The sequel-continuation of Thomas the Tame's "Book of Changes" where ruthless businessman and delinquent father Alex gets his comeuppance when his cunning ex-wife uses his heirloom book of magic against him by stamping out his memory in the body of the pretty little girl which he assumed to steal it back from her possession. Now grown as Alex's ex-wife's teen temptress daughter, Miranda wants to permanently erase what lingering memories of her male past with a new spell so they'll no longer bother a girl who just wants to have fun.
A sequel to Thomas the Tame's "The Book of Changes"
I very seldom dabble in magic stories, but this one long ago caught my fancy. It's a story shoehorn-composed in a very tight and harried life, so pardon any errors which I'll rewrite if too many find them blatant. This story begins immediately after the last line in Thomas the Tame's "The Book of Changes". I thank Thomas the Tame for permission to continue his story. This upload's been nip and tucked for corrections from the one on Fictionmania. It's not proof perfect, but I'll do whenever I've the time. Thanks for understanding.
This story immediately continues the last line in "The Book of Changes"
But why even bother and just go ahead and dump Alexander Summers' memories as long as I own the book? Like, they've been really pesky with the nightmares and a hassle for Mom to keep up with her lotion. Worst, they sometimes spoil it when Chuck and I are making love by making me cringe from his touch like it was dirty or disgusting.
But what really tore it was last week when they suddenly made me puke all over him while rocking impaled atop his bucking hips.
Like, why should I put up with that??
So that's why I dug the book out and ordered the ingredients from herbal and occult supplies web sites and batched up this concoction a few nights ago. I would've taken it right then but held off till I was sure Google's Latin translator translated the right spell from the Book. It shouldn't hurt since like, it won't be shriveling bones and crunching organs down to size like when Alex first turned into little me.
So I'll just go ahead and take the concoction out which smells god-awful, but after this, like there'll be no more nightmares, no more lotions, and no more ruined joy rolling with a boy.
Won't Mom be surprised that I could master the Book all by myself?
So I'll just wrap up this diary letter as the last one before my new life free from the ghost of Mom's old hung-up hubby begins.
And afterward we both can have a real laugh over it.
Swirling up from sudden nothingness.
My head was exploding.
It felt like my brain was on the electric chair with sparks arcing between every neuron, and in back of the pain flashed visions of my body writhing and convulsing on the floor. But it was fading, and like the foamy surf rolling back from a wet beach I felt sudden quiet and relief and...and...
I blinked awake a weird swirly confusion like I was assaulted by all manner of different thoughts of surprise at once. Dazed, I staggered off the floor and dropped on my bed, my bosom heaving as I wheezed as though from a race. I looked around my bedroom, bewildered by the bizarre sensation that it'd been repainted and refurnished only it hadn't.
Everything felt like that. At once intimately familiar yet somehow alien and out of place.
Like -- me...
Get a grip, man! Get a grip!
Oh My God...
My face buried in my slim hands which were still shaking then I looked in the mirror at my pale awed face.
Once being Alexander Summers.
No, not 'Once'.
I'm back -- totally!
The last hard thing I -- Alex -- remembered from totally being Alex was lying tiny on Marilyn's bed, raptly gazing a mirror at an adorable creamy white little girl in a pink top and blue shorts and frilly pink socks and blue sneakers, her snapping blonde curls draped her pillow like a golden halo and framing a rosy pudgy-cheeked face with huge sleepy blue eyes and long pale lashes held rapt by mommy's soft soothing voice while a minty fog teased my button nose and filled my lungs with hot heavy tiredness...
Sly tricky bitch witch Marilyn.
A witless surge of outrage bumped me from my daze and totally awake as Alex with crystal clarity.
"Awake"'s not the right word. I'd been "awake" as Miranda for ten years, only amnesic of the fifty years I'd lived before. I -- when I was only Miranda -- always sensed my -- Alex's -- thoughts and feelings in the back of my -- her -- mind, but they were just dormant memories as passive as the bits and bytes on a hard drive. Now suddenly they were re-energized living experiences whose older greater mass pushed my Miranda fraction off the throne of consciousness, but not without a buffeting battle for the drivers seat in the mother of all migraines.
She's -- we're -- one!!
