Paris in the summer was stifling.  I had hoped that it would prove romantic, but the heat in August proved anything but.  Even the Seine was slow and sluggish.  It was obvious why the city was half-empty.

As a last resort, I tried going up the Eiffel tower to see if the air was cooler up there.  While the breezes were a distinct improvement, and the view was spectacular, it seemed like half of the remaining population of the city had had the same idea.

In the elevator going down, I grumbled, “This is not what I came here for.”

A nearby voice replied, “I hear you, it’s just too darn hot for romance,” in a familiar southern drawl.

I turned to my neighbour and asked him, “Are you from Texas too?”

“Yup.  Amarillo.”

I gave him a once-over as I shook his hand.  He was an attractive young man in his early twenties, about my age, though he was slight of build—more of a runner or dancer than a linebacker.  “I’m from Houston.  Nathan Harbridge.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Nathan Harbridge from Houston.  I’m Leslie Charters.”

I nodded, then chuckled.  “Look at us, two Texas boys complaining about the heat.”

Leslie laughed gently and fanned himself.  The air in the elevator car was stifling.  “Too used to air conditioning.  It’s like nobody here has a clue how to do it right.”

“To be fair,” I replied, “they are in the middle of a record-breaking heat wave.  Think the museums are any better than the malls?”

“I don’t see how they could be worse.  Have you been to the Louvre yet?”

I hadn’t, so we decided to head there next.  I was about to start walking west, when Leslie pointed out the Metro entrance.  “This way is easier, if not a lot faster.”

“OK.  I’ve kind of avoided the Metro.  I can’t read French, and how far can it really be?”

Leslie laughed that charming delicate laugh once more.  I couldn’t help but smile in response.  “The landmarks in Paris are really spread out.  Don’t you have a guidebook?”

“Well, yeah.  But I just got here, I figured I’d just explore on my own for a bit.”

“That works a lot of other places,” Leslie commented, then we were at the ticket machine and he was pointing out the ticket I’d need to buy.

Then it was this way and that to the right platform, with all the signs incomprehensible.  Well, the numbers I could sort out well enough, but who knew where they led?  Leslie did, and soon he was seated on the train, legs crossed primly.  He’d scooped the last seat, so I stood nearby.  It was too noisy to talk easily, so I just watched Leslie.  Then it was hop out, walk a bit, hop another train, and soon we were much closer to our destination.

“I would never have sorted that out. I’d probably end up in London,” I said, as we emerged back into the sweltering Paris sunshine, and started the last bit of our trip on foot.

“You can’t get to London on the Metro.  Well you could if you got on the train, if you don’t mind that awful tunnel.  My friends headed up that way haring after a couple of cute g...  Well, they decided they’d rather go to London, anyway.  I wanted to see more of the continent, so that was that.”

“Have you been here on your own for long?”  I asked.

“Just a couple of days.  We’d been bouncing around Spain and France for a couple of weeks before they bailed on me.”

“So where do you want to head next?”

Leslie shrugged slightly.  “More of France, then maybe Italy.”

“Sounds like fun.  My French is nonexistent, but I can speak German and a passable Italian.”

“Hey, that’d be handy.  I’ve only got French, so I wasn’t sure about how Italy would go.  It sure would be handy to travel with someone that knows the local language.”  The way he smiled at me, how could I say no?

We talked about possible destinations for our next stop as we walked to the Louvre.  Wandering toward Switzerland seemed to be the plan, as between the two of us we covered the three official languages there.  After the sticky Paris heat, the idea of going skiing during August was appealing, but in truth, I would have gone along anywhere he suggested.

When we got inside the Louvre and found it wasn’t anything either of us recognized as ‘air conditioned’, we almost turned around again and left.  But Leslie insisted that we had to at least visit the Mona Lisa and a few of the classic sculptures.  The crowds near the iconic works of art were crazy, but much of the rest of the museum was sparsely populated.  Some of the lower levels were even vaguely cool, so we spent a few hours down there, wandering through displays of antiquities and medieval architecture.  Leslie had minored in art history, so he had plenty of things to talk about.  His excitement was infectious, and I found myself having a great time just listening to him.  There was something lyrical about the way he talked when he got going.

His enthusiasm peaked when we found the Winged Victory of Samothrace.  It was his favourite sculpture, and he was full of information on its history and travails.  I had to marvel at how well it had survived, other than the lack of head or arms.  The wings were gorgeous, as was the sculpted fabric of its toga.

