In response to a comment that what happens to the main character in this story was more severe than she deserved, I have edited the story slightly so that “the punishment fits the crime.” It now fits into the theory that there are few people, save possibly parents, that can screw people up in their childhoods more than teachers.

Once again, I must apologize for taking such a long time between entries. It’s partly because of my going back to work after a lengthy sick leave.

Anyway, I hope this will make things up to my followers. This is a photo commission I had done back in 1986, when I found a photographer in a swinger’s magazine. (Remember those?) This is not something I’m going to post in my deviantART gallery, but am just sharing it with all of you who follow my blog. Look under photos for paragraphs that will explain what’s going on.

Oh, this was such a LONG week! That new girl in my class, the one with TWO mommies! Why did they let such perversions happen, and why did they let the results come into the schools! But I know-how to handle it. I put the girl in with the SLOW students. After all, any girl saying she had “two mommies” was going to naturally be behind the others. The “mommies” then asked for a conference. I waited for them to come talk to me, but they never showed, and —

— WHAT?! Where am I? How did I get here?

“So this is her? In pantyhose. And ‘sensible’ shoes?”

“She’s pretty, but those hose and shoes ARE ugly!”

“We can fix them, Nellie.”

Who are these women? And — what? Where did these — clothes? — on me come from? They’re something a, a SLUT might wear!

“Who are you?” I ask the women.

“We’re the mothers of your new student, Wilhemena. I’m Willie, and this is my wife, Nellie. We wanted to speak with you about our daughter. But we decided we’d rather speak with you here in our home.”

“I don’t know what you did to me. I’m guessing hypnosis was involved. But these are NOT the kind of clothes I wear! I demand you get these things off of me right now, or ELSE!!!”

“Get them off of you right now?” said Nellie, with a smile. “As you wish.”

I hadn’t liked the feel of the shoes that had suddenly been on my feet. But it was odd to suddenly NOT feel them on my feet, only the hose that had appeared with the shoes. Under those, suddenly, there was only the rug.

Then, I wasn’t feeling the hose anymore! Just my bare feet on the rug. I felt something a little strange around my waist, and looked down to see I still had a garter belt on. Before my eyes, THAT vanished, and I was just in my bra and panties — except they weren’t MY bra and panties. These were something out of that Adam and Eve catalogue I confiscated from Billy Egner last week.

As the bra vanished, I remembered my demand of these women. (Sorceresses? I thought. But that was impossible.)

Get these things off of me right now! I had said. And all of these indecent garments were vanishing off of my body. And I didn’t need to look down to know that I was standing in this unknown room completely naked!

“Oh, she IS adorable!” said Willy. “And such a cute little pussy!”

“She takes care of it, you can tell,” said Nelly. “Though I suspect it doesn’t get much use.”

I did the only thing I could think of and covered myself as best as I could with my hands. Then, I turned my front away from the women, though that just gave them a good view of my butt.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I asked.

“You demanded we remove the undies from you. Remember?”

“Yes, but why bring me here? And how are you doing this, bringing me here, changing my clothes on my body, stripping me naked?”

“We’re sorceresses!” said Willy. “Witches, if you prefer. And we’ve heard what you’ve been sharing with your fellow teachers about us!”

“Now, we just have to decide what we want to do with you,” said Nelly.

“Do with me?” I scoffed. “What, turn me into a frog or something?”

“She has no imagination, does she?”

“No. But let’s give her what she wants.”

I suddenly had a compulsion to sit down on the stool near me. But not just SIT down, but pull my feet up on the edge of the stool. And then, something buzzed in front of my face. I looked over and there was a fly sitting on the counter! A big, yummy-looking fly!

It was hard to move my neck, but I could lean over, stick out my tongue, and SNARE it! I spend a few seconds luxuriating in it! It was tasty, it was crunchy, it was juicy, it was —

IT WAS A FLY!!! I HAD SWALLOWED AND EATEN A FLY!!! I felt sick! “Stop doing this to me, you dyke bitches! Leave me alone!” My voice had a croak to it.

“Bitches?” said Nelly. “Us, bitches?”

“You’re the bitch!” said Willy. “Telling tales on us, treating our daughter badly because we love each other! I’ll show you what it’s like to be a bitch!”

I suddenly felt something on my neck, something that felt like — leather?

I was suddenly compelled to get on all fours. Not hands and knees, all fours, that sounded right to my mind. And my tongue had to hang out of my mouth. I tried to talk to the women, but, instead, I made a big WOOF! I didn’t want to do that, and I wanted to ask, again, that these — witches — stop doing things to me. But I couldn’t speak. So, instead I got on my knees and held my paws limply in front of me. I hoped they understood may message: Please?

