(Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is 
copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless 
explicitly indicated.)



*BERYL AND THE POLYMORPH*

by virgosun (c) April 2004
*******************************
(Part 3)

They dated, and frequented the dances. Sometimes Pro 
borrowed the car; sometimes Doug borrowed a different 
car; sometimes Dot or even Dad gave her and Pro a lift 
to where they were going. On one occasion she doubled 
behind Doug on the motorbike, clutching her hat and 
laughing all the way. With Pro she went to the movies, 
and laughed and rolled sweets along the aisles as much 
as they canoodled; if the show was good they were happy 
to curl in each others' arms and watch the story unfold. 
Most nights ended snuggled together behind the 
mickleberry, nuzzling and kissing until Mum popped out 
of the front door bang on eleven, regular as clockwork, 
calling her name.

Pro arrived on her doorstep one fine weekend astride a 
bicycle that Basil used to ride around the worksite. 
Beryl packed the Crabtree delivery bike with picnic 
goodies and they had ridden to the public reserve on the 
riverside, a shallow reach where it was safe for 
children to play in knee-deep water. They took a dirt 
track inaccessible to cars further along the river, past 
glittering rapids, and beneath long trailing curtains of 
willow boughs. At last, hot from their ride, they found 
a secluded place to picnic, cooling off with a splash in 
the river. Pro dispensed with his clothing altogether, 
and Beryl slipped off her shorts to reveal boy-leg 
bathers that may not have revealed much skin, but 
emphasised her womanly curves. Pro couldn't keep the 
grin of approval off his face, and his eyes kept 
creeping out on stalks as if to speak for a much more 
mysterious part of his anatomy.

"Pro, cut it out!" she giggled, "that looks ridiculous!" 
Laughing, he splashed her with cool riverwater and she 
squealed, nipples rising up at the chill.

They snacked from the picnic hamper, all the while 
devouring each other with their eyes. She had revelled 
in the power the sight of her body had given her over 
George...but they had both been innocent then. That 
power had turned against her when George kept trying to 
touch...

"Hey." The feather-touch of gentle tendrils on her cheek 
brought her back. George was long gone, and the soft 
fingers that tilted up her chin were not blunt and 
rough. "Beryl? Are you okay?"

She smiled, caressing that familiar, textured face. "I 
love you, Pro," she smiled, drawing him into a lingering 
kiss. When they parted, she saw his eyes move toward the 
down-view of her rounded bosom. He was still innocent. 
He rolled onto his back with a sigh and shut his eyes, 
his limbs losing definition as he stretched.

"You look mighty fine, Beryl, and I look so-so. Let me 
try something. Maybe I can get more than just the ears 
right." Several pores as well as his nostrils flared as 
he drew a deep breath. Sitting beside him, Beryl watched 
as subtle changes rippled beneath his skin. His arms and 
legs resumed proper human form, becoming even more 
refined and chiselled. The biceps muscles and forearms 
became much more heavily fleshed and their shapes 
defined, even to the cords of veins appearing. His chest 
became deeper, shoulders wider, with deep pectoral 
muscles and a rippling stomach. From a lean and average-
shaped base, Pro transformed into a muscular athlete.

"Pro, you don't have to do that for me." She rested a 
hand upon that sculpted chest, over his heart. He still 
_felt_ like Pro, warm and resilient. "I love you the way 
you are, the way you're comfortable."

"Yeah?" he grinned, eyes popping open. He released a 
breath, and some of the tension left his perfect shape. 
"Good, it takes a heckuva lot of concentration to do 
that for too long! I thought that was the kind of shape 
every woman desires in a man. If you could change your 
shape, what would you do?"

She thought a moment. "I'd probably...longer legs and a 
smaller beam," she concluded, and he laughed.

"Don't you dare! There's nothing wrong with your legs or 
your beam."

"I like you better the way you are. Big muscles aren't 
everything." Beryl raised an eyebrow archly, gazing at 
his pelvis. "Besides which, you've left something off."

"Oh...heh heh, _that_!" For all his masculine shape, his 
groin was still store-dummy smooth. He blushed deep 
scarlet. "I've, er, had better practice at ears than, 
er, one of those," he admitted.

"You mean you don't know what one looks like?" Beryl's 
eyes were like saucers; Pro scowled and flushed even 
more and sat up, bending his knees as if to protect his 
lap from scrutiny.

"Of course I know! I just...never needed to practice 
before, I...I'd have to copy Reg or Dad or someone to 
get it realistic."

"But don't you have to, well, go to the loo?"

"Yeah but I just make a hosepipe to do that, I wouldn't 
want to...make a fool of myself." He stood up and walked 
away, retrieving his shorts. "I gotta look right," he 
mumbled as he dressed. "You'd laugh at me."

Standing too, Beryl sobered. "I'm sorry," she soothed, 
slipping her arms around his waist from behind and 
squeezing him. She kissed his shoulder and felt him 
relax, and he melded his arms over hers. "I wouldn't 
laugh at you, Pro. Don't you...you know, do what young 
men do?" She was desperately embarrassed even as she 
asked, and was glad he couldn't see her face although he 
could probably feel the heat of it.

"What? Oh, you mean, er, play with it, well, yeah," he 
said slowly. "Some parts of my skin are more sensitive 
than others, like, _really_ sensitive."

"What were you going to do when you got married, then?" 
Beryl asked gently. "How were you going to be ready for 
your wedding night?"

"I...honestly hadn't thought that far ahead," he 
confessed. "Nobody was ever going to want me that much. 
But..."

"But?"

He swivelled quickly, releasing her arms and smiling 
down. "There's something else I wanted to practise," he 
murmured, changing the subject, cupping her face in his 
hands. Heartened by his change in mood, she sought his 
lips, running her hands along his back.

Pro answered in kind, their bodies curving together, his 
tongue forgiving any hurt she may have spurred. He 
brought one hand to the nape of her neck, to the soft 
skin beneath the tumble of her hair. She could feel his 
palm ripple and shift, changing shape - and then it 
seemed another pair of soft lips nibbled there, as 
though he stood behind as well as before her, tickling 
in the fine hairs right up at the top of her spine.

Beryl shivered. It felt so good she sighed into his 
mouth, letting herself rest against him. He allowed her 
no respite, kissing her strongly and passionately, 
kissing her twice for every one of hers. He let his left 
hand drop to the small of her back, just above the line 
of her costume. A wave of goosebumps rippled across her 
skin as a third pair of tiny lips played upon her spine, 
while his fingers made little spirals all around.

"Ohhh, Pro," she whispered.

"You like?" Although his lifted his mouth to speak, his 
palm-kisses continued, lips caressing shoulder and back. 
Beryl allowed her body to answer, rocking her pelvis up 
and against him. A gorgeous heat was building that 
echoed the fire in her heart, tingling deep between her 
thighs, and she wanted to wrap her legs around him as he 
teased her skin. His warm flesh slipped around her, 
clasping her in an embrace that pulsed gently. She 
wanted to run her hands up and down his body, to stroke 
his every square inch, and find those darkest places 
where his hot blood was closest to the surface. Wherever 
their bodies touched, he sprouted little fingerlets that 
nuzzled and swirled.

Beryl drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I want to please 
you," Pro breathed before she claimed his mouth again. 
His many kisses, the feel of his body, the nimble play 
of his liquid tongue - the bombardment of sensation was 
almost too much for her. The pulsation in his body was 
strengthening and picking up speed, but not as quickly 
as the sharp pinging in her groin. Sheer delight 
clenched her whole body, and she thrust herself against 
him hard, shivering and gasping as the climax passed 
through her.

"Oh my goodness!" she whispered, relaxing. Pro lowered 
her gently to the ground, melting and flowing around 
her, his own body still pulsing. For a moment he hugged 
himself to her, covering her body entirely with the 
warmth of his. Then he pulled gently away, tenderness in 
his eyes. Shrinking into a ball as he flowed out of his 
shorts, he then scooted backward into the chill of the 
river, emitting a discordant whistle when he hit the 
water.

Beryl sat up, staring at her still-tingling body, 
seeming innocent still fully-clad in her bathing suit. 
Beyond the blanket's edge, Pro was in the river, 
resuming his human shape as he reared from the shallows 
cussing about the cold. He gave her a rueful grin. "I 
think we'd better save that one for very special 
occasions. I thought I was gonna split my skin!"

She wanted his touch again, and extended a leg toward 
him. Pro smiled and knelt, gathering her ankle in his 
hands, and lightly kissing the top of her foot. She 
shivered again from head to toe, anticipating a strong, 
slender tentacle that would curl around her leg, lips 
forming at its tip to kiss her thigh. His hands melded 
into a firm ring that rolled up her calf, his lips 
following to just above her knee, a sensation wondrously 
like slipping into silk stockings. "You make me feel as 
dirty as Jean Winslow looks," she murmured, lips swollen 
and sultry.

