Europe Trip
Prologue:
Wanda slowly walked past the white picket fence that boarded the perfectly manicured lawn around her family’s house. An unusually tall flagpole near the gate allowed flag to flap in the wind and be seen from three blocks down. She opened the gate and walked past the lone apple tree, and caught a whiff of a freshly baked apple pie on the windowsill. Her gait was slow and measured, as she knew this would be the last time she’d walk home for several months. To anyone watching, she was the vision of American normality: a beautiful, blonde, thin cheerleader, walking home to greet her family.
“Do you really have to go?” her father asked her later that evening as her family ate dinner.
Wanda just scoffed and rolled her eyes. The day before she left, and her father was still trying to talk her out of her trip to Europe. She had worked so hard for this - her family, not approving, had told her she would need to pay for her trip herself. She had taken a second job and had even forgone having her own car, which was a luxury that few of the popular girls like herself would have been willing to sacrifice. Yet she knew this was her last chance to do something on her own. At the end of the summer, she’d attend Notre Dame, into a major picked by her family, and living with other kids who had also grown up in conservative households, under a faculty administration famous for standing up for “traditional values.”
“Yes, I have to go,” Wanda finally answered. She had already paid for the tickets, so the decision was over. Of course, what her father really wanted to know was why she felt the need to go in the first place - though lucky for Wanda, he didn’t ask that. Answering that would have required a wordier reply.
Being popular, safe, and trying to please others had worked well for Wanda so far, yet her successes always felt hollow. How could she enjoy herself if she was just playing out a role that was orchestrated by others? She needed to experience new things and decide how she wanted to live for herself. If she decided to continue on the path her parents wanted, then so be it - but at least it would be her choice. And it wouldn’t be much of a choice if this life was all she’d ever known.
~
The next day, her parents waved goodbye as their only child left their driveway via a taxi. The dawn had just broke, and the tree cast a dark shadow on their family home. The lack of wind caused the oversized flag to hang limply. Inside the home, Wanda’s mother and father shook with fear.
“I’m so worried,” her father complained.
“She’s so young and impressionable,” her mother chimed in.
“Who knows what could happen to her over there?” her father asked, and looked towards the heavens.
Chapter One:
Wanda’s plane was delayed by the weather, and then by mechanical difficulties, but after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, she was finally ready to board. Before she did, she got a text message from her father, letting her know there was still time to come back home. Wanda’s reply was to shut the phone off.
When the called out the numbers, Wanda eventually realized she was in the plane’s last row. When she reached it, there were already three people sitting in four of the seats. A large looking, middle aged black woman in traditional African clothing sat on the seat near the aisle. Next to her was a spindly, older gentleman whom Wanda suspected was albino, but as he was bald she couldn’t prove it. To his right was an empty seat that Wanda presumed was hers, and finally beyond that, a teenaged black girl with cornrows in her hair was curled up sleeping in the window seat.
“Is Dublin your final destination?” The spindly man asked Wanda as she squeezed past the large woman in aisle seat and sat down.
“Yes for this flight, but I’m going to visit other countries soon,” Wanda answered.
“Ah, trying to see the world?” the man asked, his eyes lighting up. Wanda nodded in response. “I can’t think of anything more exciting. You know,” he said and paused, “Twenty five years ago I wanted to travel the globe. Where are you headed?”
“Uh...A survey of Europe?” Wanda replied, wanting to be friendly enough to avoid appearing rude but not wanting to encourage conversation with the strange looking man.
“Europe - it’s wild. But not wild enough for me in my youth. I wanted to visit every country on Earth at one point. But I stopped when I hit Chad, and found my wife,” he said, gesturing to the woman to his left. She leaned in a little and waved in Wanda’s direction, wearing smile on her face that seemed to suggest she had heard this story many times before. “That’s where we are going, actually - it’s a connecting flight from Dublin to Paris, and then on to N'Djamena. We go once a year to visit Nadia’s family.”
“That’s nice,” Wanda said, resigning herself to the fact that she was in for hours of conversation with this man. The hours did go by, but as they did, Wanda felt herself slowly opening up to him. She told him about her situation, why she had arranged her trip, and how she hoped to discover something about herself on it.
“Quite a task,” the man said, “I doubt you can accomplish something so big in just a few weeks...”
“Well, I’ll have to,” Wanda said. “I saved up the money for this trip myself, and that’s all I can afford.”
“Oh dear,” the man said, sighing. “That won’t do, that won’t do at all.” The man nervously chewed on his thin lower lip as he murmured to himself. He cast a sideways glance at his wife, who was so sound asleep she was snoring.
“Tell you what. I’ve got some extra traveller’s checks that I can sign over to you,” he said. “Let me see...how would an extra five thousand dollars sound?”
“Sir, I can’t possibly accept a gift like that from a total stranger,” Wanda protested.
“Sure you can,” the man said, interrupting. “But it’s not exactly a gift. I’d like something in return,” he said, a glint in his eye.
The little blonde hairs on the back of Wanda’s neck suddenly stood on end. Was this creep about to proposition her?
He leaned in close and whispered: “My daughter, over there, she’s very shy. She’s been pretending to sleep for hours. But I’ve noticed her looking you up and down like a starving cat eying a field mouse. Why don’t you lean over and give her a kiss?”
Wanda froze, sure that she hadn’t heard right. “What?” she asked incredulously.
“You heard me, give my daughter a smooch and I’ll give you the five grand,” he replied.
Wanda’s head spun - this was against everything she had ever been taught. The lesbian factor, of course, was the most pressing concern, but there was many other conservative reasons to shiver at the idea. It seemed slutty, silly, and even smacked a bit of prostitution. The interracial element was just dark chocolate icing on the cake. She could practically see her father having a stroke.
And yet...her father wasn’t there, was he? He never needed to know. There was something utilitarian about the deal that appealed to her greatly. A few moments of ick for five thousand dollars? She was willing to go through hundreds of hours of “ick” at her fast food job for around the same chunk of change, wasn’t sure?
“Let me see the money,” she said, breathing heavy. The man produced it from a thin, black briefcase he had stowed under his seat. She knew on some level this was wrong, but she felt compelled to find out why. Logically, there was no consequences - so why not double the length of her trip? She could see the lights of Paris as she felt her mind make itself up. She silently nodded at the man, and turned to her right to face his daughter.