“Look at that!” said Willy. “She knows how to beg! Can she do any other tricks?”

“Let’s see,” said Nelly. “Play dead, girl!”

Obediently, I laid on my side, closed my eyes, and let my tongue hang out.”

“What a good girl! Go ahead and sit!”

I obeyed again, but something human in the back of my head woke up. I could feel myself glaring at these two.

“Oh, oh, teacher is back!” said Willy. “Might as well release her!”

I felt the collar vanish from my neck. A little shakily for my tastes, I stood upright and wagged my finger at the witches.

“Leave me alone! I don’t care what you perverts do to me, I am NOT going to change my opinion of you two!” I cried, not caring that I was completely buck naked in front of them.

“She’s found some nerve!” said Nelly.

“That surprises me. She struck me as a little mousy.”

“Well, why not!”

I started to whimper. I knew what was coming, but I didn’t want to be a —

And then, everything was so huge. No. I was so small. But everything WAS scary! I stopped crouching and scampered about, looking for some place to hide!

When my back was to them, I head Willy say “She does have a cute tail!” Nelly snickered.

I ran under the edge of a counter, and crouched there. I had never been so terrified in my life! But, then, the mouse left me and I stood up on my knees.

“Like I said, I’m not changing how I think about you witches! These are the values I was raised with, the values of a decent, NORMAL woman!”

“How she was raised,” said Nellie. “Hmm. Maybe if we sent her back to start over — ?”

I needed to reassure myself, somehow. I had an urge to suck my thumb. But then, a wave of sadness washed over me. How could they do this so me! It was mean! I pulled my thumb from my mouth and began, not just to cry, but to wail at all the unfairness of it! I wished I had a blanket.

Then, I DID have a blanket. It was just what I wanted. I was me again, Baby Teacher, hugging and sucking my blankie! I felt secure.

Suddenly, I wanted to play! I looked between my legs and there was a set of jacks! And a ball! I LOVE JACKS!

An’ sunn’ly, I was back on my bed with the jacks. I wooked up at da two nice wadies, and day was wunnerin’ if I was married. They’d check back on me tomorrow and make sure I wath okay. And if I din’t have a husband’ t’ take care o’ me (him the daddy ‘n’ me the mommy!), deyed take me home wi’ dec an care for me here.

THE END

Recently, for the second time, I had contact with someone who had transformation fantasies about his wife. He liked to imagine her with muscle mass transformations, the kind, I’m guessing, where the subject has had so much musculature added to her body that, in the real world, it would impossible for her to move.

The previous instance was with a man who imagined his wife shrinking, sometimes turning into a mouse, maybe sometimes regressing in age, though I preferred not to press to learn more about THAT fantasy.

I had a healthy correspondence with this earlier fan until it abruptly stopped. Efforts to contact the man resulted in my getting “Permanent error” messages back from his server. He had told me that his wife did not know about his transformation fantasies. I suspect she found out about them and that may have led to the termination of his e-mails.

As for the more recent TF fan, I asked him if his wife knew about his fantasies, and never got a response from him on that question.

Which leads to this question for those who follow this blog: If you are married or have been in a long-term relationship with a partner, does your partner know about your interest in transformation?

I myself have never been married, but I have had a couple of relationships. One of these was with female roommates in college. There was no sex, we shared apartments for financial reasons only. I did tell them about my fascination with transformation, which they found strange. I had a couple of TF dreams about one of them, and I told her about them. Her reaction was disgust, and she made it clear she didn’t want to hear about such dreams, didn’t want to even know I’d had them.

The other relationship was with a lovely lady of color, a former exotic dancer. She didn’t understand the fantasy either, but she didn’t judge me over it. We tried to do a little transformation role-playing, but, again, she didn’t quite understand what I wanted. I tried to get her to imagine I had a magic-using ex-girlfriend who was extremely jealous and would use her powers to transform my lady. But the former dancer couldn’t get into pretending she was changing. She’d do some meowing, but into a cat instead of a dog, which wasn’t what I wanted.

There was one time where she allowed one of my favorite fantasies, where she was a teacher who had a student that first made her clothing disappear and then turned her mentally into a dog. I don’t post or share those photos, however, as I don’t do revenge porn.

