The Wringer Part II:
Wringer's Revenge
by Czolgolz
[email protected]
copyrigh1 1999

My tears soaked the pillow.  "It can't be...it just can't be.  No...not Don...he couldn't of...."  Try as I could, I just couldn't believe it.  My own husband...cheating on me.  Surely there was some kind of mistake.  But it was true.  I held the damning evidence in my hand.

I buried my face into the motel bed and sobbed louder.  Our marriage had been like a fairy tale.  Over three years of total wedded bliss.  Or so I had thought.  Don had seemed so happy with me.  I had never for an instant suspected that he was sleeping around.  That he was unfaithful.

I thought back to when I had first met Don.  We were both drama students.  He was handsome and popular, I was a skinny little redhead that no one paid attention to.  I had the biggest crush on Don, but never in my wildest dreams did I realize that he felt the same way about me.  We both were crazy about each other, but neither of us had the nerve to admit it.  We might never have gotten together had it not been for The Wringer.

The Wringer was a strange device, made for use in stage magic.  It was nothing more than a large box on wheels, with a crank on the side and rollers in the front.  If you climbed inside of it and someone turned the crank...the results were amazing.

I first experienced it by accident.  One moment I was messing around with it, the next I was sprawled out on the floor, flat.  I mean FLAT!  A bedsheet had no greater thickness than I did, I was a living photo.  That's how Don found me: immobile, helpless, and squashed.  Strangely, my helpless state spurned the both of us into admitting our true feelings for one another (If you would like to hear this story in its entirety, read "The Wringer" by Czolgolz).

Love had blossomed, within a few months we were married.  I was so happy, I stupidly thought Don was as well.  But now I knew differently.

John was a high school drama teacher during the school year; during the summers he would act in local theater productions.  He was currently at work in a production of the play "Nuts," a courtroom drama.  This play was in a city about a hundred miles away from where we lived, rehearsals took him away from me most of the summer.  He said he felt guilty about leaving me so much, but I had insisted that he go.  This was a big break for him, I didn't want to stand in the way.  What a dumb, ignorant thing for me to say!

Tomorrow night his play was going to open.  It would also be the night of our four year anniversary.  While I had told him that I was going to come to see him on closing night, I actually came to town a couple of days early.  I wanted to wish him luck.  I wanted to surprise him, to make love to him when he wasn't expecting it.  Instead, I got the worst shock of my life.

All the performers were staying in the same hotel.  The desk clerk recognized me as Don's wife and gave me a spare key to his room.  I had planned on showering, primping, and meeting him at the door wearing nothing but a skimpy nightie.  But then I discovered something that made my whole world come crashing down.

Sitting on Don's nightstand was an old, vinyl briefcase.  I think it had been his father's at one time.  I wondered what he was doing with it here.  Out of curiosity, I opened it.  Inside, much to my horror, were an unfamiliar bra and pair of panties.  

I sat down in shock.  They weren't mine, I had never seem them before.  My mind raced, I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.  I groped for a logical explanation.  Could they have gotten there by accident somehow?  It seemed unlikely.  Could they be a gift for me?  No, they were obviously used, and clearly made for someone with a bigger chest than my pathetic A cups.  Then I saw something that destroyed all my hopes of a happy explanation.

The undergarments weren't the only things in the briefcase.  There was also a short note.  It was written on hotel stationery in surprisingly bad handwriting.  "Don," it read "just a little gift to remind you not to forget your briefs tomorrow!"

I started bawling.  I couldn't help myself.  Don's briefs...never boxers, always briefs.  And now some bitch of a slut of a whore was writing MY HUSBAND cutesy little notes about them!  And leaving her underwear for him to find!

I cried so long my sides hurt, I cried until I was physically unable to continue.  For almost four years I had lived in a state of pure joy.  Every time I saw my husband he would look at me with such tenderness that I never once doubted it when he said "J.J. (his nickname for me), I love you."  What a fool I'd been.

How could I have believed I could achieve romantic happiness?  Why did I ever think a handsome man like Don would ever settle for a gangly, freckled little twerp like me?  Obviously I wasn't enough of a woman for him.

