When a developer decides to build a high-rise condo right next to the park, Grandmother may have met her match.

This story was originally posted about 2000 back on FM and the TGF group.

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

Everything about Ronald Harris screamed of power — his clothes, his facial expression, his speech mannerisms, his choices of words. And Ron Harris enjoyed his power. Particularly like now, when another of his plans was coming together. Even surrounded by construction workers and vehicles and equipment and noise, there was no doubt that Ron Harris was the power behind it all. Even looking silly in his Italian suit and yellow hardhat, Ron Harris was power.

The job site itself was the source of pleasure to Ron. A prime plot of land, abutting a relatively new recreation establishment. Even though the high privacy fence shut out the views of the neighboring property, Ron knew what it was. He made it a point to know. And that knowledge, coupled with his plans for his job site, were the source of his wicked grin. For Ron Harris, despite his 52 years, his modest stature and modest appearance, was a first-class lech. Ron Harris had learned to use his power to ogle, eye, leer at, attract, use, and eventually discard young women - lovely young women. The type of women that the neighboring property advertised as its clientele. The type of women who hung out at Bikini Beach. The money and power were a lure, dangling before the sweet and innocent young ladies, ensnaring them in his net to be his pleasure toy for as long as they amused him. After that? Well, what they did after he discarded them wasn't his concern. To him, the girls were just playthings — temporary amusements to be enjoyed and thrown away. And on his newest property, from the penthouse apartment, he would have a great view of Bikini Beach and the young lovelies who frequented the establishment. Fresh pickings, at least until he bored of the scenery here and moved his lecherous ways to a new venue.

Amid all the noise, a much larger, more muscular man was shouting to make himself heard. Though the man physically dwarfed Ron and could have crushed him like a bug, he was also clearly subservient to Mr. Harris. Like Ron, the man wore a hardhat. But that's where the similarities ended. This man belonged at this job site, amidst the noise and confusion.

"Mr. Harris, we've slipped another two days," the foreman shouted again.

Ron let himself be dragged back from his fantasy. His frown told the entire tale. The news didn't make him happy. "Further behind than last week?" His tone was menacing.

The foreman frowned, but stubbornly held his ground. He'd dealt with Ron Harris on many building projects, and didn't keep his job by being a sheep. "I've lost six crew this last week alone."

Harris scowled. "Hire more. I want this project done on time, or ahead of time."

The foreman sighed. "Skilled workers aren't easy to find, or cheap. Not in today's market."

Harris dismissed that thought with a wave of his hand. "Let me worry about the money. You get the men on the job so it'll be done in time."

**********

Ron walked arrogantly to the ticket booth, and melodramatically displayed his annoyance at having to wait in line. Finally, he was at the window, a smug satisfied grin having settled onto his features.

"This park is for members and guests only. Do you want a guest..." The old woman finally looked up to see Ron Harris, and stopped her canned speech. "What do you want?"

Ron clucked and wagged his finger at the old woman. "Ah, ah! That's no way to talk to a neighbor!" he said in a most condescending tone.

The old woman frowned. "I've still got a few angles to stop that monstrosity of yours," she said through pursed lips.

Ron feigned surprise. "You mean you don't want me as a neighbor? Hmmm... maybe we should talk about this in a more appropriate setting?" His distaste at having to stand outdoors like commoner was very evident.

**********

Harris couldn't disguise his contempt for the sparsely furnished office — he was, after all, used to far more extravagant surroundings. "I don't understand your opposition to progress."

The old woman sat stonily in her chair, refusing to take the bait. "I'm not opposed to progress. I am," she replied evenly, "opposed to the invasion of privacy of my customers."

Harris smiled. That privacy was his motivation for the building in the first place, although this old hag didn't know that. "Well, you've lost. You can't stop my condos." He watched the old woman to see if there would be any reaction. Then, as if he'd suddenly remembered, he continued. "Oh, by the way, your appeal was rejected." His pleasant smile turned slowly into an evil grin. "You can't build a higher fence around your park."

