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A Changeling Chronicle

Point of View


Rodford Edmiston

        The Changeling Support Group was originally just that; an informal organization to help those of us Changed to adjust to our new state. However, the majority of new forms assumed were, after all, idealizations. They may not have been what we would have chosen, but we were in many cases physically superior to what we had been, appearance included. So we mostly just met for the fun of it, and to be available if some Changeling really did need help.

        I have a nice townhouse, here in Lexington, Kentucky, and we most often meet here, on Sunday afternoons. Considering that most Changelings who had been churchgoers were now not welcome among our former congregations (though there were some pleasant exceptions to this) it was the time when the largest number of us were available.

        There had been no particular agenda set for this get-together, which was as usual. As people wandered in they migrated to one of the smaller subgroups, depending on what topic or activity they were interested in. The group had an unusually large furry complement this day, running about 50%. Most people who Changed were human, or at least could pass. Though a 200 cm bronze-skin giant with huge muscles might attract attention, especially if female. A large portion of those who weren't human were some alien race, from a favorite story, a game or their own creation. Other non-humans were elves, trolls and such, from various mythologies and folk tales. I personally know three Vulcans, half a dozen Klingons and four elves, for instance.

        Today, though, there was a plethora of canines, felines, meercats and others I couldn't immediately identify. Some mixed features of different species, either as a result of poor zoological knowledge or a deliberate artistic choice. Others were simply generic furries. Teesha, a lithe, muscular tigress in a bikini, was curled up on my couch, talking with Bent-Tail, a werewolf in cut-off jeans and t-shirt, while having her back scratched by Alice, a barely bipedal unicorn-morph in a tunic. Nearby was Roy, a more humanoid wolf-morph. Asleep on the carpet beside his chair was Taffeta, a female housecat-morph.

        There is enormous variety among furries, even among those who had similar inspirations. Where Bent-Tail walks digitigrade and has arms nearly as long as his legs (I have actually seen him walk and run on all fours) Roy walks flat-footed and has human proportions. While Roy couldn't pass as a human, he might just be able to get away posing as a human in a very well-made costume. Which was a bit ironic, since Roy usually wore as little as he could get away with. Today he was in a G-string and t-top, both barely loose enough to contain the bulging anatomy beneath.

        As it turned out, the conversation was devoted to clothing. Taffeta had told them of her invention of slicing down the back of a pair of pants or a skirt and installing Velcro at the top, leaving a slit for a tail. As the others took up the topic, she lost interest and dozed off. I stopped by to check on how they were doing just in time to hear a major shift in subject.

        "Yeah, well, the biggest problem I've had is not biting my tongue when I talk," said Bent-Tail. He laughed, actually making more of a barking sound, and shook his head. "Good thing I heal fast."

        There was general agreement, not only among those in the little group but from others nearby. I hadn't considered this aspect of having a muzzle, and felt a bit glad that I wasn't working on a commissioned drawing of a werewolf when the Change hit.

        The weather was going back and forth between sunny and stormy, and the air was quite cool, despite being late Spring. However, it was warm inside, what with all the bodies heating the place, and furries are naturally more inclined to less clothing for the temperature than humans. I had therefore made it clear that clothing was optional indoors, though I did request that people keep in mind the feelings of others who might be there. Roy didn't need the excuse of temperature, being a flat-out exhibitionist. Originally he had been Sheila Brown, a plain, slightly dumpy artist in her mid-twenties. As Roy she was a male anthropomorphic wolf, very muscular and athletic. Roy was also openly and enthusiastically bi. He'd even made a pass at me, accepting gracefully when I politely but firmly told him "no."

        And that brings us to your host. I have a doctorate in Physical Anthropology, but make my living drawing fantasy and SF art. I had doodled a bit as a kid, but it wasn't until I took a prerequisite art course that I learned that I was both good at it and liked it. I went ahead and finished my degree, and actually taught some at the University of Kentucky, but even before graduating I knew my career would be art.

        Like all Changelings, I was transformed into the character I was working on at the moment the Change happened. As a human male I had stood 181 cm. Now I'm E'eysha, a very tiny and very cute female elf, from a monthly comic strip I do for a fantasy gaming magazine.

        I was currently wearing a crisscross, scarf-like halter top, with a short skirt, both custom made. This was less a matter of choice than necessity. There are some things you just can't buy in children's sizes. Like brassieres. Getting cut-down or special order bras is expensive and time-consuming, so in circumstances like this I usually do without. I certainly don't need the support; I designed E'eysha very pert and proud.

