Title: Phallusies
Summary: Jean experiences a change.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue.
Thanks to: Arcthalia, for the idea. Jen, Dot, Vic, and Pete, for beta-reading & being so damn cool.
Phallusies
The alarm went off. Scott was gone, probably on his usual morning run. Jean thumped the alarm, and stood up, yawning. She stumbled into the bathroom, sat on the toilet. . .
. . . and screamed.
"Where the HELL did THAT come from?!" She ran to the mirror. "That damn well wasn't there when I went to bed!"
Something had been added to the area between her legs. Something which dangled pathetically as she twisted around, frantically trying to get a good look in the mirror. She'd picked the waist-to-ceiling mirror when they'd moved in, saying the full-sized one was too expensive. This wasn't exactly the sort of event she should've foreseen, though.
A penis.
"Oh, God," she breathed, noticing something else. Her breasts had vanished. Sometimes she'd wished for smaller breasts; less backache and fewer staring men - though that part could be fun. But she'd never wished for a complete absence of mammaries. She was as flat as a ten-year-old.
A ten-year-old with facial stubble and hairy shoulders. "I'm a man," she said, unbelieving. "A stupid, hairy, man." With a high-pitched, girly voice.
****
The lab smelled of antiseptic and fear.
"Why did this happen?!" Jean sobbed, clutching pathetically at Hank's forearm. "You have to tell me!"
His face was frozen in an expression of barely contained shock. "You have a -". He couldn't finish the sentence.
"Yes," she sniffled.
Scott patted her reassuringly on the back. "It's all right, honey. We'll help you."
"How?" she barked, turning on him. "This isn't a broken fingernail. I have a penis, for God's sake!"
Scott recoiled, trying to think of something to say, trying not to grin. "How long is it?" he asked conversationally.
"About sev- it doesn't matter!"
A snort escaped from Scott.
"Don't you tease me," Jean warned. "Don't you *dare* tease me."
"Oh, Jean," Hank said comfortingly, "try to take it like a man."
That was it. Both men started wheezing with laughter, tears rolling down their cheeks.
Jean stood in front of them, fists clenched. "I can't believe you're not taking this seriously!"
"I'm. . . sorry, Jean," Hank gasped, leaning on the examination table.
Scott waved weakly in apology. "It's just that I never thought you'd look so good in my clothes!"
"Oh, God," Jean groaned. She left the room, unable to cope.
Jean wanted to go to the kitchen to get a snack, but everyone kept staring at her, wondering who the new guy was. She overheard someone say, "Does Jean have a brother? Boy, she got all the looks in that family." So this was what it felt like to be unattractive. To have people stare, not because they wanted you, or wanted to be you. They were staring because she was funny-looking. Ugly, even. She cringed, and changed course, heading for her room.
She practically fell over Logan's jaw. He was on his way in from the garage, running his fingers through his hair. Must've been out for a ride, then returned to see her - as a him. He was frozen with one hand on the door.
"Logan," she said tremulously.
"Hello," he responded, cautiously civil. "Are you - did what I think happened - holy shit."
Jean nodded, and fell into his arms. She clutched his broad back, burying her face in his shoulder. He smelled of whisky and smoke, familiar, comforting smells. "I don't know how it happened," she said, voice muffled against his leather jacket.
Logan's arms went around her, and he patted her on the back. "It'll be all right, Jean," he said softly, then pulled her into an even tighter embrace.
She knew something was wrong when he tensed. He backed off half an inch, then pulled her in again, pressing her chest closely against his. Then he did it again, growling low in his chest. A discontented, concerned grumble. He patted her again and said mechanically, "I'm still your friend, Jean." He muttered something about taking a shower and sped off.
She patted her flat chest, then turned to watch him go, stricken. He darted a queer look in her direction, when he thought she wasn't looking, then pretended he'd been checking the time on the huge grandfather clock behind her.
Jean shrugged disconsolately, then made another attempt to go to her room. She managed to get up the stairs this time.
She bumped into Rogue.
"Oh!" the younger woman exclaimed, catching herself with a hand on the wall. "I'm sorry, are you oka- are you *Jean*?!" She stared. Jean flinched, waiting for the comments. Waiting to feel Rogue's amusement.
There was no amusement. Only pity. Almost worse.
"Yeah," Jean muttered, looking at the floor. "I woke up like this. I don't know what happened."
"Oh, no," Rogue breathed, trying not to stare. "What does Scott think?"
"Scott? Scott thinks it's all freakin' hilarious!" Jean's resolve broke. She started to cry. Rogue led her gently into the room Jean shared with Scott, sitting her on the bed. "I can't take it, Rogue! It's so - so weird. Everyone looks at me differently. I don't know what the hell Scott and I will do if I stay like this. He said he's been with guys before, but would he want to be with me as a guy?" The question was asked in a tiny, ashamed voice. "I know it's awful of me, Rogue, but I've never wanted someone who hasn't wanted me, before. I don't know if I could cope."
"If it's never happened to you, you're doing okay," Rogue told her, trying not to smile. "You'd get over it."
