As Sam pulled me through the semi-open tent flaps the first sight to meet my eyes was a massive, elaborately-carved rosewood desk; and the man who was sitting behind it, on an equally elaborate, throne-like chair. Looking up, he smiled and waved us in; and as we approached the desk, I presumed that he had just been working, due to the sea of papers that was scattered across its surface.
As he stood to greet us, I used the opportunity to size him up. He looked to be about 50-ish, just over six feet tall, with a full head of silver-gray hair; and he was wearing a white wing-collar shirt with no tie, and dark gray pinstriped pants, held up by pink suspenders which were covered with Victorian art-inspired flying cherubs.
"Good evening," he said pleasantly. "Are you young ladies looking for jobs? Unfortunately, we're not hiring at the moment."
Rather than answering his question myself, I turned to Sam, expecting her to be our spokesman and to ask him for the deets on his carnival...
...but immediately saw that her attention was riveted to the heaping plate of fried chicken on the desktop, over near his right elbow.
After waiting patiently while Sam stared at the chicken for nearly a minute, he smiled at her benevolently and, appearing to read her mind he said,"I know, it's my favorite too. I was just about to have a late dinner, and, since you're obviously hungry, would you two like to join-"
Before he'd finished the sentence, Sam was dragging a couple of extra chairs across the tent and over to the desk; but before she could lower her butt into either of them, I grabbed her upper arm.
"Oh, no you don't! At least have the decency to introduce yourself first!"
Ignoring the way she stuck her lower lip out at me in silent protest, I turned back to the gentleman on the other side of the desk and said, "I'm Carly Shay, and this is Sam Puckett...and you are...?
He extended his hand and shook both mine and Sam's. "I'm Anton Oswell, the founder of Oswell's Oddities...and our dinner is getting cold."
Sam needed no further invitation and, yanking her arm from my grasp, she flung herself into the nearest chair.
Mr. Oswell swept his paperwork over to one end of the desk, and then laid out 3 sets of rustic stoneware plates and mugs, and then three sets of knives and forks.
"Help yourselv-oops, too late!" he corrected himself in an amused tone of voice, as Sam dragged the platter of chicken toward herself and began to load her plate.
Even though I wasn't particularly hungry at the moment, when I heard Sam moan ecstatically through a mouthful of chicken, "Oh, God, Carls...this is sooo good!" I decided to take him up on his offer; and seated myself in the vacant chair beside hers.
From somewhere, Mr. Oswell produced a bowl of potato salad and a large pitcher of raspberry tea; and without further ado, Sam and I settled into our second dinner of the evening.
It seemed odd to be sitting there sharing a meal a complete stranger, so to break the ice I told him a little about Sam and myself...the school we went to...and all about iCarly (which he said he'd never heard of). By the time we'd finished dinner, I'd finished our biography.
"Well, that's our story. So...what kind of show or carnival do you have here?" I asked. "Sam and I haven't seen any posters or anything yet."
Setting his plate aside, Mr. O. reached down near his feet and then lifted a large cardboard box onto the desk. After rummaging through it a bit, he handed me a brightly-colored brochure.
"Here's one of my older advertising pieces. The new ones aren't back from the printer yet...but this one has all the information you need on it."
"Thank you," I replied sliding it – unread - into my handbag. Turning back to him I continued, "Sam and I are interested in coming back to check out your show, so when will you open...and how long are you going to be here?"
He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, let's see, today is Sunday...and we'll be finished with the tents by Tuesday...and we're going to be here-"
He was interrupted by the sound of loud calliope music, and leaning over to one side, he fished a bright purple cell phone from his back pocket. He looked at it and then back at us and asked, "Will you ladies excuse me for a minute? I have to take this call. Please feel free to look around my office while I do."
Politely, Sam and I rose from our chairs and began meandering - separately – around the spacious tent; which was packed with all sorts of unfamiliar antique items and artifacts, artfully displayed; most of which seemed to suggest alchemy, and travels to the ancient Far East.
Stopping in front of a long, cluttered side table, I pointed to a large marble mortar and pestle, and called across the tent, "Look, Sam, you can use this in your meth lab!"
"Very funny,"she replied with a sarcastic smile...
...which I met with one of my own. I had just turned my attention to a large bronze hand bell, covered in weird engraved symbols, which sat to the right of the mortar and pestle, when I heard Sam say, "Hey, Carls! Come check this out!"
Turning in that direction, I saw her looking at something small and round in a glass showcase that stood against the tent's opposite wall.
Obligingly, I approached the case; and, leaning forward, I looked more closely...
...to see a genuine shrunken head staring back at me!
"Yuck!" I exclaimed, straightening back up immediately. "Sam! You find the most bizarre things fascinating!"
"Aw, what's the big deal? I think it's actually pretty cool," she replied...
...immediately opening the door of the case...
...and reaching inside!
"Stop that! You know you shouldn't be touch-" I began...
...but it was too late. The thing was now out of the case...
...and in her hand!
She turned her attention from it to me. "Come on, Carls," she protested, "He said we were free to look around."
My hands flew to my hips. "Yes...to Look! That implies your eyes...not your fingers!" I reminded her. "Now put that creepy thing dow-"
"Hey, Carls...catch!" she said...
...suddenly tossing the horrible thing right at me!
Not wanting to touch it...
...but also not wanting to pay for it (possibly with my own head(?)...
...I reached out and caught the revolting thing with both hands...
...feeling every square inch of skin on my body crawl in revulsion as it landed, cold and clammy, in my open palms.
"Sam!" I yelled, in a very loud and infuriated whisper...
...becoming even more furious when I saw the bratty way she was smiling back at me. Tearing my eyes away from her for a moment, I sneaked a hasty and nervous glance over at Mr. Oswell, but he was still deep in his phone conversation...
...with his back (thankfully) turned to us.
Whipping my head (the one that's attached to my neck) back around, I immediately held the nasty, shrunken one out to her...
...at arm's length...
...but she jammed her hands into her pockets and replied with a smirk, "No thanks, Carls. I gave those up for Lent."
