Zephyr

"Right there on the right," Bobby said, pointing.

"Look, no offense, all right?" Tiffany said and bustled out of the bedroom.

"Yeah, whatever," Bobby said and shrugged his shoulders.

He pushed his long blonde hair out of his face and watched Tiffany's cute rear end wiggle out of his bedroom. She was a really cute girl, but those breasts were ridiculous; and she dressed like a tramp, and wore far too much makeup.

Long blonde hair. Long fingernails. High pitched voice.

He stared at his slim hands, then at his slender forearms. His breasts war ridiculously large, as large as Tiffany's, if not larger. His stomach was knotted up and the bile was in his throat as he eased the bed sheets down to see if the changes had affected his pride and joy.

Tiffany heard that really cute girl scream and hurriedly wiped her pussy. She hated the tearful rants these emotional lesbians went on once it sank in that she wasn't gay, wasn't going to be their lover. Once, she'd actually had one pull a knife on her and threaten to kill her. Tiffany carried a can of pepper spray in her purse, but would rather not have to use it if she could avoid it.

She flushed the toilet and scurried out of the bathroom, running directly into Bobbi's cute roommate, Derek.

"Gross!" he chided her. "Didn't wash your hands or nothing!"

"Ew!" she exclaimed. "You're right!"

She returned and hurriedly scrubbed her hands, then dried them and then left the bathroom. She looked to see Derek standing in the doorway of Bobbi's bedroom.

"Aw, what's the matter, Bobby?" Derek taunted.

"You!" Bobby screamed. "You did this to me!"

"What?" Derek asked. "Did what to you?"

"Turned me into this, this," Bobby stammered, and then broke into angry sobs.

Tiffany searched through her purse, then cursed and stomped back up the steps.

"Turn me back!" Bobby was screaming at Derek, trying to slap him with his small hands.

He was easily blocking Bobby's attempts and laughing at him.

"I mean it, Derek!" Bobby sobbed in rage. "I can't go around like this!"

"Um, hate to barge in, but I can't find my keys," Tiffany said.

Bobby stared at her for a moment, then stomped off to his bedroom. He returned a moment later.

"Here, take them, bitch," Bobby sobbed and threw the keys at her.

"Hey, fuck you, dyke," Tiffany shrilled. "Just 'cause I'm not gay don't make me no fucking bitch, butch."

"I'm not gay either!" Bobby screamed and stomped his foot in indignation. "He made me into this!"

"Sure eat pussy like a dyke," Tiffany sneered and left the apartment.

"Stop laughing at me!" Bobby demanded and burst into fresh sobs.

There was a very loud, insistent knocking at the door.

"Better put on some clothes; that's the cops," Derek laughed and went to the door.

"Good!" Bobby shrilled. "Take your ass to prison for life for this!"

"Uh huh," Derek laughed. "Try proving it to them!"

Bobby saw the truth in what Derek was saying; how would he explain it to the cops; he used to be a man, but was now an overly developed blonde bimbo?

He ran to his room to find something to cover his huge breasts and blonde tuft and round ass. Even as he slipped the football jersey on over his head, he did have to admit, he had very nice legs, nice small feet, and very shapely rear end and hips.

"Mm mm mm," one of the police officers shook his head as Derek showed them the spy-cam's image of Bobby Boudreaux raping his girlfriend, and then ransacking his room.

"And you can hear her; she's telling him 'No,' the whole time," Derek pointed out as Bobby entered the living room, tugging on the hem of the jersey, trying to make it go further down.

None of his jeans, or shorts would fit over his ass. It wasn't that his ass was too big, well, maybe it was a little big, but Bobby the man had very slim hips and very long legs. Even his sweat pants were snug and once he'd gotten them up, the legs trailed the floor behind him, nearly tripping him.

"Hey Bobby, the police are here," Derek said cheerfully. "Seems like our buddy Bobby's in a lot of trouble."

"You recorded it?" Bobby asked, incredulous as he watched the whole scenario play out on Derek's laptop computer.

"Yeah," Derek said. "Now, Tamara ain't going to want to testify; she's been through that once before and said it was worse than the actual rape."

"That might be a bit of a problem," one of the cops said in a disgusted tone. "Mother fucker's right there, in living color? We probably don't need her to testify; just need her to file the complaint. He's looking at about five, ten years, fifteen when you tack on the theft. You said that ring was worth twenty two hundred?"

"How about that, Bobby?" Derek said. "Ten, fifteen years in prison? Bet Bobby would be a big hit in the showers, what you think?"

"I think I'm going to be sick," Bobby said and bolted for the bathroom.

