The Statue by Toby (WG, Pregnancy, Race change)

[calamariee]

Forever Changing



The Statue by Toby (WG, Pregnancy, Race change)

Postby Toby » Thu Apr 14, 2011 4:29 pm
The Statue

Monica Greene is out jogging her usual route around her suburb neighborhood when she comes across a garage sale. She has been seeing signs for it all throughout the neighborhood, but had not realized just how close it was to her house. Since she only has a block left and has her wallet on her, she figures there is no harm in checking it out. She has been trying to break her fastest time, but the Friday morning had gotten way hotter than she had expected and was slowed down to grab a refill for her water bottle.

Monica is in excellent shape, weighing in at 110 pounds on a 5'5” frame. With runner legs, a solid set of abs, and pretty much no body fat, one would think she was an aerobics instructor, but in fact she was the business owner of a supply chain for the local law enforcement. Whenever they needed new batons, riot gear, mace cans, or other non-lethal armaments, they called her and she put together the orders. She was doing so well in Dallas that she was thinking of taking her business to some of the other nearby big cities.

But, while her professional life was taking off, her private life was not going so well. Even though moving into her new place three months ago was a good thing, it had cost her a four year long relationship. The break-up had been bad, leading to schisms between her friends and her. So, the last three months had been really lonely for Monica, with only her work, her morning jogs, and her evening jogs to keep her company. Today, all of that was about to change when she met Susan Rose.

Monica came up a driveway that had five 8x3 white fold-out tables, two on the left, two on the right, and one in the center, running parallel to the closed garage door. The house looked like your standard, copied 100-times with cheap red-and-brown brick and matching brown décor. The house looked older than Monica's, probably part of the original neighborhood before Monica's addition. The tables on the left were covered in old toys, dolls, and kids clothing, while the tables on the right had the adult clothing, tools, and various things of decoration. The center table is where the cash box and some books were sitting. Also sitting at the center table was a large woman, in her early 50's, checking a customer out.

The woman had short brown hair that had started to gray at the widow's peak. Her face was completely round and the dimple marks were deep because she was always smiling. Her triple chin lead down to a thick neck and beefy shoulders. Her arms looked like inflatable wings little children used to swim. Her breasts were the size of watermelons and rested on top of a gigantic belly, but that was all Monica could see. She was dressed in an ill-fitted pale yellow sundress, stretched rather tightly across her exceedingly ample bosom and round belly. She has to weigh at least 350 pounds, thought Monica, while she checked out the right tables. Since she was only customer there, other than the one just leaving, so it was not long before Monica attracted attention of the large brunette.

“Hello, missy. I'm Susan Rose. How're ya?” asked the woman, in a jovial tone and that Texan accent that Monica could not stand, even though she had grown up in Texas all of her life.

“I'm fine. Just browsing,” Monica answered, smiling sweetly before turning back to the table.

“Browsing is just fine, deary, but Ah know just the thang you want,” Susan said as she stood up.

“Oh? I was just passing through and saw the signs. I'm not...”

“Oh, a person could take one look at ya and see exactly what ya want,” she said, cutting Monica off as she leaned over to her right and pulled up a plain black gym bag, which looked brand new, even though it was obviously bulging from something inside it. “This was given to my husband as a wedding gift from one of his guy friend's girlfriend. Somebody had said that it was actually meant for me, but that doesn't matter,” patting her belly proudly as she said so. “So, it was never used.”

“Then what's in it?” asked Monica.

“Packing foam, newspaper, whatever allows the bag to not collapse and get all wrinkly, don'tcha ya know? Anyway, I see ya are very active person, so this may come in handy for ya. How about ten for it? It's in excellent condition,” Susan said in that same happy tone. Monica looked at it, figured she had been in need of a new carry-on, and said, “Sure.”

Several minutes later, Monica was back at her place and was emptying the bag when she found something at the bottom of the bag. It was an eight inch tall statue of a large woman, emphasized by the exaggerated curves around her breasts, belly, hips, and buttocks. The statue's arms were placed to meet at the hips, though they did not connect to the main body. The top of the statue looked like a bush, evidently indicating hair. Faceless, heavy, and ebony black, Monica thought it could be some African statue.

“I'll take this back to Rose after my shower,” she said to herself as she placed on her desk. Undressing in front of her mirror, Monica took a quick look at her body. Her short blonde hair was a mess, but her athletically tanned figure looked great. She noted that her abs were looking better, and though a little small in the chest, she felt really good about her body image. “I think its time, Monica, to put you back in the dating field.” With that note, she took her shower.

