[Wachsende]

I registered there, but it says I either need a referral or need to pay $5 to be authorized. Account name's the same there as it is here. If you could help me out, I'd appreciate it. I still fully intend to complete "Touch of Fate"; it's a matter of when, not if.

[Wachsende]

I'm still not sure what I'm going to do with this one. I'll probably reevaluate it this summer and bring it to a conclusion, one way or the other.

Since Lingster doesn't want any new stories here, I started a new one over at Brawna.org. The first four parts of that story are available now, and complete a satisfying arc in their own right. There is going to be at least one more arc with that story, but to avoid the disappointment from the uber-long "Andy and Alison" delay, I'm going to wait until I have two or three parts banked before I start posting the rest:

Touch of Fate, Part 1
Touch of Fate, Part 2
Touch of Fate, Part 3
Touch of Fate, Part 4

[Wachsende]

Absolutely. For me it's that awkward balance of trying to grapple with larger philosophical/emotional ideas while knowing full well that the majority of readers are interfacing with it as fetish fiction. There are times when something would be thematically or emotionally appropriate in a specific context, for example two 13-year-olds experimenting with sex for the first time, but would not be appropriate for the fetish audience. For this reason, I avoid sexually-compromising situations with younger characters and rape scenes with older characters. In my writing both here and generally, I try not to play into stereotypes too much.
This is actually a big part of what's tying up my current project. The story brought itself to a head at a place I wasn't comfortable taking it.

[Wachsende]

For some reason I can't reply to the original "One Less…" thread, so I'm posting this here:

I spent the last couple weeks substantially revising and typesetting that story for possible future publications, including the writing of an all-new epilogue. I'm posting a PDF here of that version:
http://rapidshare.de/files/39346254/One_Less__Complete_-_Redacted_.pdf.html

Beetlebomb, feel free to use it on that wiki you mentioned, as long as it links to or features an unaltered copy of the PDF.

In other news, is there only who'd be willing to host it on their server at a static address so people won't have to jump through all of rapidshare's hoops?

I'll try to get back to Andy and Alison soon.

[Wachsende]

Are you going to continue this or is it abandonned?

It's on hold but definitely not abandoned. Right now, I'm revising "One Less…" for publication so this has been pushed to the back burner. I introduced the father/alien subplot for a very specific thematic reason, but now I'm not so sure I want to pursue that direction. It'll probably take me a month or two, but I will finish the story. I promise.:)

[Wachsende]

NOTE: There was originally more to this part that no longer fit once I realized how young the characters still were. So if there's some holes in the story, that's why.

Part V – Environmental Factors

As the two teenagers took their places on the lawn, legs spread in a wide stance and arms reached out for the other, the first thing Andy noticed was the smell. Alison smelled wonderful. Not like cake, or flowers, or any generally accepted enjoyable smell. It was the same kind of musky smell she always gave off when she hadn't showered in a while. But instead of being a sour and offputting body odor, her musk had changed ever so subtly into something richer and earthier — more pecan nut than chicken soup.
Whatever her assertations, something had changed and changed dramatically in the last twenty four hours. When he'd held her against him on the ground the night before, his feet had reached half a foot closer to the flames. Now her arms reached just a bit farther than his, her stance just a bit wider than his, and gaze pointed just a bit up to meet her fierce eyes gazing down. He was about to wrestle Alison, but she was not quite the same Alison he'd known the day before.
They circled each other slowly, never breaking eye contact. The contest, which had seemed friendly as they departed the kitchen, now seemed intense and somehow ritualistic. Alison's presence bore down upon him, but she refused to make the first move.
Finally, when the tension had become unbearable for him, he lunged.
His arms clasped tightly around her waist, but his momentum was immediately absorbed by her taut form suddenly rock hard under her soft, velvety skin. Her back arched, and his feet left the ground. A hand, suddenly just a bit bigger than he'd remembered it, slipped under his butt and held him in place. As he began to release the embrace that should have driven her to the ground, her free arm swung around and pinned him against her. Two seconds in, and the match was effectively lost.
But it was not over.
The tension in Alison's back and legs dissipated and Andy watched the ground snap forward as she fell, with him as her cushion. Even though the ground was soft from rain that had fallen earlier in the week, Andy's back hit the ground hard as Alison's hand and arm dug into him. Both slipped cleanly out from underneath him and groped for his arms. Sandwiched between her torso and the dewey grass, Andy could not take advantage of this momentary opening. Soft, slender fingers found each of his forearms and dragged them to his sides. Her torso pulled away from him, her chest gently grazing him in the process, and her knees — still boney with youth — dug into his calves. The hold on his wrists slid gently up his arms before firmly settling on his shoulders.
For the first time since they'd entered the stifling summer air, one of them spoke. "10 – 9 – 8 – 7…" the familiar high, sing-songy voice cheerfully rang out until it was done.
Her telluric smell now overpowered him.
"You want a remat…" her voice queried before he guided her head to his.
The green stone around her neck again sent the tingling sensation pulsating through her, this time matched by its own glowing light that flashed perfectly in sync with the frequency of the pulsations.