The girl looked about her age - and contrary to what her father had said, did indeed appear to be sleeping genuinely. Her skin looked incredibly smooth, and was an even, warm brown. Her lips were quite large, so big that she could barely close her mouth all the way.
Though her parents had forbidden her to date, Wanda had experienced a kiss before. After a football game, she had closed her eyes and let the team’s quarterback give her an awkward moment. This felt different, though. He had initiated - he was in control. She had just stood there and accepted what he gave her, which admittedly wasn't much. Now here she was, ready to kiss someone - a girl no less - who might be asleep.
She thought about turning and and telling the man the deal was off, but thought it might be too embarrassing. With a deep breath, she leaned in and planted her lips on the other girl.
At first, nothing happened, but then the girl started to kiss back. Wanda could feel the girl’s tongue enter her mouth - she had a stud. Without thinking, Wanda dragged her hand over the girl’s cornrow hair and down her smooth, dimpled cheek. Her large lips were amazing, far better for kissing than that gritty football player. Just as she felt herself almost completely get lost in the kiss, it ended.
Wanda, trembling, stared down at her feet. Her cheeks burned with a mixture of shame and excitement over what she had done. After a long time, she turned around and looked at her kissing partner again, and stared deeply into her dark brown eyes. She offered Wanda her hand, and she took it and squeezed it hard. She lay her head on the girl’s athletic looking shoulder and let out a long sigh.
“You’re going to have a fun trip,” the girl said. “I can tell.” The girl reached behind her neck with both hands, causing her chest to rise provocatively for a moment. “Here,” she said as she unclasped a necklace and handed it to Wanda, “take this. It was made by my Grandmother.”
The necklace had some rock beads and a black pendant in the middle, shaped like a crescent moon. Wanda was about to refuse it, but somehow she knew her refusal would not be accepted.
“Your family is most generous,” Wanda said at last as she took the necklace.
“Wear it with pride,” she began, “May it always allow you to accurately represent your choices,” she added cryptically.
“I will,” said Wanda as she clasped it behind her neck.
~
When Wanda’s plane landed in Dublin, she wasn’t sure exactly where she would be headed. She had made reservations at a hotel, but the exploration of the culture itself was a priority, even if she wasn’t sure how she was going to do it.
Of course, with that kind of ambiguity to her aims, it wasn’t long at all before she found herself in an Irish pub. Her parents had strongly discouraged her from drinking and spending time in bars, but the drinking age was 18 in Ireland - so no harm done, right?
Wanda was the walking definition of beauty in American mainstream society - long, platinum blonde hair, flawless tan complexion, diamond shaped face, and of course, a tall, thin frame. As a cheerleader and a beautiful woman, she had grown used to excessive attention from men. From the moment she walked into the pub, she started to get familiar hoots and hollers, though hearing them in an Irish brogue made them sound funnier. Wanda didn’t get the chance to make it towards the bar before someone ordered her a pint.
When she shared the story of what had happened to her on the plane, Wanda received even more cheers. She hesitated before drinking the beer, wondering if she ought to get drunk after getting so much male attention. Then she thought about how she had been so spontaneous just a few hours earlier - wasn’t that the point of her trip? It was too late to back out now.
Wanda chugged the beer, coughing and spilling a little as she did. It tasted sour and bitter at first, but got a little sweeter with each sip. As she slammed the mug down on the bar to another cheer from the crowd, she noticed her skin looked a little different than usual - it seemed just a tad lighter. It was probably just a trick of the light, she decided.
Her mug was quickly refilled, and just as quickly she was lifting it over her head and pouring it down her throat. Lots of it splashed against her face, sending beer across her cheeks, hair, and drizzling down her neck and chest. She could feel a pair of hands reach towards that area and start to grope her. Wanda considered swatting them away, but she was using both hands to drink the beer. It tasted so sweet now, almost like liquid honey - she didn’t want to stop now. She let the hands feel her up as she drank the brew down. When the mug was empty, she shook it over her head, sending a few errant drops and wisps of foam onto her face.
Finally, Wanda turned and faced the man whose hands were all over her - the bartender. In a moment of drunken inspiration, she leaned in close and shouted “I can’t let you have all the fun, can I?” as she reached towards his crotch.
Wanda never thought she’d hear a bar cheer so loud. But as she leaned close, she noticed her hair bunching up a little near her shoulders. It seemed frizzy - not like her usual, naturally straight and slightly wavy locks. What’s more, the color seemed off.
“Damn light,” she said, her words slurring slightly. She staggered towards the restroom, and was shocked at what she saw. Her tan, even complexion was gone, replaced with incredibly pale skin, framed by a shock of frizzy, red hair. Her cheeks were covered in light freckles - they even reached her neck and bust.
“I look Irish,” she said, realizing what was happening at last. As she stared down at her freckled boobs, she took notice of the the little crescent medallion she had received on the airplane. As she held it in her hand, she tried to remember why she had it. What had that girl had said? Thanks to the alcohol, she couldn’t remember. With a drunken waltz, made her way out of the bar and into a taxi, hoping that after sleeping this off in her hotel, everything would be fine.
Chapter Two:
The next few days were a blur for Wanda. She drank as much beer as any of the other barflies, bumming free drinks in exchange for letting guys cop a feel when she was really wasted. She experienced her first real moment of sobriety in the country when she was taking the cab ride back to the airport. What had she done, she wondered, as she looked down at her new, paler skinned body. Her usually flat tummy was starting to poof out a little, as if she was growing a little beer belly.
London was her next stop, and it wasn’t long at all before Wanda found herself at a British Pub. Thanks to her experiences in Ireland, she wanted to limit her drinking as much as possible, but found it hard to resist. This time, she decided, she’d at least balance out her consumption of the local booze with some of the local food, and ordered a plate of fish & chips. A few minutes later, a bubbling, sizzling, greasy mess was brought over to her.
Within a few moments, she was ravenously eating up the crunchy, salty slop - it was fantastic! She couldn’t get enough of it, and started shoving it down her gullet with both hands. Grease smeared her freckled cheeks as Wanda ravenously pawed at the plate and scarfed down her meal.
“Tourist, eh?” A short, stout little man from the end of the bar said as he saw Wanda order seconds.
“What?” Wanda asked, her mouth full of greasy food.
“I merely remarked that you’re a tourist,” the man stated. “Nobody else could enjoy English food that much.”