"But...you're not even Cathol...wait! What the hell am I saying?" I spluttered. "Now put this...this thing back where it belongs! Right now!" I demanded...
...but she just stood there, hands in pockets, smiling widely.
"Fine! I'll do it myself!" I retorted, fuming; and with a last, dirty look in her direction, I walked toward the glass case...
...and she jumped directly into my path.
Now more than a little annoyed, I stepped sideways, attempting to walk around her...
...but in no matter in which direction I moved, she kept blocking me with her body...
...over and over and over...
..until finally, my last gay nerve was shot. Taking a step straight forward and standing almost nose to nose with her, I demanded, "Stop behaving like a five year-old! This is not a request!"
"Okay, okay...Spoilsport!" she replied in a sulking tone of voice, snatching the head from my hand. Waving it in front of me, she continued, "I don't see what the big deal is...it's not like we actually hurt the ugly old thi-"
Suddenly, she stopped speaking...
...when she saw the bizarre expression on my face...
...as I looked from the head's face to hers...
...and then, remarked slowly, "Have you noticed, Sam...that thing bears a striking resemblance to...to Freddie?"
I expected her to agree with me...
...with a hearty laugh, and several accompanying rude insults...
...but instead, I found myself cringing...
... as I watched the fury I had just rekindled by the mere mention of his name resurface on her face. Without a word, she looked down more closely at the head...
...and I could tell from her expression that she now clearly saw the resemblance...
...and I held my breath, waiting and dreading the distinct possibility of her flinging the head onto the floor and stomping on it, in a (mis-directed) retaliatory fit of rage.
But she didn't.
Instead, she looked back up at me and, breathing heavily, she began, "When I see that loser again, I'm gonna...!"
I lay a hand on her upper arm and began to rub it, attempting to calm her down, as I reminded her, "Come on, now, we just had an amazing chicken dinner. Don't tell me that you're in a bad mood again...just because of what happened at the pharmacy?"
She didn't answer in words, but her hostile expression told me all I needed to know; and now, feeling more than a little uneasy, I tried to tickle her...in an attempt to lighten the mood...but she stepped away from me with a scowl.
"Come on, Sam...how can you take anything Freddie says seriously?" I ventured.
"What the hell is wrong with him?" she snarled. "It's bad enough that he used to follow you around constantly...like a love-sick puppy; but now he's become...just plain...nasty!"
"Well yeah-" I began...
...but she immediately cut me off. "I can't believe I was actually going to apologize to him! And don't bother asking me to forgive him either...because that's never gonna happen!"
Attempting to get her attention, I held my hand up...
...but she was on a roll. "He had no right to call you a bitch! Or to make fun of you...of either one of us...just because it's...that time of the month! It's bad enough we have to deal with all the dripping...and the cramps...and the-"
"I know, Honey...I know," I replied in a low voice, attempting to calm her. "It's just that...that..."
I paused for a moment, trying to figure out what to say next...as I heard Mr. Oswell back at his desk saying, "No, I think 500 of those will be enough."
Finally, I took a deep breath and explained, "Look, Sam, Freddie's been chasing desperately after me for years now. I guess that all the frustration of knowing that I'll never love him...and that he can never have me...has finally taken its toll; and now he's acting juvenile and making fun of us for having our periods...out of petty spite."
Sam screwed her face up. "God, I hate my period! I hate everything about it...especially that boys don't get it!"
I nodded sympathetically. "You're right. It doesn't seem fair that they-"
"They have it so easy! I swear to God, Carls...sometimes I wish I was a guy! Then I wouldn't have to deal with any of it...or listen to their-"
I reached down and took her free hand. "Look, Sweetheart, I know you're feeling awful because it's the first day of your period...so put the nasty shrunken head down; and then we'll go home...and if you're still having cramps, I promise I'll rub your stomach for you...all night long if you wan-"
Suddenly, we both stopped speaking...
...and stared at each other in horror...
...as we realized that we were discussing our periods - in detail - in front of a grown man.
A grown man who we didn't even know. Simultaneously cringing at the thought, we turned around...
...to see that Mr. Oswell had finished his phone call, and that he was now busy opening something that looked suspiciously like a bakery box...
...and, at that moment, Sam's expression of rage morphed into one of high anticipation, which meant that all of her rage at Freddie had been forgotten, at least for the moment...
...and, after carefully setting the fugly shrunken head into its case...
...she hurried back across the tent in search of dessert.
I followed her over and watched as Mr. Oswell set two huge, lavishly-iced cupcakes on his desk and then handed the other four - still in the box - to us...
...while Sam stared at him so adoringly that you'd think he'd just rescued her from a burning building.
"Thank You...So Much!" she exclaimed.
Mr. Oswell smiled. "You're welcome. Will I see you on Tuesday?" he added...
...but at that moment her mouth was full and, even though she answered him, I have no idea what her reply actually was.
Apparently, neither did he, but he glanced down at his watch and announced, "You know, it's almost eleven o'clock. Are you ladies heading home? If you are, I'll be happy to call a cab for y-"
"No thanks...not necessary," Sam replied rapidly, her mouth finally free...
...and, before she could take a second bite, I turned and placed a restraining hand on her hand.
"Mr. Oswell is right, Sam. It's late, and we can always come back on Tuesday."
She opened her mouth to reply, but I was taking no chances that her opinion might not match mine; so, after thanking Mr. Oswell profusely for his hospitality, and promising to return soon...
...I grabbed the box of cupcakes with one hand - and Sam with the other - and promptly hauled her ass out of the tent.
As we passed back under the banner at the front entrance, she suddenly reached out, grabbing the wrought-iron arch with one hand, and the bakery box with the other...
...and held onto both for dear life...
...and I yielded. Sam's a fast eater, so letting her finish her dessert right away would only delay our arrival home by another five minutes max. Less than a minute later, we stood facing each other, leaning against the opposite sides of the archway, munching contentedly.
They were every bit as delicious as the chicken had been.
A few minutes later, as Sam tossed the empty box into the nearest trash can, I noticed a definite improvement in her mood; because she actually smiled and held out her arm to me.