"But I have to keep you clean." He hugged her leg with 
his whole body, then melted away. Slithering to her 
side, he gathered her in his arms. "I love you, Beryl 
Crabtree, and I only hope you want me as much as I want 
you."

She had trouble keeping her voice steady. "I do want 
you, Pro, oh so much, believe me! No other man in the 
world could make me feel so delightful, so wicked, so 
sexy! But there's more to it than that." She trailed her 
fingertips along his face. "What's better still is that 
I love you too. I just wish I could kiss you three times 
over, so that you could know how wonderful it feels. 
You're one of a kind, Pro, and that's kind of sad. What 
is it they call you, a polymorph? I'd be no contest for 
a girl polymorph."

"Rubbish!" he breathed, kissing her nose. "Nobody else 
could come close to you." He drew away so that he could 
study her face, eyes sober. "Do you ever think of the 
future, Beryl? Where your life might take you in five, 
ten, even twenty years?"

Her gaze faltered, for she still didn't care to think of 
George, and he had figured strongly in those future 
plans. She was sure Mum had the seating layout planned 
for the guests at the wedding reception. "Marrying 
George, at least until recently," she admitted. "Helping 
out with the shop, having a family, but none of that 
applies anymore. I'd still like that to be in my future, 
but it won't be with George, no way."

He nodded. "Don't give up on the future yet. It's hardly 
begun. Together, we could make it a much better place."

***

Looking back, it was hard to say when she had become 
part of the Clan.

Beryl returned to delivering the lunches via bicycle, 
and she often lingered after the meals were given out - 
not to make nookie with Pro, though. She helped Granny 
and Barbara sort out a routine for getting work clothing 
washed and mended. With new homes springing up 
everywhere, there was far too much work on hand for 
everyone. Gardens remained thistle-choked weed and hard 
earth, with very few of the Enabled folk managing to 
prepare much in the way of gardens. Beryl had to stop 
pinching carnation buds for her feller on Enabled 
ground, there simply weren't enough to go around.

There were times when some of the women were run off 
their feet, while others sat idle waiting for other jobs 
to be completed. Floor coverings couldn't be laid until 
the skirting boards had been painted. There was no real 
point to cultivating a lawn before driveways were 
cemented. If the washing hadn't been collected, no 
ironing could be done. Without fabric, wool or thread, 
mending simply didn't happen. The lady who made curtains 
could not work if there was no childcare for her baby.

Perhaps that was when Beryl truly entered the family; 
when she started examining what each family member did 
well and enjoyed, then organised them for maximal 
efficiency. Granny didn't have to darn all the socks by 
herself any more. Nor did Beryl confine herself to 
women's matters; a system she developed meant Doug no 
longer lost his tools to absent-minded workmates, which 
was tantamount to a lover's gift.

But maybe her inclusion had begun much earlier than 
that, from her first journey up the tower, or even on 
the day she had accepted a ride into town with a 
bizarre-looking stranger. Now, as the tower soared 
above, the Enabled celebrated her seventeenth birthday 
with as much gusto as they would celebrate for one of 
their own. This night, Pro was happy to appear in his 
bathrobe, and to slither and loop about in a variety of 
weird shapes; always to return to Beryl's side. He could 
still surprise and startle her with the things he did, 
and the truth of it was he still startled himself from 
time to time.

They danced and sang, Pro setting his maximum three 
orifices to whistling in harmony. The atmosphere was 
carnival in the wake of the family luncheon Mum had set 
out, attended by Dad, Dot and Ted and their little son, 
her rowdy younger brothers, and of course her boyfriend. 
Mum eyed Pro with the same slit-eyed suspicion with 
which she peered into the 11pm darkness from the 
doorstep. Dad, on the other hand, welcomed him 
cordially, and by the end of the day had mooched himself 
a guided tour of the tower workings. Smiling blandly, 
Pro had sat opposite Beryl at the dinner table...and 
made mischief.

As Dad passed the gravy boat along the table, Beryl felt 
a soft, warm fingertip brush her shin, then another. At 
first she thought it might have been a brother under the 
table, but Mum was berating the boys into eating their 
greens as they sat and wriggled. Pro glanced at her and 
smiled, both his hands in full view as he sliced roast 
beef. Yet, the caress came again, fingertips slipping 
along her calf, just up to her knee, then back down to 
the sensitive skin inside her ankle. She was having 
trouble concentrating on her own lunch. Then, soft lips 
nipped and nibbled along the arch of her foot. She 
pulled her feet back primly under her chair, so the 
teasing little mouth found its way to her knee instead.

"Oh, darn!" she said as she flicked a broad-bean off her 
plate, then backed her chair out and peered under the 
table. Sure enough, Pro's right shoe and sock sat empty, 
his extruded leg weaving like a cobra from the cuff of 
his trousers. She retrieved the bean and sat up again, 
letting her legs stretch out enough to return the 
footsie favour. Pro grinned as he piled mash on his fork 
and explained shortwave radio to Dad.

One of her brothers, who had been disturbingly quiet, 
gave a giggle. She clearly heard him whisper, "It's like 
a worm!" The game had gone on long enough; so she chose 
her moment and stomped on Pro.

"Oohw!"

"All right there, lad?" Dad asked jovially.

"Fine, fine, I just parked the chairleg on my foot, 
that's all...Clumsy of me."

Dad had later delivered Beryl to the Clan party, and Pro 
(in proper homoform) had shown him around the workings. 
Beryl danced with everyone, including just one dance 
with Doug, who was being monopolised by Tempest and 
didn't seem to mind. Tempest had allowed him to teach 
her some formalised steps amidst all her whirling, and 
together they moved unexpectedly well.

Unbeknownst to Beryl, Dad had also delivered a cake. 
After she blew out her candles and Pyrus snuffed the 
sparklers in his own inimicable style, she was delighted 
and flattered by a mass of little gifts as the Clan 
celebrated their Lunch Lady.

Smiling sadly, Pro picked up a satin bow and ribbon and 
put them over his head. "Unfortunately, the only gift I 
have for Beryl is me," he sighed, to a chorus of "Aww" 
from the spectators. He raised his hand dramatically, 
index finger extended, then let that digit lengthen 
further so it became a fine tendril that weaved and 
coiled. Then he fashioned it into a small, slender loop, 
a circle. "All I could ask," he continued, "is that she 
wear my ring."

"Proteus, don't be so _rude_!" Tempest snapped amidst 
chuckles and titters.

"Oh, but I'm serious - you are the crude one, sister 
dear!" He spun with a flourish before Beryl, sinking to 
one knee, still holding up his knotted finger. "Beryl, 
my love, if I were to ask you to marry me, seriously, 
would you? I mean it, now."

She looked around for some clue. He seemed to be playing 
up, flirting, making mischief, and yet...The Clansfolk 
smiled, curiosity on their faces, as bemused as her. 
Come to think of it, Pro and Dad had chatted alone 
earlier in the day.

Beryl eyed his looped finger, then laughed and slipped 
her ringfinger through, humouring him. "Of course, Pro," 
she said softly. She meant to sound lighthearted, but 
the honesty of her feelings made her voice husky.

"I mean it," he repeated, eyes luminous. His arm pulsed, 
and his hand engulfed hers. Within that warmth, she felt 
something small, round and hard. "You see, it would fill 
me with joy if we could, on this very day next year, be 
celebrating our wedding as well as your eighteenth 
birthday. I love you, and would be deeply honoured if 
you would be my wife." The Clan drew a collective 
breath, as he rolled his hand away to expose the dainty 
golden ring.

There was no doubt in Beryl's mind. No man in the world 
would be able to please her in quite the way Pro 
Phillips could. "Oh, yes, Pro! I love you!"

The party kicked off again with a new burst of 
exhilaration, and Pro and Beryl danced the night away. 
Later, as eleven pm passed unremarked, they took a 
stroll along the newest of the graded streets, pausing 
outside a barely-completed house. The full moon gleamed 
upon stacked rooftiles, a promise of security to come. 
One small flowerbed had been turned, and planted out 
with carnation seeds.

For a while, the couple were content to stand nestled 
together. To have a place to call home beyond her 
parents' walls had been almost undreamable; a room above 
the pub had seemed her only likely destination. She 
kissed Pro gently, once, twice...longer, and longer, 
their limbs entwining in passion.

"I can only match you two-for-one tonight," Pro murmured 
as their lips parted. "Since you gave me a fat lip at 
lunch today."