“She’s over 2200 years old.  A hundred times my age,” Leslie marvelled.  “Look at her, she’s still beautiful.  I desperately want to recreate her one day.”

“You’re a sculptor?”

Leslie sighed.  “No.  My dad wants me to help run his hotel.  It’s not bad work, really.  Not my dream, but I’ll make enough I can sculpt in my spare time.”

“Hey, that’s better than most people manage.”

“What about you?  What’s your dream job?”  Leslie asked as he continued to drink in the sculpture.

“Not the chemical engineering I studied, that’s for sure.  Same deal as you, Dad wanted me to study something ‘productive’.  I’ve already got a job lined up for when I get back, in the petroleum industry.  It’ll pay well, at least.”

Once Leslie was done ogling the statue, he figured we should leave on that high note.  Emerging back into the Paris heat cemented our earlier plan—get out of Paris now.  We made a quick stop at our respective hostels, laughing at the fact they were less than a block apart.  The next stop was the Gare Lyon, and a high speed train heading southeast.

I was unclear as to why we got off in Dijon.  Leslie said that Beaune was the wine capital of France, and it sounded like a worthwhile diversion.  It was cooler in the countryside, and we found a little hostel near one of the ‘caves’.  After we’d stored our backpacks, Leslie got us into a tour of said ‘cave’.  I was disappointed to find it was just tunnels underground.  That it was lined with thousands upon thousands of bottles of wine made up for that, and it was pleasantly cool inside.  The wine tasting was fascinating, too.

Later, and perhaps slightly tipsy, we found a rustic restaurant for dinner.  The menus were entirely in French, of course.  Leslie ordered, though he seemed to stumble more than once under the disapproving gaze of the waiter.

The waiter nodded once, and with a curt “Oui, Madame,” he left.

“Why did he call you ‘Madame’?  It’s obvious you’re a guy.”

Leslie was turning an interesting shade of pink, perhaps amaranth or cerise.  “I... uh...  I think I might have fumbled a few words here and there.  My French is a little rustier than I thought.”

I shook my head.  “I’d heard the French were rude, but never seen it before.  I hope our food is alright.”

Leslie smiled wryly at that, and we turned to talking about our travels instead.  I told of how I’d grown up as an Army brat, spending my early childhood on a base in Germany, with side trips down to Italy because Mom’s folks lived there.  Leslie hadn’t been to Europe before, but had grandparents in Quebec, which is where he’d picked up his French.  He ruefully noted that his accent was not exactly Parisian as a result, and that it had proved more of a handicap than he’d expected.

When our food arrived it was amazing. The wine served with it was even better, if Leslie’s comments were anything to go by.  While I knew which wine went with which kind of food, I’d not had it often enough to learn to judge it.  Leslie had a good time continuing to teach me the finer points of wine tasting.

After we paid for our lovely meal, Leslie got into an involved discussion with the waiter that involved arm-waving, diagrams on the table, and turned rather loud once the waiter seemed to understand what he wanted.  There was a lot of pointing at me, but the words went by too fast for me to have a hope of catching anything.  Except Madame, more than a few times.  Eventually what Leslie said seemed to mollify the waiter, who gave him a pitying look as he moved off.

“What was all that about?” I asked as we left the restaurant.

“Come on, it’s not far.”  He sighed bitterly.  “I need to settle this.”

“What’s not far?”

“The town’s Venn Machine.  Only they call it a ‘la Machine de Confiance’, so there was some confusion at first.”

“That sounded like more than confusion.”

“Look, Nathan.  It has been great travelling with you so far, and I’d like to carry on with our plans.  It could make this next month a whole lot more fun.”

“That was the idea,” I agreed, puzzled.

“Wouldn’t it be even more fun as a guy and a girl?”

I thought about that for a couple blocks. “I hadn’t thought about it like that before, but... yeah, it probably would.”

“Oh good.  So I’ll turn into a girl, and...”

“Wait, why you?  To be fair, it should be luck of the draw.”

“But...”

“Oh come on, I’m not going to force you to be the girl if I’m not willing to risk the same.  We should flip for it.”  As we stopped in front of the Venn Machine, I pulled a coin out of my pocket.  “Call it.”

“Uh, heads... but..”

I tossed the coin in the air, caught it, and slapped it onto my wrist.  “Heads it is.  Huh.  Lucky break for you.”

“Yeah,” said Leslie weakly.  “Lucky.  Have you used a Venn Machine before?”

“A couple times at university, after losing some... bets with a classmate.  Got stuck in her underthings drawer a couple of times.”

