Meet Me at the Pole
“Hey Tom – meet me at the pole?” I asked, handing out my pamphlet.
“Of course,” Tom replied as he took it. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
“Billy, are you in? Are you going to meet me at the pole?” I said.
“Heck yes, I’m a believer,” replied Billy. Just then, the “Punk Girls” started heading towards my part of campus.
“Hey, Sam – what are you handing out?” asked Reva, their slender queen bee. With dyed fire-red hair, leather combat boots, a half-dozen facial piercings and a lot of disturbing tattoos, Reva was easily the most “alternative” person on campus.
“Nothing you girls need to concern yourself with,” I replied sheepishly. I always felt a little uncomfortable around the punk girls – why did the administration even allow them to come to school dressed like that?
“Billy – hand that over,” said Trina, a statuesque, Amazonian woman. She towered over small Billy, who quickly acquiesced, handing the invite over to the muscular punk girl with the spiked hair and gloves. It was after school, so after Billy took off, the only ones on campus were me and the Punk Girls.
“Ugh, I think I know what this is,” Bekka began in her deep, booming voice. She was a heavyset woman with closely cropped hair, a tube top that showed of her wide and flabby torso, and tall boots that made a dull thud with each step. The snare of the reptilian beast on her leather jacket wasn’t nearly as menacing as the look on Bekka’s face as the read my pamphlet. “This is one of those Jesus things, isn’t it?”
“Uh…yeah,” I admitted. “Students and teachers ought to be able to gather at the flagpole, before class starts, and say a prayer to our Christian God. Thousands of public schools around the US do it every day.”
“Haven’t you read Nietzsche?” Trina asked. “God is dead.”
“Actually, they just made this movie, called ‘God’s not dead…” I began.
“I’m more of a Satanist/Wiccan myself,” Bekka interrupted. “Where’s our pole? Maybe you could make it a maypole, for a Spring Goddess celebration?”
“In any event, this is just a thinly veined attempt to breach the separation of Church and state,” said Bekka.
“That phrase is just a liberal lie, it’s not found in our Constitution,” I tried to explain. “We’re just trying to free people from the tyranny of judges…”
“Tyranny!” said Reva. “What about having their values imposed on us! That’s the real tyranny!”
“Yeah,” Bekka agreed. “Your kind wants to stop us lesbians from being able to get married.”
“Lesbians can still get married – they just have to turn to Jesus, renounce their alternative lifestyle, and marry a man. We’re just trying to stop you from redefining a historic institution…” I started, trying to remember exactly how they said it on Fox News.
“Fuck you!” Trina said, flexing her massive biceps menacingly.
“We deserve equal rights,” Bekka insisted.
“Where does it say that in the Bible? Sorry, but God doesn’t say everyone’s equal. He says sinners have to repent, and that’s you,” I explained. “Maybe if you didn’t dress and act so weird, guys would like you, and you wouldn’t have to be lesbians,” I said proudly, my righteous indignation giving me courage.
“That’s it,” Bekka said.
“Uh huh,” Trina agreed, cracking her knuckles.
“She’s gonna get it,” Reva said, giggling a little.
“Did you just say, ‘she?” I asked.
“Yes I did, dearie,” Reva said. “Trina, hold ‘er down,” she instructed.
“Wait, let’s talk about this,” I begged, but Trina was on top of me in an instant. She pinned me against the warm cement, and through I struggled valiantly, I didn’t move an inch.
“Bekka, you’ll have us all converted to belief in whatever you want if you can make this work,” Reva promised.
“I’m…I’m sorry I reminded you all that you’re Hell-bound sinners,” I blubbered, as Bekka started chanting in some strange, made-up sounding language.
“If that’s your idea of an apology, it wasn’t good enough,” Reva said.
“I’m sorry I pointed out the fact that you’re a bunch of freaks?” I meekly offered.
“So we’re freaks now, huh?” Trina said, pushing me down more firmly.
“Well, I mean, ‘freak’ is subjective. I’m sure not everyone thinks that you’re freaks. Other freaks, I’d assume, might be sympathetic,” I said. Trina just gritted her teeth angrily in response.
My vision was starting to blur a little, and my skin felt warm and tingly. The sensation was not altogether unpleasant, but it was unexpected so I felt worried.
“Hey guys – girls, let me go. I feel kinda funny,” I said. All of their faces lit up.
“It might be working!” Reva shouted. “Bekka, keep at it.” Soon, all three of the girls were pointing at my face and hooting excitedly.
“What, what’s happening?” I asked. My voice sounded higher than normal – maybe because I was feeling nervous?
“You know? I think the little runt deserves to see this,” Reva said, and produced a makeup mirror from her skull-emblazed purse. The clamshell mirror, which had little vampire fangs on the side, opened up slowly, right in front of my face.
At first, I couldn’t see where I was. I could see a girl’s face – perhaps someone directly behind me? But there wasn’t anyone else around here. That was when I noticed the nose – it was pitted with the tiny scar I had from when I fell off my bike as a kid. The girl was me! When I blinked, she blinked. When I looked left, she looked left.
