index


Message-ID: <47465asstr$1081977007@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "virgosun" <virgosun@internode.on.net>
Subject: {ASSM} Beryl and the Polymorph 6/9 {virgosun} (mf cons rom slow pett mutant)
Lines: 631
Date: Wed, 14 Apr 2004 17:10:07 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


<1st attachment, "poly06.txt" begin>

*BERYL AND THE POLYMORPH*

by virgosun (c) April 2004
*******************************
(Part 6)

The court appearance blew by, with all parties fined and 
paying for damages, and put on good-behaviour bonds. 
George was made to speak to a doctor about his drinking 
habit. He withdrew his complaints against the Enabled 
men.

Beryl had wished nothing to do with it. Dad let her know 
things had gone well. A splendid carnation opened out to 
full blossoming, where it stood in a small bedside vase.

With her seventeenth birthday rapidly approaching, she 
rode her bike out to the tower one morning - not on a 
delivery run, but to visit Tempest at home to have her 
hair set. Margaret, Sylvia, and even Barbara Blake and 
her little boy joined them; for the first time in weeks, 
the clouds lifted from Beryl's mood, and she started 
laughing properly again in happy female company. They 
washed each others' hair, then with rollers pinching at 
their scalps and scarves fixed firmly over the drying 
masterpieces, they giggled and clucked together over 
magazine items, or spoilt baby Louis. They sat about in 
wicker chairs outside, beneath a new verandah awning, 
and a warm breeze puffed about them to help their hair 
dry quickly.

"Tempest...you really _can_ control the weather, can't 
you?" Beryl asked slowly. Tempest beamed.

"It's not so much control as use. Nobody could ever 
control something as big as the weather. I can tune in 
to it, and it can tune in to me," she shrugged. "That's 
the only way I can explain it." She brushed Beryl's hair 
into soft brown waves that gleamed.

"Speaking of Enabled," said Barbara, glancing around 
significantly. Margaret, still in her scarf and rollers, 
nodded. Sylvia grinned and stubbed out her cigarette, 
and Tempest jumped up so quickly she almost knocked her 
chair over. She put her hand out to Beryl expectantly.

"Come on, let's get him!"

Beryl smiled cagily, letting herself be tugged along, 
the conspiratorial mood of the women catching. A group 
of women united with a single goal in mind, any man will 
agree, is an implacable force that will brook no 
argument. They headed toward the tower workings, 
complete with Louis on his mother's hip, pausing only 
when Beryl saw something in a garden that she wondered 
could she take along.

They passed through the inner compound wall, bringing a 
couple of wolf-whistles from the more outgoing of the 
working lads. Sylvia and Tempest led the march into the 
tower basement, nobody stopping for hardhats; past a peg 
where a faded blue towelling bathrobe hung.

Margaret cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted up 
the shaft with matronly authority. "_Proteus!_ Would you 
please come down here for a few minutes? Quickly now, or 
I'll be up to get you in person!"

"Righto Mum!" came an innocent call from above. The 
climbing-rope suspended in the tower's centre tensed and 
weaved, taking the weight of an adult male. All eyes 
were raised in anticipation, and Tempest smothered a 
giggle.

There wasn't much to see at first, an indistinct shadow 
against the backlit open end of the tower. Beryl's heart 
was in her mouth as she saw again the window of George's 
car shatter, and _something_ oozing in to save her...it 
had all happened by moonlight, shadows and tricks of the 
mind.

Although the tower wasn't brilliantly lit, now she could 
_see_ him. A rounded globule, pale, flecked with tan and 
pink slithered quickly down the line. As it neared the 
floor it slowed and stretched out, a thick trunk of the 
substance forming a pedestal to alight upon. A bright 
blue disc appeared from the centre of the amorphous 
mass; the edges around the eye "blinked".

"Let 'er rip, Doug!" Sylvia yelled.