“I’m doing a trip through Europe,” Wanda explained, as the began her second helping of fried food.
“Well, I’ve got a cottage in Madrid,” he cooed in his cockney accent. I’d be happy to let you stay in it for a few days.” He smiled at her for a moment, his crooked, yellow, British looking bad teeth flashing at her. “There’s just one catch.”
“Of course,” Wanda said as she slugged down a warm English beer and felt the warm glow of inebriation wash over her. She leaned in close to the man, wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, and dug her fingernails in a little as she tugged his face towards hers. She pressed her lips up against his until they parted, then penetrated his tongue with her mouth. She gave his lower lip a parting bite as their faces separated.
“What’s wrong?” Wanda asked. “Did you want me to make out with your son or daughter instead or something?”
“Dear me,” he said, “no, of course not. I was only going to ask you to please look after my plants, but that was much better. What are you doing later?”
Wanda’s eyes locked upon the man’s for a few long, silent seconds. “Flying to Madrid,” she said at last. “Thanks for letting me use your place.”
~
Wanda stayed a few days in hostels around London after that, trying Bangers & Mash, clotted cream, and other local favorites. The food left her skin feeling greasy, and her body feeling bloated. Worse still, even her teeth looked different - they seemed more yellow and out of place than she had remembered. Yet again, Wanda felt as if she was starting to fit in too well - her trip to Madrid couldn’t come soon enough.
When she arrived at the cottage just outside the city limits, she found it adjoined another unit. In front of the adjoining door, there was a tower of pizza boxes, tin foil wrappers, and bags of garbage as high as a tent. When Wanda entered her side of the building, she found that the inner door which was supposed to separate the two units had busted off of its hinges. As she peered at the gaping gate in the room, she realized that the contrast could hardly have been greater.
To her left, her unit was sparse, a little dusty, and unlived in. Furniture was covered in plastic, the plants were long dead, and a fant mustiness hung in the air. To her right, the busted door gave her a peek of the other unit. Clothes were strewn about everywhere, and the air was alive with the aroma of food on the stove.
“Hello?” a voice called out from the other unit. Wanda walked through the broken door and saw a room consumed with misplaced items and clutter. Articles of clothing were strewn everywhere. Boxes of junk were stacked on top of boxes of even more junk.
In the center of the room, on top of a massive, overstuffed lazyboy style chair, sat a young woman. She wasn’t huge, but she was wearing a tank top that was a couple of sizes too small, accentuating the curves of her chubby figure. Her belly peeked out from the bottom and spilled over her shorts, while her plunging cleavage was revealed up top. Her mousy dark hair was messy, like she hadn’t bothered combing it.
“Hi there,” the woman replied.
“You speak English?” Wanda asked, surprised.
“Of course. Everyone in Europe speaks English,” the woman replied with a laugh.
“Everyone?” Wanda replied incredulously.
“Yeah - we only pretend to speak other languages as a big practical joke on you Americans,” she said with a snort and a giggle. “I’m Josefina, by the way.”
“I’m Wanda, great to meet you,” Wanda said.
“Sorry the place is just a mess,” Josefina replied. “I just never seem to have the motivation to pick things up.”
“If you want to keep mental discipline, just keep your goals in mind,” Wanda said.
“I read somewhere that goals are a form of self inflicted slavery,” Josefina said with a yawn.
“I never looked at it that way,” Wanda said, scratching her head.
“I say you’re better off just doing what feels appropriate at the moment. If you condition yourself to do the boring chores first, you might never get to what you want to do,” Josefina replied.
“I never really think about what I want to do, at least before I took this trip,” Josefina confessed.
“Well, there you go. You’ve earned some relaxation time,” the Spaniard replied. “I have another chair in the garage. We can sit and watch TV together.”
For the next several days, Wanda did just that. She lay back in the comfy seat and watched TV with her new friend, pausing only to get up and help cook up more snacks. Josefina showed Wanda how to make something called paella, which turned out to be a delicious and hearty Spanish gumbo. By the end of the visit, Wanda didn’t want to push herself to achieve. She felt content simply sitting in her reclining chair, eating tasty foods, and relaxing. The Spanish TV shows weren’t particularly entertaining, but the concept of napping in the middle of the day, relaxing, and generally being lazy was intoxicating.
When the time finally came to go, Wanda’s clothes felt a little tighter and more restrictive. Like Josefina, they now seemed to cut into her flesh and expose more of her rapidly expanding figure.
“Don’t forget to write,” Josefina said as Wanda departed.
“I won’t forget,” Wanda replied, “but I might feel too lazy to actually put the pen to paper,” she added.
“I have taught you well,” Josefina said, her apple shaped cheeks dimpled in a wide grin.
Chapter Three:
Next stop on Wanda’s list was Italy. On the plane, she heard an announcement that Rome would be having a pasta eating contest. Who could pass on that, Wanda thought to herself as she licked her lips in anticipation.
The contest was held in the old Coliseum, a throwback to the old gladiator days. Hundreds of hefty looking Italians stood in rows, while a giant black cauldron the size of a small house cooked spaghetti. A ladder led up its side, and a short, gray haired woman with a large nose stirred the noodles and sauce with a massive wooden spoon.
Wanda took her place at the end of the one of the massive table rows, next to a mountain of a woman wearing a black puffy dress.
The woman looked Wanda up and down with a disapproving sneer. “What’s a slight little thing like you doing at a contest like this?” she asked in a thick Italian accent.
“Um, what do you mean?” Wanda asked as she looked down at her bloated body. “I’ve never been this heavy in my whole life,” she said, lamenting the pounds the trip had added to her formerly slender frame.
“That may be, but you’re a toothpick here,” the woman replied. “Even if you win the contest, how could you ever be accepted as a champion looking like that?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it like that,” Wanda said. “I just thought it would be fun to eat some tasty food. I’d love to fit right in with everyone.”
“You would, huh...” the woman said, her voice trailing off. “Tell you what, forget what I said. I’m sure everyone would love you if you won the contest.”
“Really?” Wanda asked, her eyes lighting up.
“Of course. Now get ready, the contest is about to start.”
With a loud yell of “Manja,” the feast had begun. The pasta was delicious but Wanda didn’t shovel it down quickly - she knew she was in this for the long haul and wanted to pace herself. As the minutes passed, a few of the contestants rose from their tables and left, their bellies distended and their faces smeared in red sauce.
