True Wishes - Better Nate Than Evel

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Santa always grants True Wishes made on Christmas Eve...even if it takes a decade or two.

True Wishes

Better Nate Than Evel

by Donna Lamb

 

Not everyone has had the experience of waking in a strange room with no memory of how one got there, but I had had it often enough to make up for several tee-totaling families.

The radio scratched some Christmassy ditty about Rudolph killing Grandma under the Star of Bethlehem right into my brain. And I felt sure someone had stabled a whole herd of murderous caribou in my mouth. I squeezed an eye open, seeing nothing but pinkness. Too bright pinkness.

I wanted to groan but I couldn't get enough air, some humongous weight pushed me down, trapping body, legs and one arm under a warm mass. I couldn't be sure that the anvil resting on my neck had any reality but I sure couldn't move it. Besides those discomforts, I felt the urgent need to piss, or maybe throw-up first. Certainly one, then the other.

I heard someone snoring nearby. Like, right behind me, with hot, raspy breaths almost in my ear -- a chainsaw gnawing through my skull. "I'll never drink again," I whispered. "Or at least not mix champagne, brandy cordials and tequila on the same night."

I struggled against the weight. Sharp, shooting pains from my bladder told me that I had had better ideas. "Help!" I managed to gurgle.

The mass holding me down stirred. Seizing the chance, I sidled out from under, almost falling off the bed. I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming when I realized who had been laying on top of me.

I knew his name, Nathan Charles. Twenty-seven, youngest, newest lawyer in the firm of Bildegung, Otercshalot and Schmuzzel. Muscles once used to win football scholarships perilously maintained by four times a week trips to the gym. Brown-gold hair thinning a bit on top, but scattered liberally everywhere else. Grey eyes, back patio tan, regular features except for a diagonal scar across his nose from a helmet-yanking incident. Big knuckled hands with a talent for keyboards that surprised even himself. Six feet four-and-one-half inches tall, even if his college football programs had listed him as six-foot-six.

I knew him so well because up until a few hours before, I had been Nate Charles.

I shook my head trying to convince myself that all of this must be a dream. Blonde hair tumbled in my face and sympathetic vibrations made my tits wobble on my chest. "Oh God," I whispered. I looked down. A naked slender female body with prominent, if not overlarge, breasts. A narrow waist and wider hips and long, lean but shapely legs. I could see the top of a well-trimmed dark blonde bush. "God no," I prayed. "I'm Evel?"

Evelynne Baker, at nineteen a top-ranked fashion model, had partied hard at the Christmas Eve bash down in Rosarita Beach where it was legal to serve booze to a teenager. Evel, as she was generally known, had ditched her current boyfriend, New Zealand actor Paul Von Prudhoe, and at practically the last minute had latched onto Nate Charles. Me.

We'd ended up back in a hotel room in San Diego where I vaguely remembered us making clumsy, drunken, romantic efforts that tapered off into sodden sleep. I distinctly remembered being the one with a dick, though.

I looked up at the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Except, that now I was looking at Evel. "What the hell did you do to me, you bitch?" I asked my reflection.

A sudden pain in my bladder caused me to make a break for the bathroom itself. I checked quickly for external plumbing but realized immediately that I would have to sit down to piss. "Somebody's going to pay," I muttered. Maybe I could sue the hotel, I thought while I struggled with toilet paper and the unfamiliar job of wiping piss off my pussy.

I felt absurdly close to bursting into tears so instead I got mad. I'd totally forgotten about the attempt to persuade myself that I was only dreaming. "Damnit!" I squeaked in Evel's ridiculous soprano.

"You through in there?" Nate's voice rumbled from the bed.

"You're awake?" I tried to stride out of the bedroom and loom threateningly over him but I think I managed a scamper and a glare.

"Jeez, you're cute, even when we're both hungover," he said, looking up at me from under long golden eyelashes I had never noticed before. He winced, possibly because moving his eyeballs seemed to hurt.

"Don't change the subject," I snapped.

He rolled over on the bed and sat up, forcing me to dodge backward to avoid his big feet. We were both naked and he had a piss hard-on that seemed to fascinate him. For some reason, I kept looking back at it, too.

"You're me, and I'm you," he observed. "Is that your preferred subject?"

"How the fuck did this happen?" I squeaked.

"Gotta go piss," he muttered. He stood and marched into the bathroom then looked at his --my!-- dick with a bit of bafflement. "How do you pee standing if it's pointing up like that?" he asked.