During her shower, a dizzy spell hit her so bad that she had to sit down for a moment to clear her head. Deciding it would be better to skip the reminder of the shower, she turned off the water and got out. Stumbling toward the bathroom sink to use a brace, she wiped away the condensation on the mirror to see her face, give her something to concentrate on. She stared it until the spell went away and she felt better about standing on her own. That is when she noticed that her blonde hair was longer. Not by much, but instead of having the entirety of her ears exposed, the tops of them had been covered by hair. As she brushed and grabbed at it, she noticed that it felt thicker too.

“What the hell is happening to me? First dizziness, now insane hair growth. Am I losing my---” as she said that, another wave of dizziness came upon her, accompanied this time by nausea. Several minutes passed as Monica tries to make sense of what is going on as well as keep sight of the toilet bowl. Finally feeling the nausea pass, Monica gingerly got up and walked back over to the bathroom sink. This time, not only was her hair even longer; it now reached the bottom of her ears, it was also starting to darken a little. The bigger surprise was how out of shape she looked. Not flabby, just unconditioned. It was like all of the vomiting had removed the effects of jogging from her body, even though her tan was still there. In fact, she could not find a single tan line anywhere.

Distraught at the sight of all of her hard work gone, Monica stumbled into her room, her mind barely together and her eyes misting because she felt like crying. Grabbing some clean underwear, a small pair of black sweats (which she had to re-adjust the drawstring for her unconditioned body), and a pale violet tank top, she made her way to the kitchen to console her grief. Upon opening her fridge, she found things in there that she never bought or ever kept in her house, like half a chocolate cake, several pints of the yogurt, soda, and full milk. Still grief-stricken, she grabbed the cake and the milk and went to her kitchen table. Not bothering with a glass or a fork, she just started chowing down.

There was an explosion of sweetness in her mouth, something that she had forgotten about after spending years on rice cakes, granola health bars, and cardboard cereal. Sure, she had fruit on occasion, but that is just simply not the same as the sweet fulfillment one gets with a cake. Even though it had started as a half a chocolate cake and half of a gallon of milk, cake remained on her plate and milk in the jug until she could no longer adjust the drawstring of the sweats. As she looked down, she saw a larger chest, panic flowed through her and she rushed back to her room for her mirror. She looked at her reflection in horror.

The first thing she noticed was the weight she had put on. Definitely no longer thin, she was well within spitting distance of fat, about 200 pounds. Her breasts, at first were liberally described as small B's, had blossomed into 38-D's and were straining against the purple top. Her arms were softer and rounder. Her belly, having pulled the top taut with cake and a layer of fat, pushed out in front of her like a globe, giving the impression of a quite pregnant woman. It was stretched so much so that her tank top could no longer reach her pants, causing a gap that revealed her bronze underbelly. Her gray drawstring sweats had become like a second skin around her hips and thighs. They were also cutting into her waist, causing a roll of fat to bubble over the edge of the pants and a smaller roll on top of that. Turning to see her butt, she was shocked at how large and wide it had become, causing massive panty lines to be seen. Her thighs had considerable thickened to support her enlarged butt, touching down to mid-thigh. Disgusted at the sight of that, she widens her stance. She could just barely make out where her calves began and her ankles ended, but that was fading fast.

Turning her attention to her face, it had softened a fair bit, leaving it more circular. In fact, her head looked different, like the jaw and cheek bone structure had widened and dropped a little. The color of her hair was no where near blonde, but in fact a very obvious brown. It was now shoulder-length, but it was starting to kink and curl at the ends. Her skin color had long ago passed from a white runner's tan into a very light brown, like someone who has half white and half black.

“What the hell is happening to me?” she cried. She immediately noticed the sound of her voice was not right either. Along with all of the physical changes, she had picked up an accent she was not familiar with, and yet recognized. Fighting back grief and anger, she looked herself over again for anything that remained of her former self, finding only the color of her green eyes to be the same.

As she turned away from the mirror, she immediately saw the statue. It too had changed, but in the exact opposite way as she. Though still the same relative size; the artistic style, color, and material had all transformed. Where once it could have been considered African in style, it now looked more Anglo-Saxxon. The color was no longer black, but white due to the material no longer being ebony, but ivory. The “hair” did not look like a bush anymore, but looked like long hair that flowed down to meet at the middle of the statue's back. Picking it up revealed that it still had the same mass, or at least felt like it did.