As the remaining contestants dwindled, Wanda began to notice a few patterns about her competitors. For one, more of the men had given up than the women. Italian women certainly looked nothing like her - most of them had dark hair, and large breasts. Wanda had always had a slim and modest figure. The trip’s binging had caused her to become a little puffier but had hardly changed her overall body shape.
Manners seemed to have a different definition here, Wanda noticed. The women didn’t seem to have a problem belching as loud as the men, or wiping their face on their sleeve if a napkin wasn’t handy. A few of them even raised their large bowls of pasta up to their faces and just slupred it down without a fork. As they lifted their arms high, Wanda could see a fair amount of underarm hair.
“How European,” she thought as the kept working on her noodles. Wanting to fit in with her fellow guests, she tried to belch and sleeve wipe as well, though she barely managed a squeak and her sleeves were far too short to provide much help.
After a few more bites, Wanda’s stomach started to protest. Painful gurgling sliced into her side, and she started to breathe heavy. A quick glance around revealed only a handful of other guests, all of them women, were still eating.
The large woman seated immediately to her left had stopped a few moments earlier, and seemed increasingly concerned by Wanda’s slowdown. One of the contest monitors came by and refilled her massive bowl with more pasta, and Wanda merely shook her head.
“You can’t quit now, you’ve come so close,” she urged.
“I’m full. Do you want my stomach to burst?” Wanda complained.
“I’ve got something that will help,” the woman suggested. “I bought a block of homemade Parmesan cheese,” she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a yellow cheese brick and a cheese grater.
“How is more food going to help me?” Wanda protested, but the woman was already at work grating cheese over her plate.
“It’s not against the rules,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Now, eat up.”
“No,” Wanda protested. “My stomach is hurting more and more. I honestly couldn’t have another bite.”
The woman grabbed the back of Wanda’s head and pushed her face down into the bowl of pasta. Wanda’s first inclination was to be angry, but she for some reason all she could do was smile.
Wanda didn’t want to eat anymore - she was certain of that. Her face could be pressed into spaghetti, but she couldn’t be forced to eat it.
Still, the pungent aroma of the cheese sent a tingle her nose. In spite of herself, she could feel her stomach start to growl with hunger again. She felt the hand of the woman sitting next to her let go of her neck - she knew she could take her face away anytime she wanted. Instead, though, she decided to nuzzle her face into the noodles and take a little nibble. She just had to know what it tasted like.
The cheese was sweet, salty, and tangy all at once. Wanda eagerly started chewing, and she felt the full sensation in her gut melt away. She lifted the bowl high above her head and shook it, eagerly trying to push as much food down her gullet as fast as possible.
As the cheese covered noodles slithered down her throat and into her overstuffed tummy, it expanded. Before she had arrived in Rome, Wanda’s abs were softer looking than they used to be. After downing five bowls of pasta, her stomach was sticking out even farther. Now, it was turning into a full blown pot belly. It was a large, smooth curve, like a pregnant woman’s, but much softer looking. It rose and fell with each deep breath, and it grew a little larger with each swallow. Wanda’s upper arms, holding the bowl above her head, began to look meatier and bigger. Her breasts grew into a pair of authentic Italian knockers, sticking out so far in front of her that a few stray bits of cheese fell down on them, along with a small dollop of sauce. Wanda’s reddish hair darkened into a deep black shade, and little hairs started to sprout under arms. Before long, she had a veritable forest of dark, curly hairs fanning out from each underarm. A couple of stray hairs even erupted around her areolas. Under her panties, which were strained from the widening of her thighs and hips, her pubic hair was coming in much thicker and darker. The bottom part of her tummy started to sprout some hair a well, giving her a bit of a happy trail. Even the tops of her toes started to get some dark hair.
As Wanda chowed down, the woman sitting next to her and several of other withdrawn contestants started to cheer. A short woman rushed over to Wanda to place the crown on her head, and she was told she had won.
None of that mattered to Wanda - all she wanted was more.
“Where’s my next helping?” Wanda demanded.
“There isn’t anymore, you just ate the last of it,” was the faint reply.
“It was so good! I have to have more,” Wanda said. She looked to her left and spotted the block of cheese.
“Give me that,” she demanded, and grabbed it before anyone could say anything.
“Woah there, be careful with that,” was all the woman could say, but Wanda was already gnawing on the cheese like a hungry rat. It was so salty that she could feel tears running down her cheeks, but it tasted so good she couldn’t stop chewing.
Wanda’s breasts continued to swell, reaching colossal proportions, sagging down to her large belly in the process.. Her shoulders and upper arms became incredibly beefy, and the hair around her arms and genitals grew darker, thicker, and longer. Her skin became softer and greasier, and even her back started to get love handles. Dark little hairs, thick and strong enough to be immune to any razor, grew in around her upper thighs.
When at last she finally stood up, having eaten every last bite, she was a hairy, jiggling, cheese and sauce covered hunk of softness - almost a human Ravioli. She received applause, and many lustful looks from some of the male contestants she had out-eaten.
Wanda felt different, that was to be sure. But what was more important to her was that she felt full, a feeling she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years. She decided right then and there to let herself feel that way from now on, regardless of the consequences.
Chapter Four:
After a few days eating herself into a food coma passing through different restaurants in Rome, Wanda awoke to a knock on the door - she was being kicked out of her hostel. Her credit card was declined, and she had already used almost all of her traveler’s checks. The manager started shouting that he was going to call the police, so she ran as fast as her jiggly legs would carry her.
Wanda made her way to a train station, but getting to the airport was hopeless - she didn’t have enough left to get her back to the United States. It was an unusual situation for her, as she had always planned everything meticulously. This trip had been planned for months to the smallest detail, yet now she had no idea how she was going to get back home.
Eager to at least continue the trip, even if she couldn’t afford to end it, Wanda asked the young man at the booth if there were any special discounts going anywhere. He replied that there was a special on train tickets to Romania, but upon inspection of her traveller’s checks, said that she was short by about a hundred Euros.
“What if I show you my tits?” Wanda asked. “I know you’ve been staring at them.”
“I...uh...” the man stammered, but his eyes were on her chest.
“Here, take a look,” she said, and pulled down her far too small top, letting her breasts drop free. They bulged out, two giant white balloons with blue veins, freckles, and stretch marks They were sagging down somewhat and with a couple of curly hairs right next to the nipples. As she wriggled her chest, two plumes of dark hair were exposed under her husky upper arms.