The old woman's reaction disappointed Harris. He was expecting anger. Instead, she just looked at him evenly. "You seem to enjoy bullying people, Mr. Harris," she observed calmly. "The same as you enjoy preying on young ladies such as my customers." It was her turn to watch for some reaction. But she was disappointed — after all, Ron Harris hadn't gotten to where he was without a good poker face. "Isn't that right, Mr. Harris? You see, I've met your type before. I know it well." She leaned forward, leaning her elbows on the desk and steepling her fingers. "I do not ‘lose', Mr. Harris. Do not make the mistake of underestimating me."

Harris felt a momentary chill, as if someone had just peered into his very soul. This meeting was not going the way he expected. The old bat was definitely not intimidated — not by his wealth, nor his power, nor the city officials he ‘owned'. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Ron Harris' confidence deserted him. He rose abruptly. "We shall see who wins this one," he said in his most menacing tone, then turned and marched out of the meager office.

The old woman finally smiled as the door slammed shut. "Indeed we shall, Mr. Harris."

**********

Anya hadn't worked for her grandmother for all these years without knowing that sometimes, she did unusual tasks. Like today. Dressed in a rather skimpy bikini, with her hips in a meager beach skirt, Anya was dressed to kill, her charms on display for all to see. With a slightly exaggerated sway to her hips, she sauntered over toward the construction site, toward the men on their morning break. Instantly, as she knew would happen, all eyes were fixed on her. She smiled pleasantly, her eyes darting across the faces until she found the one. She sauntered up to the target, the man her grandmother had so painstakingly identified to her. "Hi," she said in a seductive breathy voice.

The burly construction worker grinned at her. "Hi."

Anya could see the effect she was having on the poor guy. "I couldn't help noticing you guys working so hard on this building," she said in a sexy voice as she leaned toward the hapless man. "And it's, like, so hot outside, too."

The guy swallowed hard, still grinning. "Well, it's just a job," he said, trying to sound humble.

Anya took a half-step closer, and began to playfully tug at the guy's shirt lapels. "But it looks so ... so sexy the way you handle all those big tools and stuff." She wet her lips with her tongue, a slow, deliberate act designed to destroy a man's willpower.

"Well, ma'am, it's nothing," the steelworker felt himself blushing even as he felt himself getting aroused at Anya's attention.

Anya smiled coyly. "Please, call me Anya." The man was putty, Anya knew. "I was just thinking about how hot it is out here, and how nice and cool and playful it is over there." She wet her lips again. "And I was thinking that maybe I'd like to see you without your shirt on." She was rubbing his chest through his shirt, and she knew that she had him. "Maybe you could like come over for lunch and have a quick swim with me? And talk about where you're going to take me dancing tonight?" She set the hook.

The man's grin spread from ear to ear, and the bulge in his pants threatened to split the jeans. "Uh, yeah..." His answer, though enthusiastic, was totally devoid of intelligence — his pecker, thinking of seducing this lovely little thing, was thinking for him.

Anya smiled seductively at him, and turned with a wiggle of her butt. "I'll see you at lunch, then?" she wet her lips one more time for effect, then winked, turned, and sauntered off. Behind her, the men stood, staring after the sexy vixen.

**********

"What the hell kind of foreman are you, anyway?" Ron Harris was screaming, his face red with anger.

The foreman scowled. Clearly, his patience at taking orders from this little man was wearing thin. "I can't help it if my men walk out on me." There was more than a hint of anger in his voice.

"You're supposed to help it!" Ron snarled. "You're the foreman, aren't you? That's what I pay you for, isn't it?" He stabbed his finger into the chest of the hapless foreman. "Not to run a job three months behind schedule! Not to cost me a fortune by these stupid delays!" He stomped away in frustration, pacing to try to collect himself. "You say it's only the single guys who are walking, right? Running off with those bimbos from next door?" He set his jaw. "Then get rid of the single guys. Get me a crew of married men. Get me some guys those twats can't tempt!"

Ron Harris stalked to his limo, where his chauffeur had already opened the door for him. He turned back toward the foreman. "You're single, aren't you?"

The foreman gulped. "Yes, Mr. Harris."

Ron nodded. "You're fired." He eased himself into his limo and began tapping his fingers, searching to recall some fact. "Who the hell is foreman on my townhouse project?" he demanded.

The driver was already easing the car forward. "Which one?"

Ron looked impatient, as if he'd expected the driver to read his mind. "On the new golf course, the luxury one."

The driver was ready with an answer. "Tom Fredricks."