"Well, you deserved it, you naughty man!" They giggled 
together, then cuddled quietly, leaning together, taking 
in the cloudstreaked sky. That was when they both heard, 
clearly, a faint gasp from amidst the stacked planks 
close to the Wall.

Pro raised a finger to his lips. "What was that?" Beryl 
breathed close by his ear. Attention focused outward 
rather than upon each other, they waited, listening. And 
heard a soft, high moan clearly over a puff of shifting 
breeze.

Pro grabbed her hand and slithered down into a silent 
slug-roll, towing the tiptoeing Beryl behind him. 
"Someone's getting theirs!" he whispered.

"No! We should leave them alone!"

"No way! I want to know who's doing it in my backyard!"

"Pro!"

They trod noiselessly between stacked building 
materials; long blocks of timber and piles of brick. 
Beryl went after him more in the hope of restraining 
Pro's curiosity than in any spirit of exploration; how 
would he have felt if it were them being sneaked up 
upon? Whoever they were, they were intent on only one 
thing, for she was making little whimpers as she gasped 
rhythmically, and deeper, ragged male breaths were 
mingling with her song. Pro edged around the end of a 
half-used stack of roofing beams, and his curiosity was 
rewarded.

By moonlight, a pale arc of flung-up skirts and 
petticoats made a fan on the dark ground. In their midst 
lay the long shape of a man, dark except for where his 
pale, skinny exposed buttocks jerked and thrust for all 
they were worth within the embrace of womanly legs. The 
polish on his shoes glistened as his feet scuffed the 
tarpaulin on which they lay.

"Oh Douggie, Douggie!" Tempest gasped.

Before Beryl could react, Pro wrapped swiftly around her 
like a wide elastic band. His body arced and streamed 
upward, to the top of the woodpile, then bounded again, 
soaring up onto the top of the tower wall, taking her 
with him as he stretched and shrank like taffy. She was 
too astonished to cry out. Suddenly they were both 
sitting on a walkway just the other side of the top of 
the wall, where Pro threw back his head and bubbled with 
bawdy merriment.

"And I was worried about hurting his feelings!" Beryl 
cackled, unable to resist the joke. Pro was almost 
helpless with laughter and they collapsed in each 
others' embrace, giggling and gasping as they tried with 
little success to keep quiet. "How long do you think 
that's been going on? What I mean is, how often have 
they, he hee?"

"Oh ho ho that's rich!" Pro gasped.

"I thought he was a gentleman!"

"He is, he is, I reckon it's Tempest finally got her 
wicked way...woo hoo there's proof!"  A sudden, hot gust 
whirled leaves and dust up from the workings and struck 
them with stinging force, and a sigh rose from every 
tree as still leaves suddenly rustled. Pro wrapped his 
body firmly over Beryl to shield her from the brief 
onslaught. Metal creaked and shutters slapped, and dogs 
barked as the out-of-place gust billowed across the 
town.

Their laughter subsiding, Beryl enjoyed the all-body 
sensation of Pro enfolding her. Cuddling, they rocked 
together gently. She could feel his heartbeat, and the 
steady pulsation of his breathing. As the night grew 
still again they heard no sound from below.

"He's gonna want to make sure he does that indoors, away 
from the weather," Pro murmured by her ear. His body was 
pulsing strongly, as though he was still breathless. 
Beryl drew away enough to gaze into his eyes and caress 
his face, as his skin crept against where her arms were 
bare, forming many tiny fingerlets. "My love," he 
breathed, "your body against mine feels so good."

They were sitting on a narrow platform high in the air, 
with only a thin cord safety rail for protection. In 
spite of that, Beryl was not alarmed. Although she 
wanted to stay right where she was, common sense 
suggested they should move. "Maybe we should get down 
from here." Instead of moving, she kissed him, long and 
lingering.

"Why? I'll keep you safe. Are you afraid we might fall - 
from grace, I mean?" The lower half of him was spread 
out as a secure base, locking them both in place, and 
his arms were strong and solid around her. She was 
kneeling, legs slightly parted and, she realised, tensed 
about him as if to hold on. The warm, resilient pillow 
she sat against was pulsing lightly, which felt 
delicious against her inner thighs.

Tingles were rising up her legs to the hearth of her 
virginity. "I don't feel very graceful at the moment," 
she said, a shiver in her voice. In their flight, her 
skirt had risen up and was bunched at an unladylike 
level in front of her hips. Pro's skin was in intimate 
contact with stockings, britches, and the soft skin of 
her uppermost thighs.

His lips travelled along her neck. "You're not in envy 
of Tempest, then?" 

The urge to rock her pelvis was irresistible. "Oh, 
heavens no!" 

Pro emitted a deep sigh, his body answering her motion 
by creeping up snugly to fit along the space between her 
thighs. His lap was now a long, throbbing mound of flesh 
that made her want to arch her back and drive herself 
against him.

A tiny set of lips opened and puckered against her 
inmost thigh just above her stockings, the kiss sending 
a jolt of pleasure to her crotch. "Pro!" she cried, but 
instead of pulling away she wriggled herself harder 
against him. He gave a bubble of low laughter from her 
shoulder.

"Seeing them like that kind of...turned me on!"

For answer Beryl tightened her arms, feeling his body 
pulsating strongly beneath and around hers. The heat 
between them made her clothes feel less substantial than 
gossamer. His rhythmic throb clenched lightly at her 
breasts, making them tingle, which was nothing to the 
fire in her groin. She recaptured his mouth as his lap 
trickled extra kisses from thigh to thigh, working 
toward the damp gusset of her knickers. "Where's that 
sensitive spot of yours?" she hissed, wanting to give 
him what she was getting.

"All over!" he groaned. She ran her tongue from his 
earlobe to his throat, and twisted her pelvis. That 
second little mouth had centred in a peak of flesh 
beneath her undies, and if she jiggled just a bit the 
cloth would hitch aside and - yes! Hot lips below 
pressed softly through the moist nest of her bush, and a 
small, wet tentacle flicked gently into her juices.

Beryl's whole body jolted with orgasm, back arching, 
throat clenching on a cry of mindless delight. Pro's 
arms clamped and flexed about her, holding her safe. Her 
underwear had snapped back into place, and she crushed 
his face between her breasts. He shivered from end to 
end, then threw his upper half backward as well, a 
smooth arc of thrumming flesh. As she came down from her 
climax, she watched him convulse, a massive ripple 
rushing from where he still nested between her thighs. 
It made a large bubble that briefly distorted his 
shoulder, before a ribbon of silvery fluid burst into 
the night.

With that moment, all his strength deserted him. He 
flopped back to the decking losing shape as well, a 
quivering mass. Beryl leaned over him and put her arms 
around him, still clasping him firmly with her legs lest 
he roll off the platform. She pressed her lips to the 
flutter where his heart would be, while he panted and 
started to laugh, euphoric.

"My God, Bezz...what a night our wedding night's going 
to be!" He brought a hand up to tangle tenderly in her 
hair while his eyes found their way back to their proper 
place. She gazed in awe at the wet pattern that slicked 
his arm, letting her fingertips glide through that 
mysterious substance, the deepest secret of a man. 
Within it was written everything that made Pro the 
extraordinary being he was. And it could have been 
inside her.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, taking her solemnity for 
disgust. "I had to get rid of it somewhere, anywhere but 
_there_, like, not down where it wanted to come out, 
oh..."

Her smile was luminous. "One day, soon, it will be, Pro. 
I want you. I love you!"

They lay entwined side-by-side as they rested. "I didn't 
think you'd like...being touched down there, after..." 
Pro murmured awkwardly.

"Maybe gentle kisses are another matter," she whispered, 
caressing his chest.

"I'd never thought to taste anything so delicious," he 
sighed in awe. "I would never have done that unless you 
wanted me to."

"Thank heavens for loose elastic." She gave a gentle, 
wry laugh. "Never thought I'd have reason to say that! 
Do you mean to say, your little mouths can taste too?"

He shrugged. "I am the Polymorph, and I can sense with 
my whole body. I can taste you any time we touch."

"Sometimes I wonder what I am missing out on, just being 
normal." He kissed her forehead as she spoke.

"Don't," he chided. "Be content to know me. Never wish 
to be me. I am as I am, and I am tasked to make the best 
of it. Your closeness guarantees that'll be a lot easier 
from now on."

They hugged a while longer, ever conscious of the 
lateness of the hour. Eventually, Pro guided her to the 
safety of solid ground, and they made their way out of 
the worksite. While Pro cleaned himself off with a rag, 
Beryl looked up at the tower, tall and imposing.

"That's the best thing," she said softly. Pro glanced up 
from wondering what to do with the cloth, then dropped 
it into a garbage drum.

"What?"