“Give me the ticket,” she said as she struggled to place her breasts back in her small bra and top, the man’s jaw agape. He complied, though he did take the rest of her traveler’s checks, too. She was officially destitute.
The train to Romania was long and gave Wanda time to ponder how she would return home. She thought about what she had learned, up until this point - always trust mysterious strangers, for they come bearing gifts. Enjoy a good drink in a bar and relax when the opportunity is presented to you. Sloth and gluttony are virtues, not sins. Sadly, there were no mysterious strangers on the train bearing gifts - she had accost quite a few strangers just to make sure. She tried to think of a way to eat or drink her way out of her problem, but felt too lazy to ponder it all the way through, instead opting to watch TV in her cabin.
When she arrived in Galati, she was hit with a wave of punishing humidity and grimy smog. Despite this, she felt instinctively drawn to the shady part of town, feeling like it was her best chance to find a way out. She noticed a handful of people dressed in garish costumes playing a game on the street. A ball was being passed under a cup, and tourists were trying to guess which cup it was under. It looked obvious enough, but the tourists lost every time. Within a few minutes, hundreds of Euros had changed hands.
“Hey, I want in on this,” Wanda said as she waddled closer to the crowd of gypsies.
“What, are you going to reel in our targets with your staggering good looks?” One of the men asked, as his friends started to cackle.
“Of course I am,” Wanda said, not sure why they were laughing. She had been crowned prom queen just a few months ago at school. She was gorgeous. What man could resist her?
Wanda tried to strike some provocative poses, but the first few men walked right past her without taking the bait. She huffed a little, hating being wrong more than the lack of attention.
“You need a makeover, sweetheart,” one of the women said. “Come with me.” Wanda followed the woman through an alley, to a creaky looking shed half buried in snow.
“I’m not sure about this...” Wanda began, hesitating.
“I’ll give you some whiskey for the pain,” the woman said with a gnarled smile.
“Oh, ok then,” Wanda said cheerfully, unable to refuse a free drink from a stranger. She never thought to ask what ‘the pain’ might be. She walked into the shed, a big grin on her face.
Before Wanda knew what was happening, hands were grabbing at her in the darkness. She could feel her arms and legs forced into stirrups.
“Hey - you promised booze!” Wanda shouted, concern for her safety absent from her mind.
“You’ll get it,” the gypsy woman said, and Wanda felt a funnel being forced into her mouth. The sweet taste of whiskey filled her cheeks before long, and Wanda felt her body start to relax and her vision start to blur. Whatever was going to happen, she felt confident it was for the best.
A few hours later, Wanda felt herself roused from her slumber by a hard slap on her chubby cheek. A mirror was being thrust in front of her face, and Wanda got to see the effects of her “makeover.”
Each ear now had six bolts in it, in addition to a piercing on her eyebrow and through the septum of her nose, like a pig. Her shoulders now had a tattoo of a skull, with snakes slithering out of the eye sockets.
“Not bad,” she said, apparently to the surprise of the gypsies. “You guys should start your own beauty salon.” Wanda looked out towards the street, and saw a man with a plane ticket sticking out of his front jacket pocket.
“Hey!” she shouted at him. When she didn’t turn, she grabbed his hand and pulled in towards the group. He started to protest, but as he did so, Wanda reached into the pocket of the gypsy ringleader who had insulted her and fished out a wad of cash.
“You get this if I can’t guess what number you’re thinking,” she said, seductively licking her lips as she did so.
“And what if you succeed?” the man said in a thick Eastern European accent.
“Take me to an airport and buy me a plane ticket home,” Wanda replied.
“Alright, I’m game,” the man said at last. “What number am I thinking?”
Wanda glanced back at the gypsies, hoping for some assistance.They shrugged, unsure of where she was going with this. The man whose money she had grabbed looked very angry.
She turned back at the traveller, weakly smiling. She thought about trying to guess the number, but there hadn’t even been a defined range given. She looked for clues, and found nothing odd except his briefcase, which had a red hammer and sickle prominently displayed.
“Sixty Nine,” she said with confidence. The man’s face blanched.
“How did you guess? Because of sex?” he replied.
“No, because that was the number years the Soviet Union existed,” she said, remembering her history classes. “I think somebody owes me a plane ticket.”
The man nodded grimly, and stroked his big, bristling beard in silence. He flagged down a cab a few minutes later. Wanda did not pay much attention to where she was going, she was just happy to head home at last. When they arrived at the gate, the traveller approached the ticket booth alone, then returned with a wide grin.
“Two checked in for arrival in Moscow,” he said.
“Moscow?” She said. “I asked for a ticket home!”
“That’s where we are going - my home,” he said. “Are you coming or not?”
Wanda had no choice - she was broke. And she couldn’t turn down a gift from a man this odd.
~
When they landed in Moscow, they headed for the Kremlin. In front, the traditional flag of Russia hung limply on the flagpole. Inside, though, were the red hammer and sickle flags of the USSR, along with statuettes of of Lenin and Stalin.
“Why all these Soviet-era stuff? Wasn’t communism ended in 1991?” Wanda asked.
“That’s what we wanted you to think,” the man said with a loud belly laugh. “All of Russia is as it always has been, at least on the inside.”
“If you want all this to remain secret, why show me?” Wanda asked skeptically.
“Because, we are always happy to help re-educate Westerners...”
“Re-educate? You mean brainwash?” Wanda asked eagerly.
“Well...” the man began.
“Hey, you don’t need to do that to me. I did this trip to learn about other cultures. I’m happy to absorb whatever lessons there are to learn here - no brainwashing needed!” Wanda said, snorting a little. “A secret society, a forbidden ideology, what’s not to love?”
“Well, there are protocols to follow...” The man started.
“Screw that,” she said as she pressed him up against the wall. “Tell me everything now, and I promise you’ll be satisfied with the results.”
Epilogue:
Wanda placed at call to her parents when she landed at the airport. Within a few minutes, they were there to greet her. When she walked down the escalator, they didn’t recognize her. Wanda couldn’t imagine why.
Finally at the bottom, she ran towards them and gave them a big hug. For a brief moment, they backed away, not knowing who this strange looking woman was. Hearing their daughter's voice calling out “Mom and Dad” convinced them.