Leslie laughed, and the tension of the moment was broken.  “OK, let’s put our papers in a locker, then.  You’ve got more than a month to go before you leave, right?”

I nodded.

“OK.  So if we stay within the EU, we won’t need our passports for that long.”

Soon we were inside the Venn Machine, set for a month. I’d never used it for so long before.  I was actually excited about the prospect.  Seeing the world from a new perspective, getting to use the other side of all those manners lessons I learned with my sisters... it could be fun.

Leslie was taking a long time, but I knew an artist at work when I saw them.  The wait was amply rewarded when I got a look at my new body.  I was stunningly beautiful.  My blonde hair was now falling past my shoulders in thick waves, and my sweet, oval face was the most beautiful I’d seen outside fashion magazines.  If anything, my eyes had become even more blue than before, and I got lost in their shining reflection.

“So what do you think?” asked Leslie hesitantly, after my long silence.

“I’m beautiful!”  I danced over to him, my long skirt swirling against my legs.  “I feel amazing, too.  Like I could dance all night, and never tire.  I’ll have no trouble keeping up with you on walks, now.”

“Good, I’m glad that part worked too.”

“Hm?”

“You’re a lot stronger than you look, so despite your size, you’ll be able to hold your own if something goes wrong.”

I looked up at him, suddenly realizing that instead of being almost half a foot taller than Leslie, I was now a few inches shorter.  “Wow.  I hadn’t realized how short you’d made me.”

Leslie got all hesitant again.  “Is that a problem?”

I grinned up at him, then stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.  “No, it’s perfect.  Couples look better when the girls’ a bit shorter.”

I pulled his arm around my waist as we walked back to the hostel.  It felt good.

In the morning, I realized that none of my old clothes had the slightest chance of fitting me.  Leslie assured me that it wouldn’t be a problem.  At his advice, I took all my papers and my guidebook out of my backpack, then we shouldered our packs and headed back to the Venn Machine.  I went in with my backpack on, Leslie touched the green button, and we went back out again.  I hadn’t changed, but the dress I was wearing was now clean and fresh.

I must have looked puzzled as we emerged, because Leslie just grinned and said, “Look in your backpack.”

All my clothes had changed!  It was full of dresses, now.  “Neat trick.  Thanks, this will work so much better.”

We headed back to the train station, and resumed our journey to Switzerland.  Along the way, I did my best to remember my sisters’ part of the manners lessons.  I had to teach Leslie his side of things, as well—he wasn’t in the habit of holding open doors, or pulling out chairs, or any of the little things a gentleman was supposed to do for a lady.  He was a quick study, though.  By the time we’d had our fill of skiing and snow, and headed on to Italy, he was shaping up nicely.

Our first day in Florence was magical.  We saw the sights, especially the bridges and the cathedral.  Leslie looked for a specific gelato store—it was supposed to be the best in the city—but his guidebook wasn’t as accurate as he’d hoped.  He got me to ask for directions a few times, and soon we found it.  I had meringue gelato, and it was fully as amazing as claimed.  We went back there after dinner, but it was closed.  Leslie promised we’d return the next day, then we hiked back to the little hotel we’d found.  Pooling our resources had let us upgrade the sorts of places we could stay in.

“We’ve talked endlessly about what gentlemen and ladies should do in public,” Leslie asked as he opened the door to our shared room, and ushered me inside.  Once the door was closed behind us, he asked, “What about in private?”

“In private, she does her whorish best.”  I was glad we hadn’t had this discussion over dinner, as from the way Leslie reacted he probably would have ended up spurting wine out his nose.  I smiled at him encouragingly while he gathered his thoughts.

“But you’re not normally a girl.”

“Every time you treat me like a woman - opening a door for me, pulling out my chair, or even just holding my hand as we walk...  I feel more like one.  Just standing here, looking at me like that, you make me all melty inside.  If you were to say ‘strip down and hop on that bed’, I’d do it without hesitation, and do my whorish best.”

Leslie looked pole-axed.  “Are you sure about this?”

I gave him my winningest smile, and he answered in kind.  “I’ve been in love with you since I first met you.  It was terribly confusing at first, but now... now everything is clear.”

He stepped next to me, emphasizing our difference in height, and kissed me full on the lips.  When we finally broke for air, he said, “Me too.  Strip down, and hop on that bed.”

So I did.  And while it was as fumbling as any first time, it was also the most wonderful thing in the world.