She nodded at the tower. "Knowing that...our children 
will have somewhere to belong. Somewhere other than the 
pub."

"There can be no greater joy for me than knowing you 
wish to belong," said Pro with a tremor in his voice, as 
he hugged her fiercely. "That is the ultimate 
acceptance!"

***

When it was after midnight before Beryl finally made it 
home, Mum was ropable. She had been on the point of 
calling the police, and Dad was fully dressed because he 
had been dug out of bed to go searching for her.

"Did you say yes?" he asked quietly, a twinkle in his 
eye while Mum flustered and stormed about the lounge, 
and rang Dot to let her know the emergency was over and 
the stray daughter was found. One of the boys sauntered 
out of bed to watch, and was shooed forthwith. Beryl 
smiled and gave Dad her hand to show him the ring. "And 
it fits too, well done!"

"They sized it off Tempest's finger. Thank you so much, 
Dad, thank you!"

"Don't think you can get out of this by cosying up to 
your father!" Mum thundered, glaring, plainly not done. 
It was then that she noticed the glitter of diamond on 
her daughter's hand, and her face softened. "Is...is 
that ring from George?" she gulped.

"No way!" Beryl retorted. "I'm going to marry Pro 
Phillips, Mum!"

Mum turned white. "Because you have to?!"

"No, no, because I want to, not because I'm pregnant!"

"Shhh!" Beryl was sure she heard her brothers giggle 
from hiding just inside the hall. Mum turned her 
scalding gaze on Dad. "And you allowed this?"

"Flora, be reasonable, he's good to Beryl and she's been 
so happy with him..."

"So was Dot happy before all that happened!" Mum wailed.

"He's got a reasonable wage and a home being built, for 
heaven's sakes Flora..."

"But they're freaks! I don't want my grandchildren to be 
monsters!" Mum gathered herself up and gulped back her 
tears, an angry flush bright over her pale cheeks. 
"Right, well, I can't stop you going out and seeing him 
then, if you're such a lady of the world! I won't punish 
you - so long as you spend Friday night at home here, at 
dinner. I'll be hosting a party to celebrate the 
occasion, but you needn't bring your...fiance!" She 
choked the word out. "Make sure you're here, or I'll cut 
you out of the family completely, Miss Crabtree!"

Beryl glanced at Dad, who gave a slight nod. "Okay, 
Mum," she sighed.

***

"All right," Reg huffed, glancing about. The storage 
shed was hot and dim, the only lighting from translucent 
roofing panels overhead. It was packed to the rafters 
with tools and spare parts, jerrycans and drums of 
lubricant. "Suppose we'd better get on with it. I don't 
much like this, you know, but you did ask for help." He 
undid his belt and buttons and let his trousers fall to 
his knees, then, feeling peculiar, pushed his boxers 
down. There were many things he'd had to teach his 
little brother, but this took the cake.

"All right, all right, I don't like this much either," 
Pro grumbled, already in his natural naked state and as 
ever, minus male adornment. He eyed his brother's groin 
critically. "Let me see if I can get this right. Pull 
your shirt-tails up, I can't see it properly."

Reg muttered an oath under his breath. "Don't make it 
exactly the same, either, that's just not right. I heard 
the best man's got to do a heap of stuff for the groom, 
but..."

"All right, all right, shut up will you? I need to 
concentrate, so shut up and let me get on with this." 
Reg watched sidelong as that ever-featureless groin of 
Pro's rippled and swelled, making an approximation of 
flaccid, dangling lumps. "Damn, it looks nothing like 
one with hair! Now, testicles, one...two, down you go, 
boys. That feels all right."

"Looks right enough to me, enough to get away with," Reg 
said quickly. "And before you ask, I am _not_ shaving it 
just so you can make sure! If she wanted you to have 
body hair she wouldn't still be with you!"

"Yeah, yeah, this is all very well," Pro noted, looking 
down at himself. "How do you guys put up with this 
hanging around all the time? 'Specially with your nuts 
out...okay, you don't have to answer that."

"You wanna have kids, you're going to have to hang 'em 
out or they won't work properly," Reg warned. The 
dubious look on Pro's face spoke volumes for the 
vulnerability he felt. Both men hesitated, until Reg 
shut his eyes in the hope of taking his attention 
anywhere but here.

"Next phase."

"Yes, this is the important part," Pro averred quickly 
as Reg resolutely took himself in hand, and thought of 
his wife's naked breasts.

"At least get yourself started, and then you can work 
out the details." It took him somewhat longer to harden 
given the irregular circumstances, but soon with the 
help of spit, imagination and manual power, his manhood 
was properly solid and erect. Reluctantly, he opened an 
eye to check on Pro. The polymorph's hands were at his 
own groin, fused into a pulsating sheath. Both Reg's 
eyes popped open in surprise and envy. If he'd been able 
to make a shape like that with _his_ hands, he wondered 
if he would ever have felt the need to get married.

"Ahem." When he realised Pro was staring at him staring, 
Reg let that line of thought drop and pumped himself a 
couple of times to ensure he was at his best. Pro looked 
somewhat surly as he lifted his melded hands away. What 
was revealed was more like a dog's prong than anything 
human, a kind of long, thin red horn. Reg sighed, now 
much more sympathetic to his brother's request. "Yes, 
well, no wonder, um...that's gonna need a bit of work, 
unless she's really, really kinky."

Pro replaced his sheath, which pulsed several times 
before he removed it again. This time he was wider, with 
a bauble at the tip that was still too narrow. "Try 
again," Reg counselled, blushing as he tried not to 
wonder how _good_ that thing Pro was doing with his 
hands must have felt. _Bad thoughts, unclean, unclean!_ 
"You've got to think how she's got to feel you inside 
her, she has to be able to feel all of it," he tried to 
coach. Pro's brow furrowed in concentration and tension 
as he pumped again.

"Uh oh!" Suddenly Pro's hands separated as his organ 
quadrupled its size spontaneously, a rosy and vaguely-
phallic tentacle billowing to the size of a garden 
squash. "Shit!"

"No, no, no, not like that, you'll bloody-well kill 
her!" Reg groaned. "Back to square one...Look, go away 
and practise by yourself a few times, yeah? Someone's 
coming, and it ain't me." He hastily yanked his pants up 
and stuffed his belt through the buckle.

***

"Pro?" Doug called. "Are you in there? I wonder if I 
might, ahem, have a word?"

Pro strolled blinking out of the toolshed, robe tied 
much more securely than usual. He was walking strangely, 
like a man with a rash on his scrotum. There was a good 
deal of shuffling and banging around in the shed, before 
Reg marched out favouring Doug little more than a curt 
nod as he walked away, a box of welding rods on his 
shoulder. Doug waited for him to be well gone before 
resuming, while Pro waited with a goodnatured smile on 
his face.

"What's on your mind, Douglas?"

"I, uh, it's concerning your...sister," Doug admitted 
stiffly, almost eyes-right. Pro assumed his most 
innocent face. "I felt the need to reassure you that my 
intentions toward her are, ahem, proper and 
appropriate."

"I've never had any doubt of that," Pro said cheerfully. 
"It's her intentions toward you that worried me."

"Ah. Indeed." Doug rocked on his heels. "In the light of 
that, then, it is true that the nature of the 
relationship between us has undergone some, uh, changes 
during the past week, and I did hope that would not 
jeopardize our friendship."

"My friend," said Pro with a grin as he shook hands, 
"I've lived with my sister long enough to know what 
she's like, and I'm grateful there's a man like you 
around to watch out for her. It also gladdens me that 
she's there for you since I cut you off on your run at 
Beryl."

"Well," Doug coughed, "that's no longer a matter, ahem."

"Only other advice I have for you is keep your umbrella 
up. She ain't called Tempest for nothing." Pro winked.

***

Beryl fussed and fluffed up her hair in a bathroom 
mirror that was hazed with steam. She wondered if she 
could keep doing this forever, or at least not emerge 
until the storm had blown over. She'd donned her best 
dancing frock, anticipating the Wildgoose dance in spite 
of Mum's dinner party. As soon as she could, she would 
vanish out the door, and at least meet with Pro even if 
she had to ride her bike out to the tower. Pro had 
promised he would try to find a car and come pick her up 
as, by the time dinner was over, it would be way too 
late to catch the bus. He had wanted to come to the 
dinner. "I can win your Mum over, I've got to try, she's 
hurting you..." Dad was on her side, Beryl assured him 
nervously. It would be all right.

But Mum was up to something. Why did she insist upon a 
dinner party with no fiance and no guests?