"Carefully," I snarled. "And raise the damn seat first!"

He chuckled. "Yes, dear," he rumbled, smiling. He bent to lift the ring then grabbed his dick and pointed it at the bowl, wincing a bit.

I turned away. Seeing him handle my former possession like that made me feel very weird.

"Um," I said.

He made splashing noises the way only a man can. I ground my teeth and waited.

"How do you...?" he began but finished with a pleased, "Oh," and a chuckle.

Before I realized it, he had come up behind me, reached around and tweaked one of my nipples. "Ah!" I felt both nipples go hard and somewhere inside me, something warm stirred. He pulled me against him, all hard muscles and scritchy, hairy skin, and -- eight inches of dick pressed against my lower back.

"Did we ever manage to do it last night?" he rumbled, stroking my breast with one hand and my lower belly with the other. About a foot taller than me, he could practically rest his chin on top of my head.

"N-n0," I stuttered. I pushed ineffectually against his enclosing arms. If I'd really tried, maybe he would have let me go, but part of me actually wanted to see what would happen next.

"Happy Christmas," he said into my ear before he picked me up and turned me around.

I gasped. He seemed so strong, almost scary, but I knew he wouldn't hurt me. How did I know that? "Let me go!" I squeaked.

He sat me down on the bed and stood back. If I'd known how good I looked naked would I have ever worn clothes? "You're not going to...?" I asked.

"You were certainly willing last night, and so was I." He chuckled then looked down at himself where the evidence of how he felt rose like a sexy snake. "Looks like I'm still willing, how about you?"

I squirmed. My nipples were hard, my pussy hot. If this was a dream, why not? If it wasn't a dream, well, either I was crazy and not responsible for my actions or...or what? "I've got a headache," I whimpered. Well, I did.

He laughed. "Never stopped me," he said. "You're scared but I can assure you, that body isn't a virgin."

The one-eyed snake had me hypnotized. It looked so big, so huge, how would it ever fit inside me? I shivered and squirmed. I knew for a fact it wasn't that big, not much more than a handful, one of his hands. It would take two of mine to hold it and what would that feel like?

He leaned down, resting one big fist beside me on the bed, his other hand went behind my head and he oulled me into a kiss. A kiss like nothing I'd ever felt before but I knew what to do and I found myself kissing back, putting my arms around his neck. I put my hands there to keep them from going somewhere else.

"Let's take a shower together and do this right," he whispered.

I nodded. I wanted him bad.

* * *

Later we lay on the bed, my tiny new self cuddled in his arms. I felt safe, happy and so satisfied with myself and the world that I couldn't believe it. I had come five or six times but instead of being drained of energy, I felt charged up. Sex as a woman had some definite advantages. He, on the other hand had begged for a rest.

"I'm limp as a sleepy kitten -- all over. How do men stand it?" he murmured. "That is so intense, like being electrocuted."

"Huh?" I said.

He chuckled. "You want more, don't you?"

"Please?" I said, a little ashamed of being so eager.

He put one hand between my legs, lay a leg over both of mine and grabbed my wrists in his other hand. His beardy cheek lay against mine and I shivered. "Wanna bet I can make you beg me to stop?" he whispered.

"No? Sure. I mean..." I had no idea what he might do. His fingers found a spot, my little button folded into the top of my pussy. He didn't touch it but massaged the flesh on either side. I moaned softly and tried to reach his arm with my mouth.

"Bad girl," he said. "I know you, you bite." I turned my face to his and we kissed.

"I do?" I said. "How do you know?"

"You're me, I'm you," he said. "And I know what you want me to do." He did and he did it. I came so many times I lost count completely; it's hard to know how to count them anyway when they seem to last for hours.

We did several more things than just finger-banging but finally, we both fell asleep.

* * *

A growling noise woke me up. Again, I lay trapped under a massive weight but this time, I knew who it was. I used the nails of my free hand to pinch him on the wrist, "Nate, wake up! Your stomach is growling and it's scaring me!"

"Ow," he said mildly. But he rolled away from me and sat up on the bed. "You're right," he said with something approaching wonder in his voice. "I'm hungry."

I cocked an elbow and leaned my head in my hand, looking at his beautiful back. "You sound surprised."

He turned to look at me. "Well," he asked, "are you hungry?"

"Uh, no," I said.

He nodded. "You're a model, remember. Eating is not on your agenda."