But I’m curious and would like to know, again, if anyone reading this has a partner with whom they share such fantasies. Or do they have the fantasies but keep quiet about them because the partner wouldn’t understand? And if you have the fantasies, what do you like to imagine your partner turning into?

Or are your fantasies about yourself transforming and then interacting with your partner? No names will be used. I’d like to know what some of us use the fetish for.

I hope to hear from my followers on this subject soon.

Before I get started on this topic, I feel I must apologize for the delay since my last blog entry. As has already been stated in a previous entry, I had to have a cat put to sleep recently. In addition, I’ve been having some severe financial problems. The combination of these factors made it hard for me to write anything. But it’s been over a month now, and I’m going to try getting back to creating entries for this blog.

Sometimes, it will just occur to me to commission an idea of a transformation. As I write this, I’m having the urge to have art done of a particular super-heroine done as a morph between girl and frog.

Why are frogs so popular as creatures for people to be turned into? I did some research online and discovered that frog transformation stories go back at least to Roman times. (It was the Romans, via Aesop, who also came up with the idea of the frogs who wished for a king. Look it up if you aren’t familiar with it.) I posted the basic question on my deviantART website here: https://www.deviantart.com/fmtfluver And I got this answer from chained knee: “Because they are usually considered ugly critters?  So it would be a punishment for someone who is vain or a test of someone who loved the TFed?”

That could be part of it, though it depends greatly on the frog. A bullfrog can be repulsive to human eyes, unless you’re a herpetologist. But there are many breeds of frog (over 7,000 different kinds altogether) with colors that make them quite beautiful. (Beware, though: Some of the most colorful frogs are also quite poisonous.) It is the frog cousin, the toad, which tends to be more unattractive to us.

There is a difference in size. The largest frog known is the goliath frog, the body of which by itself can be over 12.5 inches long and weigh in excess of seven pounds. That would certainly give pause to anyone who encountered it.

There is the frog diet. Going from human food to bugs (and other frogs as well) would certainly be unpleasant to any part of the brain that was still human. And having to spend your life in a pond wouldn’t be much fun. (Let’s assume that our turned-into-a-frog subject still mostly has a human mind for the rest of this little essay.) And it’s terrifying for the frog to ponder how it’s on the menu for a lot of other creatures in the wild, including people. I’ve eaten frog legs once in my life. Among other things, I had a problem with felling the frog’s knees as I nibbled on the bones.

There are differences. I learned that the tongues of most (all?) frogs are attached to the front of the roof of the mouth. When the tongue is used to catch prey, it flips out backwards. And there’s a stickiness that aids in the snatching. (I’ve got a feeling I’m going to be hearing from several frog fans about what I’ve gotten wrong.)

I’ve had many frog-women done over the years, and nearly every one of them is busy with her tongue. (Many of these are from my dART gallery.)

These last two pictures were some of the earliest transformation art I ever commissioned. With the one just above, which I called “Begging frog,” I learned artists don’t necessarily have references for animals, nor do they have the initiative to go out and find references. Among other things, the artist who drew this only gave her half of a frog’s legs. As I’ve already said, frog legs aren’t that different from human legs. They have knees and can elongate the legs to achieve hopping. And, while I asked for the clothing to include shoes, I don’t know why the artist seemed to think the footwear should look like a cross between high-button and sensible shoes.

But I digress.

Thirty-two years ago, I got it in my head to do a modern day telling of a frog-princess story as a comic-book script. I finished the story, but it was never published. I posted it to my deviant art website here: https://www.deviantart.com/fmtfluver/art/The-Year-of-the-Frog-444925525 And I learned a lot while researching this story. For example, if a frog were kissed, its reaction would probably be to pee on whoever was kissing it. This is a frog defense mechanism, something that keeps the frog from being eaten by making itself taste bad.

I also must share this piece from another dART artist, TKDoherty. This is part of a sequence where a princess kisses a frog to find it’s really another princess. But then the former frog demonstrates why Princess 1 isn’t that bad off:

There are stories and essays about frogs somehow representing sexual organs. Why this is so, I don’t know. Frogs are asexual. The female secretes eggs, the male fertilizes them. That’s it.

Year ago, I wrote a short story in which the lustful Princess Madonna decides to find out what it feels like when other species have sex. She gained the power to change into whatever animal she mentions, and then change back by having the animal make its sound three times. (Yes, I used the same basic idea in my story “The Mouse Queen.”) But, eventually, she changes herself into a frog, but it’s a species which has no vocal chords. So she’s screwed. Or not, as the case may be.

Then, there are frogs that, when they stop being tadpoles, shed their skin and eat it. That might be a way of getting yourself fresh, clear skin after changing back.