Mr. Harris acknowledged the driver's efficiency with the tiniest of nods. "Get him over here now."

**********

Ron Harris' face was contorted with anger. Once again, the meeting with the old woman was not going according to his plan. And this unnerved him. "You keep your bimbos away from my construction crews."

The old woman feigned surprise. "Mr. Harris, I would think you could refrain from such statements about the girls who use my establishment. That word is so ... insulting! And you really should watch your temper. It's not good for the blood pressure, you know," she observed clinically.

Harris' face reddened until it was deep maroon. "Leave my blood pressure the hell out of this!" he fairly screamed. "You're not going to stop me! You hear? You can't stop me!" Suddenly, he seemed to hear his own voice, his words, and his tone. He took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself. "Your little bimbo trick won't work any more," he finally said, his voice sounding a bit more confident. "My crew is all married, and I've made arrangements for some of the wives to be at the job site." His smile turned to that smug little self-satisfied grin that made people take an instant dislike to him. "A couple of rumors about the type of girls you have here, a generous offer from me, and," he snapped his fingers above his head, "poof! No more girly tricks to slow down my building." Harris stood abruptly and stomped from the office, feeling back in control.

**********

"We're on schedule, Mr. Harris," the new foreman reported. "We'll finish closing in the building next week." He paused when the beeping of a truck backing was too loud to shout over. The two men watched as the semi trailer backed its load of HVAC machinery to the crane.

"How much can you pull in the schedule?" Harris shouted. "Double shift? Triple shift?" Harris' eyes gleamed like a hunter who has his prey in sight.

The foreman stared into space for a few minutes. "Just a rough guess, and I hope you don't hold me to it until I can run some real schedules, but offhand, I'd say, um, 3 or 4 weeks." He glanced at Mr. Harris, wondering what the boss was thinking. "But it'll cost..."

Ron Harris shook his head. "You worry about the schedule. I'll worry about the money." He looked thoughtful for a few minutes. "Three or four weeks, hmm? Okay, do it!"

Harris spun abruptly and got in his car. Decision made. Now on to other things. The driver immediately headed out of the job site and back toward Harris' main office.

**********

The old woman watched, amused, as the limo pulled into her parking lot, then swung around to park right in front of her ticket booth. The door opened, and Ron Harris climbed out. He walked up the office warily. "What do you want?"

The old woman just looked impassively at him. "I think we could discuss things in a more business-like setting, don't you?" She climbed out from behind her ticket window and led him to her office.

The old woman sat impassively for several seconds, allowing Harris to become uncomfortable. Finally, she spoke. "I thought I'd congratulate you on winning. I see that your building will be completed next month."

Ron Harris was baffled. The old woman had been a worthy adversary, and one of the toughest foes he'd dealt with. But now, the fire seemed to have gone out. She was acknowledging defeat. It seemed too easy. Slowly, realization dawned on Harris, and the smug grin returned. "So you finally came to your senses, hmmm?" He couldn't help gloating, given the circumstances.

The old woman remained surprisingly calm in the face of her defeat and Harris' taunts. She slowly slid a paper across the desk toward Mr. Harris.

"What's this?" he asked as he took the paper. His defenses were back up.

The old woman shrugged. "We've had our differences. I lost. Since you're going to be a neighbor, I thought I'd let you know I don't hold a grudge."

Harris was reading the form, his jaw dropping incrementally with each line he read. "This is ...." He was incredulous. "This is a membership in Bikini Beach." He fought hard to control himself. This was more than he could have possibly dreamed.

The old woman nodded. "Maybe we can work a deal. Discount membership for your condo owners in my park ..."

Ron Harris' eyes narrowed. "In exchange for ..."

The old woman smiled. "I'm getting tired of commuting every day." She watched as her words sank in. "Think about it. Your condos have an added benefit, which should help sales. I get more customers. We could both win from this."

Ron Harris thought for a second, and smiled. "A woman after my own heart." He laughed. "Okay, let's see what kind of deal we can come to."

The old woman nodded. "Before you sign, though, I expect that you'd like to check out the park. Just to make sure you're getting a good deal from this."

