The park is in dire need of a full-time jack-of-all-trades handyman to keep things running. The big problem will not be finding someone qualified, but finding someone who will accept the required changes...

This story was published earlier on the TG Fiction group and on FM. It should help understand some of the backgrounds of the characters and of the Beach.

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Bikini Beach: The Handyman

This story is copyright by the author. It is protected by licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

"Damn!" The old woman cursed again as she slammed the phone down.

A shapely young woman looked up sharply at the noise and the curse. "What is it, grandmother?"

The old woman mouthed an even more profane curse, and sighed. "Those idiots want seven hundred dollars to fix the pump! If that's not bad enough, they can't do it until next Thursday." She glanced out the one tiny window of her office, gazing for a few moments at the artificial mountain and the water slides. Only two of them were occupied, and the lines were backed nearly to the bottom. The others were dry, deprived of their water supply by a broken pump. "Look at that, Anya! Those girls are spending all their time waiting in line, not having fun! I need that pump working — today!"

Anya looked out the window and grimaced. Summer was here — with a vengeance, and the park was busy. But the customers weren't supposed to be waiting in line. If this kept up, some of them would not return to the park. She turned back to the old woman. "Can't you just" she waggled her finger knowingly, "you know, fix it?"

The old woman frowned. "Of mechanical contraptions, I know nothing. If I don't know what I'm fixing, how am I supposed to fix it?"

Anya plopped heavily in a vacant chair. "There's got to be something we can do." She scowled. "If we just had a handyman working around here…"

The old woman narrowed her eyes. "You know I'd never let a man work here in …." She stopped suddenly, her eyes lighting up with an idea. "Anya, dear, you've just given me an idea!" She picked up the phone and began to rapidly dial.

**********

"Just what the hell were you thinking?" The fat man was very angry, judging from his beet-red complexion, the tone of his voice, and the way he was chomping on the stub of his cigar. He was seated behind a dingy desk, in a tiny dingy office. Overhead, the ceiling fan stood idle, primarily because the fat man was too miserly to turn it on despite the near-100 degree weather. As a result, beads of sweat trickled down his brow and cheeks, adding their tiny bits to the enormous sweat stains on his dingy shirt. "Do you know how much that cost me?"

"But Mr. Walker," the other man protested weakly, "Mrs. Johnson had a heat stroke last year. Without that air conditioner, she might have died. And the new baby in 2B…"

The fat man leaned forward menacingly. "Listen, pinhead! I don't pay you to coddle those leeches!" His tone betrayed the contempt he held for his tenants. He leaned back, lifting his hands behind his head. "You're fired."

"But…"

"Fired! And I'm taking the cost of that AC unit out of your paycheck! Now get your stuff and get out of my apartment!"

The stunned man picked up his cap, and with a last glance at his now-former boss, shuffled to the door, closing it gently behind him, more from habitual good manners than from respect for the fat man. Jim Michaels slowly walked down the stairs and shuffled the two blocks to the bus stop. Around him, no-one took any notice. No-one ever did. Jim Michaels was about as nondescript as you could get. It was as if the world didn't even know he was there.

As he eased his wiry frame down onto the hot bench, he began thinking about his future. Here he was — a single man, almost fifty, with no formal schooling, no skills, and now just an unemployed jack-of-all-trades. This last job had been a godsend — or so he'd thought - super of an apartment building. That sounded good to Jim.

What a naíve fool he'd been, he chided himself. He'd grown up on a small farm, isolated from the sophistication and bustle of a large city. It had been good training for a handyman, a jack-of-all trades who was as handy with wiring as with plumbing, one who could fix nearly anything with baling wire and spit. But then farm prices headed south, while land values skyrocketed. A lot of family farms collapsed, including his dad's. So suddenly, Jim was severed from his agricultural roots, thrust unprepared into a cold cruel world.

Jim watched as a man set part of a paper on the bench, and noticed it was the want ads. "You mind if I look at that?" he muttered. The other man grunted an acknowledgement — without bothering to look at Jim. Such was the culture of the inner city. No personal contact with strangers.

