Side Story: Date

Of course, the doctor isn't the only one in the story: We have Howard and Francois to follow.

Shortly after Francois arrives at home, his phone rings, a theme song from an old show about people hooking up on a cruise ship… the tone he assigned to Howard.

He picks up immediately, “Hey, beautiful, what can I do for you?”

Her cheerleader-on-helium voice runs through the voice changer already installed on Howard's side of the line, bringing her range down to a pleasant soprano. “I was thinking I have this evening free, and they just opened that new D. O. J. exhibit….”

“The one with Allan Quartermain and Ayesha fighting Rezu?” The black man hung well enough to put many horses to shame jumps in, “I am SO down for that.”

“Great,” the caricature of a woman happily replies, “Pick you up in ten.”

The man does the math, “So you're already on route, then?”

“Called as I was walking out the door,” she confirms, “See you soon.”

They both hang up, and the man rushes to get a suit on. Francois is still working on his tie when the doorbell rings. Pants and shirt on, at least, the black man walks over and opens the door to his apartment, looking at the sight that lays beyond. It is, of course, Howard. She is standing there, her absurdly sized globes jutting proudly, looking a little squeezed in the tiny hallway. For clothing, she's wearing a large printed cloth fastened with safety pins… looks like a white tiger… and she's using a re-usable cloth shopping bag as a purse. “Hey handsome…” she greets him, “Sorry I couldn't find anything better, the stores don't have anything in my size.”

“You fill out that bedspread very well.” Francois grins, “Won't you come in?” He steps back and aside.

“I'll… wait out here,” the absurdly proportioned woman cringes, “single wide doors are awkward for me… I have some contractors scheduled out at my house over the next couple of days for remodeling bids.”

Francois looks his lover up and down, noting that yes, she's going to need to go through most doors sideways and will still be pushing up against the frame, “Right. Sorry, I just feel awkward leaving you out there… come to think of it, how'd you even get in the hallways? I didn't buzz you up…”

“Turns out my body now short-circuits most guys’ brains,” Howard shrugs, “I haven't had to open a door for myself when away from home since I changed. This includes locked doors, if there's anyone with the key around. I just need to get used to the fact that nobody's looking me in the eye anymore.”

“Ah,” Francois glances up, “sorry.”

Howard chuckles, “It's fine. Look, I get it. When it's you doing it, I even get this nice warm tingling feeling between my legs… anticipation, I think… but you can finish getting dressed,” she licks her lips as her gaze drifts downwards, “I'm looking forward to unwrapping your package back at my place later.” Francois can't help but grin as he finishes putting on his tie and suit coat.

The duo head down a few flights of stairs, to where a minivan with a “taxi” sign mounted on top waits patiently, the door already open. The two lovebirds get in, and they drive off. A few minutes later, the cab parks outside the history museum, where Howard pays the cabbie, who drives off. Arm in arm, the salt and pepper couple head up the stone steps to the door, where Howard covers the entry fee, and they head in.

The two pass several exhibits they've seen often enough, dedicated Black Venus, Bob Phantom, Chuck Hardy, Dame Wales, Ellery Queen, and others. The one they're nominally here for, of course, is the newly opened diorama for is Allan Quartermain and Ayesha fighting Rezu: The legendary British man is pictured pointing his rifle at the seven foot tall bearded giant, while She Who Must Be Obeyed looks on.

They take a moment to look it over when they reach it: Francois’ arm wrapped around Howard's waist, casually slipping under her blanket and running a finger along her lower lips. Not to be outdone, Howard has a hand in Francois' shirt, slowly stroking his massive erection (which yes, goes a good ways up his chest under his clothes).

They briefly glance at the “Sponsored by S.A.N.T.A., Benjamin Franklin needs YOU!” poster with the famous immortal turkey pointing a wing at them… just in time to hear the roar of hoverbikes.

“Not the domibus evaquandis gang again,” the pair groan in stereo.

Unfortunately for them, it is indeed that gang, and dozens of big beefy guys in leather chaps and bare chests under their leather jackets come charging into the museum on motorcycles (minus the wheels) that are flying through the air, smashing open doors and fondling the female statues. Of course, they all change course as soon as they spy Howard.

“Oh, look what we have here…” one with a plaid Mohawk speaks up, “such a bounty of beautiful boobs and butt… grab her!”

A dozen gang members follow the order, quickly stripping off the woman's blankets while shoving her date aside, and pulling down their pants to reveal that all have ten inch members already at attention.

Howard speaks up, “I am NOT ready to star in a literal gang bang!!!!”

Then there's a flash of teal and purple, and the gang members go flying as the town evacuation alarm goes off, sounding like a forty's air raid siren. The blur pauses in front of the now-nude Howard long enough for Hummingbird to ask, “You hurt?”

“Not yet, tha….” the overly endowed woman starts to respond, but is interrupted by a pink wave of energy flooding through the building.

Hummingbird takes off, taking out a window in her haste to avoid getting caught in the pink wave. She is, however, back as soon as the wave passes… not that there's anything for her to do now.

The gangsters are all on the floor, fondling their new head-sized boobs as they work their fingers in and out of their new plumbing. Hummingbird looks around, and it is as she thought, as she confirmed on her fifteen mile trek back after the wave dissapted: Everyone touched by the pink wave is now a blonde bimbo.

“Nothing more to do,” Hummingbird shrugs, and leaves.

“Like, aw man,” Francois fumes, her new assets wrinkling her suit as she puckers her lips in a pout, “this totally sucks.”

“Oh, Em, Gee,” Howard rolls her eyes, “Like, being a totally healthy young woman isn't the end of the world. Duh.”

Francois dropps her shoulders, “Like, yeah, but now I can't totally reduce you to a screaming mess of pleasure for like five or six hours.”

Howard sits up, still naked, her way oversized melons ending up in her lap after wobbling like hello for a bit, “Well… I did like, see a rubber rod over at Pink Penetrations that looked totally familiar…” Howard starts to grin.

“Yeah, I like, totally modeled for them last year,” Francois shrugs, “but like, how's that…”

“They totally sell harnesses too,” Howard's grin starts resemble that if the Cheshire cat, “it's like a mountable model, and they totally have an inner mount on like the deluxe harness so you can totally get stuffed too.”

Ignoring the blankets, Francois finally grins and gives Howard a hand up, “Like, we should totally go shopping….”

“Duh,” Howard wiggles her eyebrows as the two walk put, hand in hand: A nude woman with some truly absurd proportions, and a blonde bimbo in a man's suit, both smiling like it's the most correct thing in the world….