I picked up the bra and turned it over in my hands, idly wondering what woman had been big enough to fill it.  Then I noticed the writing on the inside of the left cup.  There were four letters.  "MTPR"  My eyes narrowed in rage.  MTPR: Maria Teresa Perez Ramirez.

Maria was the female lead in the production of 'Nuts.'  I could see her in my mind's eye: the gorgeous Hispanic woman, her cropped black hair, her dark brown skin, her lithe, sexy figure, her ample bosom.  I had known her for years.  I had thought she was my friend.  And now this!  

How could they have suckered me like this?  The loving husband, the trusted friend.  God, it was the oldest cliche in the world.  But then again, how could I have expected anything different?

My relationship with Don was one that was born out of the excitement of The Wringer.  There was something about me being flattened and helpless that excited him and made me his slave.  But now, after several years, Don's excitement had apparently dwindled.  It wasn't hard to see why.  I was a plane jane, period.  I was foolish to think that my scrawny frame and awkward limbs would satisfy a stud like Don forever.  Obviously, Don preferred a woman like Maria, a sexpot, a centerfold.

I had lost him.  I no longer interested him.  There was nothing left for me to do but to leave Don to the life he had chosen, to fade off into nothingness...

No!  God damn it no!  That was the old, weak Jennifer talking!  The woman who used to let life pass her by!  The woman who never stood up for herself.

I had to confront Don.  I had to know: was it just passion, or did he love Maria?  Was there anything left of our marriage?  Could it be salvaged?

First things first.  Maybe I could forgive Don for being unfaithful, but Maria?  Forget it.  She was single.  She could have had any man she wanted.  Why did she have to have Don?  How could she have stolen my man while pretending to be my friend?  No, Maria would have to pay.  But how?

The Wringer, that was how.  It currently sat packed away in the trunk of my car.  My husband loved running me through it occasionally.  Believe it or not, squashing me flatter than a pancake was just incredibly sensual for both of us.  My becoming little more than a sheet of female skin, having to submit to all of Don's desires...maybe it was strange, but God, was it ever exciting!  That's why I had brought the machine with me.  I figured that Don might like a chance to make me two-dimensional before the stress of his upcoming performance.

Getting run through the Wringer is an incredibly frightening experience the first time, especially if you didn't know what was happening.  You can't move and are as limp as a towel.  Speech is pretty much your only remaining power.  And if you don't realize that you can be changed back...

I quickly set my plan in motion.  I knew which room was Maria's.  It was the one next to Don's.  Ignorant me, I had thought nothing of this fact when I had first visited him here, weeks ago.  

It was a simple matter for me to unlatch her window from the outside (I've picked up a trick or two over the years) and slip inside.  I surveyed her room.  The sight of a sexy, black lace bra draped over a chair further fueled my rage.  It reminded me of the lacy pink one she had left in Don's briefcase.  

I lugged The Wringer back from my car and set it up in her room.  I smiled meanly.  Maria was about to realized that she had tangled with the wrong bitch.

Luring her into The Wringer would be a problem, though.  I couldn't think of a logical reason for even being in her room uninvited.  How could I convince her to climb into the strange contraption?  She'd probably already be afraid that I knew what was happening with her and Don.  Wouldn't she suspect a plot?

Then I remembered.  A tiny store I had passed on the way here.  "One-Eyed Jack's Army Surplus and Military Supplies."  There was the solution to my problem.

I returned from the store an hour later and called the theater.  "Madison Theater," answered the manager.  

"Yes," I replied.  "This is the clerk at the Best Western.  I have a message for..." I paused, pretending to look up her name, "Ms. Maria Perez Ramirez."
"Want me to get her?"  asked the manager.

"That won't be necessary.  Could you simply tell her that I fear that her room was broken into while she was gone.  I'd like for her to return here ASAP to see if anything's been stolen."

"Yikes!  Sure, I'll tell her right away."  He hung up.

About a half an hour later I heard Maria's car pull up.  Peeking through the curtains, I saw her quickly leap out of her shiny red sports car and hurry to her room.  Even from this distance I could see how sexy she was.  The long legs well defined by her tight jeans.  The half-shirt that showed of her taut, brown stomach.  How her breasts pushed against the little top she was wearing.  The way her short, mannish haircut accentuated her femininity.  She was lovely and I hated her for it.

