The Wringer c1999

by Czolgolz
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As I sat on the beach watching the last of the party goers leave, I realized that I had blown my best chance to talk to him.  From my lawn chair about a hundred yards away from the rest of the guests I could clearly make him out: tanned body, well toned muscles, jet black hair, wonderful smile.  

Yesterday had been the last day of classes at the Ponceville College of Drama.  Brenda Zevers, the dean, had organized this party at her beach house for about twenty of the most promising young actors and actresses in the school.  I was a little wary about going (I'm pretty shy when I'm not up on stage), but I couldn't stay away.  Don would be there.

I had had the biggest crush on Don ever since I had first laid eyes on him.  Now this wasn't a purely physical crush, though God knows he was handsome.  No, Don was sophisticated, kind, and when he was on stage...well, I could hardly keep from swooning.  Ever night I prayed for the courage to go up and talk to him.  He seemed so approachable.  But then the voice of reality would kick in "Jennifer, forget it.  He could date any woman on campus, why would he want to be seen with you?"  And so I simply had to admire him from afar.  When Brenda announced this party I had hoped I would be able to get up the nerve to tell him how I felt, what with classes ending this might be my last chance.  But when I arrived Don was already talking to some blonde bimbo who I didn't know, so I pretty much spent the whole party without talking to anyone, let alone Don.

I looked down at my body.  God, if only I was as pretty as that girl.  But it would never be.  Instead of a deep tan I was covered with freckles.  Instead of wavy blonde hair, mine was a kinky red.  Instead of blue eyes, mine were big and grey.  Instead of an hourglass figure, I was gangly and skinny.  The worst part was my chest.  Instead of voluptuous curves, I had two pathetic little mounds of flesh, barely enough to fill an 'A' cup.  I regarded the bikini I had picked out to impress Don and let out a sorry laugh.  It didn't even need shoulder straps; the two small swatches of cloth didn't have much to cover, let alone support.

Tired and depressed, I made my way back to Brenda's house to retrieve my clothes.  I found Brenda in the kitchen, cleaning up.  Brenda was in her early forties.  She had been a popular actress before deciding to become a full time teacher and administrator.  She was an attractive woman.  Still skinny, still energetic; time had done little to remove her youthful beauty.  At an age where most women had lost their looks, she was still being asked out by guys my age (twenty).  Brenda wasn't looking for young men, however.  She was happily married to John, a man her own age.

Brenda had her back to me and I stopped to look at her a while.  Why was it she was still attracting men at twice my age, while I never could?  Why was life so unfair?

Brenda noticed me.  "Why Jennifer!  I thought you had already left!"

Despite my glum mood, Brenda's pleasant disposition cheered me up a little.  "Oh, I was just leaving.  Just came by to get my stuff."

"Oh, OK.  So did you enjoy yourself?  I didn't see you swimming or playing volleyball."

"Yeah, well, I'm not much of a party person, I guess."

"C'mon Jennifer.  I bet a cute girl like you has to beat the guys off with a stick."

Brenda hadn't meant anything by that comment, though it hit close to home.  I guess it showed on my face because Brenda asked me what was wrong.

"Oh nothing."

"Jennifer, a young actress like you ought to be able to lie more convincingly than that.  Out with it, what's bothering you?"

"Well, I guess it's that I kind of like this boy, and I can never get the nerve up to talk to him."

Brenda smiled.  "It's Don, right?"

I was shocked.  "How did you know?"

"I have eyes, don't I?  You've been mooning after him since we did Hamlet."

"I guess I haven't been too subtle about it.  I just wish he'd notice me."

"Well, if you spend parties hiding from everyone he's not going to."

"That's easy for you to say, Brenda.  You've always been pretty.  Not flat and awkward like me."

"Jennifer, don't be ridiculous.  You are slim, you have simply gorgeous red hair...I bet you'd be surprised if you'd just talk to him.  Hell, ask him out, it's the 90s."

"Well, it's a moot point.  The year's over and Don's gone."

"Don's coming back next year.  I hope you are too."

"I'll be back.  Maybe the summer will be enough time for me to build up the courage.  Anyway, I need to grab my things."

"OK.  I thought you'd left, so I put your bag in the laundry room."

I followed Brenda back to a small room behind the kitchen.  Brenda was wealthy; her laundry room was the size of my bedroom at home.  As I was about to throw on my jeans, a strange machine in the corner caught my eye.  