As Jim flipped through the ads, he was still thinking about what had happened. At eighteen, he'd enlisted in the Navy. A few years bobbing around on an aircraft carrier in southeast Asia, perfecting his skills in fixing things mechanical. Then he left the service, branded unfairly as one of 'those' veterans of the Viet Nam experience. An attempt at earning a college degree provided nothing but frustration and failure. And so Jim got the first of his several jobs. Since then, he'd bounced from job to job, staying one step ahead of economic distress. Jim learned to sense when an industry was about to tank, and he'd move on before he was handed a pink slip.

The last job had seemed so promising - super of an apartment complex. Hmmph! More likely keeper of a flea-ridden, rat-infested slum. And working for that slum-lord, Mr. Walker! The fat, arrogant, uncaring SOB!

Jim decided he'd better get his stuff from his apartment before Walker stole it. That'd be just like the bastard — fire him, kick him out, then steal his possessions! As he stood to board the bus, still trying to read the paper, he almost missed the tiny ad. But fate gave Jim a break. He spied the few lines of type, buried among the myriad of ads for more-skilled jobs. Wanted: handyman. Skill in mechanical and electrical repairs. Heavy plumbing experience a must. Generous salary, excellent benefits. Call 888-555-4321.

Jim's eyes lit up. This sounded too good to be true. Quite probably, he assumed, someone had already answered the ad. But Jim needed to try. He'd call as soon as he got to his apartment. With a renewed sense of purpose, Jim fairly bounded onto the bus.

**********

The parking lot was very large, full of cars, giving testament to a very successful business. Jim gulped, trying to quell his nervousness, then steeled himself. The ticket window grew larger with every passing step, bringing him nearer the ticket booth, to his appointment with the owner, toward a possible job. He was sweating, more from nerves than from the oppressive summer heat.

Jim stood behind a couple of girls in the line, wondering why he was supposed to meet the owner here instead of in an office. For the tiniest of moments, he noticed the girls in line — attractive and shapely young ladies such as you might see on any college campus. But Jim was too distracted to gawk.

"May I help you?" The voice called a second time.

Jim started, aware that he hadn't been paying attention. "Um, I think so." He stared up into the booth, at the attractive young brunette smiling at him. "I'm supposed to meet the owner…"

The brunette's smile broadened. "Oh, yes. You must be Jim Michaels. Grandmother is waiting for you." She pointed, and Jim followed her gaze. "Past the turnstiles, at the small gray building. Go in the door and press the intercom button. Grandmother is expecting you." She smiled. "Although I don't think she expected you to be early."

Jim nodded and tried to smile. "Thank you," he muttered. The gray building was impossible to miss. Jim pushed the intercom button, as directed.

"Yes?" The voice sounded tinny, almost mechanical over the cheap intercom system.

Jim cleared his throat. "I'm here for a job interview," he said meekly.

"You're early." Jim started to feel uneasy at the comment, but the voice continued. "That's good. When you hear the door lock click open, come on in."

Jim waited and waited, but heard no click. Finally, the door opened. Jim's eyes tried to adjust after the bright sunlight, while he stepped slowly into the office.

"I'm sorry about the door. Damned thing isn't working." The old woman shook Jim's hand, and gestured for him to come in. As the door shut behind him, Jim's eyes finished accommodating to the lower light. The old woman stepped around her cluttered desk and slumped heavily into her chair.

Jim felt his heart sink a bit — this old woman was short and overweight, which reminded him of Mr. Walker.

The old woman gestured for Jim to sit. "Oh, don't worry, Mr. Michaels," she said with a grin. "I'm not a greedy slumlord." Jim felt his jaw drop. How had she known? The old woman just smiled more. "Now — let's talk about your background and why you think you're qualified to work for me."

Jim was only about halfway through his background when Anya burst into the office. "Sorry to interrupt, Grandmother, but we've got a problem with the number one pump again."

The old woman swore under her breath. "Again?"

Jim saw an opportunity when it presented itself. "If you don't mind, ma'am, I can have a look at it." When he saw the stares from the old woman and Anya, he swallowed. "Well, I figured that there's not much better way for you to see what I can do…"

A smile crept across the old woman's face. "That sounds like a good idea," she agreed. "Anya, I'll take Mr. Michaels out to the pump house. You mind things up front, okay?"