I hid myself in the corner, next to the door.  I soon heard her key hit the lock; just as I had suspected, she wanted to get a look at the 'robbery' before talking to the clerk.  She burst into the room with a worried expression on her face.  Before she saw me I had slammed and locked the door behind her.

Maria screamed, she probably had burglars on the mind.  "Hello, Maria," I said, contemptuously.  

"Oh, Jennifer," she started.  Then she got a good look at me and looked even more scared.  It wasn't hard to figure out why.  I had figured that if I was going to make Maria suffer, it wouldn't be right for me to look like Pollyanna.  No, Maria needed to know just exactly what kind of girl she was dealing with.  So while I was picking up the supplies I needed from the army surplus store, I picked up some new clothes as well.

I was wearing a pair of men's combat boots.  They were far too big, they reached up almost to my knees.  Surprisingly, I had found a pair of cammo shorts in my size.  I was wearing them now, they left almost all my thighs uncovered.  I wasn't wearing a shirt.  Instead, I had stretched an olive-green, elastic headband around my torso.  It was wide enough to cover my nipples and my chest was so small that I didn't have to worry about anything popping out.  I had completed my costume with a pair of imitation dog tags and a bandana tied around my wayward hair.

Before Maria had arrived, I had checked my reflection in the mirror.  I didn't quite come off as the bad-assed commando type, which I had originally hoped for.  Still, I looked rather crazy, like one of those people you hear about who climb bell towers with rifles.  It would work.  If figured if I looked insane enough, Maria would be scared to begin with.  And then, once I got her into the wringer...

Her reactions were just as I had hoped.  "Jennifer?" she repeated, nervously, backing away.  "What are you doing here?"

I sneered at her.  "Oh, I think you know why I'm here."

Maria had backed into the bed.  "Jennifer," she said, with that cute little Mexican accent I had grown to hate, "are you okay?  Why...why are you dressed like that?"

"Shut up," I spat at her.  Then, from the rear waistband of my shorts, I pulled out a small, black object.  It was a BB gun, a pistol.  "Careful with that," the army surplus guy had said as he fingered his eye patch, "those BBs can really get you if you're not careful."

Maybe so, but I wasn't going to need to load it.  I didn't have to fire it, all I wanted was for Maria to think it was a real gun.  In the darkened hotel room it certainly looked deadly.

When Maria saw the gun, her knees buckled.  She fell back onto the bed.  "Jennifer...what are you doing?"  Her voice was quavering.  I smiled at the sound of her fear.

"I'm sure you know what I'm doing.  Anything you'd like to come clean about?"

I was fully expecting a tearful confession, a plea for forgiveness, a cry for mercy.  Much to my surprise, Maria simply looked confused.  

"I don't know what you're talking about, Jennifer."  She sounded like she was about to cry.

For a few seconds I was nonplussed.  Could I have made a mistake?  No, it couldn't be.  The initials on the bra, the note in the briefcase...it all added up.  Maria was simply employing her acting ability to try to save her skin.  Well, in a few minutes, that would be all that was left of her: skin.

"Maria, I was hoping you'd be honest with me.  Looks like I'm going to have to try some sterner methods of persuasion."  I was really getting into this interrogation role, it was quite a power trip.

"Take off your clothes."  Maria looked frightened, then started to protest.  I leveled the gun at her.  "Maria," I told her, "your one chance of survival depends on whether or not you obey me.  Take off your clothes!"  It was ironic, really.  The gun was fake and Maria could have left any time she liked.  Of course, once she was through The Wringer she'd really be in under my control.

Maria was sobbing now.  Fearing for her life, she began to disrobe.  While The Wringer could easily flatten clothes as well as flesh, I wanted her to have the full experience.  Looking down at one's own flattened torso is about a hundred times more scary than simply seeing flattened clothes.

Maria had removed her shoes, shorts, and heels.  She stood there trembling in her bra and panties.  They were lacy and black.  I wondered how many times my husband had seen her dressed in them...or less.  "More?" she asked, through her tears.