The boys were dressed up, doing a good amount of early-
teenage chafing in collar and necktie. Dad offered the 
most resistance; he sat in his armchair, legs crossed, 
reading the paper and chewing on the stem of his pipe. 
Mum flitted about, lighting thin and sophisticated 
candles she called "tapers" and snipping thorns from a 
showy, dusky red rose she placed in a vase at table 
centre. Beryl stood by the fireplace, near Dad, 
fidgeting with her beaded gloves and wishing she was at 
the bus stop.

Her knees almost went from beneath her when an all-too 
familiar engine rumbled to a halt outside. A door 
slammed, and then she could see a familiar outline 
beyond the frosted glass inset high in the front door.

"Would you get the door please Beryl?" Mum commanded.

She looked miserably at Dad, who was already rocking 
upright. He had his dining-out vest on but didn't bother 
with the jacket. "I'll get it, Flora, although you said 
there weren't to be guests tonight," he rumbled. Beryl 
glared daggers at Mum, who had her nose turned up 
smugly.

"As hostess I shall invite whom I like!"

"Young Mister Rowbotham," said Dad gravely as he opened 
the door, shaking hands. George was barely visible 
behind a huge spray of chrysanthemums. He blinked his 
big baby-blues at Beryl, a pout on his lips.

"You wouldn't answer my letters, Berry love. These are 
for you."

She stared, trapped in a nightmare, and made no move. 
Mum was delivering a stinging prompting of her manners. 
George's hair was particularly slick, folded back in a 
golden wave, and he was so well shaven he had razor 
rash. When he swallowed, she was sure she glimpsed a 
hickey just below his collarline.

One of her brothers was sniggering. The last thing she 
wanted to do was voluntarily accept flowers from George, 
but given the circumstance she would have to take them, 
however briefly. "Thanks, George," she said shortly, 
even pecking his cheek as she took them - then stuffed 
them into the snuffling brother's arms. "Here, Ron, be a 
sweetie and find a vase for those!"

Ron was the youngest and the last thing he wanted was an 
armful of flowers. "Ew, yuck! You do it Bob!"

"Flower girl! I'm not doin' it..."

Beryl smiled. _God bless my darling little brothers!_ 
Petals were flying already. Mum swept forward, all 
bustle and welcoming hostess to usher George in, while 
Dad sorted out the flower-fight. "I thought it would be 
a wonderful idea if we could all sit down together," she 
said brightly, "and sort out our differences. It seems 
you've both had some kind of misunderstanding, and I 
must confess those sorts of things do happen, it's part 
of being a married couple..."

Dad made a long-suffering face.

"...but you needn't let silly little tiffs get in the 
way of your love for each other. Now, if you boys would 
all like to take a seat, we'll serve dinner. Beryl? 
Would you like to lend me a hand with the serving?" It 
wasn't a request by the pure iron in her gaze.

"I'll serve Dad, but I'm not serving George," she 
grunted, picking her gloves off as they went to the 
kitchen.

"You conduct yourself with grace tonight young lady or 
you're out of the family!" Mum hissed under her breath.

Mum and George chit-chatted throughout the meal, George 
tucking in heartily while Beryl pushed her greens around 
the plate. He was still boyishly cute, and tonight he 
didn't stink of beer. He could almost have been the 
George of two years ago, aside from the blemish on his 
neck. He was sitting across the table from her.

"You're looking well," said Beryl at last. He nodded, 
eyes crinkling in that cute smile.

"George tells me he's cut back on his, ahem, he's not 
having quite so much beer as before," said Mum daintily. 
George munched and swallowed.

"Yeah, part of that court thing, and it's been good, it 
did kind of wreck things for us Berry and I'm really 
sorry. My old man's a heavy drinker and I don't want to 
end up like him." Yes, "Cranky" Rowbotham, who lived out 
at the trots, and played rinky piano at the bowling 
club. The more debts he had, the more cheerful he was. 
Under the table, Beryl's feet were hiding way back under 
her chair, but George's knees were doing an irritating 
bumping against hers. He wasn't playing footsie, but he 
wanted to. To think she had stomped on Pro!

Her diamond ring glittered as she fidgeted with her 
dinner, and in that much she delighted. Nothing that 
happened here could change her mind.

"I've turned over a new leaf, Berry," said George 
appealingly. "And I still love you, you know?"

"But you've been going out with Jean," she said 
accusingly.

"Jean just wanted a ride in my car. She only liked me 
for my car. Berry, listen to me." He glanced at Mum, who 
was drilling him with steely eyes and her sweetest 
smile. "I'm, uh, going to er, sell the car and get a, 
um, better one like, smaller. Then I could get you a 
bigger diamond than that one. I'm really worried about 
you, Berry! Those people out there, they're dangerous!"

She shook her head, fiddling with the napkin in her lap. 
Outside, gravel crunched as a vehicle turned into the 
driveway, and a motor stopped. "George, I've made my 
mind up. I'm engaged to be married to a wonderful man, 
no matter what Mother says. Dad's given his consent."

"Berry, you're making a mistake, sweetheart!" George 
insisted. "You got all upset over nothing, and now 
you've run off into the arms of some..._thing_..."

There was a polite knock at the door. Beryl glanced at 
the clock. Had Pro managed to get a car? "May I be 
excused?"

"No you may not!" Mum snapped, then glared at Dad who 
was rising to answer the door. "No, there'll be no 
interruptions, it's probably some travelling salesman. 
Dinner is _not_ over!" She pushed herself matronly 
upright and went to the door, and locked it. "I will 
bring dessert. Ronnie, do be a sweet and clear up for me 
please?"

"He's not a thing!" Beryl protested hotly. "He's a 
gentleman, which is more than can be said for you, 
George!"

"Not a thing? I'll bet your folks have never seen what 
he does! Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree, I swear you would not 
believe unless you saw it for yourselves what a monster 
her so-called fiance really is! You're making a huge 
mistake, Beryl! Come back, please, and give us another 
chance!"

The knocking from outside had become more insistent. 
Then a familiar voice called. "Beryl! You in there?" The 
door rattled as he tried the knob. "Rowbotham, you lay a 
finger on her and see what I do!"

"Beryl," Mum pleaded, "listen to George, will you, and 
see reason! If your father and I had let a few arguments 
get in the way we wouldn't still be together! Please 
give George another chance!"

"C'mon, somebody please, the door's locked! Beryl?" The 
door clattered.

Beryl stood up abruptly, propping her hands angrily upon 
the table, glaring at her mother. Perhaps there was one 
last way to reach Mum and convince her George was no 
longer the golden boy. "George broke the Rule, Mother, 
if you must know! He _tried to put it in me_, Mum! He 
didn't keep his hands to himself!" 

Mum's mouth sagged open in horror. George surged to his 
feet, beet-faced. "I never did, never! It was just my 
finger you mad cow!" Bob laughed out loud. 

Ron stopped stock-still in the kitchen doorway and 
pointed, Adam's Apple working soundlessly.

There came a light _plink_ as one of the glass 
quarterpanes in the front door burst, and something 
flesh-coloured but taffy-shaped streamed in through the 
hole.

"I think," said Dad slowly, eyes locked to the dollop 
that was congealing in the middle of the floor, slowly 
forming arms and legs, "George had best leave by the 
back door."

Pro streamed across the floor in time to catch Mum as 
she fainted.

***

"You don't want to go to the dance?" Pro asked. He 
pulled over, hauling on the handbrake. Beryl gazed 
straight ahead at the dusk, and shook her head. "I 
thought, maybe, after that little lot it might be a good 
idea to go and have some fun," he gently suggested.

"That...was...the worst night of my entire life!"

"Almost. I think George had a worse one planned a few 
months back." He put his arm around her and she shuffled 
closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He 
kissed her temple tenderly. "What do you want to do, 
then?"

"I don't know," she said miserably. "I know what I don't 
want to do. I don't want to go back home. I can't!"

"Your Dad's all right with it, with us, I...know he got 
a bit of a shock, but..."

"Even if Dad was okay, Mum would make my life hell! I 
wish I could leave home!"

"Bezz..." Pro gave a deep, wheezing sigh. "I...it's too 
soon for...us. The house isn't quite ready yet..."

"Ohh no, I wasn't meaning that," she said quickly, 
looking up at him from teary eyes. "That'd be worse, 
Mum'd never let us, or the Enabled alone!"

He balled a fist against his lips and gazed about the 
darkening street, thinking. "Maybe we should bring the 
wedding forward, darn, you gotta be eighteen...maybe, 
what about your sister, would she take you in? If it got 
really bad you could have my old room back home, or 
share with Tempest, she wouldn't mind..."

But Beryl was gazing at him, lips parted in wonder, a 
daring plan coming to mind. She dried her eyes, and when 
she spoke, her voice was low. "Hey...there's one 
way...we could hurry the wedding along. Dot was younger 
than me when she got married, and so...was Mum."