* * *

A hundred and fifty miles up in the sky, another green light pulsated with matching intensity. From the source of that light, that other light, intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own watched the events in Alison's backyard keenly and closely. Every now and again their gaze would drift, regarding our sparkling blue sphere as whole with envious eyes.
From the corner of the room, if indeed the space could be called that, a man — a very human man — could scarcely contain his rage. Earlier this day, he had been just gathering the bills together to be dropped off at the post office when suddenly the light of the world inverted itself. And then he was here, staring out from chains at the vast absense in front of him, the vast absense where a wall should be. And then the perspective shattered, so that two of the fragments followed the intelligences' pawns through their days.
At first he was merely outraged at the invasion of privacy; it was bad enough that they had taken him, they certainly had no business watching her. And then, as he continued to watch, he noticed things that weren't quite right. At each, the intelligences' twittered in their incomprehsible chatter.
Until finally he watched something horrible. His little girl and her friend, apparently manipulated by a device that she'd had around her neck so long, had engaged in something that, all the cautionary tales in the daytime talk shows aside, he was assured no one that young would do. And, as their twittering filled with increasing glee, it changed her. Bigger and taller she grew until her little friend looked like a play thing beside her. Until finally he watched something horrible. His little girl and her friend, apparently manipulated by a device that she'd had around her neck so long, had engaged in something that, all the cautionary tales in the daytime talk shows aside, he was assured no one that young would do. And, as their twittering filled with increasing glee, it changed her. Bigger and taller she grew until her little friend looked like a play thing beside her. What did these intelligences, these druseklieren, want his his daughter?

[Wachsende]

NOTE: Due to a spellcheck error, Alison is misspelled as "Allison" for the entirety of Part IV. My apologies; by the time I noticed the problem, it was too late to fix it.

[Wachsende]