Without hesitation, I took it and, as we walked out from under the arch...
...her right sneaker made contact with something shiny and metallic, hitting it with such force that she sent it skittering up the path at least fifteen feet ahead of us.
Letting go of my arm, Sam ran forward and, as she leaned down and picked up what she'd just accidentally kicked, I hurried over to her and asked, "What is it?"
She squinted down at the object. "I can't tell," she replied, stepping under a nearby street lamp to examine it more closely.
Seconds later, she extended her palm. "Look. It's an Owell's Oddities token."
I joined her under the lamp post and leaned down; and in the dim lamplight I saw the carnival's name embossed in high relief on the face of the large, slightly-battered bronze disk.
"Do you think he dropped it?" I asked. "Maybe it's valuable, and we should take it bac-"
"Nah. Let's save it. Maybe it will get us a free admission the next time we're here," she replied, and before I could argue, she had dropped it into the main compartment of her backpack.
It was just as well. It had been a long day and I was too tired for arguing...
...or much else for that matter.
Upon returning home, I found a note from Spencer, saying that he was spending the night over at Socko's...again (I wonder about those two(!)
I quickly accepted Sam's generous offer to let me shower first (apparently, she was planning to stick around for awhile...not that I minded). Anyway, I had just finished brushing my damp hair and was standing near my dresser, getting ready for bed, when Sam returned from the bathroom...
...completely naked...
...and dripping water all over the rug...
...and with a sigh, I took the nearly-dry towel from her hand and began to use it on her, from head to toe; making a mental note as I did to insist on her taking me out to brunch this coming Mother's Day...
...and paying for everything herself...
...since I'd more than earned it, due to the way I'm constantly taking care of her!
"Ha-ha, Carls! Stop it! That tickles!" she shrieked.
"Stop squirming! I'm almost finished," I replied, kneeling down and running the towel over her legs and feet.
Once she was dry, I tossed the towel into my bedroom hamper and, reaching into my already-open top drawer, I hopefully held out a pair of my white silk panties toward her.
"Please? For me? Just this once?"
She took a hasty step backward "No Way!"
"Come on, Sam," I urged, willing to be fair and equable, "I promise I'll wear a pair of your boxers if you'll-"
"Sorry Carls...nice try...but it's out of the question" she answered, and before I could continue our argument, she'd opened my second dresser drawer...
...and my sigh of disappointment was muffled as she pulled a clean T-shirt over my head.
However, that did little to hide the disappointment in my eyes, since my head soon emerged from the neck opening...
...but then, with an infuriating yet endearingly-bratty smile, she leaned forward and kissed me; and, after hurriedly pulling on a T-shirt and boxers, she picked me up in her arms and carried me over to the bed.
Still sulking, I immediately yanked the covers up over my head.
Still smiling, she immediately yanked them back down, but before I could protest...
...her lips were an inch from mine and she was whispering, "I love you, Carls...so much...you're my favorite girl in the whole world...and I'm so lucky! I love you even more than-"
I'm not sure what the rest of the sentence would have been...
...the only thing that I was sure of is that I couldn't possibly stay mad at her...
...and so, I leaned up and cut her off.
Several minutes later, she pulled back and looked at me, with the softest, most adoring expression in her eyes...
...one that I found impossible to resist; and so, with an exhausted smile I reached down and, taking hold of her left wrist...
...I slid her hand up under the front of my T-shirt.
All the way up.
I couldn't believe what I heard next.
"No, Cupcake. Not when you're tired. It wouldn't be fair."
God, I Love This Girl!
The last thing I remember is her rolling us over...
...and her left shoulder against my cheek...
...and her lips against my forehead.
April 7th:
The first thing I remember is the alarm clock on my nightstand, glowing softly in the hazy gray illumination of the early Seattle morning light.
7: 26 am.
The next thing I remember is feeling cold...and soon realizing the reason for this: Sam and I had somehow separated during the night.
She seemed to sense it too, because seconds later, I felt her shifting uncomfortably behind me, at the far edge of the bed. Turning over onto my left side, I lay watching her, with her eyes closed, reaching out sleepily with both arms...
...in all directions.
Aw! That's so cute! She's trying to find me!
Not wanting to prolong her agony (or mine), I immediately slid across the bed and, wrapping her wandering arms around myself, I curled up next to her body; but apparently, that wasn't enough, because, with eyes still closed, she tightened her arms around me and pulled me over and across, until I was lying directly on top of her.
Turning my head to one side on the pillow (to avoid suffocation) I laid my cheek against hers, noticing as I did how cold she felt, even though we had the covers over us. And then, even though no further confirmation of her body temperature was necessary, I extended my right leg downward fully, and gasped softly when I felt her cold feet against my warm one.
As I did, she shivered in her sleep and, deciding right then to warm her up...
...and as quickly as possible...
...I stretched out flat and laid the full length of my body against hers; while strategically positioning one of my knees between her legs, attempting to get into a position that wouldn't squish her completely...
...and, as I did, I paused...
...surprised at what I suddenly felt against my bare knee.
Something big and soft.
Puzzled, I shifted my hips to one side, and slid my hand down, on the outside of her boxers, far down between her partially-open legs...
...and was more than a little surprised at the huge bulge that I found between them.
It felt completely dry, but I also noticed that it was very, very warm...
...and I knew then that I had to wake her up, so leaning over her, I whispered, "Sam?"
No response.
Removing my hand from between her legs, I stretched out on top of her again and tangled both of my hands in her hair. "Sam?"
"Hmm?" she mumbled...
...still 90% unconsciousness.
I leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Honey, I thought you told me last night that you had more tampons."
Long pause.
"Mm-hmm."
"Well, apparently you were mistaken...but it's okay, I don't mind if you use my pads," I assured her.
"Hmm?" she asked, still 80% unconscious.
I paused for a moment, completely confused. "But Sam...how can you wear them with boxers?"
Garbled mumble (to this day I have no idea what she said), but suddenly, an answer to my question occurred to me...