The machine was about the size of an ice chest and looked like a combination between a photocopier and a printing press.  It was cubical.  It had a lid on top, buttons and flashing lights in front, a crank on the side, and some sort of rollers under the lights.  It was black, and elevated off the ground by four legs on wheels.

"Brenda, what's that?"  I asked.

"Oh, that thing?"  Brenda rolled her eyes.  "Well, I wanted to decorate my back porch with some old domestic antiques, like farm tools, old utensils, that sort of thing.  I saw this advertisement for a wringer box.  I thought it was one of those old wringer washers, so I ordered it and they sent me that ridiculous thing."

"What is it?"

"All I know is it's not an antique.  It goes right back to the manufacturer, ASAP."

Curiosity got the better of me.  I walked to the device and opened the lid.  It was empty inside.  At the bottom lay a small booklet wrapped in plastic.  I took it out and read the title.

"'Magic Co. Incorporated.  Supplying all your magic needs since 1653.'  Brenda, this must be some kind of stage magic trick!"  I was a little excited, I'd always been a fan of stage magic.

Brenda remained unimpressed.  "1653, yeah right.  All I know is it's no antique."

"C'mon Brenda.  You know how Crazy Zeke has been bugging you to let him do a stage magic routine.  Maybe this can help."

"I doubt anything short of a psychiatrist could help Zeke, but you're welcome to fool around with it if you like."

I began to read the booklet:

The Wringer

Instructions:  Have assistant climb into box and place feet next to rollers.  Close lid and press button marked '2d.'  Turn crank counter-clockwise.

I couldn't make out what the trick was supposed to do.  Maybe a vanishing act; the box probably had a fake bottom, though I couldn't see where one would fit.  Well, there was only one way to find out.

"Brenda," I said "would you mind getting in the box?"

"Nothing doing." she replied.  "You want to mess with that thing, try it yourself."

"All right, give me a hand."

Brenda helped me step into the box.  It was a very tight fit.  I placed my feet next to the rollers, though for the life of me I couldn't figure out what they were for.  Brenda shut the lid.  It latched with an ominous click.  I hoped it didn't lock or anything.

"What do I do now?" came Brenda's muffled question.

"It says to press the button marked 2d, whatever that means."  Brenda must have done so, since the machine started humming.

"What's the deal with that?" asked Brenda.  "It's not plugged into anything."

"I don't know.  I guess it has a battery or something.  Now turn the handle counter-clockwise."

"OK.  Here goes nothing."

What happened next was a blur.  Brenda later told me that she gave the handle a slight nudge and it zipped forward on its own accord.  All I know is that one minute I was in the box, the next I was lying flat on my back on the laundry room floor.

Brenda was yelling.  "Oh my God, Jennifer!  What have I done?  Speak to me!  For God's sake, say something!"

I couldn't figure out what she was screaming about.  "I'm okay, Brenda."  I said.  Then it hit me.  I couldn't move.  No matter how hard I tried, my mouth was the only part of my body I still had control of.  Everything else was strangely limp and non responsive.  I wasn't even really moving my mouth, just forcing air through my vocal cords.

Brenda looked like she was about to cry.  "What have I done, what have I done?" she kept repeating.

I began to holler "Brenda, for God's sake tell me what's happened!  Snap out of it!"

This seemed to bring her around.

"Jennifer...I don't know how to tell you this...but you're flat!"

"What do you mean, 'flat'?  What in the world are you talking about?"  For a second I thought she was talking about my chest.

"What I mean, is...well, you're flat.  As a pancake!  The machine just spit you out through the rollers.  It ironed you out like a piece of laundry!"

I was starting to get mad.  "Brenda, you had better start making sense right now.  I can't move and I'm starting to get scared and I want to know what's going on!"

Brenda didn't say anything.  Instead she walked to the other side of the room.  I couldn't see her for a few seconds.  When she came back she was lugging a full length mirror on an adjustable stand.  

"Brace yourself Jennifer," said Brenda.  Then, she tilted the mirror so that I could see myself.

For a split second I didn't notice anything strange.  It was just my own image, laid out flat on the laundry room floor, a somewhat shocked expression on my face.  Then my eyes adjusted to the image.  I think I fainted for a few seconds, though I'm not sure.