The blob rippled all over, trying to stretch back up the 
line as Doug called, "Watch out below!" Heavy coils of 
rope dropped as he let Pro's ladder go, affording him no 
escape. Something between a squeak and a whisle whooshed 
from a pit on his skin as he flowed away from the 
falling rope but was still struck by a few loops. He 
flow-rolled toward the staircase, blocked by a laughing 
Tempest; the doorway was blocked by his mother, arms 
folded expectantly.

Silence deepened as he stopped trying to flee. His skin 
rustled against the gritty floor as he came to rest 
immediately before Beryl. Now he looked like a giant, 
thick pancake with a slightly rosy flush. His skin 
quivered, tremors rippling in waves across the finely 
pitted surface.

Beryl held the carnation she had picked in clammy hands, 
heart in her mouth. She watched as one blue eye, then 
the other, migrated into the centre of the disc, 
blinking lids forming around them. A head-sized lump 
rose slowly behind them. Just below and between them, 
one of the pits of his skin grew larger and deeper, the 
rim coming together to form the lips of a mouth.

"Ask me am I scared, my God am I scared, I have never 
been so scared in my life, even meeting Barbara for the 
first time was never so scary as this," he babbled.

Beryl's voice was smooth and steady, calm as Mum's in a 
crisis, for which she was thankful. "Pro," she said 
gently, "have you been hiding from me?"

"E-every day, just like Basil, every day!" Between his 
eyes and above his mouth, a small pit opened; a sequence 
of pores enlarged right across his body and his upper 
surface subsided - it was a sigh, she realised, a 
strange one but a sigh all the same. Now she understood 
why his hands and fingers had felt so odd, the times he 
had danced with her or touched her.

"This," he said softly, "is me. I'm sorry if 
you're...disappointed."

She shook her head. "Pro," she said, and this time her 
voice trembled. "It doesn't matter what you look like. 
You were there when I needed you. You were right about 
George, and I wouldn't listen to you...you were so 
right!"

His head became more pronounced, the bump of a nose 
growing where the breathing-pit was; his edges 
contracted and thickened, building shoulders and a trunk 
that rose upward, then dividing into two legs. Soon he 
stood before her in a mannequin-shape, roughly human; 
yet his face was so familiar! Beryl stepped forward, 
looking up into his eyes.

"I've missed you," she said, offering him the carnation. 
As he reached up his mittenlike hands divided into 
supple fingers, accepting the flower delicately. A shy 
smile warmed his face.

"Been so worried about you," he admitted. "I...tried to 
call you a few times but...lost my nerve."

"I'm okay, now, I'm a lot better." She put her arms 
around his chest, and his smile widened as he looped his 
arms firmly around her, holding her snugly, tight and 
secure. More than anything of late, this was what she 
had wanted. Needed. The skin of his back was dappled 
velvet beneath her hands, his cheek smooth and warm 
alongside hers. She wanted to stay right there for as 
long as she could.

There was his heart, beating above her breast, pounding 
strongly. After all, he was still a man, however 
strangely shaped or gifted.

"Come on, girls," said Margaret, "I think the worst is 
over. Beryl, you're more than welcome to have dinner 
with us - that's you included, young man! All right, 
Tempest, but if you want to go up to Doug you'll need to 
put a hard-hat on." She smiled at Pro over Beryl's 
shoulder. "Why don't you two go for a stroll? I think 
the boys can manage without you for a while. But be back 
in time for dinner."

***

Although his naked, doll-like body had no distinctive 
anatomical details, Pro still donned his bathrobe once 
he finally let Beryl go. She held the carnation while he 
dressed and stepped into slippers, then tucked it into 
the breast pocket. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his 
cheek, and he returned the gesture shyly, blushing 
brightly as he took her hand in his.

Their fingers meshed, twining comfortably. Then, side-
by-side, they strolled from the workings; past fields of 
tussock-grass golden in the afternoon sun, along the 
dusty works road, past piles of lumber and pallets of 
brick. Past empty paddocks marked by corner-pegs and 
ribbon, and trenches for pipes; toward the distant trees 
that marked the edge of the river on the far side of the 
Clansfolk's land.