Jean sensed her unwilling amusement. "It must look pretty funny, huh," she said reluctantly.
"It's different," Rogue agreed diplomatically.
Jean started to smile. "You don't know what it's like to have this thing down here," she said. "It moves! All on its own!"
Rogue began to chuckle, then she laughed. Jean laughed with her.
Hank and Scott burst into the room. "I'm so sorry," Scott cried, kneeling and embracing Jean. "I'll try to be more understanding."
"I know, honey," Jean said, wiping her eyes. "It's okay."
Rogue patted her comfortingly on the shoulder, then frowned. "You feel different, Jean."
"Of course," Jean said, not understanding.
Rogue shook her head. "No - I don't feel *you*, because our skin isn't touching. But I can feel someone else. Kind of like I'm absorbing someone else, but nowhere near as intense. Someone touched you. Someone did this to you."
"What?" Jean was on her feet.
The corner of the room shimmered. A tall, slender woman appeared. She had lustrous red hair and enormous violet eyes, with long dark eyelashes and flawless, alabaster skin. Her black suit was immaculately tailored, revealing a hint of creamy cleavage. "I am Lady Mhaeri of Soo," she announced, in a lilting, musical voice.
"You did this!" Hank accused, standing protectively in front of Jean.
"Yes, I did," Mhaeri said. "Jean needed to learn a valuable lesson." She smiled kindly at Jean, who shimmered, transforming back into herself. Jean gasped, running to the mirror to check that she was intact. And a *she*, again. "It was about time she felt what it was like to not be universally lusted after. You're a telepath, able to read the thoughts of anyone you choose, yet you don't understand what it's like to go through that. And you've never tried to understand. It's a flaw, Jean."
Jean cried, "That's not fair! It's not my fault. I'm not gorgeous on purpose."
"No," Mhaeri agreed. "But it wouldn't kill you to let your hair down on occasion. To chat with the girls, rather than flaunt yourself in front of the boys. You don't need to be so damn 'kind' to the poor women who aren't as beautiful as you are. Listen to them. Talk to them. Be friends, not competitors."
Rogue mouthed 'Yeah!'.
Jean shrugged. "I suppose."
Mhaeri nodded. "That will do for now, but I will return to check on you. My work here is done. Now I must move onto teaching Logan that there's more to life than fighting and sex, and teaching Willow to stop being so cutesy, and teaching Janeway that the universe won't explode if she admits she loves Chakotay. . . sheesh." Mhaeri began to shimmer again. She waved farewell, then blinked, and pointed at Jean's flat stomach. "And for God's sake, eat a cheeseburger!"
Summary: Jean experiences a change.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue.
Thanks to: Arcthalia, for the idea. Jen, Dot, Vic, and Pete, for beta-reading & being so damn cool.
Phallusies
The alarm went off. Scott was gone, probably on his usual morning run. Jean thumped the alarm, and stood up, yawning. She stumbled into the bathroom, sat on the toilet. . .
. . . and screamed.
"Where the HELL did THAT come from?!" She ran to the mirror. "That damn well wasn't there when I went to bed!"
Something had been added to the area between her legs. Something which dangled pathetically as she twisted around, frantically trying to get a good look in the mirror. She'd picked the waist-to-ceiling mirror when they'd moved in, saying the full-sized one was too expensive. This wasn't exactly the sort of event she should've foreseen, though.
A penis.
"Oh, God," she breathed, noticing something else. Her breasts had vanished. Sometimes she'd wished for smaller breasts; less backache and fewer staring men - though that part could be fun. But she'd never wished for a complete absence of mammaries. She was as flat as a ten-year-old.
A ten-year-old with facial stubble and hairy shoulders. "I'm a man," she said, unbelieving. "A stupid, hairy, man." With a high-pitched, girly voice.
****
The lab smelled of antiseptic and fear.
"Why did this happen?!" Jean sobbed, clutching pathetically at Hank's forearm. "You have to tell me!"
His face was frozen in an expression of barely contained shock. "You have a -". He couldn't finish the sentence.
"Yes," she sniffled.
Scott patted her reassuringly on the back. "It's all right, honey. We'll help you."
"How?" she barked, turning on him. "This isn't a broken fingernail. I have a penis, for God's sake!"
Scott recoiled, trying to think of something to say, trying not to grin. "How long is it?" he asked conversationally.
"About sev- it doesn't matter!"
A snort escaped from Scott.
"Don't you tease me," Jean warned. "Don't you *dare* tease me."
"Oh, Jean," Hank said comfortingly, "try to take it like a man."
That was it. Both men started wheezing with laughter, tears rolling down their cheeks.
Jean stood in front of them, fists clenched. "I can't believe you're not taking this seriously!"
"I'm. . . sorry, Jean," Hank gasped, leaning on the examination table.
Scott waved weakly in apology. "It's just that I never thought you'd look so good in my clothes!"
"Oh, God," Jean groaned. She left the room, unable to cope.
