists, Bobbi
had gradually lost her loathing for her uniform -- the white, hip-hugging
shorts and the sleeveless, midriff-baring T-shirt required of all the
carhops at Spanky's.  The job didn't pay well, but at least it kept her
from getting drooled on by the homeless over at the free shelter, or
needing to do things even more degrading.

	It was like she had lived a second lifetime in the last few weeks.
She'd just gotten over her first period and still felt ill-humored from the
experience.  Thankfully, menstruation, as bad as it was, meant that she
wasn't carrying Jim's child and that was about the only thing she could be
grateful for, other than the mere fact of having an honest job -- however
lousy.

	Lost in thought, Bobbi tripped over a teenager who was so
preoccupied with her legs that he wasn't watching were he placed his feet.
The carhop dropped her tray of waste Styrofoam, smudged napkins, and
drained paper cups on the concrete before she caught herself.  The brisk
wind threatened to spread the mess far and wide.

	"S-Sorry, Miss," the youth stammered, slipping away without
offering to help her.  Frustrated, Bobbi started chasing after the litter
before it got out of reach.

	"I'm glad to see that you're all right, Rob!" someone said.
Startled to hear her real name spoken, Bobbi stood up, turned, and saw a
familiar Ford Taurus.

	"Jim!" Bobbi cried as she recognized the driver.  Then, remembering
what had happened the last time they'd been together, she got angry all
over again.

	"Oh, it's you!" she said, turning away and stomping back to the
serving counter; Jim switched off his ignition, got out of the car, and
pursued her plaintively.

	"Rob, wait!" yelled Jim.  "I haven't been able to sleep for
worrying about you!"  When she refused to slow down or turn, he caught her
by the arm.

	"Will you leave me alone!" Bobbi exclaimed.  "If you want a whore,
swing down that street!"

	"Rob, don't.  I've been going crazy thinking about where you might
be.  I've been watching for your face everywhere, calling your friends,
visiting the shelters, checking the hospitals -- reading the obituaries."

	"Hey, you're calling me Rob!  Do you finally believe me?"

	"I had to believe you -- after I saw what happened to Rona."
	"What do you mean?"

	"She went to sleep next to that idol that you left on her night
stand -- and she turned into a guy!"

	"Oh, no!  Poor Rona!"

	Jim squeezed his friend's shoulder.  "It wasn't so bad; she got
used to it in a few days.  We became great buddies, and we liked the same
sort of women!"

	"Rona had to change sex in front of your eyes before you'd believe
me?" Bobbi asked sarcastically.

	"I'm sorry for the way I treated you, Rob.  Can you ever forgive
me?"

	Bobbi scowled.  "What if I don't?  Maybe I should keep you on a
guilt trip for the rest of your life."

	"Maybe you should," Jim nodded grimly.

	Bobbi's look softened and she gave him a punch in the shoulder.
"Screw that!" the blonde said.  "You're a fourteen carat bastard, but what
the hell good does it do to carry a grudge?"

	"Great!" cried Jim as he threw his arms around Bobbi.  Suddenly,
realizing what he was doing -- and who he was doing it to -- he let go.

	"Sorry."

	Somewhat nonplused, Bobbi smoothed her hair.  "Forget it.  I've
been needing a hug for a long time."

	"A hug?  I'm so glad to see you that I could kiss you.  Get in the
car.  I'll take you out of here."

	"Where are we going?"

	"You can stay with me."

	"With you and Rona?"

	"No.  Rona -- I mean `Ron' -- has taken off.  He met this girl
whose father owns a chemical-products plant out East.  Actually, they've
known each other for years and were best gal pals, but when they got
together as a man and a woman, this strange chemistry took over.  They
dated, slept together, and pretty soon Ron popped the question.  He even
admitted who he really was, and she not only believed him but liked the
idea!"  Jim shook his head.  "Women are so weird.  I told Ron that he
shouldn't jump into a hasty marriage, but --"

	"Marriage after only one month as a man!  Jeez, I wish I could
adjust that easily -- not that I want to be anyone's wife."

	"Well, you'll feel a lot better once you're back among friends."

	"Friends?  What friend did I ever have, except you?  Oh, I had
acquaintances, colleagues, and even lovers, but not friends."

	"Make new friends, then!" he urged.  "Start small and build,
right?"