"My skull," he started, "is the only large piece of 
solid bone in my body. It has to protect my brain. The 
rest of it is all freeform, sacs of fluid under 
pressure, elastic cartilages, with a few small 
knucklebones as hinging points for muscle-like 
structures. That's what the doctors say, anyways. I 
don't care much for why I am as I am, though, I just got 
to live with it." He laughed with that bitter flavour 
Beryl heard from all the Enabled from time to time. "I 
really am the weirdest of the weird."

"But how did you learn to do all the things you do?" 
Beryl wondered.

"I got my ways." Pro shrugged. "Watching your parents 
and your bigger brother helps. I always had to be doing 
what Reg was doing, stuff like that. I think I must have 
cottoned on to how strange I was really early, like, 
earlier than I can remember, so I had to be like Reg 
even more after that. Doctors say I've got the most 
highly evolved nervous system ever seen in a human 
being, so I suppose that's something."

They sat on a fallen branch in the shade of a jacaranda 
inside the boundary fence, unable to get to the river, 
while Pro talked of his childhood. "Has your mum got any 
pictures of you?" Beryl asked.

"Yeah," Pro laughed, "a few, and Dad's sure to dig them 
out at dinner. Living as I am, I guess it's like 
anything really. First, I had to learn to do this." He 
melted down to a blob, leaving his robe behind, then 
shuffled like a grounded, flesh-shaped seal across the 
coarse grass. His face stayed in place at the leading 
edge. "Then I started reaching for the things I wanted." 
A tentacle coiled up from his back, snaking and thinning 
well beyond human reach to snap a frond from the tree 
overhead, then bring it back to Beryl for a fan. "I sort 
of rippled around like a caterpillar for a while, but 
watching Reg convinced me two legs made for greater 
height and higher speed. Four legs is even faster, 
animals worked that out ages ago."

Sometimes Beryl laughed, and sometimes she was 
dumbstruck, and sometimes she clapped for joy as Pro 
demonstrated just some of the amazing things he could 
do. "When I was a little kid and there was something 
amazing going on, I discovered I could do this." He ran 
his eyes up on long stalks - Beryl gave a yelp then 
laughed hard. "If you ever hear Tempest talking about me 
doing the snail, that's what she means. It's great fun 
having internal organs you can move around. Like, look 
at these."

"What?" He closed his eyes (which were more properly 
"light-sensitive organelles" rather than eyes in the 
conventional sense, she would learn) in concentration. 
He had resumed his humanoid form, and a pulsation 
rippled along his arms to his closed hands. With a big 
grin on his face, he opened his fingers, displaying a 
smooth, whitish-pink ovoid the size of a very small hen 
egg lying just beneath the thin skin of his palms. 
Closing his hands again and flicking them with a 
magician's flourish, the pulsation travelled back into 
his body. "What were those?"

"Guess!" he bubbled, pure impishness on his face.

"I don't know," Beryl flustered, "I'm no doctor. Were 
they kidneys or gall bladders or something?"

"Nobody's got two gall bladders, not even me!" Pro 
laughed. "Next time you're talking to Sylvia, though, 
ask her about the first time she saw a set of 
testicles."

"_Pro!_" Beryl jumped up, laughing and amazed and 
shocked all at once. "Don't tell me you just showed me 
your _balls_!"

"And to think we were just holding hands," he sighed. 
Beryl stared at him.

"You have _got_ to be kidding!"

"I kept 'em well out of sight the night I went out with 
Jean," he mused soberly. "Most dames don't go that well 
with a lad showing them his testicles on the first date, 
but in Jean's case she might have made a grab for them 
and tried to run off with them."

They laughed and laughed, until tears poured down 
Beryl's face and her cheeks ached. She pulled a hanky 
from her pocket to wipe her eyes as they sobered, and 
she sat back down beside him, looking into his eyes.

"Are you sure you and Sylvia aren't..?"

"Aren't?"

"Don't make fun of me, Pro, you know what I mean," she 
smiled. He nodded.

"Sylvia and I aren't. We never have, although, in the 
past she probably would have liked to be closer and do 
more. We're from different families and all, but I feel 
more like she's a cousin than anything else."

She gazed at his chest. "And you can move your heart 
around too?"