Anya nodded and gave Jim a curious smile — like she knew something that Jim didn't. Jim followed the old woman, who surprised him with her agility and speed. Jim felt a lot of eyes on him as they walked through the park. Lots of young women's eyes. He felt a bit self-conscious, and momentarily wondered why there were no men present, but he had a job to do.

The pump house was well concealed from the guests, and consequently, rather hot inside. Jim whistled at the situation. One pump was partially disassembled — the cause of the old woman's ad. Jim swore under his breath. "Not a fucking clue…"

"I beg your pardon?" the old woman asked.

Jim gulped. He'd forgotten that the woman was there. "Well," he began meekly, "whoever was looking at this didn't have a clue what he was doing."

The old woman frowned. "What do you mean?"

Jim shook his head. "The motor casing is torn apart, which is good if it's an electrical problem. But if it's electrical, why the hell is the pump housing opened up? And if it's in the pump, why mess with the motor?" He shook his head. Then he looked at the other non-running motor. "I take it this one is the problem?" The old woman just nodded. Jim didn't see the smile on her face.

He stepped over to the motor and gave it a quick look. Two or three hundred horsepower, 3-phase, 440 volt. Nothing special to Jim; he'd worked on these before. Slip coupling to a centrifugal pump. Jim guessed the pump inlet was an eight-inch pipe. This was a heavy-duty setup that would move a _lot_ of water - if it were working.

Jim touched the motor gently and pulled his hand back, cursing. "Damn, this is hot!" He checked, and found the motor had reset itself. "Heat overload - which means that either the phases are unbalanced, or the outlet pipe has a clog, which is loading the motor." Jim traced the wires to a breaker box, and found one breaker was tripped. "Hmmm…" he muttered to himself. He touched the breaker, and recoiled from it. Too hot. Overload on one phase — or the breaker itself was faulty.

Jim rummaged in a toolbox and retrieved a screwdriver. While the old woman watched, Jim opened the breaker box. When it was open, he tripped the main breaker off, and then pulled out the hot breaker. To the old woman's surprise, he pulled out another breaker and inserted it where the hot one had been. Then he turned the main breaker back on.

With practiced precision, Jim reset each of the three operational motors, bringing their pumps back on line. Then he did the same for the failed pump. He smiled to himself as the pump motor hummed into action. After a few seconds, he touched the breaker gingerly. It was cool. He turned to the old woman, who was looking at him with a mixture of admiration and puzzlement. "This pump has been tripping the breaker a lot lately, hasn't it?"

The old woman nodded slowly. "So what is it?"

Jim held up the failed breaker. "A little too much arcing. The contacts are probably pitted and burned. Too much resistance. That's why the breaker got hot. And that unbalanced the load on the motor, which is why _it_ got hot." Before the woman could say anything, Jim continued. "Look, if you'd like, I can have a look at this other pump. Maybe I can get it back in service."

The old woman started to say something, then smiled and nodded. "Whether we agree on your employment here or not, I'll pay you for the work you do. When you finish up, you can use the locker room to clean up, and then come to my office."

**********

Jim was feeling pretty pleased with himself. Not only had he repaired the first pump, but he'd found the trouble with the second pump as well, and it was back in service. Well, it would be when he could get a new breaker in. After the old woman had left, he'd stripped off his shirt to help with the heat of the pump house. Still, he was very hot and sweaty, so the shower really felt good. As the warm jets of water blasted the sweat from his body, he failed to notice the faint pink mist rising from the shower stall.

As he stepped from the shower, Jim felt a little disoriented. That quickly passed as he toweled himself off and pulled on his clothes. Feeling satisfied with what he'd shown the old woman, he had a spring in his step as he walked to the office.

Jim eased himself into the chair, feeling pretty good. After the work in the pump-house, it would be difficult for the old woman not to offer him the job. Absently, he reached up and brushed the hair from his eyes.

The old woman smiled at him. "I'm impressed," she said simply. "Do you want the job?"

Jim tried not to appear too anxious. "Your ad promised a good salary and benefits." He cleared his throat — somehow, his voice sounded a bit odd to his ears.

The old woman wrote a number on a piece of paper and shoved it across the table at Jim. Jim fumbled a bit — his fingernails seemed to be getting in the way, then he picked up the slip. "Hmmm," he mumbled. "Isn't that a bit low?"