Their daughter looked like entirely different person. Before, she had a been a blonde, lithe cheerleader, feminine and modest and the image of modern beauty. Now, she had pale skin, freckles, yellow crooked teeth, piercings and scary tattoos. Her body was huge, with impossibly large and sagging breasts, a large middle full of squishy looking rolls, thick, hairy thighs, and a fat jiggling behind. Her upper arms were husky and contained a massive amount of underarm hair. Her top barely fit, cutting into her lower belly, which had quite a few curly, happy trail hairs. Her dark hair hung in front of her face like greasy tentacles. Her skin was greasy too, with the freckles contending against blemishes, stretch marks, and the red marks of too-small elastic clothing digging into her fleshy form.
“You look so...different,” her mother said diplomatically.
“Nah, I wasn’t gone that long. You probably just forgot how I looked before I left,” Wanda said, her self-awareness completely gone.
“Well, your mother and I found out something great. You’re going to get a special internship with the college Republicans, helping the Romney campaign in the fall.”
“Fuck that,” Wanda said, to her parent’s shock. “I remember watching Fox News with you guys - they always called Obama a communist. If that’s true...”
“Of course it’s true. Obama is the biggest communist ever to get elected to anything,” her father fumed.
“Well, then I belong at his headquarters,” she said. “Us ‘comrades,’ got to stick together.”
“But what about his anti-Christian views, his war on religion?” her father pleaded.
“Didn’t you get the memo? God is an emotional crutch for weak minded fools - the opiate of the masses. It’s a lie sold to you so you’ll be an obedient peasant and not rebel against your capitalist overlords.”
“You used to go to church with us every Sunday,” her mother reminded her. “Are you saying that means nothing to you?”
“I spent my whole life in this small town - and then I travelled the world and grew up. What’s the big deal?” Wanda asked.
Wanda’s parents wept. How could they have been foolish enough to let their daughter go off on her own? And to Europe, no less?
“Come on, let’s go home” Wanda said. “Actually, let’s stop for some food before we get back - I’m starving.”
~~~
Wanda slowly walked past the white picket fence that boarded the perfectly manicured lawn around her family’s house. An unusually tall flagpole near the gate allowed flag to flap in the wind and be seen from three blocks down. She opened the gate and walked past the lone apple tree, and caught a whiff of a freshly baked apple pie on the windowsill. Her gait was slow and measured, as she knew this would be the last time she’d walk home for several months. To anyone watching, she was the vision of American normality: a beautiful, blonde, thin cheerleader, walking home to greet her family.
“Do you really have to go?” her father asked her later that evening as her family ate dinner.
Wanda just scoffed and rolled her eyes. The day before she left, and her father was still trying to talk her out of her trip to Europe. She had worked so hard for this - her family, not approving, had told her she would need to pay for her trip herself. She had taken a second job and had even forgone having her own car, which was a luxury that few of the popular girls like herself would have been willing to sacrifice. Yet she knew this was her last chance to do something on her own. At the end of the summer, she’d attend Notre Dame, into a major picked by her family, and living with other kids who had also grown up in conservative households, under a faculty administration famous for standing up for “traditional values.”
“Yes, I have to go,” Wanda finally answered. She had already paid for the tickets, so the decision was over. Of course, what her father really wanted to know was why she felt the need to go in the first place - though lucky for Wanda, he didn’t ask that. Answering that would have required a wordier reply.
Being popular, safe, and trying to please others had worked well for Wanda so far, yet her successes always felt hollow. How could she enjoy herself if she was just playing out a role that was orchestrated by others? She needed to experience new things and decide how she wanted to live for herself. If she decided to continue on the path her parents wanted, then so be it - but at least it would be her choice. And it wouldn’t be much of a choice if this life was all she’d ever known.
~
The next day, her parents waved goodbye as their only child left their driveway via a taxi. The dawn had just broke, and the tree cast a dark shadow on their family home. The lack of wind caused the oversized flag to hang limply. Inside the home, Wanda’s mother and father shook with fear.
“I’m so worried,” her father complained.
“She’s so young and impressionable,” her mother chimed in.
“Who knows what could happen to her over there?” her father asked, and looked towards the heavens.
Chapter One:
Wanda’s plane was delayed by the weather, and then by mechanical difficulties, but after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, she was finally ready to board. Before she did, she got a text message from her father, letting her know there was still time to come back home. Wanda’s reply was to shut the phone off.
When the called out the numbers, Wanda eventually realized she was in the plane’s last row. When she reached it, there were already three people sitting in four of the seats. A large looking, middle aged black woman in traditional African clothing sat on the seat near the aisle. Next to her was a spindly, older gentleman whom Wanda suspected was albino, but as he was bald she couldn’t prove it. To his right was an empty seat that Wanda presumed was hers, and finally beyond that, a teenaged black girl with cornrows in her hair was curled up sleeping in the window seat.
“Is Dublin your final destination?” The spindly man asked Wanda as she squeezed past the large woman in aisle seat and sat down.
“Yes for this flight, but I’m going to visit other countries soon,” Wanda answered.
“Ah, trying to see the world?” the man asked, his eyes lighting up. Wanda nodded in response. “I can’t think of anything more exciting. You know,” he said and paused, “Twenty five years ago I wanted to travel the globe. Where are you headed?”
“Uh...A survey of Europe?” Wanda replied, wanting to be friendly enough to avoid appearing rude but not wanting to encourage conversation with the strange looking man.
“Europe - it’s wild. But not wild enough for me in my youth. I wanted to visit every country on Earth at one point. But I stopped when I hit Chad, and found my wife,” he said, gesturing to the woman to his left. She leaned in a little and waved in Wanda’s direction, wearing smile on her face that seemed to suggest she had heard this story many times before. “That’s where we are going, actually - it’s a connecting flight from Dublin to Paris, and then on to N'Djamena. We go once a year to visit Nadia’s family.”
“That’s nice,” Wanda said, resigning herself to the fact that she was in for hours of conversation with this man. The hours did go by, but as they did, Wanda felt herself slowly opening up to him. She told him about her situation, why she had arranged her trip, and how she hoped to discover something about herself on it.
“Quite a task,” the man said, “I doubt you can accomplish something so big in just a few weeks...”
“Well, I’ll have to,” Wanda said. “I saved up the money for this trip myself, and that’s all I can afford.”