...a very exciting one...
...and I added, "Oh, I see. I don't care if you borrow them. Feel free to anytime!" I exclaimed...
...and, as I did, she opened her eyes a crack.
"W-what wuz zat?"
"I don't care if you borrow my panties," I repeated, with a very wide smile...
...and suddenly, she was 100% awake.
"Argh!"
Wanting to be very sure that she didn't understand the very important invitation I'd just extended, I repeated, "I don't care that you're wearing my panties..."
"Argh! Carls!"
"...under your boxers, but I woke you up because you need to change."
Eyes now open fully, she stared up at me, obviously confused. "Change what? What are you talking about?"
"Your pad."
"Who? Why? What?" she demanded...
...and even though it seemed that further explanation should be completely unnecessary, I generously decided to break it down into detail for her.
"Honey, you're soaked. I know you're not used to wearing pads, but I just happened to notice that you have one on...and it feels really warm...which means that the inside is really wet...and I'm sure you don't want to leak, so you'd better go to the bathroom and put a clean one on...right away."
She was staring up at me like I had three heads. "I'm not wearing a pad," she answered, and suddenly her eyelids began to droop again. Suppressing a yawn, she added, "I'm exhausted, Cupcake. Now let's go back to slee-"
"Of course you're wearing one," I insisted, "I just felt it."
She shook her head. "I think you must still be half asleep, Carls," she answered, with a half-sleepy/half-amused smile, sitting up and pushing the covers off both of us.
As she did, the button on the front of her boxers suddenly came undone...
...and as it did, their fly gapped open...
...wide open...
...and when I saw what was now angling out of it...
...in a very prominent and jaunty, 'Good-Morning-World!' kind of way...
...I screamed.
Loudly.
I have no idea what the expression on Sam's face was at that moment...
...because I couldn't tear my eyes away from her crotch.
As I mentioned before, I'd never actually met one 'in person', but there could be no doubt whatsoever...
...that the thing was freakin' huge!
Even the most bulging male underwear model's crotch (stuffed or un-stuffed) that I'd ever seen came nowhere near to this thing in size.
And then, I heard her gasp, and before I could recover from my own initial shock...
...Sam dragged the front of her shorts all the way down...
...right in front of me...
...and I found now myself staring...
...in stunned horror...
...not only at her huge, inexplicable penis, but also at the large, equally-inexplicable testicles that were hanging below it!
It's a sight I will never, ever forget.
Every single aspect of it, from it's swollen, purplish, circumcised head...
...to its alarmingly-long length...
...to its disturbingly-sizable circumference...
...to its pinkish-beige, wrinkly, oversized scrotum...will be seared into my brain for all eternity.
I was so busy feeling stunned that I don't remember Sam yanking her shorts back up...
...but eventually, a series of loud, snapping sounds registered in my brain, and I looked up to see her slapping herself in the face...
...violently and repeatedly...
...as she chanted, "This is a dream...this is a dream...oh God, this is a dream..."
Alarmed, I reached up, grabbed her wrists firmly, and quickly dragged them away from her face; as she said in an incredibly shaky voice, while staring at me pleadingly, "C-carls...we're going to w-wake up n-now...okay?"
Unfortunately, I knew full well that we were already awake; and, realizing at that moment that I would give anything in the world not to have to tell her, I nonetheless replied, very slowly and very reluctantly, "S-sam...we're not asleep."
"Yes we are!" she yelled, clearly distraught and very near tears. "We are asleep!"
"No, Honey," I insisted gently. "We're not."
And then, as the reality of the situation hit her, her features twisted themselves into a configuration of abject horror, and she flew up and off the bed, and tore down the hall and into the bathroom...
...locking herself in.
I swear I tried to get in, using every verbal and physical means that I could think of, but she refused to open the door. She also refused to speak to me at all, despite my repeated attempts; and so, I sat on the floor outside the bathroom, with my back against the cold plaster wall...
...and waited.
Nearly an hour later, I heard the toilet flush...
...but I didn't know whether to be relieved or alarmed that her penis actually...functioned.
Nearly two hours later, the sound of the door lock clicking open softly woke me up; and, cursing myself for having somehow dozed off, I lifted my head from my knees and immediately scrambled to my feet.
Nearly five (long) minutes later, Sam slowly opened the door...
...to see me waiting for her on the other side of it, with my arms wide open.
She just stood there...motionless...aside from her lower lip, which was trembling badly...
...but then, she quickly ducked under my right arm and hurried toward the bedroom.
Without hesitation, I turned and ran after her, soon coming face to face with another closed door...
...but at least she hadn't locked this one.
Entering the room, I saw her standing in the far corner of it...
...cringing like a trapped animal.
As I walked over to her slowly, smiling kindly, she slid down the wall; and stopping directly in front of her, I extended my hands downward.
She shook her head.
I reached over and caressed her cheek, but she yanked her face away from my hand and yelled, "Carls, no! Don't look at me! Or...or-"
"Shh. Come on, let's get up off the floor," I replied softly.
She didn't answer or move, so I knelt down next to her and tried to put my arms around her, but she immediately jumped to her feet and rushed toward the door.
I jumped up and followed and, reaching forward, I trapped her left hand between both of my own. Before she could pull free, I spun her back around and pulled her into my arms; and then, with them wrapped around her tightly, I half pushed, half pulled her over to the bed and set her down.
Kneeling on the floor in front of her, I looked up into her face and asked, "Sam...do you have any idea how this...how this hap-?"
She shook her head violently.
"Okay," I replied, as calmly as I could, "that's understandable...but I'm sure that there is an explanation for it...which also means that we can fix-"
"How?" she yelled suddenly, completely distraught. "How can anybody fix this?"
Deciding that this probably wasn't the best time for me to mention anything pertaining to sex-change surgery, I instead took both of her hands between my own. "Honey, I promise you that we are going to fix it. And I'm sure that right after we've had a good breakfast, we'll be able to figure out the first step...together. So let's go downstairs and eat, okay?"
She lowered her eyes and shook her head...and this scared me.