	A horn honked; a customer needed service.  "I have to get back to
work, Jim.  Come back for me at seven and I'll go with you."

	"Seven?  Why?"

	"I get off then."

	"Rob!"

	I can't run out on Spanky's on such a busy day.  In fact, I'd
better give them a couple days' notice so they can find a replacement."

	"Are you heat-struck?  You don't have to give notice to a root beer
stand!"

	"I think I should, Jim.  The managers practically saved my life
when I showed up here.  The only other job offer I had was from a pimp
downtown.  I didn't have any identity and even though they thought that I
was an illegal alien the Spanky's helped me anyway.  I owe them."

	Jim lifted her chin and gazed understandingly into her eyes.  "You
were always a great guy, Rob Wescott.  Now you're a great gal.  You just
keep getting better and better."

	"Rob Wescott's had it," Bobbi sighed.  "You'd better get used to
calling me Bobbi McGee."

                         				  #

	By the end of the weekend, Bobbi's carhop career lay behind her.
The next few days had been full of settling in and busy planning.  The two
friends were now to be found sitting on the carpet, taking a needed break,
a deck of cards between them.  Bobbi was wondering whether she should risk
her twenty cents on just one pair of kings, or go for an outside straight.

	That first night at Jim's apartment he had asked her very seriously
whether she had any plans and she had returned an equally serious look.

	"There's a lot more to this curse than we thought, Jim," Bobbi had
confided.  "I have this compulsion that's been eating on me and eating on
me."  She covered her face in her hands.

	"Bobbi?"

	"I can't fight it any longer.  Whatever you think, whatever the
world thinks, I just have to give in to it.  I hope you'll still be able to
respect me."

	"What do you mean?" asked Jim with a wrinkle in his brow.

	She peered out from between her fingers.  "I have to become a
French maid!"

	Jim eased back, relieved.  "That's good," he nodded thoughtfully.
"Terrific working conditions, great benefits, lots of demand; -- in fact, I
could use a little French maid myself.  There's this really saucy uniform
in one of Rona's lingerie catalogs -- lacy panties, short-short skirt, and
an itsy-bitsy five-layered petticoat.  You'll love it!  I'll love it!"

	"Then wear it yourself, sucker!"

	Jim laughed.  "I think you're going to be all right, Bobbi."

	"I'm not going to let this thing beat me, that's for sure," the
blonde declared firmly.  "Cassandra probably wanted me to commit suicide,
or become a drunk, or a druggie or something.  Well, she's not going to
have the satisfaction!  Surviving is the best way to get back at her."

	 "You can do it, too, -- and I'm going to help you.  As I see it,
what you need most right now is a solid identity."

	 "Yeh, I know.  How do I get one?"

	"You can be Rona!"

	 Bobbi looked up bemused.  "Rona?!"

	"She and I talked the idea over, just in case we ever found you.
She left all her old documents with me for you to use -- in fact, she left
everything, except her money."

	"She'd do that for me?!"

	"Rona was a little excitable, Bobbi, but a great -- person -- at
heart.  And she always did like you as Rob."

	Bobbi concurred.  "She even liked me as Bobbi McGee, until she
thought I'd double-crossed her.  But how can I go around as Rona?  People
knew her."

	 Jim shook his head.  "She wrote all her friends and told them that
she was entering a reclusive religious order in Europe and that she
wouldn't be coming back.  That took care of one angle.  -- Better yet, she
doesn't have any close relatives to check up on her."

	Bobbi considered the possibility carefully.  "It could work.  Rona
and I were both in the realty business and I could apply for jobs using her
resume.  But it still might be smart if I moved to a different city."

	"If you do that," Jim began carefully, "would you mind it if I came
along with you?"

	Bobbi had looked at him amazed, as if seeing her friend with a new
set of eyes.

	 					#

	"Two," Jim called suddenly, bringing Bobbi back to the present.
She peeled a couple cards off the deck and tossed them across.

	"I'll stand," she told him.

	Bobbi had thought a lot about Rona's hasty marriage.  Incredible --
Rona had become a straight guy in just a couple of weeks, but even after a
month Bobbi still wasn't sure where she stood.  Maybe this business was
harder on guys than girls.  Bobbi had been fighting off a growing
attraction to men like Custer fought the Indians, and losing.  Things had
gotten so bad that even Cindy Crawford didn't do anything for her anymore
-- and she was trying hard not to think about Fabio.