Jean wanted to go to the kitchen to get a snack, but everyone kept staring at her, wondering who the new guy was. She overheard someone say, "Does Jean have a brother? Boy, she got all the looks in that family." So this was what it felt like to be unattractive. To have people stare, not because they wanted you, or wanted to be you. They were staring because she was funny-looking. Ugly, even. She cringed, and changed course, heading for her room.
She practically fell over Logan's jaw. He was on his way in from the garage, running his fingers through his hair. Must've been out for a ride, then returned to see her - as a him. He was frozen with one hand on the door.
"Logan," she said tremulously.
"Hello," he responded, cautiously civil. "Are you - did what I think happened - holy shit."
Jean nodded, and fell into his arms. She clutched his broad back, burying her face in his shoulder. He smelled of whisky and smoke, familiar, comforting smells. "I don't know how it happened," she said, voice muffled against his leather jacket.
Logan's arms went around her, and he patted her on the back. "It'll be all right, Jean," he said softly, then pulled her into an even tighter embrace.
She knew something was wrong when he tensed. He backed off half an inch, then pulled her in again, pressing her chest closely against his. Then he did it again, growling low in his chest. A discontented, concerned grumble. He patted her again and said mechanically, "I'm still your friend, Jean." He muttered something about taking a shower and sped off.
She patted her flat chest, then turned to watch him go, stricken. He darted a queer look in her direction, when he thought she wasn't looking, then pretended he'd been checking the time on the huge grandfather clock behind her.
Jean shrugged disconsolately, then made another attempt to go to her room. She managed to get up the stairs this time.
She bumped into Rogue.
"Oh!" the younger woman exclaimed, catching herself with a hand on the wall. "I'm sorry, are you oka- are you *Jean*?!" She stared. Jean flinched, waiting for the comments. Waiting to feel Rogue's amusement.
There was no amusement. Only pity. Almost worse.
"Yeah," Jean muttered, looking at the floor. "I woke up like this. I don't know what happened."
"Oh, no," Rogue breathed, trying not to stare. "What does Scott think?"
"Scott? Scott thinks it's all freakin' hilarious!" Jean's resolve broke. She started to cry. Rogue led her gently into the room Jean shared with Scott, sitting her on the bed. "I can't take it, Rogue! It's so - so weird. Everyone looks at me differently. I don't know what the hell Scott and I will do if I stay like this. He said he's been with guys before, but would he want to be with me as a guy?" The question was asked in a tiny, ashamed voice. "I know it's awful of me, Rogue, but I've never wanted someone who hasn't wanted me, before. I don't know if I could cope."
"If it's never happened to you, you're doing okay," Rogue told her, trying not to smile. "You'd get over it."
Jean sensed her unwilling amusement. "It must look pretty funny, huh," she said reluctantly.
"It's different," Rogue agreed diplomatically.
Jean started to smile. "You don't know what it's like to have this thing down here," she said. "It moves! All on its own!"
Rogue began to chuckle, then she laughed. Jean laughed with her.
Hank and Scott burst into the room. "I'm so sorry," Scott cried, kneeling and embracing Jean. "I'll try to be more understanding."
"I know, honey," Jean said, wiping her eyes. "It's okay."
Rogue patted her comfortingly on the shoulder, then frowned. "You feel different, Jean."
"Of course," Jean said, not understanding.
Rogue shook her head. "No - I don't feel *you*, because our skin isn't touching. But I can feel someone else. Kind of like I'm absorbing someone else, but nowhere near as intense. Someone touched you. Someone did this to you."
"What?" Jean was on her feet.
The corner of the room shimmered. A tall, slender woman appeared. She had lustrous red hair and enormous violet eyes, with long dark eyelashes and flawless, alabaster skin. Her black suit was immaculately tailored, revealing a hint of creamy cleavage. "I am Lady Mhaeri of Soo," she announced, in a lilting, musical voice.
"You did this!" Hank accused, standing protectively in front of Jean.
"Yes, I did," Mhaeri said. "Jean needed to learn a valuable lesson." She smiled kindly at Jean, who shimmered, transforming back into herself. Jean gasped, running to the mirror to check that she was intact. And a *she*, again. "It was about time she felt what it was like to not be universally lusted after. You're a telepath, able to read the thoughts of anyone you choose, yet you don't understand what it's like to go through that. And you've never tried to understand. It's a flaw, Jean."
Jean cried, "That's not fair! It's not my fault. I'm not gorgeous on purpose."
"No," Mhaeri agreed. "But it wouldn't kill you to let your hair down on occasion. To chat with the girls, rather than flaunt yourself in front of the boys. You don't need to be so damn 'kind' to the poor women who aren't as beautiful as you are. Listen to them. Talk to them. Be friends, not competitors."
Rogue mouthed 'Yeah!'.
Jean shrugged. "I suppose."
Mhaeri nodded. "That will do for now, but I will return to check on you. My work here is done. Now I must move onto teaching Logan that there's more to life than fighting and sex, and teaching Willow to stop being so cutesy, and teaching Janeway that the universe won't explode if she admits she loves Chakotay. . . sheesh." Mhaeri began to shimmer again. She waved farewell, then blinked, and pointed at Jean's flat stomach. "And for God's sake, eat a cheeseburger!"