"Not as easily as other parts. It's too vital. I only 
move my heart if my survival depends on it." His eyes 
glowed earnestly. Beryl smiled and looked down, 
remembering.

"It just seemed so close, like I could hold it in my 
hand, whenever we were near to each other."

"I wish that my heart could be close to yours, Beryl."

She didn't know quite what to say, and fell back on her 
mother's laugh. "I'm sorry," she mumbled at last. "My 
heart's kind of broken lately."

Pro nodded. "Of course." He lifted and stretched his 
arms in the air, making a circle that flowed into 
itself, a solid circuit of flesh that he lowered gently 
over her head. There was no revulsion on her face, only 
wonder as she let him gather her close and wrapped her 
arms around him again. It was how he had hugged her that 
fateful night, holding her close, shielding her against 
the hostile outer world. She sighed and leaned against 
him, and for a time they were content to sit that way, 
rocking together, hip to hip.

At last, she raised her head, driven by curiosity. "But 
how do you do things, like, breathe, and eat, and...um, 
other things? You don't seem to have the usual sort of, 
uh, plumbing," she blurted. He smiled good-naturedly.

"I'm not so much a solid blob of jello as a sponge," he 
explained, "with lots of little channels and connections 
through the goo that shift and stretch. Some of the 
pores in my skin have channels that lead to deeper 
pockets and cells inside. I can pump myself so full of 
air that I can stay under water for half an hour, for 
example," he said with quiet pride. "When I eat, the 
food travels down a tube to my stomach, same way you do 
it. All the right plumbing is in the right places; it's 
just not as obvious."

"Oh." She couldn't help looking at his body again. For 
comfort his legs had merged, so that he was more like a 
comfortable bale of wool below the waist. He had 
loosened his arms enough to let her sit back, but hadn't 
released her completely; there was a feeling of strong 
hands in the small of her back, and it was nice. His 
chest was the proper shape, with lightly-curved pectoral 
muscles, but he had no nipples; his skin was patchy-
textured as ever. She wanted to run her hands over his 
chest and shoulders, to feel his extraordinary shape and 
know that he was real. "It's just that, well," and she 
giggled. "I'm sitting here with a, well, a naked man - 
isn't that kind of naughty?"

"In other words, where are my testicles now?" he 
quipped. "Deep inside my body where they can't get 
hurt," he confirmed as they sobered. "There they'll stay 
until I get married and want to try making babies. Then 
I'll have to wear them closer to the surface."

"You can do that?" she gasped, unthinking. He managed to 
look hurt.

"Of course! Wouldn't be much of a man if I couldn't!"

"Goodness! No, I didn't mean it like that." She hugged 
him, squeezing him tight; it felt no different to 
squeezing a normal person. "I'm sure you'll make a 
wonderful father some day."

"I hope so. Dad to a family of Enabled. There's no 
telling what will come out of my genetic soup. Look at 
Basil, ugly as your average gecko, yet you never saw a 
child so pretty as Louis." His cheek was against her 
temple, head lifted slightly.

"Do particular Enabled abilities run in families?" Beryl 
asked.

"No. There's no evidence of it yet. But they can't be 
sure either." He was gazing, she realised, at the tower. 
"That's part of why we're building that sucker, a safe 
place to be. 'Cos my kids are going to live the Enabled 
life just like me, and although there'll be more of us 
in the next generation, we'll still be outnumbered and 
there'll be plenty who'll find reason to hate us."

She drew away just a little, enough to be able to gaze 
at his face, and feel the smooth line of his cheek in 
the palm of her hand. "I'm sure you'll convince enough 
people to love you, too. Hate's always around, but so is 
love. You have to believe that."

"Do you really mean that?" he whispered, turning his 
face toward hers. Beryl nodded, gazing into the 
crystalline lights of his eyes before he lowered his 
lids. 