My recognition of my fate brought raucous laughter from the punk girls. Still I had to admit, for a girl, at least I was cute. Blonde hair, delicate features, and a warm-looking face. I looked down and my clothes were changing too – my sweater-vest was morphing into a conservative pantsuit. I was the kind of woman I might ask out after we attended church together!
I could feel my nipples getting more sensitive as small breasts rose from my chest, and my groin felt exceedingly sensitive and tingly.
“Now the second part,” Bekka said, and kept talking her strange language. I could see my delicate face starting to become endowed with harsh looking makeup. My long, golden locks changed, becoming a dark dyed black, with purple streaks. One third of my head was shaved completely. My little nose scar was covered by a steampunk-style nose piercing. My conservative clothing changed too, going from pantsuit to fishnets, long leather gloves, and a tube top that showed too much skin. Even my figure changed, getting slightly chubbier. My muffin top hung over my too-short skirt with the kind of carelessness no sensible girl would do. My breasts were squeezed by a slightly too tight bra, giving me more cleavage. Lastly, I felt a distinctive, pleasant tingle between my legs. I could guess what was going on down there.
“What have you done to me?” I asked. The delicate, higher voice of just a few moments ago was replaced by a harsh, lower female type voice. Lowered, possibly, through smoking or excessive shouting, I thought. “How am I supposed to go to church looking like this?”
This produced the loudest laugh of all. Bekka actually slapped her thighs, causing her entire stocky body to jiggle a little.
“You’re not going to church ever again. Soon, you’ll think like us, too. In fact, we’re now your only friends. Admit it – would you be friends with yourself, looking like this?”
“No,” I admitted.
“But hey, look on the bright side – you’re cute,” Bekka said. “I’d hit that,” she said, slapping me hard on the ass. It hurt, but it also tingled a little.
“Ouch! That hurt,” I complained.
“Oh, you like it rough, do you?” Trina said. “Then she’s mine, all mine,” she said, licking her lips as she looked at me.
Reva strutted up towards me, tracing her fingers across my face and smearing my makeup a little. Then she planted her lips on mine, kissing me passionately. For a moment I wanted to slap her away, to scream bloody murder for what she and her friends had done to me. But after a few moments, I melted into the kiss. Soon, I felt Reva’s long, bony fingers pulling firmly on my hair. I gasped in pain, and in pleasure, and I even whimpered when she stopped. It was useless to resist – I was putty in her hands.
“You’ve done well, Bekka,” Reva said. “Let’s start building that Maypole. With luck, in a few months, there might be more of us than there are of them.”
“Of course,” Tom replied as he took it. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
“Billy, are you in? Are you going to meet me at the pole?” I said.
“Heck yes, I’m a believer,” replied Billy. Just then, the “Punk Girls” started heading towards my part of campus.
“Hey, Sam – what are you handing out?” asked Reva, their slender queen bee. With dyed fire-red hair, leather combat boots, a half-dozen facial piercings and a lot of disturbing tattoos, Reva was easily the most “alternative” person on campus.
“Nothing you girls need to concern yourself with,” I replied sheepishly. I always felt a little uncomfortable around the punk girls – why did the administration even allow them to come to school dressed like that?
“Billy – hand that over,” said Trina, a statuesque, Amazonian woman. She towered over small Billy, who quickly acquiesced, handing the invite over to the muscular punk girl with the spiked hair and gloves. It was after school, so after Billy took off, the only ones on campus were me and the Punk Girls.
“Ugh, I think I know what this is,” Bekka began in her deep, booming voice. She was a heavyset woman with closely cropped hair, a tube top that showed of her wide and flabby torso, and tall boots that made a dull thud with each step. The snare of the reptilian beast on her leather jacket wasn’t nearly as menacing as the look on Bekka’s face as the read my pamphlet. “This is one of those Jesus things, isn’t it?”
“Uh…yeah,” I admitted. “Students and teachers ought to be able to gather at the flagpole, before class starts, and say a prayer to our Christian God. Thousands of public schools around the US do it every day.”
“Haven’t you read Nietzsche?” Trina asked. “God is dead.”
“Actually, they just made this movie, called ‘God’s not dead…” I began.
“I’m more of a Satanist/Wiccan myself,” Bekka interrupted. “Where’s our pole? Maybe you could make it a maypole, for a Spring Goddess celebration?”
“In any event, this is just a thinly veined attempt to breach the separation of Church and state,” said Bekka.
“That phrase is just a liberal lie, it’s not found in our Constitution,” I tried to explain. “We’re just trying to free people from the tyranny of judges…”
“Tyranny!” said Reva. “What about having their values imposed on us! That’s the real tyranny!”
“Yeah,” Bekka agreed. “Your kind wants to stop us lesbians from being able to get married.”
“Lesbians can still get married – they just have to turn to Jesus, renounce their alternative lifestyle, and marry a man. We’re just trying to stop you from redefining a historic institution…” I started, trying to remember exactly how they said it on Fox News.
“Fuck you!” Trina said, flexing her massive biceps menacingly.