My Sam...turning down food?
Realizing that not eating would only make matters worse, I pretended not to notice her refusal. Getting up, I walked over to my dresser, opened the 'Sam' drawer, and soon brought back a complete change of clothes.
Instead of taking them from my hands, she just sat staring at them, so I set them aside and lifted her chin; and as her gaze met mine I looked deeply into her eyes and said with every shred of conviction I could muster, "Come on, Sweetheart. Everything is going to be okay...I promise!"
At this, she screwed her face up and leaned forward, and I pulled her face against my chest; and, stroking her hair I said, "I promise, Sam...no matter what...okay?"
No answer.
I waited patiently and then, finally and without words, she slowly got to her feet and leaned against me. As she did, I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her as hard as I could, while ignoring the (thankfully) soft but still sizable bulge that was pressing forward...
...directly against my the front of my crotch.
She actually cried while trying to get dressed. Even though we went through every single pair of her pants and shorts that we found in my dresser, it was absolutely impossible to camouflage her huge penis which, even though it was completely flaccid, was pushing the front of everything she tried on...
...way, way out.
But suddenly (and fortunately), I had an idea. Grabbing my jacket and wallet, I pressed my lips against her tear-stained left cheek and announced, "I love you...and don't worry. I'll be right back."
And then, before she could demand an explanation, I was downstairs and rushing out my front door.
Less than thirty minutes later, I was hurrying back into the room, holding a shopping bag from Stratford Menswear, which is located about a block away from Bushwell Plaza.
She was still standing almost exactly where I'd left her, wearing just her boxers...
...and, instead of looking down at the very noticeable bulge in the front of them, I looked into her eyes and smiled, while she stared at the bag curiously.
"What's that, Carls?"
Immediately, I reached inside it...
...and held out a six-pack of DVB full-cut, white briefs.
She recoiled in horror. "Carls...No!"
I laid a reassuring hand on her arm. "Shh. I know. You're not the only one who thinks tighty-whities are ugly."
"No!" she repeated stubbornly and resolutely. "I won't!"
"Listen, I really think these will be an...improvement," I replied in a low voice. "Come on, just try them."
As I led her over to the bed, she didn't reply or resist...
...but when I reached down and tried to remove her boxers, she quickly blocked my hands.
"No! I don't w-want you to...to look at it!"
"Shh. I promise I won't. Move your hands for me, Honey," I urged gently.
After less than a minutes' consideration (and much to my surprise), she did, and I put my arms around her waist.
"That's it. Just let me help you. Everything is going to be okay, that's it...good girl," I murmured, as I slowly pulled her boxers down...all the way to the floor.
The instant she had stepped out of them, I stood, wanting to make it very clear to her that I wasn't looking at her, uh...'stuff'. Retrieving the package of briefs from the bed where I'd dropped it, I opened it, pulled out one pair, and held them out to her.
She looked near tears as she took them from me.
I hugged her again. "Come on, it's going to be all right," I said softly. "You're only going to have to wear these for a little while...okay?"
As I did, she slowly lifted her eyes to mine, and at that moment, she seemed to understand and accept that I really was trying to help her...
...and, even though I know (from playing 'Real Or Stuffed' with her) that she absolutely hates briefs...especially white ones...she looked down at them in a resigned sort of way...
...and then, she looked inside, at the tag inside the waistband.
"I...I think you should have got a larger size."
I shook my head. "I deliberately bought a size smaller...for...camouflage."
She didn't respond, so I reached over and put my hands on her shoulders. "Come on, Honey...let me help you."
After a very long moment, she nodded slowly, and then she sat down on edge of bed and let me help her put them on.
Standing up again, she pulled them up over her hips; and then reached down between her legs...
...and, after watching her make a few 'adjustments'...
...I led her over to the mirror.
Right away I could tell that they were too tight on her, and therefore had to be very uncomfortable, but at least her bulge now looked somewhat smaller.
I gestured toward her reflection. "See? That looks a little better."
She nodded silently...
...and sadly.
I took a deep breath. "So...how do they...feel?"
She squirmed and replied with a slightly pained expression, "They're...squishing me!"
With a sympathetic nod, I answered, "Just try them for a little while...and if they're really hurting you, then you don't have to wear them...okay?"
Without waiting for an answer, I walked back over to the bed, soon returning with her gray sweatpants. Wordlessly, she took them from me; and, after she'd put them on, we looked down...
...both of us relieved to see that, while her bulge was still noticeable, it was now definitely less obvious.
Still, she refused to come downstairs for breakfast, even after I had completely reconnoitered the area and reported back that we were absolutely alone; so I brought her a heaping tray of food; and then I spent the rest of the morning - and most of the afternoon - seated at the kitchen counter...
...tearing the Internet apart...
...determined to find the reason(s) why a girl might suddenly grow a full set of male genitalia.
Hour after hour I searched, stopping only to bring Sam soup and a sandwich for lunch (she still refused to leave the bedroom). Finally, I was forced to abandon my research when Spencer came home and started to make dinner.
As I entered the bedroom, I found her curled up in my window seat, with her arms wrapped around her legs and her forehead resting on her knees. Hearing the door close, she looked up at me in silence...
...but I could see her pleading expression clearly, even from all the way across the room...
...and, deeply regretting that I had no good news to share, I crossed to where she was and sat down next to her.
"C-carls?" was all she could say before her voice failed her completely...
...and then, with my heart twisting painfully in my chest, I looked back at her and shook my head. "Honey, I'm sorry...but there's nothing at all online about girls grow-"
Not waiting for me to finish, she covered her face with her hands and began to rock back and forth.
"Oh, God, Carls...I'm so scared!"
Leaning forward, I wrapped both my arms around her shoulders.
"Don't worry, I deleted the browsing history. Spencer will never know that we-"
"No. T-that's not what I m-meant," she replied.
"Honey, everything is going to be o-" was as far as I got...
...before she broke away from my embrace and scooched backward as far as she could, saying, "No! No, it isn't going to be okay...and you know it! So j-just say it, Carls!"