I was flat!  Not flat-chested, not flat on my back, but flat like an ironed bedsheet!  The tip of my nose couldn't have been 1/16 of an inch off the ground.  Every feature on the front of my body was level with every other feature: nose, breasts, toes, chin; all on a perfectly level plane.  I looked like a life sized paper doll cutout.  It was as if someone had taken a full sized shot of me and imprinted it on a girl-shaped towel.
 
"Brenda," I said, ready to cry "what the hell is going on?  I've been crushed!  Call 911!"

Brenda took a deep breath.  "Jennifer, this is no ordinary accident.  You couldn't have been forced through those rollers and survived.  I can't believe it myself, but this is...real magic.  A hospital can't help."

I was on the verge of screaming.  "Well, then what am I going to do?  Rent myself out as a human poster?  Maybe you can hang me in the lobby to advertise the next play!"

"Jennifer, calm down.  I've never known a magician to do something like this to his assistant and not change her back.  Let's look in the instructions."

That calmed me.  Of course there would be a reversal procedure.  I almost laughed in spite of myself; this had been quite a scare!

Brenda was thumbing through the manual.  Ah, here it is:  Reversal procedure.  Place top of assistant's head in rollers, on the outside of box.  Press button marked 3d (oh, I guess that means 3 dimensional.  Makes sense).  Turn crank clockwise.  Assistant will emerge from inside the box, in her normal state..."

I was getting impatient.  "OK, OK, let's go.  This floor is cold!"

Brenda gingerly picked me up by the top of my head.  I caught my first actual glance at body.  It was bizarre, like looking at some limp cardboard model of a woman.  I noticed the bikini had flattened as well, it stood out no more than the rest of my torso.  Brenda inserted the top of my head about half an inch between the rollers.  The rest of my body hung limp out of the front of the machine.  She apparently pressed the 3d button because the machine came to life again.

"Okay, get ready Jennifer.  I'm about to turn the crank."

I was expecting the somewhat disconcerting feeling of being pulled back through the rollers and fully expected to wind up back in the box, feeling much more like myself.  What came next was a big shock.

All that happened was a loud 'snap'.  The machine fell silent again.

"Brenda, what was that noise?  What's going on?"

Brenda walked back into my line of vision.  In her hand, much to my horror, was the crank.  "I'm sorry Jennifer.  I gave it a good pull and it...it just snapped off."

"What do you mean 'It just snapped off'?  Why the hell did you yank it so hard?"

"I didn't pull it any harder than last time.  Let me check the instructions.  Oh.  I see..."

"What?"

Brenda began reading: "...will emerge from inside the box, in her normal shape.  Note:  Make sure that forward/reverse switch is set to 'reverse' or crank will not turn."

If I could have kicked the machine, I would have.  "Why the hell didn't you finish reading it?  That was kind of important!"

"You rushed me through!  Why did the put that step at the end of the instructions, anyway?"

I started to sob.  "Well, what else does it say?"

Brenda shook her head.  "Nothing.  That's it.
"
"That's it?  That can't be it!"  If that was it, then I figured I'd have to do all my  future clothes shopping at a paper doll store.

"Wait!" shouted Brenda.  "Here's something."

I began to get hopeful again.  "What, magic words?  A spell?"

"Er, no.  A tech support number.  I'll go call them."

"Wait!  Don't leave me hanging here."  I was still dangling from the rollers.  "Could you lay me on a chair or something?"

Brenda lifted me by the waist.  Immediately folded in two, the back of my head hanging by my rear, my arms hanging limply by my feet.  Brenda carried me over to an old wooden chair.  As she carried me across the room, the momentum caused my body to billow out behind her, like curtains in the wind.  Brenda sat me in the chair.  My upper body instantly crumpled to the seat, my face pressed against my navel.  I had never had such a close look at my stomach.  I had never realized how pale and freckled it was.

Brenda straightened me out, but I slid down again, this time with my face on my knees.  "This isn't going to work, Jennifer."  Brenda then carried me over to a counter.  She tried me lay me down flat, but when she spread me out the air pocked under my body caused me to wrinkle, like when you throw a sheet on a bed.  Brenda straightened me out.

"One more thing, Brenda.  Could you put a pillow or something under my head?  All I can see is the ceiling from this position."

Brenda quickly folded two shirts and propped my head up with them.  I looked at my flattened form with interest.  My breasts used to be unremarkable.  Now, thanks to my new form, it was impossible to tell that they had ever existed.  The bikini top covered them completely and there was no evidence there was anything under them.  Minutes earlier I had been complaining about being flat-chested.  Now I knew was it was really like to be flat chested.  The only rise in my upper torso came from the sleeve of one the shirts I was laying on.  I was so thin I could clearly make out its outline through my body.