I shrugged. It didn't seem important. "Why don't you call room service? I could drink some juice -- or, or maybe some yogurt." Yogurt? Well, it sounded doable.

He laughed but reached for the phone. The amount of food he ordered sounded disgusting so I escaped to the bathroom to do my business and take another quick rinse in the shower. Then I found my purse and got my comb and brush out to fix my hair. I'd begun the job before I realized how odd it was that I knew how and had automatically started doing it.

Nate came in, handed me a robe from the back of the door then did his business. "Let room service in while I shower, will you, Evie?"

"Okay," I said. "Hey, I thought my nickname was Evel?"

He grinned. "Only for people who don't get to fuck you," he said.

I giggled, thinking that somehow that worked out to a compliment but for the life of me, I couldn't see how. While he showered, I pulled on the robe, belting it automatically right-over-left then I went to explore the hotel room, or suite really. Besides the huge bathroom and the bedroom I was already acquainted with, we had a front room with desks, a couch, a small dining table and big French doors.

I opened the windowed doors to find a balcony over the bay, which bay I wasn't sure. I frowned, wait a minute, why didn't I know what I was looking at -- Nate had grown up in San Diego. But the view of the sailboats, the harbor and the cityscape distracted me and the breeze off the water felt chilly but inv--invig--exciting. "Merda!" I muttered, knowing full well that it meant "shit" in Italian -- and that Nate didn't know any Italian at all.

I sighed and sat at the little glass table on the patio. I really am Evelynne Baker, I told myself. I've been a model since I was thirteen, I spent two years in Milano and a year in London with stops in Paris, New York and Tokyo. I've got an apartment in Manhattan I share with my mother who's my manager. I frowned again. Something about my mother.

When room service knocked at the door, I fully expected someone else to get it before I remembered that Nate was taking a shower. When I opened the door, an older Asian lady looked at me and said something that might have been "Room Service." I stood out of the way and motioned her in.

I thought about having her put it on the balcony but even San Diego is a little too cold for outside dining on Christmas Day so I pointed at the small dining table. I watched while she sat things out, scooped up a carafe of cranberry juice and a glass and retreated to the couch. The tart juice tasted just like I expected it too, though I couldn't remember if Nate ever drank the stuff.

The serving lady handed me the tab and I scrawled, "Evel," across it in the complicated swoops and swirls of a well-practiced signature. I even added a tip to the total since I didn't have any money in my purse, I'd already looked. I got a grunted, "Happy Christmas," when I handed the tab back and wished her the same.

Nate came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his middle. "I could eat a bear and give him the first bite," he declared. I giggled; I'd heard that somewhere before but I couldn't remember where. I watched him eat for awhile, he really had an amazing appetite. At one point he came up for air and pushed a carton toward me, "Yogurt," he said.

I tasted it. "Peach," I said and made a face.

He rolled his eyes and shrugged. "What do you weigh?" he asked.

"Forty three kilos, um, ninety something pounds," I said.

"You knew that, huh? And see, I didn't," he looked a bit puzzled. Then went back to eating.

"How did this happen, Nate?" I asked him.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I've got a theory. My grandma --uh?--" he paused to try to work out whose grandma then gave up and went on with the story, "Grandma Charles had a story she told at Christmas, about Santa granting wishes made on Christmas Eve. But they had to be True Wishes, whatever that meant."

"Did you--did you wish you were me last night?"

He shook his head then paused to gnaw on a pork chop bone. "No," he said, "but I remember back when I was five and I saw how many presents my sisters were getting that I wished I were a girl, too."

"Wait a minute," I protested. "Grandma Charles? And you were a girl when you were five. Weren't you?"

"Yeah, but now I'm remembering with your brain," he said. "You want some coffee?"

"Is it expresso?" I asked.

"Nope," he said.

"I'll pass. You mean you can remember being me as a little kid?"

He shrugged. "Partly, it's all kind of jumbled. What do you remember?"

I blinked. I hadn't even tried to remember anything. I thought about it for a moment then sat straight up so fast I almost spilled juice on me. "Merda! I'm supposed to meet Mommy in the Hotel Coronado lobby at one!"

He grinned. "Relax, Evie. This is the Hotel Coronado and it's only 11:30."

"It is?"

"Sure." He pointed at the logo on the carafe of coffee. The script was so fancy I wasn't sure what it said. "We might even have time for a nooner," he added with a slow grin.

I felt my nipples crinkle up a bit and giggled. "That I remember," I said.