Part IV – Virilization

Four minutes later, Allison had covered the final two miles to her house. Instead of soaking with sweat like she should have been, the minor sheen of perspiration imbued her features with a certain pleasant glow. Rounding the corner, she saw Andy sitting hunched over on her front steps. Not yet ready to reveal her new secret, she slowed down to an easy jog that felt like crawling after the exhilarating chase that had preceded it.
As she got closer, she noticed that the day hadn't treated Andy nearly so kindly. Though he had only walked down the street and then sat, the oppressive heat seeped out from around his arm pits and spread across his back. She could practically see her reflection in his slick, oily forehead. Of these observations, she said nothing. Instead, she called out, "Hey, Andy! Front door's unlocked."
His head jerked up and a smile spread across his face. "Finally! I knocked, but no one answered. This heat is killing me!" By the time she reached the steps, his back was already to her and the door parted for the cool, processed air within. As she cleared the top step, she realized that her secret would be less easy to keep than she'd thought. For the first time in her life, she was looking down at the top of his head. Clearly she hadn't imagined the tightness of her clothes. Finally convinced of her own sanity, she freed her bare feet from the laced prisons that confined them. Each foot, once finally yanked free, was red with the tightly press impression of the inside of the shoe that had trapped it.
Andy continued on through the living room and into the kitchen, still with his back to his younger friend. Still not ready to give up the ruse, Allison plopped down in one of the old fashioned bar stools along the counter immediately upon entering the room. The tips of her bare toes flirted with grazing the cool linoleum of the floor. Another first.
Andy's butt poked out from the glow of the refrigerator, the rest of him blocked from view by the thick, rounded white door. He soon emerged with a half-full bottle of lemonade, his favorite, and grabbed two glasses from the cupboard. He filled both, one just a hair more than the other, and returned the bottle to the fridge. He walked over with the glasses and plopped down on the stool next to hers. Keeping the fuller glass for himself, he slid the other over to her. She accepted it gratefully, and in unison they each took a sip.
Then Andy, finally looking up, got his first good glance at Allison. His eyes shot back to his drink, startled. Allison, noticing his surprise, kept her eyes pointedly on her drink, creating the opportunity for him to get a good stare. She wasn't going to say anything if he didn't.
And stare he did, pivoting rather unsubtly to get a look at her from both sides. He bit his lip in the same way he did while double-checking a measurement on one of their many woodworking projects. Finally, with a shake of his head, he dismissed his uneasiness.
Convinced that she was no longer being analyzed, Allison at last made eye contact with her friend. She didn't allow herself to react as she found herself staring down into his gaze for the first time. Her game, for she decided this was a game, had just begun. It would not do to end it at the starting gate. "Sorry about the not being here," she started mundanely. "Surprise, surprise. It's Friday and my dad just couldn't find the time to run down to the post office during the week, and could I be a dear and take care of it for him?"
Again Andy found himself taken aback. "You walked all the way to the post office? It has to be ninety out there! I'd be positively drenched!" She responded with a false, condescending laugh. "Well, boys are just grosser than girls. You know that." Unable to quite keep a self-deprecating tone out of her voice, she added. "You are, as you know, in the presence of a delicate, demure wo-man…" She choked off the giggle threatening to escape.
Andy's belly laugh roared with approval. "So true! My friend Allison, the height of femininity!"
At this, her reserves were broken and her melodious laughter joined his. "You seemed to find me feminine enough last night!" she reminded him with a playful poke to the shoulder.
He jerked back instinctively, his expression suddenly serious. "Hey! What the hell was that for?"
She was taken aback as well. "What? You kissed me didn't you? You held me, didn't you?"
He shook his head with disgust. "Not the comment, the punch! I was just kidding around. No need to whack me for it."
She threw up her hands, defensively, anger spreading across her own face. "What punch? I poked you, just kidding around too! Don't tell me you've turned pansy on me now!"
He rolled his eyes, his disgust only building. "You can't poke that hard! No one can poke that hard. Well, maybe the Rock. But you're not him, and you're no Governator either so fess up."
She decided it wasn't worth arguing. "Whatever. Jesus, I'm sorry, okay?"
He took another sip of lemonade, swallowed, sighed loudly, and shook his head. "Fine, I'm over it. What you want to do?"
"I don't know, what do you want to do?" she replied mechanically.
He shrugged and stared off, his anger completely dissipated. "I really don't have any ideas. We're out of wood for the swamp platform, and we still can't get a bag of cement for the fireplace even if my dad suddenly decided to fix the wheelbarrow so we could bring it out."
She remembered her plan. "You really don't have any ideas?" she inquired innocently.
"No, why do you?" he fired back with a smirk. Allison never had any suggestions.
"Yeah, I think I do," she replied. "You remember our wrestling match last summer.
"Of course!" he boasted. "I pinned you in under a minute, why?"
"Well," she said with mischievous glee. "I want a rematch."
"You're on!" he declared with a smirk, and hopped off his stool. "Where?"
"Out back, on the grass," she replied as she spun away from the wall and stood up.
And up.
And up.
"Wait a minute," Andy wondered aloud. "Since when have you been taller than me?"
"Since always," she replied with perfect conviction.
"Un-uh," he contested. "No way! There's pictures of us all over the place with me taller."
"Okay, maybe not always," she conceded graciously. "But definitely since puberty. Girls mature faster than boys."
"And I am," she declared as she gave him a couple affectionate pats on the head, "a delicate, demure wo-man…"

[Wachsende]