When he had emptied his stomach into the commode, he weakly staggered back into the living room. The police officers were still there, writing out the report.

"You," the tall African American cop nodded toward him. "What's your name?"

"Um, Bobby," Bobby said.

"Got any ID?" the cop asked. "And, uh, mind putting on some clothes?"

"Um, kind of found her like that," Derek interjected. "No purse, no ID, drunk as a skank, I mean, skunk, naked as the day she was born."

Bobby glared at him for calling him a 'skank.'

"Oh yeah?" the younger cop smiled. "Had a little too much last night, sugar?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah, you know how it is," Bobby stammered, cheeks ablaze.

Tiffany pulled up in front of her apartment complex and frowned. She'd only had three drinks the whole night; how had she been intoxicated enough to fall into bed with that blonde hottie?

She remembered dancing on the table of a really cute guy, Bobby. Bobby Boudreaux, and going home with him. He definitely had not been a girl; he'd filled her pussy twice with his semen. She hadn't drunk anything at his apartment; after they'd fucked twice, they'd cuddled up and went to sleep.

"Fucking lezzie bitch must have snuck in when I fell asleep," Tiffany decided. "But what the fuck happened to Bobby?"

****

"Derek, I mean it, I can't go around like this!" Bobby protested.

"Gee, kind of sucks not having a fucking choice, huh?" Derek sneered. "But you got, what, two days? Two days to come up with the rent, or your ass and all your shit's out of here, bitch."

"You can't be serious!" Bobby protested. "Derek! I can't go out like this! I don't even have any clothes to wear! How long I'm going to be like this anyway?"

"Until you pay me back all the money you owe me," Derek shrugged and put his bowl into the dishwasher. "I've kept a tally of everything, right there on the table. And until Tamara's over what you did to her, which knowing her, will probably be never."

"But, but, how am I supposed to, where am I going to get, my car, dude, I'll give you my car," Bobby offered.

"Your, you mean that thing out there with the burned up transmission?" Derek scoffed. "Mechanic told you it was twelve hundred to pull it and drop in a rebuilt. That's just more of the same, just more of the same, yet another bill I got to pay because of your selfish fat ass."

"My ass is not fat," Bobby protested, looking over his shoulder at it.

The transmission had seized up because Bobby had neglected to do anything when the 'check engine' light came on. The car had been a high school graduation gift, one his mother and stepfather could ill afford. He was enraged with they refused to pay for the repair bills.

His father likewise refused to help him with the repair bill, too busy with wife number four, or was it five?

"Typical blonde bimbo," Bobby thought as she thought about Dad's latest wife, Claire, or was it Clarissa?

He grabbed the sheet of paper and skimmed over the dollar amounts Derek had scrawled out.

Three fifty a month for three months, four months on Tuesday. Derek had also included the electric and water bills for the past four months and that totaled two forty three and some change.

"Uh uh, I never ate no steak," Bobby argued.

"I bought two filet mignons; I was going to grill for Tamara and me, and when I went to get them out, one was gone, wasn't me, had to be you," Derek shrugged his shoulders and sat down on the couch.

"That bitch, it was Desiree," Bobby said.

"Well, Desiree was in this apartment because of you, not me," Derek said. "Since she was your guest, you're responsible for her eating that steak."

"Fine, fine, what the fuck ever," Bobby huffed and went back to reading the tally.

Twenty two hundred for the engagement ring. That he could take care of; he still had the pawn ticket.

But didn't have the four hundred. Table dances, at thirty dollars apiece, had eaten up nearly three hundred dollars. He'd paid for four of them from Lynette, an Asian babe, just to make Tiffany jealous. Obviously it had worked; he'd woken up with Tiffany this morning.

"How, how did you do this anyway?" Bobby asked him.

"Do what?" Derek smirked.

"Dude, last night, I was a due, this morning I'm a, I'm a..." Bobby said.

"A slut, an empty headed big titted slut," Derek said, smiling at the humiliation evident in Bobby's eyes. "Just like the endless parade of big titted blonde haired skanks you dragged in here. The lowest common denominator; that's what you've become; kind of poetic, ain't it?"

"How'd you do it?" Bobby demanded.

Maybe if he could figure that out, he could reverse it. Then he'd beat the shit out of the smug little bastard and this time, this time he'd make Derek watch while he fucked that shrimp Tamara.

"Easy, really," Derek shrugged. "Everything is related to numbers. Bobby, in your life there was only one number, and that was the numeral one. You. That's all you ever thought about was you. Any and all other numbers were in your personal formula to support the numerator of one. Which is, of course, a prime number. That did make it a little difficult, until I realized, I could divide it by a negative integer."