My feathery eyelashes squeezed tight as I concentrated to stifle my alien younger rebellious thoughts. My suppressed Miranda fraction realized she blotched her attempt to erase my Alex memories and was desperately trying to buck me off, but I held on to consciousness like a bronco buster. It didn't help having the seductive hormones, glands and brain of a sixteen-year-old girl stacked against your male will and ego, and it was only the blaze of alarm at receding into a vain selfish adolescent that fired my frantic grab for any straw of an edge to override her, and I ironically and ruefully found it in her most ardent memories.
With high chagrin and appall, my desperate fresh Alex Will forced my thawed male ego to face scathing memories of sweaty fumbling tyrsts with Chuck. And with Jake. And Allen.
And Eddie and Tyrone and Maxwell, and other junior high and senior high school jocks and studs, peeling me -- panting Miranda -- before my eyes in all their strapping stud humping wonder.
O Jesus --!!
My male ego and gut convulsed and I doubled over and vehemently puked, and as I gasped and rasped I felt the other pressure on my mind draw back as though cowed by a raging beast.
"Right, you know it, girl!' I rasped aloud while wiping my lips, relieved that I at least momentarily purged the sordid teenage thoughts fighting me, but in dismay I felt like -- was -- a self-professed macho man regularly gang raped by her torrid teen tangles with the full fidelity of living each experience as my own.
O God, how can I live that down? Letting kids -- punks -- do all that shit to me, even if I wasn't in control? How can I look myself in the mirror and even think that I'm a man when I turn back?? Yet, to my dismay, a fraction of my mind wasn't just unfazed by those demeaning experiences, but craved them.
Stupid giggly Miranda's habit of fawning over all her slobbering boyfriends.
At least I'm still mostly Alex right now while my outraged male ego keeps the fool girl at bay! Sounds weird, but it didn't feel like two souls battling in my head, but rather conflicting states of mind trying to reassert themselves as ruler of my consciousness. True, I was mostly Alex again now, but I couldn't stave off my autonomous female fraction for long; I woke in foreign territory whose hormones and alien instincts were even now smothering my original core identity.
In a half-daze I staggered off the floor to the Book on my -- Miranda's -- dresser and idly leaved through its pages. Like a typical teen she relied too much on computers to do her thinking than good old fashioned research; Google's language translation was as accurate as a bi-lingual five-year-old at the U.N. It was my good fortunate that her slight error went in my favor. Her misfortune -- for now. But I wasn't sure exactly how to proceed. Just whipping up a concoction was out of the question, and exactly for what was a question too. Returning my original form seemed ideal, but oddly enough, ten years as a girl blossomed its own brand of body and gender pride too, so changing back just because I'd soft curves and firm upswept boobs and a cute blond face instead of a tall husky hairy bod now didn't feel all that critical -- in fact it felt slighting in a way, like a girl told she was an ugly bitch.
Yea, weird, but that's how it feels now. That's not to say I -- Alex me -- want to surrender life as a teenage girl, but I must grudgingly admit that right now I feel far more freshly accustomed to being a girl. Whether I'll one day fire-up enough male ego willpower to overwhelm my fresh female self-esteem and have Book and concoction at the ready to chug and chant was up in the air, and it wouldn't happen at all if she continued fighting to be top dog, though I could understand her appall at being bodyjacked.
So right now I need an immediate solution before my Miranda fraction returns like a beast in the night creeping closer to a dying campfire to undermine me, and before Marilyn got home and sniffed something different about me and checkmated me with some spell from a copy of the Book I'm certain she had. I couldn't even run away somewhere safe until I tempered this inner teen trying to tug our mind's steering wheel from my grasp.
I paced the empty house, straining to steel my defrosted mind over a flailing child's while desperately pondering a solution, and as my old reflex mindlessly reached for the old ashtray on the mantle I startled at a plucked chord of memory and wild hope.
It felt eerie watching yourself on your shrink's office VCR, sitting prim and stiff on the coach in my -- Miranda's -- most 'conservative' dress which was my -- 'her' -- seldom worn Sunday ensemble, your deep blue glassy gaze tracking Dr. Jain's stubby finger before they snapped and your pale feathery eyelashes fluttered and your eyes looked up with nonplused wonder before politely smiling as he turned off the vidcam. Then the session log tape ended.