My arms lay parallel to my trunk, flat as napkins, each individual finger fanned out uselessly.  My legs stretched to the end of the table, the feet flattened and level with the rest of the leg.  How would I survive like this?  Who would take care of me?  And why did I have to be dressed like this?  Not only was I flat, but I was almost totally naked!

Suddenly I saw something that, had I been able to stand, would have caused my knees to buckle under me.  Brenda couldn't see it, but from my point of view I could.  There, hidden behind a rack of clothes, stood Don.

I let out a scream and Brenda turned in shock.  "Don!" I cried "What are you doing here?"

Don looked horribly embarrassed.  "I, I'm sorry J.J.  I know I shouldn't be seeing this..."

At that point, I had a strange, but not unpleasant thought.  It wasn't about being flat, or stuck that way, or having someone else seeing me like this.  It was that Don knew who I was.  While most everyone called me 'Jennifer,' my few close friends called me 'J.J.'  Depressed as I was about the current situation, I felt a strange joy that Don actually knew I existed.

He continued on, flustered.  "I was in the bathroom when you walked into the house.  I was about to come out and say 'hi' when I heard you talking about...well, me."

I felt my face grow fiery hot.  Of all the conversations for Don to overhear, it had to be me talking about how wonderful I thought he was.  Don smiled a quick smile, which he quickly covered.  "Anyway, I decided to hide in here until you guys were done talking about...you know.  Then you both came in here and since I didn't have a reason for being  here I kept hiding, thinking I'd sneak out when you left.  Then, after you climbed into the box, I was just to shocked to do anything."

I didn't know what to say.  Not only had I inadvertently let Don know how I felt about him, I was stuck in this ridiculous condition.  I had often entertained fantasies about pouring my heart out to Don and having him carry me off into the sunset.  Now that could never be.  He'd never be interested in me like this, and even if he was, he could carry me off in an envelope.

Brenda broke the silence.  "So Don, you understand what has happened here?"

Don nodded.  "I think you'd better call the tech support number.  I'll stay here with J.J., er, Jennifer."

Brenda nodded and left.  Don walked over and stood over me.  He was still wearing just his swim trunks.  I wanted to cry, to have him hold me and comfort me.

Don seemed uncharacteristically shy and awkward.  "J.J., are you okay?  Can I do anything for you?"

Yes, I thought, you can change me back into my old self.  I just sighed.  "I'll be all right.  Actually, would you do me a favor?"

"Yes, of course," said Don, surprisingly eager.

"Well, could you tell me what my body I feels like?  I mean, I know I look flat, but I can't touch myself to know what I feel like."

Don gingerly took my right shoulder into his hand.  He began massaging it between his thumb and fingers.  Finally, without removing his hand, he spoke.

"It's hard to explain.  Kind of like a bedsheet...no, warmer than a sheet, more like a heating blanket...no, that's not right either...well, to be honest, you feel like skin.  Like just skin, with nothing behind it...smooth, soft,..."  Don's index finger traced a line from my right to left shoulder and back, leaving a slight indentation.  "Just like female skin."  Don suddenly realized how long he had been touching me and quickly removed his hand.

A silence descended on the laundry room.  Neither of us could think of a thing to say.  Commenting on my situation seemed pointless, and small talk would have been even more ridiculous.  Finally, Don spoke.

"J.J., er, can I call you J.J?"

Without thinking, I tried to nod.  When I realized I couldn't, I said, "Yes, of course."

"J.J., were you serious about what you said back in the living room?  You, know, about liking me?  I know I wasn't supposed to hear that, so you don't have to answer if you don't want to."  He looked at me intently, waiting for my answer.

I was scared.  I could easily back out, I told myself.  I could just tell him I was trying to get Brenda off my back, or I just said the first name that popped into my head, or it was just a crush, or anything.  I could avoid what I knew was coming next: Don saying he liked me, but as a friend; that I was special, but he wasn't attracted to me, the same old garbage.  While I had heard that same line of bull from countless boys, I didn't think I could stand to hear it coming from Don.