I was about to insist that she remove her underwear as well, when I stopped.  I looked at her body.  The black lace against her only slightly paler skin.  Her perfect curves.  Her sensuous rear.  Her large breasts.  Her sexy face.  Was it any wonder my husband had preferred her over me?  I half wished that my gun was real, that I could blow a hole in one of her perfect knee caps.  I soon abandoned the cruel thought.  No, much as I hated her, I didn't want to do anything permanent.  Running her through The Wringer would only be temporary...of course, temporary could mean a lot of things.  How long did I intend to keep her flat?  An hour?  A week?  A year?

I decided not to make her remove her underwear; I had no particular desire to see her completely nude.  I motioned to The Wringer with my gun.  "Get in the box."

For the first time Maria noticed the device.  "What is it?" she asked, stalling.

"Now!" I shouted, ominously.  She quickly complied.  

Maria sat in The Wringer, her legs bent up to her chest.  Her head, shoulders, and chest extended out the top.  The Wringer had a lid; if I had wished I could have forced her all the way in and locked it.  Then the unfortunate woman wouldn't know what was happening until she was completely flat.  But no.  I wanted Maria to see ever step of what was happening, I wanted her to be totally aware.

Maria clutched her knees and held them to her chest.  Tears ran down her cheeks.  "Why are you doing this, Jennifer?" she asked.  "I thought we were friends."

I wanted to slap her.  How dare she talk about friendship?  "I thought so too," I spat.  "Now, is there anything you'd like to tell me?  You know I know what you did, but things will go easier on you if you just admit it."

I placed the barrel of the BB gun to her ear.  I was glad that she obviously knew little about guns, she really thought the weapon was capable of splattering her brains everywhere.  

Maria's whole frame trembled with fear.  "Admit what?  What have I done?  Tell me what you want me to say!"  Damn, she was a good actress.  Well, if she wasn't going to confess, I guessed I'd just have to squeeze it out of her, so to speak.  She was already practically hysterical, I wondered how she'd react when I squished her.

The time had come.  I grabbed the crank on the side of the machine and gave it a good, hard, yank.  I saw Maria's upper body descend into The Wringer, just a little.  I looked down at the rollers in front.  Yep, just like I expected.  There, sticking out between the two rollers, were a pair of feet.  They were flat feet, and not the kind that keep you out of the army.  These were FLAT feet.  No thicker than a bedsheet, and just as pliant.  I smiled as I saw them ripple in the slight breeze from the AC.

Maria was too busy concentrating on my gun to see her extra narrow feet.  When I turned the crank, she simply winced.  "What's wrong?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

"Please," she begged, "my feet must be caught in the rollers, I can't move them."  She tried in vain to retract them from the rollers.

I smiled sweetly and pointed to her feet.  As she looked down over the edge of the box, her eyes widened.  I slapped my hand over her mouth just in time; the resulting scream surely would have alerted the rest of the motel if I hadn't.

Eventually, I felt her screams subside and I removed my hand.  Maria was staring transfixed at her toes.  I savored her misery.  If I could pay her back one one-thousandth of the agony she'd caused me it would be worth it.

I grabbed one of her feet and rolled it between my fingers.  It bent and folded as easily as a handkerchief.  I knew from past experience what Maria would be feeling: The Wringer would have caused her no physical pain, she simply would be immobilized.  She would still be able to feel, the contact of my hand would be registering quite clearly.

Maria's dark eyes were as big as saucers.  She gripped the sides of The Wringer so hard that her brown knuckles were now a ghostly white.  "As you can see," I told her, "I've effected a little change in your appearance."

Maria's upper body began to sway, I was afraid she was going to faint.  "Can...can you turn me back to normal?" she asked, weakly.

"Of course not," I lied.  "Now, are you going to admit what you did to me or, shall I give the crank another turn?"

Maria didn't answer.  She just sat there, frozen, regarding her now flattened appendages.  I wanted to slap her back to awareness, but couldn't bring myself to do it.  Instead, I filled a glass with water and sloshed it on her face.  This seemed to snap her out of it.