* * *

The next day, I couldn’t feel my feet.  It was as if I was floating down the streets, drifting on a cloud of happiness.  We explored Florence further, returning twice to our favourite gelato store.  In the afternoon after a picnic lunch, we looked around the little park and realized we were quite alone.  I dragged Leslie into the bushes for another go-round, and discovered the best thing about skirts.  This time around he was a much more decisive lover, and that made me melt all over again.

When the sun started to set, we watched it from one of Florence’s famous bridges.  The light was glorious, and I insisted Leslie take pictures of me, posing in my dress and the new silk scarf he’d bought me.

After a few minutes a taller, slim man carrying an expensive camera waved for my attention.  He asked in broken English if he could take some photos of me.  Of course I agreed.  That I did so in Italian made him grin.  As he took pictures, he gave me suggestions for poses in Italian.  After perhaps twenty shots, he thanked me, and showed me some of the nicer ones.  They were amazing, and I asked if I could have copies of them.

He gave me his card, and wrote an address on the back, telling me that if I came by tomorrow he could give me prints, if I’d be willing to have more pictures taken.

“What was that all about?” asked Leslie, once the guy had gone.

“He liked my pictures, and wanted to take some more, tomorrow.  Something about his brother’s fashion business?  I didn’t quite catch all of it.”

“Probably going to be some kind of creepy thing.  You should be careful.”

“Or what, I’ll end up with nude pictures taken of me?  You’ve already taken a few.”

“Yes, but...  Look you just met the guy.  You don’t know anything about him.  Young ladies shouldn’t go off with strangers in unfamiliar cities.”

“I... oh.  I guess.  It sounded like fun.”  I looked up at Leslie and batted my eyelashes like I’d seen my sisters do to my father.  “Please?  If you come along I’ll be safe.”

His stern expression softened to an indulgent smile.  “Why are you so keen on this?”

I leaned on the railing of the bridge, staring out at the darkening sky but not seeing it.  “I’ve loved fabric and dresses ever since I was little.  My sisters used to dress me up like a doll, and... well, I’ve always been jealous of the lovely things girls get to wear.”

Leslie snorted.  “My sisters did that too, but I didn’t react like you.  A lot of those pretty things are awfully uncomfortable.  Maybe we’ll get you a corset, and see how you feel.”

“Can we?  Please?”

“I...  Really?  You don’t need one, you’re gorgeous like this.”

“There was this girl in my classes at university who wore a black PVC corset over her dresses some of the time.  Oh, how it shone.  She had the most amazing clothes, too.  I asked her about them once, and she told me that her favourite dresses were actually other girls.  She led me on, and before I knew it I was a pair of her panties.”

“Just like that?  What was it like?”

I sighed.  “She never wore me, just put me in her panty drawer.  I think she intended it as a punishment.  Being snuggled up against all that satin?  I never did get worn by her, but I spent several nights in with her panties, until she got a bit too weirded out by my keenness.  Most of her victims ran off afterward, you see.”

“She sounds like a real work of art.”  Leslie laughed.

“Yeah.  She kind of ended up as one, too.  One of the other girls got the drop on her and changed her into a mannequin.”

“How’d she take that?”

I shrugged, smiling at the memory.  “Not well.  She was put on display in the middle of campus for the day.”

Leslie eyed me appraisingly.  “You’d make a nice statue, you know.”

“Mmm.  I might let you do that.”

“I’ll take you up on it.  How would you feel about spending a month as clay, being sculpted?”

I shuddered, and ducked my head.  “I...  It would depend on the sculptor.”

“Hm.”  He dropped the subject, but he was quiet all through dinner.  I could tell he was still thinking about it.

* * *

The next day was one of the most wonderful days of my life.  I woke up next to the man I loved, and we made love before breakfast.  Then we went to the address on the card, and found a fashion photoshoot in full swing.  I was dragged off and dressed in the most wonderful clothes I could have imagined, and the day passed in a happy blur of clothing changes and photo flashes.

Afterward, I could tell that while Leslie was happy for me, he’d found the day less interesting.  When Prospero came up to me and asked me if I could come back the next day, I looked over at Leslie and sighed.  “Please?  Just a few more days.”

“I suppose I can amuse myself watching pretty girls go by in gorgeous clothes for a day or two more.”

I was kept busy for the rest of the week, and could easily have continued—I was told of a dozen other places that would be happy to have me as a model.  Me, a model!  I could hardly imagine it.  But Leslie was growing tired of it all, and his frowns were terribly hard on me.