"Man, that's why she's so bothered by it..." Pro's words 
stalled as he realised what she was intimating. "Ah. 
Well."

"Why should Tempest and Doug have all the fun?" Beryl 
couldn't help the velvet that was creeping into her 
voice, but Pro's glinting, sober gaze held her at a 
distance.

"Please, my love, don't get me wrong in this." He traced 
her cheekbone with gently-waving fingers, a silken 
caress. "I'd love nothing more...but...I haven't had 
enough time, er...I'm not ready yet. I want to be 
perfect for you." She sighed within his embrace, and he 
squeezed her. "If I don't learn to control it better, it 
mightn't go too well, so we've both got to wait. Anyway, 
if we went ahead and did that, you know, wouldn't that 
make me little better than Georgie boy?"

"I didn't want George. But I do want you," she grumbled. 
"Oh God, what a night!"

"I'm sorry about everything, Beryl," he murmured, slowly 
rocking her. "About showing off like that, I mean, I got 
angry and fed up with hiding my monstrosity..."

"Pro..."

"...I mean the groom's never supposed to get along with 
his mother-in-law, is he? And I'm sorry about your Dad, 
he probably hates me now as well, and I'm sorry we can't 
be together any sooner, and..."

"Wait a minute," said Beryl, sitting up and eyeing him 
sternly. "You told me a long time ago never to feel 
sorry for you. Well I don't need to, because you're 
doing a darn fine job of feeling sorry for yourself 
tonight! You're the Polymorph, you're a fine man, you've 
got everything to be proud of, and one day soon I'm 
going to be your wife no matter what anyone says because 
I love you, Proteus Phillips! Is that perfectly clear?"

He gazed at her solemnly, but then his lips kept 
twitching up into his impish smile. "Sorry," he mumbled. 
Then, laughing, he caught her in his arms again.

***

They drove to Dot's place, where Beryl was to stay while 
the storm blew over. Dot welcomed them both, and served 
them cocoa in the kitchen. Ted was locked to the telly. 
The household was in cheerful disarray, Rhoda's toys 
scattered about. Dot listened sympathetically as Beryl 
told the whole story, including the night George had 
assaulted her; it was then that Pro demonstrated, with 
rather more delicacy than he had used in front of Mum, 
what exactly he could do. With a soft, supple arm that 
snaked into a fine tentacle, he reached down behind and 
under the heavy kitchen cabinet to retrieve a wedding 
photo that had slipped down there.

At first, watching him, Dot's face was agog with 
fascinated horror. But then, when the lost photo was 
placed back in her hands, joy lit her face and glinted 
with unshed tears in her eyes. Thanking Pro, she dusted 
off the portrait and set it on a safer shelf.

"I have a little news of my own," Dot said demurely. 
They could hear Ted's deep voice murmuring after he 
answered the telephone, and the trio exchanged glances. 
Then Dot patted her apron, over her stomach, a glow in 
her eyes. She winked at Pro. "By the time you two get 
married, you'll be aunty and uncle again."

"Oh Dot, that's wonderful!" Beryl cried, hugging her 
sister. Holding her at arms' length, she frowned, 
lowering her voice. "But I thought...you and 
Ted...weren't happy!"

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Dot wondered.

"Well, just that...Mum..."

"Oh for God's sake Beryl, you should know our mother by 
now! After what went on tonight, for heaven's sakes? 
She's never understood Ted and she's had us heading for 
the divorce courts since we got married! Look, I'll 
grant you, marriage isn't always easy, 'specially after 
you have a baby, but it gets easier..." She gave a start 
as the kitchen door creaked and Ted poked his granite 
face into the kitchen. He favoured Pro a broad, keyboard 
grin, a rare sight in itself, then presented him a huge, 
thickskinned paw in greeting.

"Reckon I oughtta welcome you to the family right now, 
you're gonna fit right in! She really has got her pinny 
in a knot. That was the Truffle Troll..."

"Edward Ryan..."

"...I let her know Beryl was safe and sound and going to 
stay the night. Should I make up the nursery? It's only 
tiny, but it's the only room we got. She din't stay on 
the line for long, but she never does when I answer, 
dunno why."

Beryl was destined to spend several weeks staying with 
Dot. The going joke within the family was that Beryl 
could only stay until the new baby arrived, by which 
time she would be moving in with her husband. During her 
stay, she noticed the little clues she had missed 
before. Although each of them sometimes seemed 
preoccupied with their own thoughts, Dot and Ted also 
shared much - a look, a brief touch in passing, and a 
complete ease in each others' closeness that spoke 
volumes for mutual trust and respect.

And they both welcomed Pro when he came to dinner.

Pro fronted up at the scene of Mum's dinner fiasco the 
next day with a piece of glass, and helped Dad fix the 
door. "I...know a good man when I see one," said Dad, 
drawing on his pipe as he faced Pro through the missing 
window. And later, as they worked together to fix the 
panel, "Don't pay no heed to Flora, young man. She just 
takes her time to change her mind. She teaches patience, 
but that's no bad thing to learn."

Slow anger and disappointment seethed within Beryl, 
though, at her mother's refusal to accept Pro. When it 
became obvious George was _not_ going to sell his car, 
and he continued to parade around town with Jean on 
display in the passenger seat, Mum retracted none of her 
belief in the former boyfriend.

_Just because she had to marry, and Dot had to marry!_ 
Beryl fumed. _I'm doing the right thing and she's 
punishing me!_

Resentment was potent fuel for rebellion.

***

As the weeks passed, one of the Phillips Clan houses 
received intensive care. It had been designed so that 
rooms could be added later as needed, but thus far had 
been little more than a shack for a single man. The 
kitchen was properly fitted out, and the blankets that 
had served as makeshift curtains came down from the 
windows. Raw external timbers were whitewashed, and 
paving stones set.

Beryl herself worked full-time with the Enabled now, 
organising and ordering, and taking her turn in the 
gardens and with the children. However, she was not 
allowed to work upon Pro's house other than to plant 
garden beds. Tempest was largely responsible for keeping 
her at bay.

"Ohh, shoo you!" Beryl flapped her hands at the laughing 
girl one afternoon. "You should be working on your own 
house! Doug's billet's hardly a place to go!"

"Ooh! That reminds me! Pro's cake! Don't say anything!" 
With a classically Tempest leap of logic, she turned and 
ran back inside to take a whistling kettle off the boil, 
and was still taking off her apron as she trotted back 
outside past Beryl. "And his present! Doug said we've 
got to be uptown before closing to pick it up! Secret, 
mind! Don't go 'way, I'll be back soon!" The weekend was 
bringing Pro's birthday party.

Shaking her head as she stood to watch Tempest go, Beryl 
pulled off her gardening gloves. In Tempest-speak, 
"soon" could mean half an hour, or half a day.

Enough of seedlings! The punnets had been well watered, 
so they could wait to go in the garden. Beryl's back 
needed stretching, her knees a walk about. The fellers 
would be knocking-off for the evening shortly; if 
Tempest had left a hot kettle, the reasonable thing to 
do would be brew a pot of tea.

It wasn't that she was banned from the house - on the 
contrary, she was consulted on everything from paint 
colours to doorknobs. Pro returned to his home every 
afternoon wondering what had changed, and what new 
surprise was in store. Now, as Beryl wandered in, shoes 
clicking on plastic matting that protected the 
floorboards, she gazed about in satisfaction. Although 
still lacking linoleum or curtains, the kitchen was 
functional. Making the tea while gazing from the window 
felt...different to making tea with Dot or Mum bustling 
around, strange and lonely on her own. But that 
loneliness would pass. Someone else would be home soon.

Leaving the tea to draw, she walked into the loungeroom, 
past the dining table and a set of raw pine chairs 
awaiting varnish. There were coils of wire looping from 
holes in the wall for the television, the phone. She 
glimpsed the bathroom, still scented with fresh grout. 
The short hallway had an open end that had been tacked-
over with plywood; beyond there was a timber skeleton 
for a second bedroom.

She turned, entering the master bedroom. There were 
still speckled dropsheets all over the floor, but the 
painting was complete. Soft gossamer curtains filtered 
the warm, late-afternoon light. Pro's simple, single bed 
was covered by a fresh calico sheet. In a few weeks they 
would go to one of the big department stores, perhaps 
all the way to Kennaware, and shop for a double bed. The 
thought of it made Beryl draw a deep breath and clasp 
her hands to her heart for what that purchase 
represented. This was love splendid, love sublime...and 
love for life.