Ron Harris should have been wary of her insistence at getting him into the park. He should have wondered why she was so interested in his business concerns. But he wasn't; his mind was distracted by the thought of hundreds of bikini-clad girls in the water park, and how many of them he could get. "Sounds like a good idea," he grinned.

**********

Ron Harris pulled on his bathing trunks, grateful that he'd spent a few minutes each day on his treadmill. While he was a bit chubby, it could have been far worse. He sucked in his gut and admired himself. Rich. Powerful. Not bad looking. He should be able to score a couple of girls for the night. Smiling at the possibilities, he stepped into the shower. The invigorating spray made his dirty mind think of the massaging he'd talk some girl into giving him. He failed to notice the faint pink mist rising around him.

Ron Harris stepped confidently out of the locker room, eager to feast his eyes on the young beauties, and to begin scouting for a new bedroom toy. He stepped around a corner, not paying attention to the signals his body was sending to him — signals that things were ... different. His center of gravity had altered slightly, lower and further to the rear. His hips were a bit wider, making his confident masculine walk seem awkward, if not downright silly in appearance. His chest, though narrowed, was heavier in front, pulling at his back and shoulders. And the extra weight on his chest swayed and bounced with every step.

Ron Harris stood, unaware of the changes which were still proceeding through his body. He gazed out over the large artificial beach with its white sand and blue water and seeming acres of female flesh concealed by the skimpiest of bikinis. In the distance, he could make out a wave pool through hammock-strung palm trees, and in another direction, an artificial volcano stood, the summit of which was the launching point for dozens of water rides. Inner-tube rides, both solo and group. Water slides of all types — straight drop, slalom, mats.. Ron Harris smiled to himself as he contemplated having some of these beauties serve his needs.

"Well?" The old woman had silently glided up beside him. "What do you think of my park?"

Ron stood almost in awe. "This is some park you have here." Indeed, he was impressed, both by the clientele and by the facility itself. The tour the old woman had given him was only a small taste of the park.

"I'd like to suggest we finish our discussions in my office. Then you can enjoy the park without worrying about business."

Ron smiled. "That sounds perfect." He turned with the old woman and walked toward the office building.

A couple of girls were sitting at a table, enjoying a soft drink. Ron smiled to them as they walked past, and the girls glanced up at Ron and the old woman. As Ron walked away, he thought he heard the strangest comments from the girls.

"Rich bitch! I bet she thinks the rules don't apply to her!" The girl's tone was harsh in its judgement.

"Well, if you had her kind of money, you could get away with that, too. Besides, when I'm that old, I hope my body looks as good as hers."

Ron puzzled as he heard these words — words obviously not meant for him. The old woman wasn't rich. And her body certainly was nothing to be envious of. Between the strange conversation he'd overheard and the stranger sensations from his body, Ron was getting puzzled.

**********

Ron was about to sit down when the old woman stopped him. "Please turn around."

Ron frowned. This was a strange request. But he was in too good of a mood to argue. He shrugged, feeling once again the strange sensations on his chest, and turned.

Behind him stood a figure, wearing only a skimpy bikini bottom. Ron's eyes widened and his mouth dropped as he stared at the brown-haired beauty, for she was indeed a beauty. Not a drop-dead gorgeous teenage sweetie, but a true beauty, whose looks transcended her years. Shoulder-length hair, swept behind her ears and curled under at the tips. Precise bangs hanging just above her eyebrows. Soft green eyes. High cheekbones. Perfect little nose. Soft, full lips. Not thin, not fat. Perfect, and colored with a browish-red lipstick. Her skin was equally as perfect, showing none of the lines and wrinkles one would expect. It was hard to tell — was she thirty or fifty? Ron imagined for a moment that Helen of Troy could not have been so beautiful. And if hers was the face that launched a thousand ships, this woman could easily launch ten thousand.

Ron's gaze dropped. Her breasts were average sized, but very firm, showing no signs of sag. Large dark nipples capped the lovely cones. Her waist showed not a trace of fat or stretch. Had she ever had children? Ron guessed not — her figure showed none of the ravages of childbirth. While her waist was narrow, it was not ridiculously so. Her hips were nicely framed by the white bikini bottom, riding high toward her waist.

Then Ron's eyes widened. Behind the mystery woman was ... the old woman? How had she gotten back there? She was ...