While I’m at it, there are two young adult books I must mention. One is Confessions of a Teenage Frog. This is one of the best novels dealing with transformation I’ve ever read. It is the second in a four-book series about Samantha Slade, a girl who babysits for two children from an Addams-like family. In this book, Samantha is talked into taking a potion for greatness. But, instead, whenever she tries to be great, she turns into a frog. Yes, she goes back and forth several times from human to frog in the book. (She’s running for class president.) She has her human mind the entire time. And how she deals with the situation is fascinating.

The other is actually a series of books, The Frog Princess books by Ed Baker. These were the basis for The Princess and the Frog, though they were thoroughly Disney-ized for the movie.

I have also, several times, run across an animated version of the folk tale “The Frog Princess.” I think it was done in Europe, but I’m not sure. One scene in this does an excellent job of showing the Princess’ face going from human to frog. Maybe someday I can add the scene to the blog.

We’ve gotten a start, but there’s a lot more to discuss on THIS subject. As always, I look forward to hearing from all of you in response to this post.

“Ah’m the werewolf o’ th’ Old West! ‘N’ ah kin rip yuh apart, chew yer biggest steer ta bits, ‘n’ gen’r’ly raise all the hell ah want t’ raise! And ain’t no one can do anythin’ t’ stop me, ’cause ain’t nothin’ kin kill me, ‘cept a silver bullet! So what makes you think I gots t’ be scared o’ you or your Injun friend, masked man?”

Forgive me for that little, probably failed, attempt at humor. But I thought it might be a cute introduction to this subject,

When it comes to transformations, few, if any, are more popular than werewolves. Any blog or round-robin tale (cyoc.net) or sites for transformation stories is going to have a tale of lycanthropy or two — or LOTS. Maybe it will be the kind of werewolf that only transforms under the full moon. (There’s a minor debate over if that’s four, three, or only one night a month.) Maybe it will be the kind that can occur whenever the subject wants it to occur (<i>The Howling</i>). It can be the result of a curse or an experiment.

I recently watched An American Werewolf in Paris. I was a little disappointed by it, as I thought it was going to be about the daughter of An American Werewolf in London. Nope, it was another American kid who escapes with a lycanthrope-caused injury and then turns into a werewolf himself. He is joined in this by a female werewolf, but we don’t see as much of her as we do him. (And there’s an entire pack of werewolves involved in this story.) I thought it was okay, and (mild spoiler here), it had a happy ending, something you rarely see in werewolf movies.

I much preferred the London story. It had some nice touches to it, such as the werewolf being haunted by his victims’ ghosts and being told the hauntings will continue until the one causing the deaths is himself killed.

In looking over some of the werewolf stories written in round-robin transformation stories (Choose Your Own Change, Fiction Branches), one appeal to the writers seems to be the werewolf having a harem made up of women that the main werewolf has turned himself. I remember one story I read where the harem was made up of his mother’s female co-workers, including the lady boss, and, oh, yes, the mother herself.

I think mostly it is the wildness of the werewolf life that appeals to fans. Being able to hunt, to run, maybe to avoid death if you go with the silver bullet idea. (Other versions have the werewolf being able to be killed like any other animal, a normal bullet, a mortal injury.)

I very much liked the original Howling, with its encampment of werewolves, some trying to live peacefully among humans, others giving that up to prey on whatever animal they come across, including Homo Sapiens. And, as someone who prefers seeing women transforming, the high point of Howling was seeing Dee Wallace, the future mom of E.T, turning into a werewolf. I thought the make-up job was very well done.

But then, there’s also my dislike of transformed people being killed. This is a BIG problem with werewolf stories. As I said earlier, werewolf stories usually don’t have happy endings. Movie people especially seem to believe the most satisfying ending of a werewolf movie is for the werewolf to die.

Then, there is the fact that so few werewolves are female. I devoted an entire blog entry to the disappointment of She-Wolf of London. Chloe Grace Moritz was briefly seen as a teenage werewolf in the Dark Shadows movie. But most werewolves are male. (For an excellent essay on this situation, to here: https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-great-female-werewolves )

Below is a still from the movie In the Company of Wolves, which some people love and others are “It turns into ‘Little Red Who?'” Say what you will about the movie, it did a nice job of portraying a she-wolf in her human form.