To make it up to him, I offered to be his sculpture.  Leslie lit up at the idea, but the practicalities of it soon worried him.  “If we can even find a Venn Machine, if I set it for eight hours, we’ll both go back to normal afterward.  You don’t want that, do you?”

I shook my head.  “No.  So, no Venn Machine.  This time.  Let me see what I can do.”

I went back to Prospero’s the next day, and sweet-talked him into letting us use some of his props and other equipment.  I promised him a photoshoot like no other, and then Leslie and I retreated into a back room with the body paints, a set of wings, and a black scarf.

The next few hours were chilly, but Leslie had a wonderful time painting my body to look like a statue, and blending my arms to match the wings.  When he was done, and the paint was dry, I very carefully walked out into the main room with my arms laid back against the wings, and my head covered in the scarf.  The room went silent, then erupted into excited chatter.  It wasn’t a perfect resemblance, but I did look as much like Winged Victory as possible.  

Prospero had some flowing robe-like outfits that were very carefully draped over my painted body for yet another photoshoot.  They kept me there until nearly midnight.  I could see Leslie blurrily through the scarf, and smiled.  He looked infatuated with his creation.

Prospero offered me the wings, but sadly I had nowhere to pack them.  I went back to the hotel still painted.  When Leslie came to bed, he found me there, artfully lit, with the shadows and the scarf hiding my head.  His reaction made the effort (and the later charge to have the sheets cleaned) more than worth it.

After that, we drifted through Italy, alighting here and there, a day in overcrowded Venice, much longer in Rome, admiring the statuary and fountains in the plazas.  We ran into a large group of people busking as living statues, and had an amazing time.  Leslie couldn’t take his eyes off of them, and as they were packing up I asked one where she got her body-paints.  The next day, I was posing with them, much to Leslie’s delight.

After that, we slowly made our way north again, as our month was coming to an end.  Geneva was lovely, but too loud at night.  We stayed in a succession of small villages along the border between Germany and France.  With each stop, Leslie became more quiet and withdrawn.  I was feeling it too, that our time was coming to an end, and wanted to make every day count.

Two days before the end, Leslie packed his bags, hugged me tight, and said, “I’m sorry.  I can’t keep doing this any more.  I have to go.”

“But your flight isn’t for days...”

Leslie wiped away a tear.  “That’s not it.  I just...  I...  Please, promise me one thing.  Don’t come looking for me.  Let this month stand in our lives as a wonderful memory, and let it go.”

“But...  I love you.”

“I know.  That’s why it has to be this way.  I am so, so sorry.”

He ran, and that was the last I saw of him.  I just sat on the bed, stunned, for the rest of the evening.  I suppose I slept, but I don’t recall.  In the morning, I was still there, he was still gone, and if it wasn’t for the concern of the matron of the hotel, I might have starved in my room.  I don’t remember crying, but I don’t remember much about those days.

It took the end of my transformation, the return of Nathan, to break me out of it.  Mostly, that was due to the inescapable realization that my flight left in less than two days, and I was a long way from Amsterdam.  The trip there was complicated by the lack of my French translator, and I had to take a half dozen different trains, two cab rides, and an do awful lot of walking.  The latter made me long for Nathalie and her wonderfully strong walking legs.  I made the plane, but with less than an hour to spare.

It wasn’t until I was flying home that I started to cry.  I couldn’t stop for the entire flight.

* * *

Two months later, I found myself knocking on a door many many miles from Amarillo.  A large man answered it.  “Is this Leslie Charters’ house?”

His stern gaze made my resolve waver, but I managed to meet it.  “You’re a very persistent young man.  While I like that, Leslie’s not so happy about it.”

“Oh.  I...  Well, I have a note?  Could you...”

He took it from my hand.  “Wait outside.”

I could tell where Leslie had gotten his manners from, at least.  

The note read:
“My dear Leslie,

“I apologize for not honoring your last request of me.  I desperately need to see you again.

“During my medical exam before starting my job, the doctor found something odd.  It took him almost a month and a consultation with an expert to believe it.  You see, when the Venn Machine changes you, it does it all the way.  I wasn’t just a woman with you, I was fertile.

“I’m pregnant.  I don’t really understand how that’s possible, but I’ve seen the ultrasounds.  Apparently I have a uterus now.  This isn’t even the weirdest case the expert had heard of, there was one woman who spent three months as a dress, only to reappear eight months pregnant.  The baby was perfectly healthy, the Machines understand and preserve pregnancy.  The company doctor still wants me to go back to being a woman soon, and I can’t imagine being any woman but Nathalie.