She faced me and looked at me intently.  Before I could stop her she had grabbed my bare shoulder with her long nailed hand.  "Jennifer," she whispered intently, "you've made some kind of mistake.  I don't know what you think I've done, but I'm sure there's been some kind of...some kind of misunderstanding.  Just tell me why you are doing this.  Let's talk.  For the love of God, lets talk!"

I backed away, but she held on tightly.  I wrenched free.  Her nails raked the flesh of my shoulders, leaving little scratch marks among the freckles.  This pissed me off even more.  Maria was totally helpless, in her mind she was doomed.  And yet she still refused to admit to any wrongdoing.  A horrible thought hit me: what if she was keeping quiet because she thought she was protecting Don?  What if she was doing this, sacrificing her 3d existence, out of love?

I hollered.  I was the only one who was allowed to love Don!  I grabbed the crank and turned it two complete times.  I was dimly aware of Maria desperately trying to prevent her decent into the box; soon her head was level with the top of The Wringer.  What I was more interested in was what was coming out from between the rollers.

Maria's calves wormed their way out.  They hung limply in the air.  Her thighs followed immediately.  It looked as if someone had blown up a picture of some Sports Illustrated swimsuit model's legs and inserted them in the rollers.  I gave one leg an idle flick.

"Oh, I'm soooo sorry," I said, insincerely.  I appear to have ruined your oh, so perfect legs.  I guess now you won't be able to wrap them around anyone's back anymore."  Maria looked ill, she was staring at her wafer-thin legs.  I took one by the toe and held it up to her face.  "Bet you were never this limber before!  It comes from no longer having any bones."  I reached for the crank.

Maria made a noise, it sounded like she was trying to say 'no,' but couldn't.  Instead she desperately struggled with the box, trying to extradite herself from the trap.  Too late.  More of her body disappeared through the rollers.  I giggled when her laced-covered hips passed through the rollers.  That was one pair of panties that Don wouldn't be finding in his briefcase.  I stopped turning the crank when her navel became visible.

"Why Maria, however do you keep your stomach so flat?  You must give me your secret!"

Maria could no longer see over the top of the box, what was left of her was pinned down near the inside rollers.  She looked at me with a horrified expression, as if she couldn't believe how cruel I was being.  As if she hadn't been even more cruel to me.

"Face facts Maria.  Your legs are now nothing more than a pair of panty hose.  Your twat is crushed, you'll never have a man again.  NEVER!"  I emphasized that.  If I decided to change her back to normal, I was sure she'd have lots of men, but not Don.  She was sure as hell going to stay away from him, I'd see to that.  "Now Maria," I caressed her cheek with my hand.  She was wet from the water I had splashed her with, from her sweat, and from her tears.  "you might as well tell me everything.  Cut your losses.  Half your body is still in its proper shape, just tell me the truth and you can keep it that way."  Getting her to admit her affair had become an obsession with me.  I decided never to change her back until she came clean.

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!" she shouted.

"Wrong answer."  I cranked again, and didn't stop till I saw her collarbone.  I looked at her breasts.  Whenever I had passed through the wringer, my breasts seemed to disappear.  They were so small to begin with that once I was flattened all you could really see of them were the nipples.  With Maria it was different.  Hers were large, probably a 'C' cup.  They were now pressed flat to her chest.  The cleavage was visible, but only as a line.  For once, I was looking at a woman with a flatter chest than mine.

I peeked into the box.  Maria was into the rollers up to her armpits.  All that was left was her frightened face, and her upraised arms.  "Last chance," I told her, slowly and deliberately.

"Jennifer..." was all she said, she sounded far away.  Well, enough dilly dallying.  I cranked until her head passed through the rollers.  Her arms were still inside the machine so I cranked until they passed through as well.  Maria was now completely flattened.  She lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.

I tossed the gun on the table and picked her up by her shoulders; now she weighed little more than a pound.  Her neck could no longer support her head, it flopped forward, leaving her face level with her breasts.  "Bet you've never had such a close look at your tits!" I laughed.

Holding her shoulder with one hand, I righted her head with the other.  The rest of her body hung free and limp.  I looked her in the eye.  She could no longer move her face, she was stuck with a rather stupid looking, frightened expression.  The only sign that she was anything more than a large poster was the tears still forming around her eyes.
 