I heard from a couple of people when I asked for feedback about werewolves. One was  SenorIncognito69, who wondered if I was going to deal with other were beasts. He was particularly interested in the 1982 remake of Cat People with Malcolm Mcdowell and Nastassja Kinski. “It’s probably the only full TF tale made into film so far and that has some merit and deserves recognition,” he said. But we agreed it featured a kind of transformation we don’t like, where the change to the animal happens under the skin, until the cat bursts out through the skin and leaves it behind in shreds.

And, I got an e-mail from Anthony Spotts on deviantArt. He said “Personally, I’m a fan of the ‘unaware/unexpected’ transformation.  The woman who forgot it was a full moon, or doesn’t keep track of it well, or doesn’t know she is a werewolf until she gazes on the moon.  Part of it is because the fear of the change, but also because it usually involves growing and ripping out of whatever they were wearing when they change.

“If I were to have a preference beyond the physical transformation, I have a slighter preference for one where she remains somewhat personality-wise close to her human side – maybe a bit more aggressive, sexual or impulsive (a la the older Savage She-Hulk comics) but still able to access memories or thoughts of her base self.  Though depending on the work, a feral change is alluring in the danger aspects.

“Story wise, the works of MrCharlieBaker on DeviantArt (particularly his short “Delays”) and Cursebearer are very good – a lot of focus on the mental and physical transformation.  I also am a Patreon subscriber to WereWorld, who is currently doing a couple comics about a young woman who finds out she’s a werewolf.  It’s a little bloodier than many people care for, but it’s pretty good.”

Forty-seven years ago, my local library got a book titled Werwolves by Elliot O’Donnell, which had stories from all over the world. I was particularly intrigued by learning of a Russian folk legend, the vargamor or vargamoor, a woman who has a bond with wolves, were- or otherwise. I’m surprised no one has used this legend as a basis for a movie.

But I recognize we’ve only scratched the surface when discussing werewolves. Anyone who would like to add to this conversation, please feel free to do so.

And, where I started this entry with my silly little story, I can think of no better way to end it than this:

Even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night,

May become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and Autumn moon is bright.

Forgive me for posting this. It doesn’t have anything to do with transformation. But it’s my blog and I want to share with all of you.

My dear panda cat friend, Roli Poli, had to be put to sleep today.  Last August, he was diagnosed with diabetes.  The last two days, he had become lethargic and wasn’t eating.  I took him into the vet today, and they found that his diabetes had evolved into another kind that would eventually cause damage to both the liver and the kidneys.  A treatment would’ve involved injecting him with glucose 12 times a day.  He would’ve had to have gone to an animal hospital and the treatment would’ve been over $1,000 — and it still might not have worked.  And one way or another, there would’ve been a lot of suffering.

Roli (and his older brother, Clayton, who is still with me and in apparent good health) joined me on November 13, 2008.  Cats are supposed to be curious, and that was Roli Poli through and through.  He had to explore every inch of my trailer several times over.  Many times, he made his way to the top of the entertainment center, a place where he liked to survey his surroundings and nap.  His favorite toys were milk jug rings,  Every now and then, he and Clayton liked to go outside.  I’d go with them to make sure they didn’t wander too far away.  Their favorite thing outside was to go under the other trailers near mine.

The two of them got along remarkably well.  They’d have their occasional wrestling matches, but it also was not unusual to find them curled up against each on a chair or in their cat bed, grooming each other and sharing naps.

I only had Roli Poli for 11 years, the shortest I’ve had any cat that passed because of natural causes.  (I once had one cat that lived to be 20.)  And, to me, one of the rules of life is that, no matter how long you have any pet, it isn’t long enough.

Right now, Clayton is stretched out in from of my monitor.  I don’t think he’s missed Roli yet.  I don’t look forward to the time when he will realize he’s gone.

In two weeks, Roli will be cremated and his ashes put into an urn.  He will spend his years with me for however many I have left myself.

You were a good boy, Roli Poli.  I’ll miss you.

God bless you all, and, if you have a pet or pets, give them a hug.

I had a comment about the entry “My first TF fantasy.” The person commenting said that I was “kinda brave to do that with someone I knew.” (In this entry, I talked about imagining my Third Grade teacher being hypnotized into stripping down to her black-lace skivvies and behaving like a dog.)

For a long time, I fantasized about female celebrities undergoing transformations. When I was between grades seven and eight, a friend teased me about my always watching the NBC news break that followed The Match Game, saying I must have a crush on Nancy Dickerson, one of the few female newscasters of the time. I didn’t say anything to him, but I realized I did find her attractive. Knowing that she was a reporter, combined with Lois Lane’s stories where she would occasionally be transformed, and I started to imagine newswomen being transformed, many times on camera.