Ejecting it to hand me, Dr. Jain said, "As your father will see, you responded exceptionally well. Though I must say, you exhibit remarkable willpower to undermine Miranda so powerfully, Miss Summers."
"'Randi', please??" I sweetly requested with a coral-glossed smile in my best French accent which must've worked by his badly veiled ogling of my unteen poised demeanor, and I was pretty sure he mostly taped this session to assure me and 'dad' that he hadn't messed with my Barbie bod while I was deep under. "I'd good reason to, Dr. Jain; I don't want to wake up late out in a bar when I'm supposed to be at church choir rehearsal again!" I answered "Now, just to be sure, Dr. Jain, you blocked Miranda from taking over my mind anymore, right?"
"Well, I have to admit that I've never seen an as well-developed multiple personality as Miranda outside a fugue in my whole career, Miss -- er, 'Randi', but I believe I've fortified your subconscious will enough that hers won't subjugate yours for the time being, though you might sense her thoughts and feelings lurking in the background like a tiger in a cage. Understand, my -- forte in disassociated personality disorder is rather limited."
Of course! Being a habit-breaking shrink rolls in way more mula than clinic cases!
"Oh no, you've done well, Dr. Jain. I feel better already, so Daddy will be thrilled!" I related with renewed confidence now that I wasn't buffeted by my Miranda mindset for conscious control. It was a good thing Jain never thought of interrogating my stabilized Alex mindset or else he'd REALLY think I was a freak!
"So how's your father doing, Randi?" he curiously inquired. "I haven't seen him over ten years! Last I heard he was kidnapped by terrorists!"
I lightly laughed. "If that happened to daddy, you could be sure you'd heard from Mom, right??" I chaffed, knowing he'd heard the wild rumors flying way back that Alexander Summers had been embezzling and flown the country. True, I'd been ruthless and underhanded and even unscrupulous in my day, but robbing was beneath my dignity.
"Actually, daddy came to Switzerland to support me through my multiple personality treatments at the convent, but lately he's become so disappointed with their results that he decided to fly me all the way here just to see you. That's why I have my suitcase with me, fresh from the airport! Daddy wanted to come along too, but he's been having all these meetings about some secret government contract stuff, you know?"
"Yes, he always was a very busy man, Randi. I'm pleased he has that much faith in my help. I hope my anti-smoking treatment worked well for him."
"Believe me, Dr. Jain; a good drag is the least thing on his mind right now!" I replied and his brightened smile erased his looking at me if at a rich man's discreetly ensconced schizo bastard. That was alright. I was used being called one.
After an hour at a cybercafe I picked up a Western Union moneygram from my Swiss account for several thousand dollars then celebrated my new freedoms with a royal dinner at Applebees -- minus the wine the waitress refused me. I had the Book and my original personality back (along with the juvenile memories of another) in a fresh new bod to go another seventy or so years, which was a no-brainer keeper since immortality unfortunately wasn't in the Book.
By now Marilyn knew I -- Miranda -- wasn't home, but she'd just assume 'I' was capriciously spending the night with a boyfriend again before calling the police by noon tomorrow, and by that time I'll be in Honolulu. I didn't use any of Miranda's traceable plastic and all I needed was a student i.d. for the plane which I'll burn soon as I landed in paradise and cab over to my former corporate retreat's North Shore bungalow where the locals will just shrug at seeing another exect's stashed secret mistress being shacked up. There, with the internet and my Book at hand, I can finally relax and start forging a new life.
My all too intimate memories of watching my child/"sister" being corrupted with the passive consent of her mother humbled me of my past transgressions as a MIA father. Still, even as I knew I shouldn't feel so, but I wasn't going to miss Katie one wilt since she'd grown one conceited gold-digging tramp whose predatory promiscuity not only scored other girls too, but even her own victim-protegee sister, whom she also coached at sacking schoolboys since seventh-grade. Grimly recalling those appallingly sick episodes with and by my own daughter churned my gut and raked my soul even more than knowing the smallest lurid details of Miranda's teenage trysts, and made me wish I'd gone ahead and swapped the birth control pills in Katie's drawer for Tylenol.