"Stop, stop, you're hurting my head," Bobby complained.

Derek sipped his coffee and smiled at Bobby.

"A zephyr, that's all you has ever been Bobby. Just a big gust of wind, almost a tornado, blowing through the lives of others with no thought whatsoever of how your actions and attitudes affect others. Welcome to the real world, bitch, welcome to the real fucking world," Derek said.

"Please, Derek," Bobby begged, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Please change me back; I'll do anything."

"And Tamara begged you," Derek screamed at him, then was overcome with rage and slapped Bobby across the face, knocking him to the floor. "She fucking begged you to stop! But did you? Huh?"

"I'm sorry," Bobby sobbed. "I'm so sorry! Please! Please change me back!"

"I should," Derek hissed with pure animosity. "I should fucking change you back and let the cops arrest your selfish ass."

Bobby's blood ran cold. If he was Bobby Boudreaux, male, he was looking at some very serious charges. Both his mom and dad and his stepfather had told him, if he ever got into legal trouble, he could count on them turning their backs on him. He'd be at the mercy of whatever overworked lawyer the court decided to appoint to him.

****

"I'm sorry," Derek said, standing in the doorway of Bobby's bedroom. "I've never hit a girl before; I don't know what came over me."

"Dude, I'm not a girl," Bobby denied.

"Look in a mirror lately?" Derek smirked.

"I uh, I, apology accepted," Bobby stammered.

He'd been sitting in the middle of his bed, trying to figure out some way to get out of this whole mess, but coming up empty.

He'd turned on his stereo, normally a source of diversion, but the grinding; wailing noise he normally listened to was a dissonant distraction. Finally, he found a soft rock station and turned the volume down to a bearable level.

"My stereo," he said brightly.

"What?" Derek asked.

"Dude, I'll give you my stereo; it's worth about seven hundred bucks, it's got the subwoofer and the front and rear channel speakers. You can even hook it up to your television and it'll play in surround sound for those geek movies you and your buddies like," Bobby said happily.

"Fine, that's what, one month's rent," Derek said.

"One month!" Bobby protested. "But it's worth seven hundred, that should be two months!"

"The value of the item for barter is determined by the buyer, not the seller," Derek intoned. "If the buyer is unwilling to pay the price set by the seller, then the item is overpriced. I, the buyer, have deemed the item to be worth one month. If you, the seller, want to value it at two months, then I, the buyer, am unwilling to buy it."

"Fine, fine," Bobby huffed. "I'll go set it up. You want it in the living room or your room?"

"I don't ever, EVER want you in my room, ever again," Derek hissed through clenched teeth. "Tamara's till not answering her phone, dude."

"Oh God," Bobby wailed, feeling sick to his stomach. "I am so, so, dude, I didn't know it would fuck her up that bad, dude, I am so fucking sorry about that."

He knelt on the floor and fished the wires to the rear of the television. He looked over his shoulder at a smirking Derek and frowned.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," Derek laughed.

Bobby looked at him, then down at himself and realized that the hem of the football jersey was bunched up around his narrow waist, fully exposing his rounded ass and blonde pussy to Derek's gaze. Derek had an unobstructed view of his pink anus and splayed pussy lips and had probably been staring at them for a good while now.

Bobby shrieked and yanked the hem of the jersey down as much as possible.

"Aw, spoil sport," Derek laughed.

"Fuck you, fucking pervert," Bobby grumbled, then bend back to complete the task. "Like looking at guy's?"

Finally, all the connections were made and he sat back on his heels.

"Go ahead, turn it on," he nodded to the remote control sitting on the end table.

Derek shrugged his shoulders and turned on the television. The four speakers and large subwoofer came on a moment later, blaring the commercial for a local car sales lot.

"How you turn it down?" Derek yelled.

"Volume button, dumb ass," Bobby laughed.

"Oh, there we go," Derek said and reduced the volume.

"Okay, that's one month, right?" Bobby asked, getting to his feet.

"Uh huh, one down, two more to go, three if your ass is still here on Tuesday," Derek agreed and changed the channel to the pre-game show for their university's football team.

"Oh, come on, can't you find something else to watch?" Bobby complained.

"Dude, thought you liked football," Derek said. Slightly surprised.

Bobby looked at him for a long moment. He did like football; loved football. He'd been devastated that he'd not made the squad when he tried out three years ago.

"I'm going to take a bath," Bobby said and stomped out of the living room.

"Oh, yeah, thanks for reminding me; need to add all the soap and shampoo and shaving cream and toothpaste you've been using," Derek said.

"Not toothpaste, you get that yucky stuff," Bobby protested.