"Say...what?" I asked, now thoroughly confused.
Her lower lip was trembling badly. "Just g-give me my pain now, so I can leave."
"Leave? What are you talking about?" I replied, reaching over and laying a hand on her arm.
She shook it off.
"I kn-know that you're only trying to be nice...that's the kind of p-person you are. But I know that you're n-not going to want to...to stay with me now!"
I stared at her...in total disbelief. "What? Sam! How can you even say something like th-"
"Because it's true!" she interrupted. "You know it is! I know you're going to find a way to break up with me now that I'm a ...fr-freak!"
And, at that moment, I realized - with a rapidly-sinking heart - what needed to come next...
...and I hated it...
...both what I had to say and how I had to say it...and so, to keep our mutual agony to a minimum, I plunged right in.
"Sam, that's really insulting! It's worse than..than anything you've ever said to Freddie!"
My words had the desired effect, and she stared back at me...
...completely stunned.
"Wh-what do you mean C-car-"
Not letting her finish, I grabbed the front of her T-shirt with both hands and dragged her face over to mine. "Now you listen to me, Sam, and you listen Very Carefully. I'm absolutely disgusted that you think I'm such a shallow and superficial person that my love for you...and my decision to be with you...could ever be dictated by what's between your-"
And she burst into tears.
Which was exactly what I had wanted, because I knew that it meant release, which meant that her wall was down...
...and that I could now help her.
Pulling her close, I began to rock her.
"C-c-carls!"
"Shh," I whispered.
"I'm s-s-o s-s-s-orry!"
Reaching up, I laid my fingers across her mouth. "Sam, that's not necessary. I don't want or need an apology...but if you really want me to believe that you really are sorry..."
She nodded vigorously against my shoulder.
"...well, if you are, then stop being so withdrawn and let me help you. If you do, as my part of the bargain, I promise that I'm never, ever going to leave you...do you understand me?"
I moved my hand away from her hand so she could answer, but instead of speaking, she swallowed hard and then nodded again.
"Good girl," I answered. "Now, even though we have no idea how this happened...or why...I'm sure that we can fix it. And the first step is to determine...um, uh...forgive me for asking this question, but...well, I just want to make sure you, uh...do you have any interest in...I mean, have you considered...keeping it?"
Her head left my shoulder and, leaning back, she stared at me in slack-jawed horror. "NO! I d-don't w-want it!"
Heaving a silent sigh of relief, I nodded and answered, "Well then, that takes care of Step One. Step Two is to figure out who's the best doctor to...to perform the sur-"
Immediately and protectively wrapping her arms around herself, she blurted out, "No! I don't want to go to any doctor! I don't want anyone else to ever find out ab-"
Laying a hand on her shoulder, I pointed out as gently as possible, "Sam, I don't think we have any choice here. If you want that thing to...to go away...then we're going to have to let a professiona-"
I stopped short when I saw the look on her face. She was clearly terrified, and so I decided to let the matter drop for the moment. Glancing at my watch I asked, "Honey, why don't we talk about this later? Dinner's about ready by now."
I'm not hungry," she replied...
...as her stomach growled loudly.
I pretended I hadn't heard.
"Just come down...for a little while. You don't have to eat if you don't feel like it...I promise," I said encouragingly; confident that once there was a plate full of food in front of her, she'd eat.
"W-what about Spencer?" she asked, twisting her hands anxiously in her lap. "I don't want him to s-see-"
I placed a hand over hers. "Sam, you know as well as I do that Spencer lives on a planet of his own. I'm sure he won't notice anything."
At this, she looked up at me...hopefully.
"It's going to be okay, Sweetheart," I repeated, giving her hands a squeeze.
To be completely honest, I could easily have just brought dinner upstairs for her, but I decided against it, since I was determined to gradually get her to be comfortable around others, despite her current...state. After all, she couldn't hide from the rest of the world from now until her corrective surgery. And so, standing up, I extended my hands.
After nearly a minute's hesitation she took them, and I pulled her up against me. With a shaky sigh, she buried her face against the front of my shoulder...letting me hug her tightly. I'm not sure how long we stood there but eventually, and without a word, she let go of me; and, taking her by the hand, I led her downstairs.
We got through dinner with no problems, just as I'd promised. Spencer was completely oblivious to his surroundings, babbling on and on about how the mayor had called him that morning, expressing interest in possibly commissioning a piece of sculpture...
...and Sam was completely oblivious to her surroundings, because Spencer had made Chicken Fettuccine Primavera, which she absolutely loves. Fortunately she still had an appetite, and I was greatly relieved when she finished two huge servings of pasta and a sizable bowl of Daagen Hazs chocolate ice cream.
Spencer's plans to wash the dishes right after dinner were instantly abandoned when I informed him that three new, back-to-back episodes of Girly Cow were about to air on Mick O'Lodeon; so after clearing the table and stacking everything in the sink, he joined Sam and me in the living room.
I spent the next hour-and-a-half sprawled next to Sam on the couch, sneaking occasional peeks at her out of the corner of my eye; and was highly relieved to see that, instead of continuing to focus on her problem, she was totally engrossed in the show...and even laughing a little.
When the final episode's closing credits began to roll, Spencer got up from his chair.
"I'm going to grab another ginger ale. Do you guys want anything?" he asked.
"No thanks," I answered, and Sam shook her head.
As soon as he left, I had an unexpected surge of inspiration and, leaning forward, I bent Sam's knees, moved her bare feet up onto the edge of the coffee table, and gently spread her legs far apart.
"Carls, what are you doing?" she hissed
"Shh. Nothing. Just a little experimen-"
My explanation was cut short when Spencer returned from the kitchen...
...soda bottle in hand.
As he approached his chair, something suddenly caught his eye, and swiveling to his left...
...with a look of utter disbelief on his face...
...he stared down at the lower half of Sam's body...open-mouthed...
...while she stared up at him in terror.
Finally, he spoke. "Sam?"
At the sound of her name she cringed, clearly expecting the worst...
...as he continued, "How many times do I have to remind you to keep your feet off the furniture?"