	But perhaps, Bobbi thought, she should stop resisting.  Obviously,
Cassandra's magic could change the body -- and it had become that it also
affected the emotions.  Maybe the witch herself hadn't fully understood the
power of the idol, that the wound it inflicted actually carried its own
healing.  Bobbi smiled to herself, realizing that Cassandra's revenge would
always be a hollow one.

	Would Bobbi want to be a man again if she could?  Yes -- in a
minute!  It would have been an incredible relief to take refuge in what was
safe and familiar.  Rob had had a routine, a past, he was working toward a
future.  He'd been able to take comfort in the familiar things.  Now those
familiar things were gone, and Bobbi suspected that they would not be
coming back.  But what lay ahead?  That was the question that kept her
awake at night.

	Bobbi was pretty sure that she could not recreate the female
equivalent of Rob's bon vivant style.  It wasn't just the physiological
obstacles; events had changed her heart even more than magic had changed
her shape.  She simply had no more taste for promiscuous adventuring.

	All thse weeks Bobbi had kept to her little rented room near
Spanky's, drinking bitter loneliness to their dregs.  She had finally
grasped the fact that, though she had had many lovers as Rob, Rob had had
no love to speak of.

	Why? she had wondered.  Was it because Rob had failed again and
again to truly give of himself?  Had the idea of commitment terrified him?
That had to change, the young woman vowed.  She couldn't remain an
emotional hermit; she had to be a part of life, not excepting the
commonplace and risky parts of life.

	A new body, a new identity, a new job, a new style, even a new sex
-- this had to be a good time to make some serious rearrangements.

	Bobbi looked up at her companion realizing that she had begun to
feel very differently about Jim.  She had been deeply touched by his
efforts to locate and to save her, but it was more than just that.  Bobbi
had started to enjoy his company -- no, his nearness -- in ways that she
had never enjoyed being with a man.  The sound of Jim's voice, that cocky
expression in his hazel eyes, even the knot in his necktie, all stirred her
like only the beauty of a girl had done in the past.

	The young woman watched her comrade as he pored over his cards.
Her mind had gone back many times to that night when she and Jim had made
love.  At first she had recoiled from the memory in horror, but, over the
course of empty weeks, the thought of it had started to bring an impish
smile to her lips.

	But what was she thinking?  Her with Jim?  That was nuts!  They
loved one another, powerfully and in so many different ways, but they never
could love one another *that* particular way -- could they?

	Yet, Bobbi couldn't forget Rona's courageous -- or crazy --
decision.

	`Best friends' -- what a loaded phrase that was.  For some reason
the Frank Sinatra song that she had heard on her last night as a man came
back as if in solution to her dilemma:

	"The simple secret of the plot,
	 Is just to tell them that I love you a lot.
	 Then the world discovers as my book ends,
	 How to make two lovers of friends."

	No!  That was simply crazy! Bobbi thought.  It would be much
smarter, if she had to get involved with a male, to pick someone -- anyone
-- other than Jim, -- somebody who didn't know about her past, someone who
didn't carry around all that baggage of bygone associations, someone who
wouldn't have formed his ideas about her when they were still engaged in
skirt-chasing camaraderie.

	But Jim and she, Bobbi knew, had so much in common: sports,
politics, music -- as well as that indefinable trust that allowed two
friends to tell one another absolutely anything.  Maybe what the pair of
them had had would form a good foundation on which to build something new.
But what?

	To his credit, Jim had been cleaning up his act lately remaining
loyal to one girl while Rob had been going though more than a dozen.  Could
Jim be faithful to one person for the very long haul?  Could she?  Bobbi
had begun to acquire a new respect for loyalty and consistency.  Now again,
like she had so many times lately, she started to wonder whether the two of
them --

	 Damn!  She had to stop thinking that way!  Oh, this man-woman
business was so confusing!

	Suddenly Jim passed his hand in front of her eyes. "Earth to Bobbi.
This is Houston.  Are you reading us, Bobbi?"

	"Sorry, Jim.  I've got a lot to think about."

	"I guess you do.  It must be hard coping.  -- What's it like, being
a woman?

	Bobbi shrugged.  "I'm still on the first chapter, buddy; I'll tell
you the secret of the plot when I'm a little deeper into the book."