But I was alway willing to look at a woman, maybe one I knew, maybe not, and imagine her changing in some way. I wouldn’t tell them about it, but I did it a lot. I dated a lovely African-American woman for years, and I told her of my fantasy. But, though she tried to indulge me with a little role-playing, she never got my fantasy quite right.

I also liked to imagine adding fantasy to TV shows that didn’t have it. One of my favorites was imaging Ann Marie, Marlo Thomas’ character on That Girl, crossing over to Bewitched. My fantasy with her was that Darrin needed something like a baby or an animal for an ad campaign and Tabitha, trying to help her father, changed Ann into whatever was needed. (I can also remember a dream in which Ann was slowly turning into a donkey. I don’t remember much about it, save for Ann growing a tail and long ears.)

Another I liked to imagine was the original One Day at a Time with another Ann, Bonnie Franklin’s Ann Romano. In these fantasies, Ann’s ad agency was competing with McMann & Tate, Darrin’s agency. Serena shows up to help “Darwin” and transforms Ann and her daughters into different things.

For a few months, not too long ago, I was exchanging e-mails with someone who liked to fantasize about his wife being transformed. I wrote a few original stories about that for him, and he loved them. But I haven’t heard from him for a couple of months now, and, when I try to e-mail him, I get a return e-mail saying there was a “Permanent Error.” I’m worried his wife found out about his fantasies and, among other things, made him cancel the e-mail account.

Anyway, to those reading this, I’d like to ask who your earliest transformation fantasies were about. (I know a lot of metamorphilics mainly like to imagine themselves transforming into cats, dog, horses, whatever. If that’s your situation, fine, but this post won’t do much for you.) Did you just make up someone to be transformed? Or did you fantasize about someone you knew? Please share. Change the names to protect the innocents, but, please share.

Two days ago, I got a response to an invitation to look at this blog. The response was to not use the other dARTist’s site to “advertise” for “lewd” material as the other dARTist was trying to keep things rated PG-13.

This took me by surprise. As anyone who has ever looked over postings in this blog knows, I have some photos and art in here of women who are nude. But lewd? I’ve always been of the opinion that nudity is not automatically porn. I’ve felt my postings here aren’t porn but erotica. There is a difference.

I have a lot of stuff that might be considered R-rated. But I never post anything I think of as obscene. Over the last two – three decades I found myself no longer following a good number of men’s magazines I used to enjoy. I did so because they seemed to intent on transitioning from men’s magazines to gynecologists’ textbooks, something I’m not into. And I don’t ask for art or photos such as that.

I guess what I’m asking is, should I remove the more adult photos or art from the blog? Please, what followers I have, let me know. Do the photos upset or offend anyone? I don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable visiting my blog?

I can remember the first time I fantasized about transforming someone. I was in Third Grade, which would’ve been about 1961 – 1962. (Yeah, I’m THAT old!) I had been reading in an encyclopedia or somewhere about hypnotism. And there was a paragraph about how someone could be made to believe they were a dog. The description told about the subject getting on all fours, maybe they’d be panting, maybe they could even be made to think that they were infested with fleas.

The article mentioned what I now know to be post-hypnotic suggestion. With that, you could hypnotize someone so that, upon hearing a certain sound or word, they would instantly fall under a hypnotic spell and act as you wanted them to act.

At about the same time, my brother, who was seven years older than I was, began bringing into the house a magazine called Playboy. While I, of course, noticed the women who were wearing nothing at all, there was one photo in particular that I noticed of a woman in her underthings, but they were a different kind of underthing than I was familiar with. My family got the Sears catalogs, and those had pictures of women in girdles. They seemed to go from over the belly to mid-thigh, like a pair of very tight white shorts, to go with their white bra, maybe a slip.

But the woman in the photo in Playboy was wearing a black top and panties, no girdle. There was a kind of nice pattern in these. Plus, she had some sort of straps on her thighs that were holding up her stockings.

Not long after I read about hypnosis and saw the photo in Playboy, I was in school, and I started to notice my teacher. It’s been a long time since I even saw my school yearbook for that time. But I recall the teacher being reasonably pretty, maybe a few wrinkles on her face, but nice to look at, with reddish-brown hair.

When the bell rang to let us know that it was time for classes to begin, I began to imagine my teacher, when the bell rang, suddenly throwing off her dress, getting on her hands and knees on the floor, and barking like a dog. She didn’t take off all of her clothes. She was dressed in the same set of bra, panties, and nylons like the woman in the photo in Playboy.