Without waiting for an answer, he left the room, and she and I smiled at each other broadly and triumphantly.
"See? I blurted out. You have absolutely nothing to wor-"
My explanation was cut short when Spencer returned from his bathroom...
...Advil bottle in hand.
Approaching the couch, he handed it to her and announced, "Here. I hope this helps. I don't think we have any Mydol."
She sat staring back at him...
...shocked...
...while he smiled apologetically, and gesturing toward her crotch, added, "Sorry, I couldn't help noticing the-"
Not waiting to hear the rest, she burst into tears and flew up off the couch...
...and before I could stop her, she had torn across the living room and up the stairs.
Spencer just stood there, mouth hanging open, staring at the spot where she'd just been sitting; finally saying in complete bewilderment, "Sam? Crying? Sam never cri-"
Jumping to my feet I yelled, "Spencer! How can you be so insensitive?"
"I...I was only trying to help," he replied, sounding both hurt and defensive.
"Help? How could that possibly help her?" I demanded.
To his credit, he did look genuinely remorseful as he explained, "Sorry, Kid...but I'm sure she has cramps because of the ongoing, pained expression on her face...and from the way she's been shifting uncomfortably in her seat all evening...and I know for a fact that it's her heavy flow day, because she's obviously wearing a huge-"
I snatched a pillow from the couch and threw it in his direction while shouting, "Stop it! Right now! You shouldn't have said anything to Sam! You know how emotional girls can get when they have...plumbing issues!"
With a look of sympathetic compassion on his face, he dropped his gaze to the floor and nodded.
"Please tell her that I'm really sor-"
I didn't wait around to hear the rest.
Fortunately, my bedroom door was unlocked.
As I closed it behind me, I found her lying he face-down on my bed...
...bawling.
I sat down beside her and dragged her up into my arms.
"Shh," I said but, as expected, she was inconsolable And besides, what can you possibly say to someone in a situation like this?
It was no good. I was going to have to wait it out...
...and so, I let her cry herself quiet.
Once she had, I brought back a damp washcloth from the bathroom and, after cleaning her up, I sat down next to her and pulled her over into my arms again.
Looking directly into her eyes, I began, "You know that I love you."
Looking too exhausted to argue (whatever her beliefs at that moment might have been), she nodded.
"And you know that I only want what's best for you," I continued.
"Y-yes," she answered shakily.
"Then please let me try to help you...by taking you to the doc-"
"No!" she yelled, trying (unsuccessfully) to pull away from me.
Tightening my arms, I took a deep breath. "Sam, as horrible as this situation is, we have to be realistic here...and realistically, there's really only one other alternative...do you want to, you know...keep it?"
"You know I don't!" she blurted out.
I nodded understandingly. "Well then...then we have to get this...taken care of," I replied as gently as I could...
...but, still unwilling, she leaned forward against my shoulder.
"N-n-n-o. Please, d-don't make m-me," she sobbed, and I decided to drop the issue for the moment. She had suffered enough for one day. Maybe she'd be more willing to consider my advice in the morning, I thought as I laid her down on her back and untied the drawstring of her sweatpants.
"Wh-what are you doing?"
"Shh. It's bedtime, Honey," I replied, slowly pulling them down her legs and then off.
To my surprise, she didn't resist, and as she closed her eyes, I looked down at the way her too-tight briefs were squeezing her body...
...especially around her crotch...
...and, realizing how uncomfortable she must be, I got up, soon returning from my dresser with a pair of boxers. Sitting down next to her, I curled my fingers into the waistband of her briefs...but before I could pull them down, she grabbed my hands.
"Carls, no!"
"It's okay," I answered softly. "I'm just going to-"
"I...I don't want to!" she blurted out.
I laid a reassuring hand on her arm. "Sam, I know they're uncomfortable for you. I know you'll feel so much better if you change your underpan-"
"No!"
I paused to consider her reluctance. "Is it because you...don't want me to see? I won't look while I help you change...I prom-"
"I don't want you to!" she persisted.
This was confusing.
"But Sam...I know you hate wearing them. Would you rather have me turn my back...and then you can do it yoursel-"
"No!"
"I know, why don't we just put your boxers on over your br-"
"Please! Just leave me alone!" she answered, turning away.
I gave in. The room was warm enough that she could sleep in just her T-shirt and underpants; and I realized at that moment that, even though her briefs were painfully tight, that she was going to continue wearing them from now on...
...desperately wanting and trying to make herself look as small as possible.
She had turned away from me, but I wasn't done with her yet. Gently rolling her over onto her back again, I said, "Listen, we have two whole weeks off from school; so just take your time with this...as much time as you need...and then, when you're ready, I want you to tell me...and I'll take you to the doctor."
Lower lip trembling, she sat up and pressed her face against my shoulder, and I tightened my arms around her.
"Don't worry, Sweetheart. I'll be right in there with you."
She shook her head violently. "No! I don't want to go! I don't want to...to end up in some medical journal...as a freak!"
I pulled back and looked directly into her eyes. "I won't let them do that to you...I promise." I paused for a moment, and then added, "And don't ever call yourself that name again! I think you're beautiful...I always have and I always will."
"Y-you're just saying that, Carls," she argued. "You freak out over anything that isn't n-normal. You even freak out when someone says the word 'bowels'."
Biting back the obvious, but counter-productive truth that she's exactly the same whenever someone says the word 'panties', I leaned forward, lowering her onto her back again; while her eyebrows shot up in surprise...
...as I moved my hand - quickly and without warning - far down between her legs.
Immediately, she began to struggle, but I threw my body sideways across her chest, forcing her to remain where she was.
"Sam, hold still!" I demanded...
...as I carefully yet deliberately cupped my hand firmly around the soft yet sizable bulge that I felt on the other side of her underpants...
...while she stared at me...clearly shocked.
"See? I don't think you're weird," I insisted...
...and before she could protest, I leaned forward and kissed her, with everything I had in me...
...all the love and passion and compassion that I felt for her in my heart.