Her happy face was slightly flushed, as reflected by the 
long mirror on the new wardrobe. New things smelled so 
good! Experimentally, she tugged one of the doors open. 
This half was still empty, a-jingle with coathangers, 
and she could see Pro's clothes hanging in the other 
side. How would it feel, to change clothes in here, 
before this mirror, before going off to the dance or the 
pictures? She could imagine Pro fiddling with his tie in 
the mirror, chin stuck forward, neck rippling and sizing 
to fit his collar.

How would it feel, to relax at day's end? Beryl stepped 
out of her shoes, wriggling her toes. With a fey laugh, 
she pulled open the shoe drawer and set them neatly 
inside, then closed it again. In the privacy of her 
room, she could dress and undress as she pleased.

Facing the mirror, she unbuttoned her blouse, wanting to 
hang _something_ in that empty cabinet. She wouldn't 
take all her clothes off, just a couple of items, to say 
she had claimed the space for herself. She shook the 
blouse out, then hung it fussily; undid her belt, 
unfastened her skirt, then slipped it down and stepped 
out. There was a clip-hanger that she could pin the 
skirt to. Then she stepped back, admiring the sight of 
her clothes hanging there, where they belonged.

There came a muffled clatter, crockery on a sink, with a 
wonderfully familiar cheerful whistling. Beryl blushed, 
heart racing. Pro was home, helping himself to the tea, 
while she was standing around in her underwear. 
Although...the petticoat was a nice one, sheer and 
satiny, with plenty of lace on the hem and bodice. She 
turned side on to the mirror and posed, feeling like a 
vampy screen goddess. Arms raised and elbows bent, she 
took off the scarf and fluffed-up her wavy brown 
tresses. _Pearls!_ If only for a long string of them, or 
some bird-of-paradise feathers for her hair! She twirled 
from side to side, piling her hair up on top so that a 
few strands escaped and dangled down her neck in a 
wanton manner...

"Er, Beryl?"

Of course, he had oozed out of his grimy work-clothes in 
the laundry, then stopped by the kitchen when he saw the 
steaming teapot, then hoped and suspected she was still 
about. He'd heard movement in the bedroom, and slithered 
sneakily up the hall to check. Now he reared up to full 
height and human form, a tea mug clutched in one hand, 
grinning broadly and blushing almost as much as Beryl. 
His free hand had spread out as a broad sheet, making an 
apron of flesh that covered his pelvic area.

"Hi!" Her face was on fire as she let her hair drop. "I 
was just trying out the wardrobe!" Her nipples had 
jumped to attention, so strongly that their peaks were 
visible in spite of her heavy cotton bra. The soft light 
caught the satin of her petticoat as it fell from those 
sharp points, and she could see Pro's eyes lingering on 
the view.

The tingle in her nipples matched the moist pleasure 
that crept deep within her privacy. "Does it work?" Pro 
asked whimsically.

"Oh yes. I should ask you that!" Beryl giggled, eyeing 
him curiously. "What's up? Have you got something to 
hide? I've seen you naked often enough," she teased.

"Um...things," he said coyly. "Thank you for making the 
tea."

His sudden shyness was endearing. All mischief, Beryl 
teased, although her lips were tingling with the need to 
kiss him. "I've seen your testicles before," she said 
softly, amazed at the silken change in her voice. 
Perhaps she truly was that siren of the screen, and if 
she arranged herself elegantly on the bed, would Pro 
feed her grapes before ravishing her?

"Not like this you haven't," he vowed soberly.

Beryl paced toward him, no longer looking at his groin, 
but his face. Raising her hands, she drew his face to 
hers in a long, velvet kiss. He relaxed and enfolded 
her, extending his arm to set his cup on the dresser, 
then bringing those nibbling lips to play. Across her 
shoulder, then up the arc of her neck, kissing her two 
for one. She pressed her satin body to him, feeling a 
warm and exciting pressure against her belly. His 
shielding hand, he brought away, to cup the smooth 
fullness of her rump and feel her womanly shape.

"You're tense," she whispered, slipping her hands around 
his back, feeling the texture of his skin rippling.

"Of course I'm tense...there's a beautiful, half-naked 
woman rubbing herself against me," he breathed. "In my 
bedroom."

"Our," she corrected him. "Or should I leave now?" She 
drew a fingertip along his neck, down to the place where 
his heart pulsed strongly in his chest. Tiny patterns of 
scarlet flashed through his skin in response to her 
caress, and his whole body shivered.

"God no, Beryl, love, don't leave!"

"I wanted to be here for you, when you came home. I 
guess I wanted to know what it's going to be like when 
we move in together." Their lips merged passionately, 
tongues slithering in union, his agile tongue curling 
over hers. The loose straps of her petticoat slipped 
from her shoulders at a gesture from his kissing palm, 
and when she offered no protest, he eased the sterner 
straps of her bra aside too. Lifting his face from hers, 
he gazed at the beauty of her bare shoulders, the 
inviting vale of her cleavage.

His body was beginning to pulse to the rhythm of his 
heart, as it had that night atop the Wall. Beryl let her 
head fall back in delight, hair tickling down her spine 
as he brought his lips to the sensitive skin. The hand 
that had caressed her behind rolled into a tentacle that 
snaked around her thigh, questing as it had beneath the 
table at dinner so long ago, tiny lips opening so that a 
tonguelet could play across her skin. "Please," she 
breathed, slipping her hand along that cord, to and fro, 
encouraging his exploration between her thighs.

Her other hand roved over the smooth strength of his 
hips, and around toward the heat where their bodies 
pressed together. She wanted to touch him. With 
wriggling fingers, she let him know, drawing back only 
far enough to allow her hand access.

Pro gasped, raising his head, eyelids falling shut. Lips 
parted in wonder, Beryl found hot, soft dangling, 
sensitive shapes to cup in her fingers gently. At first 
it seemed tighter cords might reel them in, safely away 
from reach, so she kept her hand very still. Soon, their 
weight settled in her gentle clasp, and Pro moaned in 
delight, rocking against her. 

She let her hand trail upward, a caress that found a 
thicker, stiffer tentacle than any she had felt before. 
Beneath her slip, a much finer, nimble feeler slithered 
beneath the elastic of her knickers, creeping into the 
soft forest of her pubes, and the well at its heart.

"My love," Pro murmured, running palm-kisses up her 
throat, "would you...be nude with me?"

For answer, she drew her hands away from him, to start 
raising the hem of her petticoat. Her nipples were so 
sensitive that they hurt where they rubbed on the bra. 
As her shift rose up, with the probe that explored her 
he hooked her panties down, so that they slipped from 
her legs with a caress of farewell. She stepped back 
from them, out of them, away - they were ugly and 
utilitarian, a remnant of girlhood and the safe things 
her mother bought for her. Now she was free of them.

Pro admired her, her body unveiled like some warm, 
living, classical statue, a temple of womanhood 
awaiting. His arms encircled her once more, and the 
catch of her bra made little resistance to so many 
nimble fingers. At last, her full beauty was revealed, 
rosy nipples sweet with promise as her breasts were 
uncovered.

Tightening his arms, he drew her to him, to stop her 
looking at that scarlet, throbbing place he had been 
trying so hard to shape. Beryl gazed into his eyes, 
cradling his face in her hands.

"It's not right yet," he mumbled. She silenced him with 
a kiss.

"No, silly, you're perfect. You're perfect for Pro. You 
don't have to look exactly like other men." She gave a 
wicked giggle. "I'm sure I'll never know what I'm 
missing out on. This has got to be better." Her pelvis 
ground against him with a mind of its own, as she tried 
to catch the pleasingly hard stump between her upper 
thighs.

"Skin upon skin," he breathed, hands dividing into many 
fingers, rippling over her back and through her hair. 
Beryl drew a deep, shivering breath at the forbidden joy 
of his body pressed close. "Although nudity was normal 
for me, it was never for anyone else...but now, my 
darling, now..." He brought both his hands with 
ceremonial slowness to cup her breasts, gently dappling 
and kneading the soft flesh, tweaking her nipples. She 
gasped as little lips opened, sucking one nipple into 
the palm of his hand as he lowered his face to the 
other.

From that place at his groin, something smooth and hot 
grew. A pulsing, firm cord snaked into her crotch, 
testing and tasting. Beryl groaned as secret, naughty 
needs clenched every part of her, from the fire in her 
clit to the deep, rolling clenches of her vagina. The 
one thing that would relieve her body's longings was 
lingering just outside.

The third, tiny mouth that opened was just large enough 
to embrace her clit with its lips, to tease with its 
tongue, lapping and stroking her point of fire to an 
agony of purest pleasure.

Beryl cried out his name, digging her fingers into his 
throbbing flesh as she climaxed. He kissed and nibbled 
upon nipples and clitoris, the sturdy cable of his 
manhood rubbing against her entry. As her orgasm ebbed, 
she let her weight fall against him, the rest of his 
body morphing to catch her. Together, they slid to the 
comfort of his bed.