The old woman shrugged. "If it weren't for the benefits, it would be. The job comes with paid housing, plus use of a company car." Jim's eyes widened at the mention of housing. The woman smiled. "The new condos next door — I own a couple of them — just for employees."

Jim shifted uncomfortably. For some reason, the chair didn't quite feel right. "That would add about …" Jim did some quick mental arithmetic, "ten thousand?"

"More like sixteen. They're luxury units." The old woman smiled. "And standard health, 401K, vacation. You'll find I have pretty generous benefits. Do we have a deal?"

Jim was almost sold. He stood, and flinched. His feet dropped to the floor, leaving him tottering, while his chest felt strange. Like something was tugging and jiggling. Still, he tried to dismiss the strange feelings. While his left hand reached up to brush the hair from his eyes yet again, his right hand reached out to seal the deal.

It was when he saw his hand that Jim finally put two and two together. It wasn't his hand. A small cry escaped his lips. "What the …?"

The old woman reached behind her desk and pulled out — of all things — a mirror. She held it up to Jim.

He gasped again. It wasn't his face in the mirror. It was a … a girl! A young, attractive, red-haired girl! "What…" He realized his voice sounded different — now he realized it sounded feminine. He glanced down, ignoring the long wavy red hair swirling around his face. Down, where the modest but perky breasts pushed from his chest, pulling his shirt tight as they bobbed and swayed with his every move. Down where the unmistakably female bosom blocked his view of his lower body. His neck craned forward, staring at the impossible. His waist — he knew that his pants should be hanging uncomfortably around his narrower waist. Where his pants should be too tight around his more rounded, more attractive tush. But his pants fit very well, like they had changed with his body. Now they were tight denim shorts, displaying the sexy curves of his smooth legs. And -—Jim gasped again — the flatness of his groin! "What have you done to me?"

The old woman smiled pleasantly. "Please sit down, Miss Michaels." Jim opened his mouth to protest, but she held up her hand. Jim's protest died in his throat, and he sat. "One of the unique features of my water park is that it's for young ladies only. Didn't you notice that there were no men out there?"

Jim's brow furrowed as he tried to remember seeing any guys. He couldn't.

"You're wondering why. It's very simple. This park is a refuge for girls who are sick of being ogled and pawed and treated like sex objects. I don't let men in." She bit her lip. "Well, I do let them in. It's just that no men leave."

Jim shook his head. "What you're saying is … impossible! You … change men into girls? How? Some kind of voodoo?" His voice rung impossible in his ears, soft and sultry and feminine.

The old woman seemed offended for a moment. "No, it's not voodoo. I do NOT dabble in that … that chicanery!" She shuddered, as if speaking of something extremely distasteful. "No, mine is simple magic."

"Magic!" Jim said scornfully, and then he bit his lip. "But … "

"You believe, don't you?" It wasn't a question.

Jim took a deep breath, sending his breasts heaving. He recoiled from the unusual sensations on his chest. "I guess I do," he finally answered.

"I don't let men work here," the old woman said. "Now about that job offer."

"But that means I'll have to stay a …"

The old woman nodded. "A woman. And the problem is…?"

Jim shook his head, sending a cascade of red wavy locks swirling around his head. "But I'm a man!"

The old woman smiled patiently. "Not from where I sit. Anyway, you are — or were — a single man of almost 50 years. Since you left the Navy, you haven't held a job for more than a year. This is that steady job you've always wanted. Plus, as an added benefit, you get back almost 30 years of life to live."

"But as a woman?" Jim's mind was swirling. The job — damn if it wasn't an attractive offer. But taking it meant becoming a woman.

"Half the population is 'stuck' being female, and doesn't seem to mind." The old woman smiled as if she could read the turmoil in Jim's mind. "Why don't you think about it, and give me an answer in the morning?"

Jim started to agree, but he frowned. "But I'm a …. How can I leave like this?"

The old woman shrugged. "The change will wear off around midnight. Go home and think about it."

**********

Jim was going to stay around his room, but for some reason, he just couldn't — he was too restless. He decided to go out for a beer. Fortunately, or not, his clothing had all changed to match his new form, so he could wear something besides the short shorts and the halter-top his interview clothes had changed into.

The nearest place wasn't the type of pub or tavern Jim usually frequented, with its nice quiet friendly atmosphere. This was a dance club. But Jim didn't have much of a choice. Without work, without wheels, he was stuck with whatever was close.