"Then tell your girlfriends to quit using it," Derek demanded.

Chapter 4

Tamara swallowed the pills, hoping it would be enough. Chasing it down with the vodka she'd not drank the night before would help.

The dorm monitor found her on the floor of the room and called 911.

Tamara came to in the rocking, swaying ambulance and vomited heartily.

****

His cell phone rang and he winced; it was Brandee. Again. He did not remember giving the girl his cell phone number; he rarely ever did that.

Brandee. He could borrow some clothes of hers, get out of this apartment, and maybe figure out a way to get the rest of the money for the damned rent.

"Hello?" he asked, wincing at the sound of his own voice.

"Oops, sorry!" Brandee gasped. "Wrong number!"

"No, no, Brandee, wait!" Bobby said, frantic. "Wait, it's me! Bobby! I um, I got a cold, that's all!"

"Oh!" Brandee giggled, then lost the giggle. "You sure? You kind of sound like a girl!"

"Yeah, I know," Bobby, said, forcing his voice deeper. "Hey, listen, I was wondering if you could do me a big favor."

"What?" Brandee giggled.

"I um, this is going to sound weird, but I need to borrow some clothes, see it's for this school project..." Bobby thought rapidly.

School. He was enrolled at the university as Bobby Boudreaux, male. He'd never be able to convince anyone he was Bobby Boudreaux. Even someone as brainless as Brandee with two 'E's wouldn't buy that story.

"Like what?" Brandee asked.

"Some jeans, or maybe a skirt or something oh, and some panties, probably and I need a bra and a top, you know, Brandee, anything, anything you're like getting ready to throw out, shoes!" Bobby said. "I need shoes!"

"Um, okay," Brandee said, a little confused. "I'll go through my closet, okay?"

"Oh thank you," Bobby gushed.

"You sure you're Bobby?" Brandee asked. "You sure don't sound like him."

"Then I used someone else's toothbrush this morning," Bobby joked and Brandee giggled.

"Thirty seven to six," Derek crowed as Bobby walked to the bathroom.

"Yay!" Bobby cheered and closed the door to the bathroom.

****

"You fucking bitch," Derek hissed, the anger very evident on his face.

"What?" Bobby asked, a little frightened.

As a male, he could very easily overpower Derek. As a female, Derek was much stronger than him. His cheek still stung from his slap.

"Tamara tried to kill herself," Derek spat.

"Oh God!" Bobby said, clutching at her stomach, feeling sick.

The nightmare just wasn't ending. He'd known that Tamara was fragile; she was always so skittish around people. Her manner of dress also told him that she didn't want anyone looking at her body, didn't want to draw unwanted attention to herself. But he'd never imagined that the cute girl was this fragile, this easily broken.

"Derek, I am so sorry," Bobby pleaded with him.

"Save it; your words don't mean shit," Derek spat and left the room.

There was a knock at the door and Derek flung it open.

"Hi!" Brandee said cheerfully. "Remember me? Brandee? Bobby here?"

"In his room," Derek snarled and Brandee lost her smile.

"Jeez, what crawled up your ass?" Brandee muttered as she brushed past him.

Her blood turned to ice water when she saw the beautiful blonde sitting in the middle of Bobby's bed.

"Where is he?" Brandee hissed venomously.

"Brandee, thank God you're here," Bobby bubbled and bounced out of the bed. "Did you bring the clothes?"

"Yeah, where the fuck is Bobby, who the fuck are you, what is going on here?" Brandee shrilled as Bobby reached for the bag.

"Get out of that, bitch," Brandee yelled and shoved Bobby away.

"Brandee, it's me," Bobby implored. "I don't know how to explain, but really, it's me and I need your help."

"Hah ha, very funny, where is Bobby?" Brandee demanded.

"Look, how can I prove it to you?" Bobby asked.

"Fuck you, I'm out of here, and tell Bobby he can kiss my fucking ass," Brandee spat and turned on her heel.

"Brandee waits, please!" Bobby begged, racing after her. "At least leave the clothes!"

"Still can't think of no one but yourself, huh?" Derek sneered as Bobby followed Brandee, demanding the clothes.

Bobby gasped and looked at him. He turned back around and ran back to his bedroom, beginning to sob.

"I don't have time for these fucking head games," Brandee spat at Derek. "You see that ass hole roommate of yours, tell him he can eat shit and die for all I fucking care."

"Uh huh,what's in the bag?" Derek asked.

"Fucking clothes he asked for," Brandee snarled and threw the bag at Derek. "Tell him 'enjoy.'"

"Will do; he such a pretty a girl anyway," Derek giggled.