"I want to be Mrs. Phillips, Proteus. Make me your 
wife," Beryl murmured, a low command. She rolled onto 
her back, welcoming him within the embrace of her 
thighs, wriggling as that smallest mouth continued to 
lap amidst her folds. Rocking back, he stroked and 
kissed her breasts with his hands, revelling in how she 
responded to his lightest touch.

The part of him that explored her went deeper...deeper. 
A long, slender cord reached further than any finger 
had, slipping beyond the low frontier of her maidenhead 
without breaking it. The sensation of him writhing and 
twirling deep inside begged her to wriggle and bear 
against him, bringing her to throb in time with his 
body. She kneaded his back and rump, squeezing 
rhythmically. His skin was taut as a drum, body tight 
and rigid.

"Let it go!" she pleaded. His eyes were bright, face 
tense. "Let it go! I want to hold you, all of you inside 
me!"

Something deep within grew, stretching, a pressure 
building that made her clench. Pro gasped, arching his 
back as she gripped him. Deep pulsations rolled the 
length of her vagina, each expansion larger than the 
last, filling her utterly.

"Love you Beryl!"

Her answer was a lusty cry of delight as she soared upon 
her second orgasm. His rhythm drew her on, and on, 
holding her at that point of ecstasy. When at last she 
gasped for breath, the room coming back into focus, Pro 
was still throbbing like one giant heart. There came a 
wave of heat across his skin, a massive spasm that 
started somewhere deep inside him, and ended in an 
explosion at her core.

With the passing of that moment, Pro quivered and lost 
all form as his body relaxed, a warm mass that sighed 
and slipped around her. She held him in her arms, 
stroking his liquid back and whispering his name. He 
melted from within her, leaving a hot lake of moisture 
in her care.

"I...never thought...a woman could love...one such as 
me," he mumbled through lips gone rubbery. Strength and 
tension slowly spread through him as he regained his 
senses, resting within her embrace. Beryl hugged him 
fiercely.

"Nonsense. Basil found someone, why not you?"

"Oh, I hoped...but couldn't imagine...what this moment 
would feel like...darling Beryl." He peeled back 
slightly so that he could see her sweaty face, taking 
some of his weight on columnar arms. The face he formed 
was one of tenderness and concern, and he brushed her 
brow with a tendril. "Are you all right, my love? I felt 
something...give way inside...and I couldn't stop."

"I'm fine, Pro, it's all right. Maybe it was the future 
giving way to us? I am yours, now and forever." She 
squeezed him, and he relaxed against her, smiling. "No 
other man in the world is like you, and no other could 
satisfy me now."

They nestled together until the sunlight faded from the 
window. Pro gazed in wonder at the pale carnation that 
had appeared upon his bed where they had lain. They were 
married now, more soundly than the murmurings of a 
country minister could make them.

They bathed together, washing the sweat from each other, 
touching and caressing. There was time to grab a bite to 
eat, and to put ice in the long-cooled tea. When Tempest 
returned she snacked with them, a knowing sparkle in her 
eyes.

Beryl phoned Dot, blushing as she did so, wondering how 
she would explain staying at the tower site overnight. 
For there was nowhere else she wanted to be. She said 
Tempest and Pro's parents had offered to take her in.

***

"This is what it's all about."

They walked their bikes along River Road, arm in arm, 
Beryl with her head on Pro's shoulder. That they lived 
together in their new home raised eyebrows about town, 
but only smiles on Enabled ground. Although, Tempest had 
raised some dust in wanting to spend more time with 
Douggie. It was he who settled her, with talk of "the 
future". And pegs were hammered into the ground assigned 
to Tempest, the weeds cleared and a few holes dug.

Beryl and Pro had bought ice pops and now walked down to 
the river, watching the rose and gold of sunset as birds 
flocked home to roost. It had been a thrilling day, 
perhaps not in activity or obvious strife; the kind of 
day where the furore was mental, a flurry of news and 
elation and apprehension combined. Through it all, their 
arms were entwined, the strength of two into the future. 
Later they would curl in their new bed, together, and 
make love until the deepest hours.

For now, it was time to rest and relax, together, away 
from the eyes of public, family and friends. Behind 
them, on the deepening mauve sky of the east, the tower 
gleamed with golden sunset light. The town lights were 
just flicking on, the sky still bright.

A heavy engine roared. The baleful eyes of a large sedan 
veered toward them, with the doppler bray of a rude 
horn. Pro threw himself and Beryl into the roadside 
easement, trying with swift cords to cushion her landing 
as bikes and limbs flew all ways. The large, red car 
passed so close it showered them with sprayed gravel, 
leaving thick tyre-tracks in the sandy road shoulder, 
the stink of its hot breath over-rich with fuel.

They picked themselves up, Pro brandishing a fist as he 
helped Beryl up. "Rowbotham!" But before they could 
check their scrapes or straighten their clothing, there 
came a splintering crump, a deep rattle and smash; a 
splash of something large and weighty hitting the creek, 
another crunch.

Pro was on his bike in a moment, punching the pedals, 
Beryl close behind. "Shouldn't we call the police?" she 
shouted. But they were close to the bridge, and Pro 
wasn't stopping to discuss niceties.

Dust still hung in the air, intermixed with exhaust 
fumes. Beyond a confusion of torn and splintered 
vegetation, George's car was in the riverbed, upside-
down, wheels still turning as they lost momentum. Steam 
hung wraithlike over the car's carcass, a questionmark.

The river wasn't deep, but the current was strong, 
crescent waves rising around the front half of the 
wreck, lapping the wheel-arches and spitting from hot 
brakes.

The passenger's door was flapping open. Jean tottered 
from the river, bedraggled, bloodied but mobile.  Her 
jade silk dress was torn, her hair a tangled mass. Beryl 
scrambled down the bank, catching Jean's questing hands 
and helping her to the shore.

"George..." she whispered, then pleaded. "_George!_"

Beryl whirled to face the car again. The cabin was full 
of boiling brown river water, and the strength of the 
current was swinging the whole car about on the pivot of 
its sunken roof.

How often had she gone parking, nuzzling and cuddling in 
that rigid metal cage? She could have let George touch 
her, and could have still been in there, trapped with 
him. Drowning. The horrible, hateful thought that came 
to mind made her stomach turn.

_Leave him there!_

Then she saw a flutter of discarded fabric. Jean 
shrieked. A fluid ripple of flesh slipped from the 
confines of clothing and plunged into the water. Beryl 
glimpsed his breathing-pores opening wide before he 
sank.

"What was that???"

"My fiance."

"The freak...oh..."

Beryl stood motionless in the shallows, Jean sobbing as 
she clung to her. The river chuckled gleefully and 
twirled its new toy. A car halted on the bridge, and 
someone called out.

It seemed forever, but it took a few short minutes. 
Through the back of a glossy dark wave, Beryl saw 
something slither along the stones of the creekbed, 
perfectly adapted for the conditions. Then two bodies 
broke the water's surface, George wracked by explosive 
coughs. Pro carried him into the shallows on his 
mollusc-back, then supported him while he vomited.

More bystanders were arriving, taking Jean in hand and 
helping her to a seat, taking off coats and finding 
travel blankets. Beryl gathered Pro's clothing, for a 
moment pressing the cloth to her face, catching the 
comforting scent of his body and their wardrobe.

Gravel crunched, and his outline loomed tall before her 
in the deepening dusk. He smiled his lopsided smile, 
then turned his head toward town. Between the trees, his 
tower was tall enough to still be catching the sunlight. 
It blazed like a candle of redemption.

"Now _that_," Pro breathed, "is what it's all about!"

***

Proteus "Pro" Phillips and Beryl Crabtree married six 
months earlier than was originally planned. If Beryl had 
worried about her mother, she needn't have minded - Mum 
attended the wedding and cried her eyes out for joy. 
Most of the town turned out to wish the newlyweds well, 
and the churchyard was brilliant with flowers, notably 
an abundance of carnations. Even George and Jean 
attended, and while George couldn't quite bring himself 
to shake Pro's hand, he wished the couple well.

Doug and Tempest married within the next year. Of 
course, a fortuitous breeze had carried Beryl's bouquet 
almost directly to Tempest's hands. On Tempest's wedding 
day, the weather was perfect.

Pro's first baby son, Martin, wriggled in the cradle of 
his father's arms. He had perfectly-defined limbs and a 
square, stolid face, definitely taking after the 
Crabtree side of the family.

Beryl hugged her husband and son. To her mind, both her 
men were perfect, in every way.

(end)






  
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