“Oh dear,” the man said, sighing. “That won’t do, that won’t do at all.” The man nervously chewed on his thin lower lip as he murmured to himself. He cast a sideways glance at his wife, who was so sound asleep she was snoring.
“Tell you what. I’ve got some extra traveller’s checks that I can sign over to you,” he said. “Let me see...how would an extra five thousand dollars sound?”
“Sir, I can’t possibly accept a gift like that from a total stranger,” Wanda protested.
“Sure you can,” the man said, interrupting. “But it’s not exactly a gift. I’d like something in return,” he said, a glint in his eye.
The little blonde hairs on the back of Wanda’s neck suddenly stood on end. Was this creep about to proposition her?
He leaned in close and whispered: “My daughter, over there, she’s very shy. She’s been pretending to sleep for hours. But I’ve noticed her looking you up and down like a starving cat eying a field mouse. Why don’t you lean over and give her a kiss?”
Wanda froze, sure that she hadn’t heard right. “What?” she asked incredulously.
“You heard me, give my daughter a smooch and I’ll give you the five grand,” he replied.
Wanda’s head spun - this was against everything she had ever been taught. The lesbian factor, of course, was the most pressing concern, but there was many other conservative reasons to shiver at the idea. It seemed slutty, silly, and even smacked a bit of prostitution. The interracial element was just dark chocolate icing on the cake. She could practically see her father having a stroke.
And yet...her father wasn’t there, was he? He never needed to know. There was something utilitarian about the deal that appealed to her greatly. A few moments of ick for five thousand dollars? She was willing to go through hundreds of hours of “ick” at her fast food job for around the same chunk of change, wasn’t sure?
“Let me see the money,” she said, breathing heavy. The man produced it from a thin, black briefcase he had stowed under his seat. She knew on some level this was wrong, but she felt compelled to find out why. Logically, there was no consequences - so why not double the length of her trip? She could see the lights of Paris as she felt her mind make itself up. She silently nodded at the man, and turned to her right to face his daughter.
The girl looked about her age - and contrary to what her father had said, did indeed appear to be sleeping genuinely. Her skin looked incredibly smooth, and was an even, warm brown. Her lips were quite large, so big that she could barely close her mouth all the way.
Though her parents had forbidden her to date, Wanda had experienced a kiss before. After a football game, she had closed her eyes and let the team’s quarterback give her an awkward moment. This felt different, though. He had initiated - he was in control. She had just stood there and accepted what he gave her, which admittedly wasn't much. Now here she was, ready to kiss someone - a girl no less - who might be asleep.
She thought about turning and and telling the man the deal was off, but thought it might be too embarrassing. With a deep breath, she leaned in and planted her lips on the other girl.
At first, nothing happened, but then the girl started to kiss back. Wanda could feel the girl’s tongue enter her mouth - she had a stud. Without thinking, Wanda dragged her hand over the girl’s cornrow hair and down her smooth, dimpled cheek. Her large lips were amazing, far better for kissing than that gritty football player. Just as she felt herself almost completely get lost in the kiss, it ended.
Wanda, trembling, stared down at her feet. Her cheeks burned with a mixture of shame and excitement over what she had done. After a long time, she turned around and looked at her kissing partner again, and stared deeply into her dark brown eyes. She offered Wanda her hand, and she took it and squeezed it hard. She lay her head on the girl’s athletic looking shoulder and let out a long sigh.
“You’re going to have a fun trip,” the girl said. “I can tell.” The girl reached behind her neck with both hands, causing her chest to rise provocatively for a moment. “Here,” she said as she unclasped a necklace and handed it to Wanda, “take this. It was made by my Grandmother.”
The necklace had some rock beads and a black pendant in the middle, shaped like a crescent moon. Wanda was about to refuse it, but somehow she knew her refusal would not be accepted.
“Your family is most generous,” Wanda said at last as she took the necklace.
“Wear it with pride,” she began, “May it always allow you to accurately represent your choices,” she added cryptically.
“I will,” said Wanda as she clasped it behind her neck.
~
When Wanda’s plane landed in Dublin, she wasn’t sure exactly where she would be headed. She had made reservations at a hotel, but the exploration of the culture itself was a priority, even if she wasn’t sure how she was going to do it.
Of course, with that kind of ambiguity to her aims, it wasn’t long at all before she found herself in an Irish pub. Her parents had strongly discouraged her from drinking and spending time in bars, but the drinking age was 18 in Ireland - so no harm done, right?
Wanda was the walking definition of beauty in American mainstream society - long, platinum blonde hair, flawless tan complexion, diamond shaped face, and of course, a tall, thin frame. As a cheerleader and a beautiful woman, she had grown used to excessive attention from men. From the moment she walked into the pub, she started to get familiar hoots and hollers, though hearing them in an Irish brogue made them sound funnier. Wanda didn’t get the chance to make it towards the bar before someone ordered her a pint.
When she shared the story of what had happened to her on the plane, Wanda received even more cheers. She hesitated before drinking the beer, wondering if she ought to get drunk after getting so much male attention. Then she thought about how she had been so spontaneous just a few hours earlier - wasn’t that the point of her trip? It was too late to back out now.
Wanda chugged the beer, coughing and spilling a little as she did. It tasted sour and bitter at first, but got a little sweeter with each sip. As she slammed the mug down on the bar to another cheer from the crowd, she noticed her skin looked a little different than usual - it seemed just a tad lighter. It was probably just a trick of the light, she decided.
Her mug was quickly refilled, and just as quickly she was lifting it over her head and pouring it down her throat. Lots of it splashed against her face, sending beer across her cheeks, hair, and drizzling down her neck and chest. She could feel a pair of hands reach towards that area and start to grope her. Wanda considered swatting them away, but she was using both hands to drink the beer. It tasted so sweet now, almost like liquid honey - she didn’t want to stop now. She let the hands feel her up as she drank the brew down. When the mug was empty, she shook it over her head, sending a few errant drops and wisps of foam onto her face.
Finally, Wanda turned and faced the man whose hands were all over her - the bartender. In a moment of drunken inspiration, she leaned in close and shouted “I can’t let you have all the fun, can I?” as she reached towards his crotch.
Wanda never thought she’d hear a bar cheer so loud. But as she leaned close, she noticed her hair bunching up a little near her shoulders. It seemed frizzy - not like her usual, naturally straight and slightly wavy locks. What’s more, the color seemed off.