To be completely honest, it's safe to say that neither of us had sex on our minds at the moment. She was in desperate need of reassurance...
...and I desperately needed to reassure her...
...and, in less than a minute, she was kissing me back, lovingly and gratefully.
While she did, I kept my hand where it was...
...refusing to move it in the slightest, even though I was more than a little un-nerved as I felt her penis unmistakeably beginning to stir under it.
Suddenly and unexpectedly, she rolled me over onto my back, which was okay, because it provided me with an excuse to move my hand away; and I did, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her body down onto mine.
She was staring down at me like she had something to say, but I didn't let her. There would be time for conversation tomorrow.
Tilting my head up and hers down, I resumed kissing her...
...not protesting, even as her hands began to explore my chest and the outside of my thighs...
...even though I realized that this wasn't the way I wanted things to be, and that I wasn't ready to go that far yet...
...especially not when a penis is involved.
She remained oblivious to everything except kissing and caressing me, and suddenly, I felt the change in her body; and from the way her bulge was pressing firmly against my leg, I could tell that she was becoming more than a little aroused...
...and that really scared me...
...but I soon realized that I don't give Sam enough credit sometimes...
...because, at that moment, she rolled off my body and onto her back, with her eyes closed...
...and with a look of incredible frustration on her face.
Immediately, I looked down at the huge, granite-hard bulge between her legs, and at the way it was straining painfully against the inside of her already-too-tight briefs...
...like it was trying to force its way straight through them...
...and, with my heart aching at the overwhelming physical and emotional pain she had to be feeling, I lowered my head onto her chest. With her eyes still shut tightly, she reached down and stroked my hair and I leaned up and kissed her.
"Sam...thank you. I know how hard it wa-uh, I mean how uh...difficult it was for you to...to not...continue. And it makes me love you even more...more than I ever knew it was possible to love another person."
She was looking dangerously near tears again...and so I decided not to continue the conversation. She had cried enough for one night.
But still, I wanted so badly to help her...
...and suddenly, I had an idea.
"Sam?"
She opened her eyes to mine.
With a warm smile I continued, "Honey, I know you're under a lot of stress right now...and I think it might help if you...went into the bathroom and tried to...you know...have an orgasm."
Not pausing to think it over, she shook her head violently.
"Why not?" I asked gently. "Please tell me."
To my surprise, she did.
"I d-don't want to...touch it."
I nodded understandingly.
"I know you're scared, but I really think it will help you if you try to anyw-"
"I don't want to," she insisted.
"Please?"
She shook her head...
...and I asked, hopefully, "Do you mean that you don't want to do it...in there? Well then, how about in here? I'll bring you a towel...and then I'll leave...and I promise that I won't come back until you call me."
"No!"
I took both of her hands between my own. "I won't even be up here. I'll go downstairs and turn on some loud music...and I won't hear anything."
No answer.
I laid a hand on her cheek. "Look, it's bedtime anyway, and I'm sure you have to go to the bathroom, because you haven't since before we had dinner, so go ahead; and while you're in there, please just think about it...that's all I'm asking."
She didn't agree to think it over.
As she got out of bed and headed for the bathroom, I quickly decided to devote my time alone to researching doctors...
...but I immediately realized that I couldn't use the kitchen computer because Spencer was downstairs; and there was no way I was going to embarrass any of us by looking up anything penis-related in front of him.
There was no phone book in my room, so I decided to dial Information, but...what kind of doctor should I ask for? After all, I highly doubt that there's anyone who specializes in this sort of thing.
And then, as I sat wracking my brains, it came to me.
About four months ago, I had overheard someone in the cafeteria saying that his uncle had to go to the 'dick doctor' and then Freddie had pompously corrected him, saying, 'I suppose you mean the urologist'."
So, urologist = dick doctor? Hmm...I'd always thought that they specialized in urinary problems.
Whatever.
Seconds later, I was leaning against my desk, digging in my oversized handbag for my phone, but for some reason, I couldn't seem to find it...
...but it had to be in here somewhere under all this junk; so, turning my bag upside down, I shook its contents out onto my desk...
...but was suddenly distracted from my search when I saw what was lying on the top of the pile.
It was a brightly-colored brochure, titled *Oswell's Oddities*.
Oh well, I suppose I could spare a minute to just take a fast look at it.
Less than thirty seconds later, I was reading: Congratulations! You're about to have a private audience with the amazing Anton Oswell!
The next two paragraphs described his supposed travels and studies abroad, under wise-and-all-knowing mystics, so I'll spare you the deets on that...
...but then I read: Anton Oswell...The World's Greatest Grantor of Wishes, Seer of Futures, and Adviser of Dreamers!
Don't waste your valuable time and money on bogus Gypsies and fortune tellers. For real results...see me.
And then, what I'd just read actually registered deep within my brain...
...and suddenly, I staggered backward...
...as every detail of last night's visit to his tent came rushing back to me.
Grantor of Wishes.
Oh My God.
While we were in his tent, Sam had said, "I wish I was a guy."
OH MY GOD!
As I stood there in total shock, I became vaguely aware of Sam walking back into the room, and I quickly stuffed the brochure back into my bag; realizing as I did that, since she had been gone less than five minutes, there's absolutely no way that she could have...done it. A fast glance at the miserable, frustrated expression on her face further confirmed that fact.
She didn't speak, but that was just as well, because I needed time to think.
Crossing the room to where she stood, by the bed, I lay down, pulled her down next to me...
...staring in shock as I did, at the very noticeable, new growth of coarse blonde hair that was now covering her upper lip.
Apparently, her male genitalia was just the beginning...
...and Sam was on her way to becoming 100% guy!
Forcing my expression into one that hopefully showed no trace of this new realization, I smiled and held out my arms...and I know she saw me do it...but, still visibly upset (probably because she'd just had to see and touch her penis again,) she pretended not to notice and rolled away from me.
All the way across the bed.
With a sigh, I turned my eyes upward and stared at the ceiling, realizing as I did...
...that I have to see Anton Oswell again...right away...
...and convince him to change Sam back!