"C'mere," I said in my deadliest voice.  "Let me show you what happens to people who play me for a fool."  I carried her over to the mirror and held her up to it.  I let her look for a long time.  "You're no longer a woman!" I shouted at her.  "You're nothing more than a piece of paper!  Do you hear me?  You're a blanket with a girl painted on it!  You're a paper doll."  Suddenly, I felt very depressed.  Paper Doll.  That had been Don's other nickname for me, the nickname he used when he flattened me.

"Why?"  This was the first work that Maria had spoken since coming through the rollers.  Speaking, as I mentioned before, was still possible in this state.  You didn't speak in the traditional sense though, all you could do was force air through your vocal chords.  It was impossible to speak above a whisper.

"Why?" I screamed so loudly that another motel guest later complained to the management about the noise.  "Why?  For Christ's sake woman, why do you think?"

Maria made no response.  I grabbed her by the feet and began flicking her, like a whip.  "Answer me, woman!  Why do you think I did this?"

With every flick, Maria's body would snap out taught, her arms flinging about her head.  She still didn't reply, she simply moaned.

I tossed her on the bed, then slowly smoothed her out.  I stood over her limp, spread-eagled form.  "You wanted to talk earlier," I said, "so talk!"

"Turn me back," begged Maria.

"Impossible," I chuckled, relishing the falsehood.  "It's a one-way trip."

"Then I have nothing more to say to you.  You've ruined my life."

"Just like you ruined mine, honey.  But don't for a moment think the worst is over.  Don't even think you can ever have the upper hand here."

"What do you mean 'The worst isn't over'?  I have nothing left in my life now!  Nothing!"

"Oh, don't say that," I replied with false charm.  "I'm sure there's lots of things you can be: a tablecloth, a dish rag, maybe a welcome mat!"

"You bitch," she replied (pardon the pun) flatly.

"Ah, don't say that, honey.  You see, I'm not done with you.  You still won't admit what you did to me.  Luckily (fake German accent) vee haf veys of making you talk."

I dug around in the cardboard box I had lugged home from One-Eyed Jack's and pulled out a dangerous looking army knife.  I removed a pillow case from a pillow and, making sure I was in Maria's now limited line of site, I dropped it over the knife.  It silently severed itself over the blade.  "Now, what else in this room do you think this knife could cut through?"  I looked at her meaningfully.  She whimpered.  Of course it was an idle threat, I wouldn't really do that to her.

"Or," I continued "maybe I could tape your mouth shut and plaster you to the bus station wall.  I'm sure the vandals would enjoy spray painting you.  Or perhaps I'll send you to the men's prison.  I know you could find a guy there who wouldn't be too picky about your state.  And when he was done with you, he could easily slip you through the bars and trade you to someone else on the cellblock.  I bet you'd fetch a whole carton of smokes."  Maria's sobs were more audible now.

"Or, maybe I should just mail you to a fake address.  Let you sit around in the dead letter bin at the post office for the next twenty years.  Ah, such decisions Maria.  Well, no point in rushing.  I think I'll pack you up for the evening, maybe tomorrow you'll be more frank with me."

I turned Maria over on her stomach.  Starting with her feet, I began to roll her up like a sleeping bag.  Soon her legs were wrapped up all the way to her rear.  I kept going.  Tucking her arms along her back, I rolled her tighter and tighter.  She was now a fleshy cylinder, no more than a foot and a half long and no thicker than a Sunday paper.  Her face was on the outside, her eyes could still see me.

I reached into my box again and pulled out the last thing I had bought.  It was an old fashioned map case, the kind used by soldiers in the field.  It was really nothing more than a hollow metal tube, about two feet long, with a screw-on top.  I slid her in.  She fit easily.  "Anything you want to say?  No?  Well, pleasant dreams."  I screwed the top on.

"Jennifer," came a muffled voice from inside the tube.

"Yes?" I answered cautiously.

"Please tell me what to do.  I'm scared.  I just want to know what you want from me."

"Just admit what you did to me.  Then I'll leave you to whatever life you can manage in your state."

"Jennifer, I never did anything to you."