“We deserve equal rights,” Bekka insisted.
“Where does it say that in the Bible? Sorry, but God doesn’t say everyone’s equal. He says sinners have to repent, and that’s you,” I explained. “Maybe if you didn’t dress and act so weird, guys would like you, and you wouldn’t have to be lesbians,” I said proudly, my righteous indignation giving me courage.
“That’s it,” Bekka said.
“Uh huh,” Trina agreed, cracking her knuckles.
“She’s gonna get it,” Reva said, giggling a little.
“Did you just say, ‘she?” I asked.
“Yes I did, dearie,” Reva said. “Trina, hold ‘er down,” she instructed.
“Wait, let’s talk about this,” I begged, but Trina was on top of me in an instant. She pinned me against the warm cement, and through I struggled valiantly, I didn’t move an inch.
“Bekka, you’ll have us all converted to belief in whatever you want if you can make this work,” Reva promised.
“I’m…I’m sorry I reminded you all that you’re Hell-bound sinners,” I blubbered, as Bekka started chanting in some strange, made-up sounding language.
“If that’s your idea of an apology, it wasn’t good enough,” Reva said.
“I’m sorry I pointed out the fact that you’re a bunch of freaks?” I meekly offered.
“So we’re freaks now, huh?” Trina said, pushing me down more firmly.
“Well, I mean, ‘freak’ is subjective. I’m sure not everyone thinks that you’re freaks. Other freaks, I’d assume, might be sympathetic,” I said. Trina just gritted her teeth angrily in response.
My vision was starting to blur a little, and my skin felt warm and tingly. The sensation was not altogether unpleasant, but it was unexpected so I felt worried.
“Hey guys – girls, let me go. I feel kinda funny,” I said. All of their faces lit up.
“It might be working!” Reva shouted. “Bekka, keep at it.” Soon, all three of the girls were pointing at my face and hooting excitedly.
“What, what’s happening?” I asked. My voice sounded higher than normal – maybe because I was feeling nervous?
“You know? I think the little runt deserves to see this,” Reva said, and produced a makeup mirror from her skull-emblazed purse. The clamshell mirror, which had little vampire fangs on the side, opened up slowly, right in front of my face.
At first, I couldn’t see where I was. I could see a girl’s face – perhaps someone directly behind me? But there wasn’t anyone else around here. That was when I noticed the nose – it was pitted with the tiny scar I had from when I fell off my bike as a kid. The girl was me! When I blinked, she blinked. When I looked left, she looked left.
My recognition of my fate brought raucous laughter from the punk girls. Still I had to admit, for a girl, at least I was cute. Blonde hair, delicate features, and a warm-looking face. I looked down and my clothes were changing too – my sweater-vest was morphing into a conservative pantsuit. I was the kind of woman I might ask out after we attended church together!
I could feel my nipples getting more sensitive as small breasts rose from my chest, and my groin felt exceedingly sensitive and tingly.
“Now the second part,” Bekka said, and kept talking her strange language. I could see my delicate face starting to become endowed with harsh looking makeup. My long, golden locks changed, becoming a dark dyed black, with purple streaks. One third of my head was shaved completely. My little nose scar was covered by a steampunk-style nose piercing. My conservative clothing changed too, going from pantsuit to fishnets, long leather gloves, and a tube top that showed too much skin. Even my figure changed, getting slightly chubbier. My muffin top hung over my too-short skirt with the kind of carelessness no sensible girl would do. My breasts were squeezed by a slightly too tight bra, giving me more cleavage. Lastly, I felt a distinctive, pleasant tingle between my legs. I could guess what was going on down there.
“What have you done to me?” I asked. The delicate, higher voice of just a few moments ago was replaced by a harsh, lower female type voice. Lowered, possibly, through smoking or excessive shouting, I thought. “How am I supposed to go to church looking like this?”
This produced the loudest laugh of all. Bekka actually slapped her thighs, causing her entire stocky body to jiggle a little.
“You’re not going to church ever again. Soon, you’ll think like us, too. In fact, we’re now your only friends. Admit it – would you be friends with yourself, looking like this?”
“No,” I admitted.
“But hey, look on the bright side – you’re cute,” Bekka said. “I’d hit that,” she said, slapping me hard on the ass. It hurt, but it also tingled a little.
“Ouch! That hurt,” I complained.
“Oh, you like it rough, do you?” Trina said. “Then she’s mine, all mine,” she said, licking her lips as she looked at me.
Reva strutted up towards me, tracing her fingers across my face and smearing my makeup a little. Then she planted her lips on mine, kissing me passionately. For a moment I wanted to slap her away, to scream bloody murder for what she and her friends had done to me. But after a few moments, I melted into the kiss. Soon, I felt Reva’s long, bony fingers pulling firmly on my hair. I gasped in pain, and in pleasure, and I even whimpered when she stopped. It was useless to resist – I was putty in her hands.
“You’ve done well, Bekka,” Reva said. “Let’s start building that Maypole. With luck, in a few months, there might be more of us than there are of them.”