Their lips met halfway, in the sweetest kiss Beryl had 
known in a long, long time. He was reticent, unsure of 
his way; Beryl squeezed his lips gently with hers. She 
hadn't thought it would last long, being only their 
first kiss, but Pro lingered as his mouth softened, lips 
melding to her shape, moving ever so lightly as his arms 
tightened around her. A glorious fire was alight in her 
heart, banishing the ache in her chest and sending warm 
tingles throughout her body as though she were caressed 
by velvet. His heart throbbed close by hers.

They held that moment between them for as long as they 
could. It was Beryl who drew away first, if only to 
touch his marbled face in wonder, and kiss the tip of 
his nose as he smiled. She could feel his breath, and 
his whole body pulsating in echo to his heartbeat. With 
her fingertips, she tickled an earlobe.

"You're getting better at ears."

"Goddamn, that feels good," he murmured, rocking his 
head into her hand. "Can we do it some more?"

***

They didn't head back toward the houses until the 
afternoon light was slanting low over Mount Barrow. Then 
they returned hand in hand, laughing together. Beryl 
carried Pro's robe over her arm; he spent most of his 
time in mannekin-form, although sometimes he melted down 
into a seal-shape, oozed or rolled, and then his 
slippers would migrate up his body so that they stuck 
out of his back.

"Proteus Phillips, put your robe on _now!_ It would not 
be seemly for me to be seen wandering around with a 
naked man," she declared imperiously, twirling the robe 
in the air and casting it over him like a tarpaulin. 
Laughing, he crept along doing a reasonable 
impersonation of a dog wearing a large overcloak; then 
morphed up to human form again, this time dressed. They 
would stop to share a lingering kiss, Pro like the child 
who had discovered candy for the first time, unable to 
resist another, or another, or another. And Beryl loved 
him all the more for it. The heaviness of George's 
passion had taken over their physical relationship - the 
light kisses, where lips did all the work and tongues 
rested, had been long neglected, even forgotten.

"I don't have anything that needs hiding," Pro grinned, 
spinning around, robe flapping wide open.

"Nevertheless..." She eyed his pelvis and crotch frankly 
and dubiously. There was nothing more than a vague bump 
to see - a boy doll had more sex to hide. His skin 
tones, however, were distinctly more scarlet toward the 
place where his legs joined his body. He followed her 
gaze south, and cocked a browbone mischievously before 
methodically folding his robe across and tying it shut.

They arrived at his parents' place arm-in-arm, to a wolf 
whistle from Tempest and the smiles of onlookers. There 
was a moment when Beryl worried, for Doug had also been 
invited to dinner; she blushed and wasn't sure what to 
say when Doug approached Pro and shook his hand stiffly.

"I, ehrm, hope you don't mind if I stay for dinner too, 
given Miss Tempest invited me?" he said rather 
awkwardly.

"Mind? Not at all, Doug!" said Pro happily. "I just hope 
you don't mind my keeping company with Beryl."

For a moment, Doug's intense gaze was upon her. "Nothing 
will change my estimation of Beryl," he said softly. 
"Should you ever treat her improperly, it will go badly 
for you, I'll see to that, do you understand?"

Pro nodded. "Loud and clear."

"I know you will be good to her, and that's what 
matters."

Beryl looked down, at Pro's comfy worn slippers and 
Doug's impossibly-shining, perfectly polished shoes. 
"I'm sorry, Doug. The right girl for you's out there, 
and you'll find each other."

He smiled thinly. "Think nothing of it, Beryl. But I 
shall always hold you in the highest of esteem."

***

 From there, the light and laughter returned to Beryl's 
life. They started catching the bus to the Wildgoose 
Hall dances, along with Sylvia, Tempest and Doug, and 
others of the tower households. At their first outing, 
the men stayed close around Beryl, particularly when a 
large red Linker sedan roared into the parking paddock. 
George, however, was not alone; he opened the passenger 
door with a flourish, and Jean stepped out in a slit-
sided silk dress of scarlet, with seamed black 
stockings.

The women greeted each other coolly. George's face was 
flushed with pride and booze. "I'm comin' up in the 
world, I am!" he bragged. "This coulda been you, Berry!"