Part III – Development

The feeling of strangeness continued all the way down to the breakfast table. The world, in a way Alison couldn't put her finger on, felt intangibly skewed, like God Himself had reached down from heaven and ever so slightly flattened everything. All the steps down the stairs felt just a hair closer together. In the kitchen, she reached for a cereal box on top of the cabinets and for the first time didn't have to creep up on the tips of her toes. The feeling of misplacement stirred again, but she shook her head and tried to drive it from her mind.
The feeling stirred again when her fourth bowl of cereal failed to satiate her sudden appetite. But the fifth bowl did the trick, and she continued on her day.
Since she was home alone during the summer, certain jobs that normally fell on her parents had devolved onto her. On Fridays, that meant taking all of the bills her father had paid and stamped to the post office to be mailed. The walk took a couple miles and had been a nightmare in the sweltering August heat, but with the light morning breeze today's journey might actually be enjoyable. After running a comb briskly through her hair, she grabbed her shoes from her bedroom floor.
Her first attempt to put on the left one resurrected the queer feeling with a sudden intensity. The shoe didn't fit. She examined her foot carefully. It didn't look any different. With a shrug, she loosened the laces and managed to wedge it on then did the same for the other foot. She had no doubt that the friction from the shoe's tightness would rub her foot raw over the course of the trip. She'd have to ask her parents for a new pair. They wouldn't be happy; the pair in question was less than three months old.
Looking down disdainfully at the high waters clinging so suddenly tight on her legs and waste, she set off into the fiery summer.
She made the trip in record time. This in itself set off no warning bells; she always moved faster in comfortable weather. Still, she was surprised when she the clock in the post office lobby signaled less than a half hour had passed since she'd left the house. Her long distance track times in gym for a comparable distance weren't much better than that, and the walk had been effortless.
There were two slots in the wall for postage 13 ounces or less, one for local deliveries and one for outside the zip code. Her father didn't trust her to sort between the two when financial obligations were involved, however, so she brought her stack to the counter.
Evelyn, the elderly postal matron, was the only USPS employee that Alison had ever seen with her own eyes. The routine had become so standardized by this point in the summer that their transaction was largely on auto-pilot. Alison was mildly surprised, therefore, when Evelyn gave her a lengthy stare before excepting the letters in the hand outstretched to her. She decided she'd have to toss the jeans when she got back. She didn't want Society to think she was a careless dresser. Evelyn opened her mouth to say something, closed it, and shook her head with a little private laugh. "You're all set, sweetie," is what she finally said out loud. "You can tell your dad they'll all go out tonight." With a youthful wave of thanks, Alison sprinted to the door and slipped back out into the furnace of the noon day heat. All traces of the morning breeze had vanished. Surprisingly, the heat was as suffocating at it usually was. Even more surprising, she hadn't begun to sweat. These observations would have set off real warning bells if the entire morning hadn't been full of such oddities.
Instead, she laughed. Deeply and fully. And then set off back home in a sprint. After the first mile had been completed, just over five minutes after she'd begun her one-man race, she still feel a hint of perspiration and her breathing remained as steady as if she'd covered the distance riding in a car. With another gleeful laugh, she began to run faster.

[Wachsende]