Or, maybe, what set her off was the bell for lunch. Again, she mentally turned dog and stripped down to her undies. And I would bring her a can of dog food, or maybe a bowl of dry food that she would happily wolf down.

But then, the bell to end lunch hour would ring. Her expression on her face would change, and, suddenly, she’d be herself again. She might still be eating. But she’d realize she was not dressed as a teacher should be dressed in front of her students. Or, maybe the bell would signal her to perform tricks, perhaps beg for a doggie treat.

I learned to end those fantasies very quickly or it could lead to great embarrassment for myself in class. But the fantasies would follow me home, and, a couple of times, cause some very nice dreams.

I had seen stories on television where someone is transformed in some way or other. And, of course, there were comic book stories. At the time, there were some Casper and Wendy stories I really liked.

But this was the first time my imagination led to some fantasies that I would come to appreciate more in the years to come. And, I suspect, the same would happen (maybe in different ways) for others who became aware of their fantasies.

I just had someone read “The Transformation Fetish” who left this comment:

transgender people aren’t a fetish are you out of your mind

No, I’m as sane as anyone doing a blog about transformation can be.

And I recognize that there are many people for whom transgender is not a fetish but a way of life. If you’re one of them, good for you!

But, I’ve also learned over the years that there are people who like to fantasize about TG, but aren’t interested in actually changing genders themselves. (Similarly, I’ve also read there are transvestites who are not gay. They’re men who like the feel of women’s clothing, but they like to experience it as men.)

There is a lot of fiction out there written by these people. And a lot of it is, let’s face it, spooge. The average story of this kind goes like this:

A big, dumb jock, usually a bully, picks on any guy he thinks doesn’t live up to the jock’s standard of manhood. And he just barely has any respect for women.

Then, he does something like pick on the husband or a brother or whatever of a woman. The woman has magical powers. And she turns the jock female. This may happen to him in the shower by the men’s locker room. He runs to his locker to get dressed, and finds all of his clothes have turned into lacy, frilly, “sissy” things. Some of his fellow jocks hit on him, and he starts to dress in sexy things to please them. Eventually he marries and moves in with one of them, his IQ drops even lower, he truly becomes an out and out bimbo, and he settles down to be a good little housewife and mother!

That’s a fetish, turning a man into a woman against his will and making him be treated as he has always thought a woman should be treated.

(Somewhere, I’ve got a story I was working on about a man, an aspiring comics artist, who is on his way to a comic book show. Along the way, he makes a wish to be the most noticed artist there. The wish comes true and, first day of the show, he wakes up to discover that he has not only turned into woman, he has become a Bill Ward drawing come to life! I ran into a block with it, but I had several people compliment me on it and tell me it did not follow the path of similar such stories. And they want to see me finish it. If I can find the draft so far, I may do so.)

Now, what is NOT a fetish is someone who feels they were born in a body that’s the wrong gender for them. They are the other sex and they want to be that gender physically. Not all of them can afford the operation, and some don’t want to go through with it. But some of them will have it done. One of the best examples these days is Nicole Maines, who plays Nia Nal on Supergirl, billed as the first transgender super-heroine on television. She is a wonderful character and I look forward to seeing more of her.

So, sometimes, probably most of the time, transgender is not part of the transformation fetish. But, sometimes, it is.

It began in 1987, when I decided to create a new Supergirl.

The previous Supergirl, the classic Supergirl, Linda Lee Danvers/Kara Zor-El, had been killed off in 1985 in the maxi-series Crisis on Infinite Earths. Her death contributed to a severe depression that eventually cost me the best job I’ve ever had, Staff Editor at Comics Buyer’s Guide.

In Interlac, there were great lamentations when Supergirl was killed off. And anger. I learned that Interlac was composed mostly of old-fart comic book fans who didn’t like anything changed from when they were kids reading comic books. Personally, I mourned Supergirl, but, eventually, I did move on.

And then, knowing that DC would want to hang on to the name for trademark purposes, I decided to try my hand at creating a new Supergirl. Because, among other things, I knew it would tick off a lot of my fellow Interlac members, which was always fun.

When I started the project, I knew one thing I wanted to do was I was make a Supergirl who was an actual girl, not a woman. When Kara Zor-El first arrived on Earth, she was definitely a girl. But, by the 1970s, when she had graduated college, she was a woman.