Ron spun, and saw the old woman still behind her desk. His hand reached up automatically to brush the hair swirling in his eyes. The long dark hair...

Ron spun back to the woman. To his horror, he saw that her hand was raised as well, pushing hair from her eyes. And behind the woman was ... a desk - and the old woman. Ron spun back again. He saw the old woman standing behind her desk, smiling.

"What is this?" The words barely came from his mouth before Ron realized that they sounded ... different! Softer. "That's a ..." He couldn't say the word.

"A mirror." The old woman finished for him.

Ron's mouth dropped open. He stared disbelievingly at the old woman for several seconds. Slowly, his head lowered. Beside his face, the hair hung, plainly visible to his eyes. But what caught Ron's attention was not the hair. It was the two perfect nude breasts attached to his chest.

His hands shot up to touch the foreign objects. And he gasped. Even his hands! Smaller, daintier, more feminine! And he actually felt something touching him, even as his hands touched the breasts. Ron looked up yet again, his mouth agape. "What have you done to me?"

The old woman smiled. "I told you, I don't lose."

The bewilderment on Ron's face was unmistakable. "But how..."

"Magic." She just smiled pleasantly. "Now sit down, please." She seated herself, and not knowing what else to do, Ron sank slowly to his chair. Even that action seemed alien to him — his legs were now just a bit too short, and his butt seemed an awkward cushion. The old woman got a smug grin. "I told you not to underestimate me," she reminded Ron. "I did not build this refuge so someone like you could intrude on my customers' privacy."

Ron's mouth was working feverishly, trying to get some words to come out. Unfortunately for him, his brain was still trying to make sense of the entire situation; as a result, nothing came out. "But..."

The old woman smiled. "Even as we speak, the magic continues to reweave the fabric of reality. Who are you?"

Ron frowned, then opened his mouth. "Ronnie Harris. Everyone knows that."

"And that's short for..."

Ron tilted his head. This line of conversation was most peculiar. "Veronica." His mouth dangled open at his own answer. That was impossible. She was ... Veronica. She looked puzzled for a moment. "That's funny," she finally said. "For a moment, I had this strange notion that I was someone else. That I was a man!" She tilted her head back and laughed. "What a silly idea!"

The old woman smiled pleasantly. "Now Ronnie, I really must insist that you follow the rules. Topless sunbathing is not something I permit."

Ronnie's features eased from alarm to discomfort, and finally through calmness and then amusement. The changes were nearly done — Ronnie was losing memories of Ronald. Within moments, Ronald would never have existed, either in the world or in Ronnie's head. Ronnie laughed lightly, a thoroughly pleasant and charming sound in her new soft alto. "I suppose I should get used to your rules. After all, we are neighbors. Besides, when the condos are finished, I'll be able to sunbathe in my penthouse nude if I like."

The old woman laughed herself. "I really appreciate you restricting ownership to women. It's too hard to find for young ladies."

Ronnie gave her an all-knowing nod. "Don't I know it! You just wouldn't believe what a girl has to put up with in the business world!" She leaned forward in her chair, resting her arm on the desk in a gesture that was intimate and friendly. "Do you realize that most men think a developer automatically must be a man? That's why I go by Ronnie."

The old woman nodded. "I've had my share of problems with men, too. They seemed to enjoy making it difficult for me to open this park."

Ronnie feigned surprise. "Well, if anyone ever gives you trouble, dear, just give me a call! I own two or three councilmen, and I can make sure your problems are solved right away!" She stood, and then picked up a bikini bra which had only recently appeared on the desk. "Well, I probably should put this on. I heard a couple of your customers wondering if I thought I was too good to follow the rules!" She tilted her head back and laughed as her hands tied the top behind her back. "We can't have any of that, now, can we! Not if we're going to be neighbors." She finished by tying the top behind her neck as if she'd done it all her life instead of for the first time. "I've been thinking of your offer, and it sounds good to me. Three condos in exchange for discount membership." She walked toward the door, and then turned, silhouetting her beautiful body nicely against the bright outdoors. "I'll get my lawyer to draft up the papers."

The door closed, and the old woman sat back in her chair. "I told you I don't lose, Mister Harris." A broad grin crept across her face. No doubt Veronica Harris was going to be a far better neighbor than Ronald Harris would have been.

FIN