I wished I could close my eyes so I wouldn't have to look at him, but they stayed obstinately open. I took a deep breath.  "Don," I said "I love you.  I've loved you since Hamlet, maybe before.  I love your acting, I love your humor, your kindness, and well, your body.  Every night this year I went home to try to build up the courage to tell you, but I never could.  I never thought you'd feel the same way about me, so it never really bothered me that I couldn't tell you."

On and on I went, for what seemed like hours.  I told him of my dreams, my fantasies, my fears.  I kept waiting for him to interrupt and tell me he could never feel the same way, but he didn't.  I finished by saying he didn't have to answer me, I would understand if he wanted to avoid me from now on.  When he replied, I honestly thought I would float away, just from pure joy.

"J.J., I love you too.  I've loved you since we started rehearsing for Midsummer Night's Dream.  That's why I turned down playing Oberon to play Lysander.  I wanted to be in more scenes with you (Oberon was a much bigger part, but had almost no scenes with my character, Hermia).  I almost started wearing sunglasses to class, I was so afraid you'd turn around and catch me staring at you.  You are so smart, so classy, and my God, you are hot!  That red hair, those cute freckles, those sexy, tight little breasts...When I saw you in that bikini today I nearly lost it.  God, I wanted to tell you this all year, but you were so quiet around me, I thought you didn't think much of me.  I almost told you today, but Susan wouldn't leave me alone for two seconds."  

I felt a small twinge of jealous triumph.  Don wanted me, not that blonde airhead!  "Oh, Don...Don!" I was practically singing, I was so happy.

"J.J." said Don, with strange intensity.  He slid his fingers under each of my shoulders and held me tight with his thumbs.  I could feel his fingers and thumbs connect through the thin layer that was my body.  It was an unusual, but strangely pleasant feeling.

Don bent his head to kiss me.  I smiled inside in anticipation.  His warm lips met mine, just like in a thousand fantasies.  While I had kissed a few boys in my life, nothing was like this.  I felt his kiss all the way down to my flattened toes.  His moist lips moved across my mouth.

Then horror hit me.  I couldn't kiss back.  I couldn't do anything!  I was nothing more than a washcloth when it came to physical romance.  Don could get more pleasure out of one of those inflatable women.  I began to cry.  I couldn't help it.

Don jolted away.  "My God, J.J., I'm sorry!" he stammered "I didn't mean to come on that strong, I..."

I quickly interrupted "No, it's not that Don.  God, it's just the opposite!  I can't kiss you, I can't hug you, I can't let you hold me, or, or..."  I couldn't bring myself to say 'make love to me.'  It was too cruel.  Just on the brink of having my wildest romantic dreams become a reality, I ended up looking like I had tangled with a steamroller.

Don picked up a spare piece of Brenda's laundry and began delicately dabbing my eyes with it.  "J.J., listen to me.  I love you.  I didn't say, 'I like you,' or 'I want to get you in the sack.'  I said 'I love you,' and I mean it.  Trust me, things aren't as bad as you think."

"Don, you know the machine's broken!  I might never become a regular woman again!  You don't want to get involved with me now!  I can't even take care of myself, let alone provide you with the life you deserve!"  God, how I wanted to provide him with the life he deserved!  Every day, every night.

Don kissed me again.  "J.J., I couldn't imagine a better fate than taking care of you, always.  I hope you eventually go back to normal because I know that would make you happy.  But if worse comes to worse and you can't change back, well, my feelings about you won't change."

"But Don..."  Don cut me off by placing his hand gently over my mouth.  "Shut up," he said, with extreme kindness.

Don began kissing me.  First, delicately, on the lips.  Then on the cheeks.  Then on the ears.  Then roughly on the neck.  He then moved down to my shoulders.  Through my body, I could feel his lips press down on the counter I was laying on.  Each time he made contact, I would squeal with delight.

I could feel Don running his tongue over my skin, now and then.  I felt his hands sliding delicately over my flesh.  The laundry room grew warm, my vision blurred, just a little.  Lord, did I want to reciprocate!  It was so frustrating not being able to touch him.  Still, it was erotic as well.  I felt so helpless, but around Don, that was a wonderful feeling.

Up until now, he had kept his maneuvers about the shoulders.  I could tell he was very turned on.  "J.J." he said, between kisses, "if you want me to stop, now's the time to tell me."

With a new found confidence, I shouted "Don't you dare stop now!"