“I have nobody to talk to, how can I explain this to my family?  They’re good people, but their church now preaches that the Venn Machines are the work of the Deceiver.  I know you said not to contact you, but you must see that I have to.  I’m confused and lost, and I am facing a terrible decision that I cannot, that I must not make alone.

“Love, your Nathalie.”

A voice rung out from above, “I’m going to be a Daddy?”  I frowned, as the voice was higher pitched than I recalled.  There was a great degree of consternation that followed, but eventually the door opened again.

“Come in,” said Mr. Charters gruffly.  “Leslie has a lot of explaining to do.”

I followed him hesitantly into a sitting room with woman who I presumed was Mrs. Charters and a girl about my age, who looked like she had to be Leslie’s sister.

“But where’s Leslie?” I asked as I sat down.

The girl winced.  “I’m Leslie.”

“But... you’re a girl!”

“Oh, God... you never figured it out?  I mean, that stupid, rude waiter did after seeing me sit for all of a minute.”

I stared at her, unseeing.  Everything that had confused me for the last few months fell into place.  Why I’d found Leslie so attractive, even before I changed.  Why I’d had to teach him to be a gentleman.  But all I could feel was the pain of the betrayal.  “You lied to me.  Lied in everything you said, every thing you did.  I loved you, but it was all a lie.”  I ran from the house, nascent tears stinging my eyes and nearly blinding me.

I made it as far as the porch before collapsing in a heap and weeping my heart out.  Nothing in the world made any sense any more.  I was tired, hungry, confused, and so very alone.  The tears just wouldn’t stop.

Some time later Mrs. Charters put a blanket over my shoulders.  She figured I must be cold and hungry, and invited me in to dinner.

I sniffed.  “I don’t think that would be such a good idea.  I’d hate to cause her any more pain.”  

“Oh, sweetie.  She’s done most of that to herself.  She was a wreck after she got home from Europe.  None of us could figure out why, she wouldn’t talk about it.”

“Seeing me isn’t going to help.”

She patted my shoulder, then got up and left.  “Wait here.”

Delicate footsteps came out, and then a plate was set beside me on the porch.  I said thanks quietly, and ate ravenously without looking up at her.  Morning sickness had taken my breakfast, and I’d been too nervous about finally meeting Leslie to manage lunch.  When the physical hollow inside me was finally filled, we sat in silence, neither looking at the other.  

Eventually she whispered, “I never lied to you.  I didn’t tell you everything, but I never lied.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“We were having a wonderful time.  I didn’t want to ruin it.  I was trying to fix it, you know.  That night in Beaune.  I knew the game was up and I was going to go back to normal.  But then you got all bull-headedly honorable and the next thing I knew... you were a girl, I was a guy, and I was smitten by my creation.”

I sighed, and slid closer to her.  She was warm.  After a little while, she put her arm around me.  It didn’t feel like it had in Florence, but it felt good.  We leaned on each other for a long time, leaking tears.

Leslie was the first to break the tableau.  She turned to me and asked,  “Will... will you be my Winged Victory?”

“Why?”

“Because we’ve both made terrible mistakes, and I want to fix it.”

“How will that...”

“I want to touch you, hold you, sculpt you, be with you.  Together we will create something perfect.”

“Yes,” I said, to everything.

For three full days I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even move.  The feeling of Leslie’s hands working me, transforming me...  I will never forget that as long as I live.  She never left me that entire time, not for a moment.  I only wish I could have seen it live, Leslie says the photos don’t do it justice.  I do remember how she looked at the end of the three days, haggard but so happy, when the statue she was still sculpting came to life and hugged her.

The next day we changed back to Nathalie and male-Leslie, and haven’t looked back since.  I know it’s confusing having Mommy turn into Daddy or a statue.  Still, that’s how it came to be, and no matter what we are, we love you and each other very much.

* * *

Leslie put down the video camera, and smiled at Nathalie.  “That should do it.  Think she’ll appreciate all that some day?”

Nathalie took his hand and put it over her distended belly, just in time for a solid kick. “Ooogh, stop drumming on my spleen.  I’m sure she will, eventually.”

“Good.  I’m really looking forward to meeting her.”

“So am I.  And... ow... the sooner the better.”

“You’ll be fine, my love,” Leslie comforted.  “I made your body extra flexible this time.  Were you serious about that last bit at the end, about sometimes being a statue?” he asked wistfully.

Nathalie smiled up at her husband.  “Oh, yes.  For you, my love, I’ll be anything.”