As for Marilyn, I can't even begin to express my contempt for hers -- and my insane stupidity for allowing her to cast a spell on me for any reason. I'd never ever find myself behind the eight-ball in business or society like that, so I chalked it up to the infantile gullibility of my kindergarten mindset at the time. God knows I'd never been an angel, but I'd never used the book to injure anyone in leaping to the top. In fact, all my spells were self-inflicted and never touched another living thing; At most my -- corporate rivals, lost promotions, stocks, or reputations, but never their minds and souls.
Like Marilyn's 'loving' kiss of death on my kiddie forehead for Alex's soul even while she was laving my chest with her insidious mystic goo to smother it.
No, Marilyn had to pay one day when her guard was down, and it wasn't just my deeply wounded masculine pride getting back. I shudder to think that Marilyn is sure to pass her certain scans of the Book on to Katie, and just for that reason alone its legacy obliged me to devout much of my life to becoming a virtual sorcerer of its most arcane spells and incantations to counter anything Katie's haughty vicious personality might evoke upon the world. Even Miranda's lurking mind-shadow, with the clarity of Alex's 'outside' perspective and arbitrary morals, concurred that notion with a shiver, much to my relief.
You'd think our "merged minds" would end up a blended consciousness but oddly it wasn't quite that way, rather it was like Miranda suddenly woke with a whole new batch of older memories which overwhelmed her mind with its own self-awareness which regenerated my return to full consciousness. In a sense, my mind had "morphed" from Miranda's which itself was "born" from my original amnesic self, and what remained of her were voiceless urges and feelings shadowing my thoughts like a ghost. At least Miranda was still somewhat "conscious" in my head; Alex was totally frozen out when she was in the drivers seat!
Still, my Alex self-esteem and ego wasn't that cocky about my dominance since it was in peril on Miranda's home court in a female body with gender identity molding glands and neurons and instincts. Given time, my Alex-self was doomed to dissolve in a bath of estrogen and maternal instincts evolving back into a smugly seasoned triumphant Miranda. Naturally my male ego was alarmed, but intellectually I also know out of sheer practicality that I'll have to accept more of my girly Miranda instincts and wiles to successfully live in her world's age and sex until my self-esteem was content and flexible enough to even think of returning as Alexander Summers or even a man. But that didn't mean I'd totally lost some old virile impulses.
Like gazing the smoky mirrored wall across from my table at the pert poised blue-eyed coral-smiled chick curving out a Sunday outfit where wavy golden tresses roiled over a nicely rounded bodice above sleek crossed silken legs...
It was only a few moments after I drew a panting breath did I realize that I was and blushed at my wild impulses.
It was as though I was ogling my own reflection the same way I once ogled women, only it was both wistful and titillating in a weird narcissistic daughter-incest way, and ironically it didn't help my struggling male ego any by taking Miranda for a looker. Then, I -- when just Miranda -- was never modest about recognizing and exploiting her knockout assets to get my -- er, her way, and it just might come in handy in finding a new stepladder boss or drooling partner, just like my earlier stint as a much less endowed female to bag a rival, only not so temporary.
I like the sound of that! Way more distinguished than that Mirnada-soothing compromise 'Randi', especially since that fraction of my mind wasn't hassling me anymore. Besides what serious firm hires anyone named 'Randi'??
Alexanda Winters. Lady C.E.O.
Why not?? 'Tween these looks, the Book and my seasoned guile, I could even surpass my success as Alex! As a shrewd businessman I intimately knew the chumps and suckers men were while Miranda's precocious nymphette wiles sure knew all too well how to manipulate them!
I inwardly grinned in wild titillation as the blond siren across from me cutely pouted like Marilyn Monroe then dropped a shy angelic kid look that'd turn the Pope into a pedophile.
With sass and skills and looks like that, I'll make my first million before I'm twenty, easy! Yea, I'll miss strutting my six two frame and eight-inch junior, but sashaying a curvy young foxy bod is the ticket to a whole fresh game, and passing Alex's torch on to Alexanda to win again doesn't bruise my male pride at all!
Save one or two pukey exceptions I can totally do this girl thing!
After all, I'm my own daughter now, right?
Miranda's impulsive girly giggle escaped my sly chuckle, and far from smarting my male ego it sounded kinda cute coming from me.