Just then, one of our cellphones went off and we had to hunt to find out whose phone was ringing.

It was mine. When I answered, a voice I knew instantly demanded, "Where are you?"

"Mommy, we're not meeting for almost two whole hours," I said, annoyed at how whiny I sounded.

"You're not with Paul, so where are you? You're not in our room," she ignored my protest.

"I'm in the hotel, with, uh, with Nathan Charles."

She was silent a moment. "That lawyer from Bricklewood, Oscaruta and Schlimazl? Well, I hope he was a good fuck, child. You've probably screwed up your chances with Paul and he might have helped get you into movies."

I blushed. Had my own, Evel's own, mother said "fuck" to me on the phone? "I duwanna be in movies," I mumbled. "I'm a model not an actress. I'd look like a stick of wood if I had to say lines."

She sighed. "Well, at least he's photogenic, bring him along if he'll come --or if he has any left in him-- you'll look better for the cameras on the arm of some good-looking young stud." I blushed again.

"One o'clock, sharp, mind," she added. "And Happy Christmas, baby girl."

"Um, Merry Christmas, Mommy," I said. She hung up. Cameras? What the heck was up with this afternoon meeting, anyway? On Christmas Day?

Nate looked at me over his coffee, clearly amused. "You call your mother, 'Mommy?'"

"Well, um? I mean, she's your mother and you must have called her that?"

"I guess I don't remember," he said. "But I do remember that she's a...." He stopped. "I better not insult your mom."

I frowned at him. "Okay, she can be a bit bitchy -- but she called you, 'a good looking, young stud.'" I grinned. "And she said I should bring you to our meeting this afternoon."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Okay, I'll go." He had covered up the rest of the several breakfasts he had ordered from room service.

I licked my lips. "In the meantime, was something said about a 'nooner?'"

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Comments

egg-celent

well done story, went over easy! loved the yolks!

will there be a second helping?

i hope so!

True Wishes - Better Nate Than Evel

Don't know which is sillier, the title, or the title. LOL.

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine
    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

fascinating

To borrow a word from that pointed eared green guy!

"We" are amused!

So, let it be written

So, let it Be Done!!
(Yul Brynner)

Konichiwa

Interesting

So that's how you get pass knowing how to do all the girl stuff? Just let Santa take care of it!
Santa sounds worse than the post office if it took 2 decades for his gift to get there!
hugs!
grover-

Bildegung, Otercshalot and Schmuzzel?

Wow! What a name for a law firm.

WE know what his true wish was -- from age five -- to be a girl, but what is her's. From how she reacted to her mom's call, the model stuck in his body felt manipulated by her mother -- sounds like mom is a modern version of a stage mother. Was her wish to be her own person and/or to have her mother's love and respect and not this manipulative bitch persona?

Nice start.

John in Wauwatosa

P.S. Better Nate then Evel? Oh the pain! Ack, attack of the killer pun!!

John in Wauwatosa

Nice Start

I see this is number 1. That probably means there is more coming. This is good so far, and could stand alone. It does have a lot of potential for more plot, sub plot, and various contortions of each.
It seems curious that they start to forget their own memories and assume that of their new host body. If that is the case then the switch is negating itself and will shortly be back to where they were the night before. Even they will know no different. Would that make it a non-switch or a switch-switch? I suspect we will just have to wait and see what you lead us to in number 2.
20 years? How could either of them remember making a wish, a minor detail, 20 years later. I am lucky to remember outstanding highlights of that long ago.

Thank you for sharing this fun story with us.

Nice story!

Oh, this one's fun. The blended memories left me a little confused, but I presume that's the idea. I like the first person viewpoint, also. It seems to make it easier to 'get into' the story that way. (That's why I wrote mine that way.)

The name of the law firm left me giggling through at least a third of the story.

Thanks for such a fun story. I agree with you and many others; I'm glad I'm not a judge for the contest. It would be way too difficult.

Hugs,

Geronwyl
_______________________________________________________________________
Some realities are limited by what we sense, others are defined by what we dream.

Some realities are limited by what we sense, others are defined by what we dream.

Where's Part 2?

Part 2 got ambushed by another story tonight, sorry about that. But I promise to have it done before the contest ends, not that that will be the end of the tale of Nate and Evel.

Thanks for the kind comments, everyone. ;)

-- Donna Lamb, Flack

-- Donna Lamb, ex-Flack

Some of my books and stories are sold through DopplerPress to help support BigCloset. -- Donna