        Of course, this meant that my assets were clearly outlined by the fabric of my top. I had assumed that with all the scantily clad females usually present at Changeling gatherings I wouldn't attract much attention. I was wrong. Many female Changelings were formerly male - or lesbians or bisexual - so I was getting a lot of flirting from them, as well as from the guys. As for my own tastes, I find that the sight of an attractive male does nothing for me, though occasionally male scent does. I still find myself thinking that women look sexy. Having trouble reconciling my memories and previous attitudes with my new body certainly did not make me unique among this crowd, but I seemed to be having more trouble than most. Part of the reason for all the attention being paid me may have been that some of those making passes were deliberately trying to make me uncomfortable.

        Another reason I feel uncomfortable as E'eysha is that I'm so small, under 106 cm. Though I'm not fragile, and stronger than I look, I am still weaker than I'm used to, and everything around me is bigger. That can be very disconcerting, and leave one feeling vulnerable, especially when large males are paying attention to you.

        The meeting - party, really - broke up around five. Though folks normally linger as late as eight - when I chase them out - this time nearly everyone left soon after the first few. I think the large number of newcomers had resulted in an unusually high rate of plans for sexual experimentation. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours" takes on a whole new level of meaning with Changelings.

        As folks left I was faced with a minor problem. Leery - a ferret-morph in a leather harness with attached pouches - had brought a load of tortilla chips and enough super-spicy dip to achieve critical mass. I don't mind hot stuff, but this was more than I could eat before it started to spoil. Roy told me that he and his roommate were planning a party later in the week, so we started carrying things out after most of the other guests had left.

        Roy had arrived late and as a result parked a good distance away from the townhouse. We carried his share of the stuff out to his car, waving at departing Changelings as they drove by. Just as he closed the hatch, he gave a yelp.

        "Shit! I left the keys inside!"

        The doors, naturally, were locked.

        "Maybe I can use my TK to pull the knob up," I offered.

        One of the benefits of being E'eysha was that I had several psi powers, including telekinesis. Unfortunately, this body didn't come with an owner's manual, and I was still learning. I looked at the locking knob, and pulled with my mind. Nothing happened. I frowned and tried again, harder. Still nothing.

        "Uh, Ed..." Roy began.

        I ignored him, trying to relax and focus, letting it happen instead of making it happen.

        "Uh, Ed, you might want to look at this."

        I sighed in exasperation, and raised my gaze to see Roy pointing. I looked, and there was a wall of rain sweeping toward us. Typical Kentucky weather. I barely had time to gape in amazement before it hit.

        We ran back to the townhouse, me swearing a blue streak the whole way. Roy could have easily raced ahead, but he stayed with me, which I appreciated. I had propped the door open on the way out, and the last of the guests had fortunately left it that way. We dashed in and slid to a stop, panting and dripping.

        I turned and slammed the door, yelling "Son of a bitch!!"

        "My, such unladylike language," laughed Roy, his tongue actually hanging out the side of the mouth for a moment, like a dog's. "You have a lot less than me to complain about. I'm the one covered in wet fur!"

        I stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing.

        "Oh, come on," I told him, taking his hand. "I'll get us some towels. You go stand in the kitchen, so you don't drip on the carpet."

        While I was at it I also got a blow dryer and a pair of robes, one of my old large ones for Roy and a small one for me. I went back into the living room, turned and headed for the kitchen. Thanks to the load I was carrying partially blocking my view, I didn't actually see what Roy had done until I was already walking across the linoleum. Then I took another two steps, not believing what I saw, before stopping dead. Roy had stripped, and hung his skimpy clothing on a chair.

        I had forgotten how casual he was about being naked. He turned and glanced at me, and I couldn't help noticing that the tip of his penis was protruding just a bit from his sheath... and that I was wearing a filmy top plastered by rain to my otherwise bare breasts.

        Not wanting to be thought rude for staring, I quickly recovered and moved to the table, dumping the armload there. I sorted the robes to one side, the dryer to the other, focusing on my tasks, and handed Roy a towel. He nodded his thanks, and began drying himself.

        Now I had to make a decision. I could go back into the bathroom and remove my wet clothing, using the pretense that I needed to hang them on the curtain rod, or I could strip here, in front of him. Roy would certainly accept the former, but I would feel guilty about it. If I did the latter, he wouldn't be seeing anything he hadn't seen before, just in a smaller size. I swallowed my modesty and began to unbutton my skirt, though I did turn away.

        Off went my wet clothes, with some difficulty. Trying not to hurry, I picked up a towel, shook it out and wrapped it around me. Feeling better, now, I realized that my hair was at least as wet as Roy's fur. I lifted the blow dryer, and turned toward him.

        "I'll blow you if you blow me."

        There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Roy dropped to the floor laughing, and I walked over to a wall and began banging my head.

        "Oh! Oh, Ed! That was priceless!"

        "Other people have Freudian slips," I groaned. "I have Freudian landslides."


    This work is Copyright 1998 by Rodford Edmiston Smith, who can be reached at: stickmaker@usa.net. Please contact the author for permission before reposting or reprinting. Thank you.