That did it.  I unscrewed the cap and dumped her out.  She partially unfurled on the bed.  Forgetting my resolution to make her confess, I began to shout at her.  "Never did anything to me?  I suppose you think that sleeping was Don wasn't anything?  I guess screwing over a woman who's less attractive than you isn't a big deal, huh?  You make me sick."

"Don?" asked Maria in a confused voice.  "Your husband?"

"YES, MY HUSBAND!  Or did you forget?  Did he mean that little to you?"

"Jennifer, I never slept with him!  He's a friend, nothing more!"

"Don't insult me.  I have proof!"

"What are you talking about?"

I went back to Don's room and retrieved his briefcase.  "This!  This proof!" I shouted, as I hurled the pink underwear at her wadded-up body.

"So?" she asked.  "Those aren't mine."

I wanted to confront her with her initials, but decided to do her one better.  I tossed her scrawled note onto her boneless body.

"What's that?" she asked, pretending not to know.  I opened it and held it up for her to read (as if she didn't already know what it said).

To my shock, Maria laughed.  "Just what the hell's so funny?" I barked.

Maria seemed on the verge of hysterics.  "I didn't write that note, Jennifer.  Zeke wrote it!"

"Maria, lie to me again and I'll feed you through a paper shredder.  Zeke?  Crazy Zeke?  Give me a break!"

"It's the truth!  Listen:  you know that Don's playing a lawyer, and that Zeke's playing the opposing lawyer, right?"

"So?"

"So there's this scene where Don's supposed to dramatically hand some important legal briefs to Zeke.  Only Don never bothered to go out and buy the manila folders he was going to use for the prop.  Every rehearsal he'd just hand Zeke an old newspaper, or a hamburger wrapper, once even a 'Playboy.'  It really started to piss Zeke off, he said it kept throwing off his next line.  Zeke wanted to get a little revenge, so he tossed some women's underwear into the briefcase Don was using as a prop.  Guess he wanted to throw off Don's concentration one time."

I staggered.  Don was notoriously bad about waiting until the last minute to buy his personal props.  What did the note say, 'remember your briefs?'  Legal briefs?  It would explain the bad handwriting.

"But what about..." I started to ask about Maria's initials in the bra.  Then it hit me.  MTPR: Madison Theater Prop Room.  Zeke must have swiped the underwear from the prop department.

I flopped down on the bed, amid the underwear, the map case, and the flattened skin that had once been Maria.  "He didn't cheat on me!" I squealed.

"Jennifer," interrupted Maria.

"He didn't cheat!  He loves me!  HE LOVES ME!"

"Jennifer!"

"He loves me!  Oh God, I was so worried there for a while!"

"JENNIFER!"

That caught my attention.  I looked over at Maria's pathetic, floppy, two-dimensional body.

"Oh my God Maria, I'm sorry!  Don't worry, I lied, I can change you back right now!  You were never in any danger, the gun wasn't even real."

"Then what the hell are you waiting for?"

I gingerly picked up Maria by the top of the head, and smoothed her out.  I carried her to the wringer and inserted her head between the outside rollers.  I made some adjustments and then turned the crank.  Maria passed through the rollers.  Looking into the box, I saw her head emerge, intact, followed by the rest of her.  As soon as she cleared the rollers, she leaped out of The Wringer.

Suddenly I was scared.  I had just put Maria through absolute hell, sheer torture, for no reason whatsoever.  What would she do to me?  She was bigger than me, I'm sure if she wanted to she could beat the crap out of me.  Or would she just scream at me, tell me she never wanted to talk to me again?  How could I have done this to a friend?  Love sure makes people act funny.

Vengeance apparently wasn't on her mind, at least not yet.  She staggered to the sink and turned it on.  She plunged her head into the icy cold water.  Then, much to my shock, she removed her bra.  She wet a washcloth and wiped down her whole torso.

I thought about making my escape while she was distracted, but didn't.  I had to face the music, I owed her that much.

Finally, she came over and sat down next to me.  She looked more tired than angry.  "What was that all about?" she asked.

I explained to her about how I had thought Don was sleeping with her, about her initials being on the bra.

"But why did you put me through that crazy machine?  Why didn't you just confront me?"

I was ashamed.  "I wanted to hurt you.  I thought you had stolen my man, I wanted to make you suffer like I thought you made me suffer."