As the realization of what was happening to her was connected to the statue, she began to feel quite hungry again. Deciding to ignore it for as long as possible, she waddles to the phone in the living room and looks up Susan Rose's number. As she grabs the phone, she starts to notice several other changes. The color of the walls, the arrangement of the furniture, and pictures of a really dark, really large black woman that Monica has never seen before on her coffee table. Grabbing one of them, she realizes that the woman in the picture is her, or rather, who she is transforming into. Becoming more alarmed, she dials as quickly as possible. Several rings pass before someone picks it up, which feels like an eternity to the panicking, hungry woman.

“'Ello, this is the Rose residence,” said a female voice.

“Yes, please, is Susan there?” asked Monica, timidly and still not sure about her voice.

“Speaking. Who is this?”

“Oh, thank the Lord! Susan, it's Monica. From earlier this morning at your garage sale? Please, something terrible has been happening to me and you were the one that gave me the statue and-”

“Monifa, Monifa, calm down. You need to relax. All of that adrenaline is bad for the baby. Now, I'll-”

“BABY!?!? What...no...this is not happening...Susan, I don't know what it is you're doing, but stop it!! I swear to the Lor-”

“Monifa! Calm down. Sit and eat something. I'll be over in a minute.” And with that, all that could be heard was the dial tone.

The dead phone drops from her shocked hands as she plops down on the couch, feeling every pound jiggle and move. I'm pregnant too!?! she thought as she rubbed her bulging belly. As she sat there, a package of cookies just appeared, but she paid no mind to that as her stomach started to make sounds of revolution. Absentmindedly, she grabbed the package and started to chow down, losing herself in them.

With every cookie she ate, she got rounder and heavier. Her shoulders broadened. Her arms picked up “wings” and her hands became quite plumb. Her breasts were becoming large and wide as they filled with fat and milk, and sat on a belly that was making tracks for the edge of her rounded knees. Had she been able to pay attention, she would have felt herself sinking lower and lower into the couch while her butt grew wider and inflated under her. Her hips, already fairly wide, were becoming quite child-bearing in size as they rounded with fat. Her thighs were thick tree trunks and any semblance of calf-to-ankle was gone. Had she had a mirror, she would have seen how moon-shaped her face had gotten and how black and kinky her hair was.

Monica was not sure how long she sat there eating cookies, but the loud sound of her doorbell being rang got her out of her stupor. Having to rock a couple of times to get enough momentum to lift herself from the couch, the 250 pound, almost-black woman waddled to the door to greet a woman that she met as 120 pound white woman. Standing at the door in the same ill-fitted sundress, stood Susan. With her standing there, Monica was certain her original estimate of 350 was rather low.

The first thing she noticed about Susan was the size of her belly, where most her weight was probably centered at. It easily beat out Monica's in terms of size and mass, and it just hung there like a giant improperly-inflated beach ball. Next came the rolls around the her hips. The dress masked the true size of Susan's thighs, but Monica could guess they were quite rotund.

“Well, are ya goin' ta let me in, Monifa? It's rather hot for us big gals,” she said, wiping away a layer of sweat from her forehead.

“Yeah, of course, Susan. But muh name ain't Monifa, it's Monica,” she shot back before she had a chance to think about what she had said or how she had said it. A startled look came over her as she did. Her Texan accent was worse and there was a hint of... something Monica could only describe as “sounding black”.

“That statue has really worked it's mumbo-jumbo on ya, ain't it? By the way, ya got any eats? The drive here worked me up an appatite!”

As Monica/Monifa lead her lumbering friend to the kitchen, she concentrated on her words and asked, “So, ya... you did this on purpose? You knew that statue would do this ta... to me?”

“Ya weren't drawn to muh garage sale on accedent, Monifa. Fate called to ya. Tell me, were ya happy as who ya were? A white, single woman with no man in her life and a career she choose out of necessity?' Susan asked as she helped herself to the cake on the island. The island in the kitchen was covered in sweet goodies, from little snack cakes to several different kinds of cookies to a really big chocolate cake.

As she thought about it, she grabbed a new package of cookies off the island in the kitchen. Had she been happy? Finally, sighing, “No, Ah wasn't. But what happens ta me now? Ah don't know a thang about this life. Who is Monifa? Who did Ah marry? What job do Ah have? And, Ah am not ready for motherhood,” she sounded off as she held her bulbous
belly in one hand and stuffed herself with another cookie.