But then, the metamorphiliac in me had an idea. I would make my heroine age-regressed. She would be Shazam! in reverse: A 25-year-old woman who became a 12-year-old super-heroine. I wrote up her backstory for her and sent it to DC. I got a very nice letter from Dick Giordano informing me that John Byrne had dibs on creating a new Supergirl.

I had done too much work on her to just toss her aside. I came up with more of her story. Her other self, Marcy Martin, did data processing. She had younger sister who was attending college, which would complicate the age change more. Marcy’s job kept a roof over both of their heads. And Marcy’s story would be more to prove to the world who she really was, so she wouldn’t lose everything she had to get by growing up. There would be no super-villains. Marcy/Skye would be the only fantastic element in the story.

Finally, I had a name for her. She would give off a coruscating aura whenever she used her powers, especially when she was flying. And that led to her heroic name, Skye Sparkler.

I wrote a couple of scripts for her, but something wasn’t quite right. I came to realize I didn’t want to sell her to DC or Marvel or any comics company. I wanted to keep her for myself.

I did some work to better understand who Skye was. I role-played her in a friend’s Champions campaign. I even ran her in a Champions game at GEN Con and took the prize for best character. And, she survived the Champions campaign I ran her in until I had to retire her because she had become too powerful for the villains the other players had to face. (I also made time in a super-hero RPG part of Skye’s origin.)

Then I was in a bookstore when I spotted something in the Writer’s section. A book called How to Write a Damn Good Novel by James N. Frey.

I had checked out and purchased books on writing before. I even subscribed to Writer’s Digest for a few years. I had written some short stories. But I had never gotten anywhere trying to do a complete book. That changed with Frey. I can’t recommend this book enough to any future writers. What he had to say about getting to know your characters, being able to state a book’s premise (the most important thing to Frey), how to make the building blocks of a novel before you start to actually write it, these were all vital to writing the book.

I started writing on April 20, 1994. And how I got it written was a very simple technique. I wrote some of the book every day. Even if it was just a paragraph or a sentence, I wrote something. I took great chunks out of my personal life to give life to Skye and those around her. And, if I went to a movie or watched something on TV, there was the most nagging voice in my head asking why I wasn’t at home writing.

On April 5, 1995, I finished the rough draft.

(There was one thing shortly after that caused some rewriting, and it was far more tragic beyond that. There was a scene in my book where Skye flies off with a semi-trailer that explodes while she’s high in the sky with it. It’s later learned it was filled with a cargo of ammonium nitrate fertilizer, and I spent some time explaining why ammonium nitrate would explode. On April 19, 1995, the Oklahoma City bombing happened, and everyone then knew why ammonium nitrate would explode.)

Next came the really hard part: Trying to find an agent and/or a publisher. No one was interested in representing or publishing a book about a super-hero no one had heard of before. I shared it on disc with some friends and even one professional writer, who gave me some good tips. But I couldn’t get it published.

Then, in Writer’s Digest, I saw an ad for Xlibris, a print-on-demand publisher. Print-on-demand means that, as the book is ordered, copies are printeded. You pay for the book to be typeset, for copy editing, and the copyright if you want to, and then let people know the book exists. I had the money, and I decided to go with this route, with a plan to sell the book through Diamond Distributors, the main distributor of product to comic book shops.

Then two things happened.

Xlibris raised the price on the books by ten dollars. This was not as drastic as it first seemed, as I was able to find another publisher, Booksurge (now CreateSpace), which would print the books and I could set the price.

The other problem was bigger. Diamond wouldn’t carry my book. I had set a price so it would be profitable to them, but they wouldn’t even reply to my inquiries, not even when I went up to them at Chicago ComiCon. They accepted a copy of my book, but they ever called back. They pretty much have a monopoly on their business, so they don’t have to accept anything for distribution that they don’t want to distribute.

I found Cold Cuts distribution, which handled independent product, and they accepted Skye Sparkler, but the sales weren’t great. And, they’ve since gone out of business.

More recently, however, CreateSpace (which sells a lot of product through Amazon) has started turning their books into e-books through Amazon’s Kindle. I’ve set things up so people can buy the Kindle edition for five dollars, or go on Kindle Select to read it for free. I get 70% for each book sold, I’ve been doing my best to make sure people know about it, but I don’t know yet how many are actually buying it. I should be getting the first check soon.

So, that’s my effort to transform myself into an author. Maybe there won’t be a lot of sales. But I’m a life-long bachelor. I’ve never been a father. (And I’ve reached the age where it’s a moot point now.) Skye Sparkler is my child. She is what I leave behind to let at least some of the world know that I was here.