	"Maybe you could write a book of your own!"

	"Maybe I could."

	But how would the book end? Bobbi wondered.

	"I wouldn't like reading the part about what we did together.  It
must have been pretty bad for you, right?"

	Bobby tossed away her cards.  "Don't keep beating yourself up about
that, Jim.  If you'd like to know, I wasn't so drunk that I couldn't have
said something if I'd really wanted to.  Even while it was happening I
guess I was thinking that it was -- well, sort of interesting.  And I stuck
it out because I wanted to know how it was going to develop."

	 "I knew it!" crowed Jim, at once happy and relieved.  "A man can
always tell when the woman is loving it!"

	"Yeh, I guess we can," nodded Bobbi in automatic agreement; she had
been thinking along those lines for so long that old habits were hard to
break.

	"By the way Jim," she suddenly asked, "what did you do with that
idol?"

	"Oh, that.  Rona and I tried to use it turn her back into a woman
that second night, but when that maneuver didn't work, I put it into a
safe-deposit box.  I hope nobody falls asleep inside the bank vault."

	"I'd have smashed the thing -- or sent it to a politician that I
didn't like!"  Then she added with a naughty laugh, "Hey, we could have our
first woman president!"

	"You're not thinking clearly, buddy.  That idol might be valuable
someday, especially if I can find a rich, frustrated transsexual.  In fact,
why sell it at all?  Just rent it out a night at a time and make a lot of
rich people happy.  You know - doing well by doing good."

	"Hey!  If you're going into business, I deserve a cut of the
action!  It's my statue!"

	"You've got it, Partner!" Jim extended his hand.  "Shake on it?"

	Bobbi's blue eyes met Jim's hopeful expression enigmatically.
	"You know," she said, "in the old days men and women thought it
uncouth to shake hands together."

	Jim lowered his hand with just a trace of frown.  "Yeh?  What did
they do?"

	"I could demonstrate."

	Tonight Bobbi was wearing a pair of old yellow pajamas bought for a
dollar at the second-hand store.  Earlier that evening she had been
tempted, if briefly, to try on one of Rona's bustiers or camis and give Jim
a jolt.  But clothing always sent a powerful message and Bobbi still hadn't
decided what sort of message she should be sending to her old friend.

	Gritting her blue-white teeth in resolve, the young blonde began
unbuttoning her pajama tops, watching carefully for Jim's reaction.  The
latter sucked in nearly all the air in the room when she flipped her top
open.

	"Oh, Bobbi," Jim said with a dry swallow, "don't do this to me.
I've been going crazy trying to keep my hands off you, and every day it
gets worse."

	She smiled, if rather tightly.  "Did I ever ask you to keep your
hands off me?"

	"I'm not made out of brick, but -- but are you sure --?

	"I don't break easily," she promised with a hint of pride.
"Doesn't what I've been though prove that?"

	He still hesitated, which left time for doubt to weaken Bobbi's
resolution.  "I'm not much of a seductress," she thought with a wince as
she glanced down at her dumpy get-up.  Now she was wishing that she had
worn one of Rona's skimpy little outfits instead -- better to shop at
Frederick's of Hollywood instead of Goodwill from here on.  Youth doesn't
last forever," she thought; "it's best to enjoy it to the hilt while one
still can.

	Bobbi looked up at Jim again.  He still seemed unsure of what
exactly was expected of him.

	"What am I doing?" Bobbi asked herself.  Where could this nuttiness
go?

	At that moment Jim reached out and Bobbi, recognizing the
misgivings in his lightly-tanned features, took the hand in hers. The
gentle pressure felt good and when she realized that Jim was still
reluctant to push things off dead-center, Bobbi shifted closer and pressed
her mouth to his -- only to be surprised by with the sandpaper-texture of
his chin and upper lip.

	How strange stubble felt to one used to the silken faces of girls!
While she didn't find it an appealing sensation, she resolved to get used
to it - along with a great many other new things.  After all, hadn't Rob
been extremely unimpressed with pizza the first time he'd tried it?  Some
tastes are of the acquired kind, and the weeks ahead would certainly be
educational.
	Fortunately, Robert Wescott had always been a quick study.  Maybe
that was why Bobbi McGee was brimming with confidence.


				  THE END