As he walked in the door, Jim sensed that a lot of the guys were staring at him. Immediately, he felt self-conscious in this sexy body. Slowly, he sauntered over to the bar, trying desperately to keep his rounder butt from wiggling, trying to avoid making eye contact with any of the guys.

"Can I help you?"

Jim glanced up at the bartender. "A beer, please." He noticed the appreciative smile from the bartender. Jim was about to turn and run.

The touch on his arm nearly startled Jim out of his shorts. "You're finally here." Jim spun, scared. His nerves calmed almost immediately when he recognized Anya. "Grandmother said you'd be here."

Jim sighed audibly. "You startled me."

Anya smiled. "Sorry. But Grandmother said you'd probably feel more comfortable if I met you here." She nodded her head away from the bar. "Come on, I've got a booth over there." She led Jim to the small booth. "If you want the job, you have to stay like this. I'd say it's a small price to pay for the opportunity."

"But … to be stuck like this? A woman?"

Anya smiled. "It's not so bad. Like Grandmother said, half the human race is 'stuck like that'. Look, you're good at what you do. You proved that today. And that skill, that talent, doesn't depend on your being in some macho, studly, male body. You can do the job." She finished her drink, and laughed as Jim gulped his beer down. "You want another beer?" Jim nodded, and started to get out some money. "No. Watch this." Anya sauntered over to the bar, and Jim saw her talking briefly to the bartender. Then she swayed back to the table. Within a few moments, a guy appeared, trying to get Anya's attention. Anya winked at Jim, and then went out dancing with the guy. After a couple of dances, she returned, to where there were fresh drinks waiting. "Look, you can use your 'appeal' to get guys wrapped around your little finger. Two dances for a couple of drinks? Who do you think got the better of that deal?" She was highly amused at her little stunt.

They talked long into the night. Jim even tried the dance-for-drinks trick, and was surprisingly pleased with himself when it worked so easily. Suddenly, Anya looked at her watch. "We've got to go," she announced sternly. "You change in about a half hour." Feeling surprisingly happy, and a little drunk, Jim walked with Anya out of the club. For his own safety, she escorted him to his apartment. They were giggling as they walked, a bit buzzed, through the streets.

**********

Jim lay awake in bed thinking. He could still feel a faint buzz from the drinks, but he wasn't really drunk. Not really. He was acutely aware of the different sensations this body was sending to his brain, but that wasn't foremost on his mind. He was thinking instead of the evening. More specifically, of how much fun he'd had. He realized, to his shock, that he'd enjoyed making monkeys of the macho little studs. He'd enjoyed being with Anya — laughing and joking and having a fun time. Formerly, he'd have been far too shy to even think about spending time with a knockout like Anya. But this evening?

Presently, Jim became aware that his body was changing. And in a few minutes, it was over. The boobs were gone. The long red hair was gone. He was back to his normal non-descript male self.

Jim was debating intently with himself. It was fun, wasn't it? Enough to say goodbye to his former life? To everything he'd known — family, friends? With a rude shock, Jim realized he didn't have any of that. His parents were gone, and his brother estranged. Friends? Jim slowly realized that he didn't have any really close friends. But wasn't the change sort of queer? That's what really bothered Jim — it didn't feel wrong! And nearly 30 years! That's what he'd get in return — almost 30 more years of life!

Jim fell asleep pondering, into a world of alternating dreams and nightmares about what he'd get himself into.

**********

Jim swallowed hard as he stared at the employment contract. Finally, he picked up the pen. With one last glance at the old woman, he signed his name. He closed his eyes, expecting some change to occur.

The old woman laughed. "It doesn't work that way. Just go take a shower in the men's locker. Oh, have you figured out what you're going to do about a name?"

Jim smiled thinly. "Anya and I talked about that last night. I think I like Jenny."

The old woman smiled. "A pretty name. Such a good girl, Anya is. So kind and helpful."

A few moments later, Jenny stepped into the boss' office. She spun tentatively, showing off her changed form. "Do I pass?"

The old woman smiled and stuck out her hand. "Welcome aboard, Jenny. It's going to be a pleasure having you work with us. Now — can you fix that door lock?"

FIN