Don growled erotically.  He then climbed onto the table on top of me.  He started the kissing sequence again: lips, cheeks, ears, neck, shoulders...then, Ohmygod, ohmygod, my breasts!  I could feel the tender pressure of his mouth on my nipples.  The now microscopically thin fiber of the bikini did little to mask the sensation.  Don would slowly lower his face over one cup, kiss, and then move to the other.  My head swam.

I felt Don's hands reach behind my back.  I let out a joyous giggle when I realized he was removing my bikini top.  He finally got it off and tossed the paper thin garment to the floor.

I could see my breasts now.  My squashed nipples stood out in sharp contrast to my pale skin.  There was still no traces of cleavage; what little I had before had disappeared between the two rollers.

Don lowered his head and blew on each of my nipples.  While it was impossible for them to get hard, I could still feel the air quite well.  It heightened my excitement.  Don seemed to realize this.  He pinched my left nipple and I let out a yelp.  He then tweaked the other.  My nipples were now wrinkled up, though so was the rest of my chest.  Don began playfully pinching and kissing them.

Don stood up and, making sure that I could see, removed his trunks.  He was hard, but my God!  I had seen pictures of men in Playgirl, but Don was hung like a horse.  Don rapidly removed my bikini bottom.  My reddish pubic hair was level with my belly, it looked as if it had been drawn on.  Don gently ran his fingers over it.  He then cupped his hand between my legs.  

I had never been touched there by a man.  I wanted Don so bad.  I guess I forgot what my current state was, because I screamed "Take me Don!  Right now, take me!"

Don smiled.  "I can't.  You're less than 1/8 of an inch thick."

I tried to frown.  "And you're considerably larger.  I'm sorry Don."

"Don't worry about it," he said, grabbing me "we'll make love when you're back to normal."

"But Don..."

"Shhhh honey."  Honey.  How many times had I fantasized about him calling me that, so casually?  I shut up.

Don pressed my limp body to his.  His cock slid between my legs, tickling, though obviously not penetrating, my vagina.  His lips found my nipples.  His hands grabbed my rear.  Passion and ecstasy oozed from every pore of my body.  Don was good!

Suddenly, Don began to get up.  "We need to stop," he sad sadly.

I was shocked.  "Why?"

He was embarrassed again.  "If we don't, I'm going to cum all over you."

It was my turn to tell him to shut up.  "Do it Don.  God, I want you to cum!  Do it!  Use me!  Use me!"

Don knew what I meant.  He grabbed my unmoving form and wadded it up.  I was all smashed together in a ball, about the size of a basketball.  Don plunged his rod into my two-dimensional body.  He rubbed my skin all over it.  He then pressed me tighter and tighter against his manhood.  He let out a moan.  I was pretty well wrapped around him at this time.  I could feel his orgasm with several parts of my body: my face, my legs, my chest, even my back (I was a little twisted up as well).  Don's thick cum sprayed over most of me.

When Don regained his breath he stood up and straightened me out flat on the counter.  Then, he just looked into eyes.  I had never seen a look of such deep love on anyone's face, and now the man of my dreams was looking at me that way!  I started to cry again, this time out of pure happiness.

"Shhh," said Don, and silenced me with a long, long kiss.  When he finished, he told me he loved me.  He told me several times, in fact.  I could have listened to him say those words all night:  J.J., I love you.

Don eventually got up and pulled on his trunks.  He then looked at my naked form.  "You poor thing," he said.

"Oh, I feel fine now!" I joyfully replied.

"No, I mean I got you all sticky."  He was right, I was pretty coated with his 'man juice.'  I giggled.  "Well, not that I mind, but could you wipe me off?  I don't want it to dry here."

"I'll do you one better."  Don then filled up the laundry room sink with warm water and added some detergent.  He then carefully picked me up by the top of the head and dropped me in the sink up to my neck.  Warm water surrounded me.  As an afterthought, Don dropped in my bikini as well.  I then felt his hands softly caressing my skin.  Strong hands, washing and wringing me like a delicate garment.  He was so strong, so gentle.  I felt so safe, I half drifted off to sleep.

"Don," I eventually asked, from my semi-slumber "Do you really think we can make it work?  If I can't change back things won't be easy."

Don raised one of my arms out of the water and kissed my limp hand.  "maybe not, but it will be fun.  I love you and I have a feeling there are a lot of great things in store for us.  Besides, and I hope you don't think I'm a jerk for saying this, but I'm kind of glad you got squashed tonight."