Someone shoved into the bench next to me and before I could even turn to see who, a face practically slammed into mine and arrogant lips clamped over my gasp of surprise while hefty arms twined me to pulled up against him.
WHAT THE FUCK -- ??!!
Even as I cringed trapped under the brazen kiss, the chicklette back of my mind instantly sensed who it was.
The same prick who -- who --
My pried mouth and male ego bridled to recoil and slug back, but the impulse was reined back by shock and by the rush of Miranda's swoony awe just in time before his wet sharkish grin pulled back. Maddeningly, confusedly, my dismay felt my well-rounded bodice thump beneath my stifled smirk while my male ego flared with chagrin. Still, Jain did a good job of tempering my freshly melded mind from spitting out the bastard's vile saliva and wiping my wetted lips to instead face the prick with Miranda's fool giggily smile.
"Chuckie! Like, what are you doing here??" I Miranda-twittered, trying not snicker at her default ditzy Valley Girl twang.
I loathed this smug junior jock's guts, yet my plump bosom was thumping high as a kite. It was rather dismaying to see how Miranda's smaller cut of my experience and conscious could so briefly totally counteract my will and feelings, yet I was grudgingly thankful here because I would've tore Chuck into a bloody pulp. Maybe for Miranda it's a heavenly experience, but for me, vividly remembering spurting pricks being jammed and pumped and humped in me ten ways to Sunday for hundreds of times was the absolute insult and unforgivable trashing of any real man's soul.
Ironically, that I still felt so vehement about it in Alex's state was kind of a relief.
But I can't afford to get into trouble now! The police will haul my pretty ass back to that witch Marilyn, and I and any second chance escaping will be royally screwed!
My mind strained to keep from retching at his fondling paws and to rein Miranda impulses back from dragging me along with her pubescent desires. Sad for me to admit like a bimbo's dad, but while Miranda was a polished teen temptress, she wasn't all that bright in the common sense and reason department, so it was fortunate that my greater mind largely took over her intellectual faculties if not her more primal emotional ones.
"Oh, just checking out the chicks!" Chuck gibed, leaning to nibble my tender ear, and despite my cringing male core, I felt tickled to giggle while struggling not to indulge Miranda's habitual giddy thrill as he moved in for a deep French kiss while groping my plump marshmallow bosom...
My mindless arm pulled to shoot up to slug him but he grabbed it high like I was coyly faking a slap and effortlessly pulled it down.
This Barbie bod's weak as a damn kitten!
I can't take it! Sorry!!
I was about to violently wrest myself away when he broke off, grinning like a smug cat. "Hey, babe, why so uptight?" he asked. "What you all dressed-up for? A funeral? Hey, what's the suitcase for? Running away from home with me or what?"
I smirked, and despite myself, felt my fiery ire mellow into a weird demure simmer gazing back at his grinning mug with shimmer instead of a blaze.
Miranda's damn estrogens must be basting my male ego like a Thanksgiving turkey! It's bad enough I -- she -- can't ever get enough of this prick, but her damn fluttery feelings are going scramble my wits at time when they've got to be sharp! Like, this dickhead can blow my whole plan! Chuck sticks to me -- er, Miranda -- like mated mayflies, and she never refuses him because he's also her best sugar daddy-in-training so I can't just shake him off or grab a cab to the airport or appear different to him without his wondering why leaking it to Marilyn in a cell call. The last thing I need is for L.A. or Honolulu customs to grab me on the threshold of freedom!
Think, Man, think, while you're still mostly one upstairs!
"Well??" Chuck prodded, and frantically rifling ideas, I turned my hot face and lightly shrugged.
"Uh, yea. Like, kinda. I'm -- I'm like, going to my cousin's place to see his grandma at the hospital for a couple of days. She has, like, melanoma, you know?"
"Melony huh? Oh. Uh, sorry about that..." Chuck said with specious jock comprehension and sympathy, but at least he dropped his grubby arms. "Uh, is there anything I can do for you?"
Yea -- put a .45 'tween them teeth smile and pull!
I faced Chuck with a cute cloy smile holding back gnashing teeth. "Er, like, as a matter of fact..."
End of Part 1?
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