Part II – Changes

Andy agitatedly bounced a tennis ball against the back of his bedroom door, staring at the calendar that gave him only one more week of freedom before starting high school as a freshman. Now 14, his habits and hobbies hadn't changed much. How could they when his neighborhood hadn't?
He heard a knock on the door, and knew that his favorite part of the status quo was waiting behind it. He tossed the tennis ball under his bed and shouted an invitation to enter. The door swung open and Alison, a sparkling emerald shimmering from the thin gold chain around her neck, walked in.
Her long unruly hair, now sun-bleached lighter than her darkly tanned face trailed recklessly behind her. Her forest green tube top and hip-hugging jeans were ample evidence than unlike Andy she had started down the road toward adult sophistication. The mysterious rock which she'd found in the creek three years earlier had now become her first piece of real jewelry. Andy, of course, hadn't made the corelation. As she watched him resume bouncing the ball off the door, she smiled. In some ways, boys could be so hopeless.
Despite the surface changes, the two were no less the inseperable pair of backyard adventurers. A stray bounce sent his ball flying behind his bed, and soon they were under tree cover and running wildly toward the unknown. The bright summer sun flickered a patchwork of shadows over their heads as they drove their way deeper into the woods. An hour long  game of hide and seek gave way after Andy finally found Alison pressed down against the ground under a hastily arranged pile of brush.
Now assured that they were both completely filthy, they picked their way through the area to a well-worn deer if narrow trail that they'd adopted the previous summer as their own. Even a mile out from the houses, they had long traced out all of the openings through the thick overgrowth. A lifetime of dangerous and unsupervised exploration had imbued both with an excellent sense of direction. This particular path led to a particularly special place. They marked out the lengthy walk with loose and enthusastic chatter about nothing in particular.
Finally they came to it. A gap in the trees where the big creek was down to a shallow trickle, the brown soil of the forrest gave way to a vibrant clearing of green grass. At the edge the clearing, right where the grass gave way to the tree cover, there was a pile of bricks they'd spent the last month dragging from an overgrown and exposed old farmhouse foundation nearby. As they each bounced ideas back and forth about the grandiose structures they could make with the bricks if they had a bag of concrete, they stacked the bricks into a loose and modest outdoor fireplace.
Their masterpiece complete, Andy stared at Alison expectantly with a roguish smile threatening to spread across his face. With a wide grin of her own, she reached into her left buttocks pocket and pulled out a book of matches she'd nabbed from her kitchen drunk drawer. They spent the next half hour gathering and branches that'd fallen from the trees and packed the gaps in their pile with little twigs for kindling.
As the sun started to sink, Andy struck a match against the book and set the pile ablaze. Then they lay back and watched the flames dance playfully in their fireplace.
He looked over and met Alison's smiling face, sharing in the silent satisfaction of a hard day's labor. As his glaze lingered on his partner in crime, he noticed for the first time the pleasant way her waist was starting to flare out. Following slowly back toward her eyes, he also noticed the way her top was just starting to hint at the greater curves to come.
Without thinking about it, his sweaty and dirty hand clasped hers. Rather than pull away, she shifted closer, pressing her side lightly against his. Without really thinking about it, she rested her head on his shoulder. They lay there, just staring the flickering flames until the fire was the only thing light for miles.
Finally, when the fire had burned down to mere embers and both were long past late for dinner, they picked themselves off the ground. "We'd better head back or our folks will send out a search party out looking for us," Alison deadpanned with an audible reluctance that Andy felt.
"Yeah, I guess we'd better," Andy muttered back.
Just as Alison turn to start off into the darkness, Andy sucked in a breath and suddenly reached out with a soft touch of her shoulder. She turned back, questioningly, and he pulled her into an embrace. Before either of them could think about them, he ducked his head down to his little friend — suddenly more than a friend — and poked his nose right into hers.
Before her could shirk back in embarrassment, she reached up and gently guided his head slightly to the right and guided his mouth in for what both would forever remember as their first real kiss.
A shiver of unfamiliar endorphins went through Andy's core.
A trickle of something else pulsated through Alison. Something she hadn't felt since pulling the mysterious green stone from the creek. And this time, the euphoric sensation was increased tenfold.
It took them along time to pick their way back in the darkness, by which time any chance of leftovers had long since evaporated. Alison wasn't surprised when her furious and worried sick mother was sent her to bed without dinner. She had no doubt it was worth it. The feeling, which had steadily intensified in both frequency and extent, was the most wonderful thing she had ever felt. No wonder people liked to kiss so much, she thought.
As she flopped down on her bed, she struggled to pull her shoes off her feet. Suddenly they were tighter than the most cruelly laced ice skates. She lay on her bed for an hour or more, just enjoying the trickling warmth. Looking down at her barefoot ankles, she noticed her ankles poking out past her pant legs and had to roll her eyes. Her mom had just bought this pair at the end of school, and wouldn't be thrilled to replace them already. She wondered why she hadn't noticed how short they'd gotten on her before.
When she woke up the next morning, she also wondered by they suddenly felt so tight.

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