“Ah guess Ah should start at the beginnin'. Muh name was Suzanna, a young black girl who was absolutely miserable. One day, I found this garage sale bein' run by an Mexican woman. Her name was Maria. She gave me the statue. Ah, too, went through a change into the woman ya see before ya. Suddenly, Ah was fat, pregnant, and married too. Maria explained ta me, as Ah am ta ya, that it is the magic of the statue.”

“So, what happens ta muh life?”

“It goes on hold until the next person. Ya are getting to live muh former life, but in a much grander, and better, sense. Ya are now Monifa Baker, wife of Thomas Baker, a local lawyer. Ya work as a nurse, part-time and currently on maternity leave. Ya are friends with my oldest daughter, Morgan, which is how I know all of this. And before ya ask, yes, Ah know ya don't know, but ya will. The statue sees to it. Ah don't know how.”

“So, muh life as Monica Green is over?” Monica asked as she ate her fifth cupcake. Her body was still expanding out. Susan sighed and said, “Let's go look at a mirror, alright?”

Monica lead her to her full length mirror and gasped. Her skin was a dark brown, a sign of deep African roots. Her hair a deep black and was all kinds of kinky and curly. At over 300 pounds, she was huge and round. Her deep purple tank top and white sweats looked painted on to her. Her face was completely circular and was distinctly African, with a wide nose and plumped lips. Her arms and hands were extremely plump, with fat, broad shoulders. Her breasts were definitely EE's, but how much of that was fat and how much was milk was unknown to her. Below that, her massive belly strained the tank top to the max, having been filled with food constantly plus the child and the fat already deposited, she felt she looked spherical. But she was really surprised by her hips, putting her quite safely in the realm of pear shaped. Wide, child-bearing hips flowed around to a 2' across derriere, made to look all the wider by the white sweats. Her thighs looked like they running down her legs and dimpled extensively at her knees. The only thing Monica could find about her former self was still her eye color.

“Why aren't muh eyes changing? Shouldn't they be brown or something?” she asked, breathlessly.

“The statue has no distinct face and for reason, does not compensate for that change. Ah asked Maria the same question and got the same answer. Come, we need to weigh ya now. But, before that, one last thing: the statue takes 20 years to recharge, so it won't be ready to go until ya are 45. Ta do so, it will latch on ta ya. Ya'll never want ta sell it until the day ya know who, just as Ah did.”

“How will Ah know?”

“Ya will only get one opportunity to relive your past life: the day ya sell it. When ya step on the scale and Ah read off your weight, ya will become Monifa Baker. Ya will only remember being Monica Green when ya see the gal who gets the statue next.”

As they spoke, Monica took Susan to her bathroom, where her scale was. “What if Ah don't do it? What happens ta me?”

“Ah rightfully do not know. But, Ah can't imagine anythang good. This magic is strange, being able to transform one person into another. And make significant changes, like bein' pregnant. Think of the child, Monifa. What could happen ta it if ya don't?”

Monica thought it over carefully and rubbed her belly. She had no responsibility to this kid, felt nothing for it. It, along with the weight and the other changes, were an invasion to her life. Her sad life, where she came home to nothing. But, she was about to change that. Go out and date, find a nice guy, live her life. And, she had a successful business. She would have done well for herself. She had been doing well for herself. Why did she have to give it to someone else and live someone else's?

But, what if Susan was right? After all, this was something she had never seen before, this ability to change from one to another. What if it did get worse or stuck her some idea of limbo, unable to do anything except eat and get fatter? She realized the only way out was not the way she had come, but to go forward and hope.

“It'll be like Monica Green never existed,” Susan said softly. Monica nodded slightly and stepped on to the scale. Looking down, she realized she could just barely look over the edge of her belly. “What's it say, Susan?” she asked with dreaded finality.

“Dear, you weigh 316 pounds.” Those would be the last words Monica Green would hear for the next 20 years.

Monifa Baker stepped off the scale with a smile as wide as her hips. “Lord, Ah knew Ah was a big woman, but really? Three hundred and sixteen pounds? Oh, muh doc aint' goin' ta be happy at all. But, what does that stick know? Thanks again, Susan, for coming over here and helping me out. Ah've been baking all day. Would ya like something?”

“Of course, Monifa. It was no trouble at all. Thank ya very much,” Susan said, her reality also back to the way it was.

Toby
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Posts: 22
Joined: Fri Apr 10, 2009 6:16 pm

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