That should have made me mad, but it didn't even come close.  "Why is that?"

Don took me out of the water.  He then took some clothes pins and hung me out to dry on the clothesline that hung from the laundry room ceiling.  One clip on my head, one on each arm.  He hung my bikini next to me.  "Well, if you hadn't, I never would have had the courage to tell you how I felt.  When I saw you lying there, so flat and helpless...well, that was the one time I felt like I had the upper hand.  I was too nervous when you were 3D."

"Well, I can't say I've enjoyed flatness as much as you, but I do know this: you've shown me a submissive, helpless side I didn't know I had, but I really enjoy.  No mater what the future holds, I think I'll always love having you in charge of me, in every way."

After I dried out, Don spread me back on the counter.  He then took an unheated iron and smoothed me completely out.  "No wrinkles, no creases," he quipped.  He then replaced my bikini bottom.  When he had finished he began to kiss me.  We were both getting turned on again, when I heard Brenda clear her throat from the doorway.

Don stood up, embarrassed.  We were both even more embarrassed when we realized I was still topless.  Don quickly helped me on with the rest of my bikini.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," joked Brenda.  Neither of us answered.  It was pretty obvious Brenda knew exactly what was going on.  Don grinned and held my hand in his.

"So what did the tech people say?"

Brenda smiled.  "They said we're experiencing a common problem.  Since the instructions are worded so strangely a lot of people have had the same trouble.  They said if we bring the unit in the next business day they can weld the crank back easily."

Don smiled, as he slipped on his T-shirt.  "So she'll have to stay like this till Monday?"  It was Friday night.

"Tuesday," replied Brenda.  "Monday's Memorial Day, remember?"

I couldn't smile, my face was stuck in that silly shocked expression.  Still, I think Don realized I was grinning inside.  "Well," I said, "that gives us lots of time."

Don grinned even wider.  "Time for what?" he asked innocently.

"To experiment.  Earlier you said I felt like a heating blanket.  Well, tonight you can use me as one."

Don touched my cheek.  "And maybe tomorrow morning you'd like to try your hand at being a bath towel."

I was getting warm.  "And later that day, you could fold me into a pair of boxers to wear under your pants."

Brenda interrupted "All right kids.  This is a private moment.  Why don't you take Jennifer home, Don?"

Don was still gazing into my eyes.  "It would be my pleasure.  Oh, Brenda, one thing..."

"Yes?"

Don smiled.  "After we get the machine fixed, would you consider selling it to me?  I think I might enjoy running J.J. through the wringer now and then."

It was now Brenda's turn to smile.  "It's my gift to you two.  Here, better read this."  She tossed Don the instructions.  "Believe me, you'll be glad you did."

Don leafed through the back.  "Hmmm," he read.  "It says here you can buy expansion kits for the box.  'Zig-zag girl,' 'miss-made lady,'....sounds interesting.

I had a feeling that today was not going to be the end of my bizarre transformations.  But first things first.  "Take me home Don.  This bikini is starting to chafe, and I need someone to help me out of it."

Don kissed me one last time.  He then began to fold me.  He folded my legs up to my shoulders.  Then my rear up to my neck.  He folded me one more time, until I was just a flat head, lying on a folded square of flesh about one foot square.  I'm sure I looked like a bath towel with a face.  Don slipped me into his empty bag and carried me off...into the sunset.

Epilogue:

After a long weekend of learning the joys of having a flat woman, Don took me to the magic shop, where I was restored to normal.  Then we rushed home to discover the joys of 3 dimensional sex.

Don still flattens me out quite often.  I spend about two or three days a month in flat form.  Most of the time it's Don's idea, though sometimes I get into what I call "A paper-doll mood."  With Brenda's help I have surprised Don by turning up between the sheets of our bed, folded neatly in his shirt drawer, and once, in an envelope that arrived unexpectedly at his office.  He wore me like an undershirt all that day.  We're still exploring the possibilities of that wonderful machine.  Brenda, I think, has also become intrigued by it.  She says she's trying to get up the courage to show up folded in her husband's briefcase.

Don has since purchased and learned several new tricks.  We've had many interesting experiences with tricks like zig-zag, miss-made, and the old fashioned sawing in half, but those are other stories entirely.  Besides, out of all the tricks, I like getting run through the wringer the best.

How's our non-sex life?  Well, in our three years of marriage, I've not once seen that look of love disappear from Don's face, and I know I never will.

fin