Much to my relief, Maria draped her arm over me in a friendly fashion.  "Jennifer, as Chevy Chase once said 'this is a case of your heart being bigger than your brain.'"

I looked at her shyly.  "So can you forgive me?" I asked.

"I guess.  Hell, if I thought someone was after my lover, I'd probably have freaked out too.  But c'mon, did you honestly think Don would want me when he could have you?  Jesus, the way the guy carries on about you, it makes me a bit jealous."

I blushed.  How could I have ever suspected Don of being unfaithful?  "Thanks Maria.  Don't be too jealous of me, you'll find someone."

Maria giggled.  "Jennifer, I didn't mean I was jealous of you.  I was jealous of Don."

Suddenly, I was very aware of the fact that Maria was naked except for her panties, and that I was damn near topless.  She still had her arm draped casually around my shoulders.  I slid away.  "Er, Maria, what exactly are you saying?"

She laughed again.  "No wonder Don loves you so much.  You're so innocent.  C'mon, don't tell me you didn't know that I'm not interested in men."

"You mean...?"

"I mean, I've been dating Melody for almost a year now.  It's no secret."

Melody, the production's make-up woman.  I pictured the friendly blonde in my head.  No, I had never even suspected.

"I thought you knew," continued Maria.  "That's why it never occurred to me that this had something to do with Don."

"In other words," I ventured, "I not only wrongly thought my husband was cheating, but I thought he was cheating with a woman who in reality would never be interested in him, ever."

"That's about right.  That's why you should always discuss things before acting like a raving psycho."

I covered my face with my hands.  I had never been so embarrassed.  Maria touched my cheek.  "Jennifer, don't worry about it.  You did it for love, that makes a lot of things forgivable."

I was still covering my face, this was so humiliating.  "Maria, is there anything I can do to make this up to you?"

"Well," she seemed be pondering something, "two things."

"What?"

"I'd like you to run me through that thing again."

"What!?" I uncovered my face and sat up.

"You and Don use that thing for sex, am I right?"

I nodded, embarrassed again.

"Well, Melody has been complaining recently that I'm too dominating in bed, that I'm always trying to control the action.  Not to be crude, but I'd guess you'd call me the 'man' in our relationship."

I was confused.  "So you want me to put you through it, so you'll have no choice but to let her be in charge?"

"That about sums it up.  Not now, I think it would be best if we waited until after the performance was over.  We'd never get enough sleep otherwise.  Oh, and don't mention this to Melody.  I want it to be as surprise."

I was a little taken aback, but a little intrigued as well.  "Okay.  Just tell me when you're ready."

"Thanks.  Should prove to be interesting, now that I know it's safe.  Well, I'm beat and Melody should be back soon.  Would you mind....?"

"Oh, sure."  I got up to leave.  I was almost at the door, when I remembered.  "Maria, you said there were two things you wanted from me.  What was the other?"

"This."  Without warning, Maria grabbed me by the face and kissed me on the lips.  It was a hard kiss, and lasted a long time.  I was too stunned to resist her.  Then she let me go.  She smiled sweetly, and gently pushed me out the door.  I certainly hadn't remained in charge of that situation for very long.

I walked back into Don's room.  I thought I should be tired, but I wasn't.  Just the opposite, I was totally wired.  The bizarre events of the day had left me with so much nervous energy that I couldn't even sit down.

Then I heard a familiar step on the walkway outside the room.  I turned to see my husband at the door.  My faithful, loving husband.

His face split into a wonderful smile when he saw me.  "J.J.!" he shouted joyfully, just before he kissed me.  He held me for a long time.  Finally, we separated.

"Oh, honey," he said, "it's so good to see you.  I wasn't expecting you...er, J.J., why are you dressed like that?"

"Dressed like...?"  I looked down at myself.  In all the hubbub, I had forgotten I was still dressed in my now ridiculous costume: the boots, the shorts, and the tiny headband around my chest.  How could I explain this?  There was only one option.
I tackled Don, knocking him over onto the bed.  "Happy anniversary, Tiger," I snarled as I lept on top of him.

Next time:  Wringer Revisited, Maria and Melody's story

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