Pro glared, and allowed an arm that was bare in short-
sleeves to roll and stretch more like a tentacle as he 
put it around Beryl's shoulders to guide her away. "Come 
on, we don't have to hang around here."

"Beryl likes it kinky!" George declared, but his face 
paled beneath the flush, and that was all they heard 
from him. They didn't have to put up with George and 
Jean's presence for long, as the pair left early.

Dancing with Pro, Beryl scarcely noticed.

Now that she knew his secret, she understood how he 
moved so smoothly. His body curved perfectly around 
hers; he didn't so much dance as flow. Whatever his 
Enabled skill, to be a great dancer required co-
ordination and a sense of rhythm too, and these he had 
in generous measure. Nor were they quite so shy with 
each other as they had been before. When the slower 
dances came along, they pressed their bodies close and 
swayed in intimate contact, breathing each others' 
scent, their silken faces gliding cheek-to-cheek. Most 
of all, she loved the warm security of his arms around 
her. She did not have to fend him off, nor did she feel 
the need to.

And then the spell would break and the couples part to 
clap and cheer as the music paused, then sped up. "Do my 
eyes deceive me," Pro called happily over the clapping 
and fiddles, "or is Douglas actually _laughing_?" The 
whole hall lined up in pairs for Strip the Willow, an 
energetic skipping dance that left everyone giggling and 
panting and made thunder of the floorboards. The glow of 
Doug's face matched the light in Tempest's eyes, and the 
joy in Beryl's heart.

When it was over the bus took everyone back to town, 
Beryl cradled in a snug loop of Pro's arm in the 
dimness, and they traded soft kisses. Hands enmeshed, 
they walked to her home. Behind the mickleberry hedge, 
well away from Mum's candlelit window, they kissed 
goodnight for almost twenty minutes. For the first time, 
their lips parted and their tongues met; bowing and 
nodding politely as dancers on greeting, then slipping 
and sliding into a private waltz. As their tongues 
slithered together, so did their bodies, Pro melding 
against her so that he could feel every curve of her 
form with his. Smooth arc of thigh, the taper of 
waistline and sweet swellings of breasts. His fingers 
snaked through the soft, fragrant wonder of her hair, 
combing its silk through more and more digits.

It felt more like he was brushing her hair than stroking 
it, and she broke their kiss to arch her neck and sigh 
at the languid pleasure of the sensation. His lips found 
her throat as he brushed with long, steady strokes. 
Instead of brutishly sucking, his mouth made tiny 
nibbling motions, which sent tingles echoing throughout 
her body.

"Beryl Crabtree! It's high time you got yourself to 
bed!" Mum called from the doorstep.

Pro muttered a low curse from against her neck. "Be 
there in a minute!" Beryl answered, thinking _darn 
right!_

"Does she have a talent for listening?" Pro whispered, 
gazing down at her from shuttered eyes that glinted in 
the half-light. He brought the hand that had stroked her 
hair down her temple, cheek and ear, and it seemed to 
Beryl fifty tiny fingers tickled the sensitive skin. Her 
eyelids fluttered shut as she leaned against him. She 
wanted his lips, and more of his touch.

"Beryl!?"

"We'd better call it quits," he sighed, breaking 
contact.

"Yes, or she'll come looking."

"Boy, could I show her something!"

"Pro!" Beryl giggled, although something in the idea 
chilled her. Mum had always been convinced George was 
the right man; the last thing she needed was Pro 
alarming her with his strange bodily tricks. She quickly 
kissed him goodnight, then trotted obediently toward the 
front door. Her hair felt light, soft and silken, and 
she tossed it happily.

"There you are, young lady! I don't much like you 
sneaking in like this! It was much better when George 
dropped you home and I could hear that you were back."

"Mu-um, I'm nearly seventeen, and I've managed to stay 
out of trouble so far." Unlike poor Dot, who had been in 
strife by then. Beryl went through to her bedroom, which 
faced the street. Through the open window she could hear 
cheerful whistling. Sweet music on its own, the solo 
voice was then joined by another whistle trilling in 
harmony, then a third. Yet only one man strolled up the 
middle of the street toward the tower district.
<1st attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+


  index