“Damn light,” she said, her words slurring slightly. She staggered towards the restroom, and was shocked at what she saw. Her tan, even complexion was gone, replaced with incredibly pale skin, framed by a shock of frizzy, red hair. Her cheeks were covered in light freckles - they even reached her neck and bust.
“I look Irish,” she said, realizing what was happening at last. As she stared down at her freckled boobs, she took notice of the the little crescent medallion she had received on the airplane. As she held it in her hand, she tried to remember why she had it. What had that girl had said? Thanks to the alcohol, she couldn’t remember. With a drunken waltz, made her way out of the bar and into a taxi, hoping that after sleeping this off in her hotel, everything would be fine.
Chapter Two:
The next few days were a blur for Wanda. She drank as much beer as any of the other barflies, bumming free drinks in exchange for letting guys cop a feel when she was really wasted. She experienced her first real moment of sobriety in the country when she was taking the cab ride back to the airport. What had she done, she wondered, as she looked down at her new, paler skinned body. Her usually flat tummy was starting to poof out a little, as if she was growing a little beer belly.
London was her next stop, and it wasn’t long at all before Wanda found herself at a British Pub. Thanks to her experiences in Ireland, she wanted to limit her drinking as much as possible, but found it hard to resist. This time, she decided, she’d at least balance out her consumption of the local booze with some of the local food, and ordered a plate of fish & chips. A few minutes later, a bubbling, sizzling, greasy mess was brought over to her.
Within a few moments, she was ravenously eating up the crunchy, salty slop - it was fantastic! She couldn’t get enough of it, and started shoving it down her gullet with both hands. Grease smeared her freckled cheeks as Wanda ravenously pawed at the plate and scarfed down her meal.
“Tourist, eh?” A short, stout little man from the end of the bar said as he saw Wanda order seconds.
“What?” Wanda asked, her mouth full of greasy food.
“I merely remarked that you’re a tourist,” the man stated. “Nobody else could enjoy English food that much.”
“I’m doing a trip through Europe,” Wanda explained, as the began her second helping of fried food.
“Well, I’ve got a cottage in Madrid,” he cooed in his cockney accent. I’d be happy to let you stay in it for a few days.” He smiled at her for a moment, his crooked, yellow, British looking bad teeth flashing at her. “There’s just one catch.”
“Of course,” Wanda said as she slugged down a warm English beer and felt the warm glow of inebriation wash over her. She leaned in close to the man, wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, and dug her fingernails in a little as she tugged his face towards hers. She pressed her lips up against his until they parted, then penetrated his tongue with her mouth. She gave his lower lip a parting bite as their faces separated.
“What’s wrong?” Wanda asked. “Did you want me to make out with your son or daughter instead or something?”
“Dear me,” he said, “no, of course not. I was only going to ask you to please look after my plants, but that was much better. What are you doing later?”
Wanda’s eyes locked upon the man’s for a few long, silent seconds. “Flying to Madrid,” she said at last. “Thanks for letting me use your place.”
~
Wanda stayed a few days in hostels around London after that, trying Bangers & Mash, clotted cream, and other local favorites. The food left her skin feeling greasy, and her body feeling bloated. Worse still, even her teeth looked different - they seemed more yellow and out of place than she had remembered. Yet again, Wanda felt as if she was starting to fit in too well - her trip to Madrid couldn’t come soon enough.
When she arrived at the cottage just outside the city limits, she found it adjoined another unit. In front of the adjoining door, there was a tower of pizza boxes, tin foil wrappers, and bags of garbage as high as a tent. When Wanda entered her side of the building, she found that the inner door which was supposed to separate the two units had busted off of its hinges. As she peered at the gaping gate in the room, she realized that the contrast could hardly have been greater.
To her left, her unit was sparse, a little dusty, and unlived in. Furniture was covered in plastic, the plants were long dead, and a fant mustiness hung in the air. To her right, the busted door gave her a peek of the other unit. Clothes were strewn about everywhere, and the air was alive with the aroma of food on the stove.
“Hello?” a voice called out from the other unit. Wanda walked through the broken door and saw a room consumed with misplaced items and clutter. Articles of clothing were strewn everywhere. Boxes of junk were stacked on top of boxes of even more junk.
In the center of the room, on top of a massive, overstuffed lazyboy style chair, sat a young woman. She wasn’t huge, but she was wearing a tank top that was a couple of sizes too small, accentuating the curves of her chubby figure. Her belly peeked out from the bottom and spilled over her shorts, while her plunging cleavage was revealed up top. Her mousy dark hair was messy, like she hadn’t bothered combing it.
“Hi there,” the woman replied.
“You speak English?” Wanda asked, surprised.
“Of course. Everyone in Europe speaks English,” the woman replied with a laugh.
“Everyone?” Wanda replied incredulously.
“Yeah - we only pretend to speak other languages as a big practical joke on you Americans,” she said with a snort and a giggle. “I’m Josefina, by the way.”
“I’m Wanda, great to meet you,” Wanda said.
“Sorry the place is just a mess,” Josefina replied. “I just never seem to have the motivation to pick things up.”
“If you want to keep mental discipline, just keep your goals in mind,” Wanda said.
“I read somewhere that goals are a form of self inflicted slavery,” Josefina said with a yawn.
“I never looked at it that way,” Wanda said, scratching her head.
“I say you’re better off just doing what feels appropriate at the moment. If you condition yourself to do the boring chores first, you might never get to what you want to do,” Josefina replied.
“I never really think about what I want to do, at least before I took this trip,” Josefina confessed.
“Well, there you go. You’ve earned some relaxation time,” the Spaniard replied. “I have another chair in the garage. We can sit and watch TV together.”
For the next several days, Wanda did just that. She lay back in the comfy seat and watched TV with her new friend, pausing only to get up and help cook up more snacks. Josefina showed Wanda how to make something called paella, which turned out to be a delicious and hearty Spanish gumbo. By the end of the visit, Wanda didn’t want to push herself to achieve. She felt content simply sitting in her reclining chair, eating tasty foods, and relaxing. The Spanish TV shows weren’t particularly entertaining, but the concept of napping in the middle of the day, relaxing, and generally being lazy was intoxicating.
When the time finally came to go, Wanda’s clothes felt a little tighter and more restrictive. Like Josefina, they now seemed to cut into her flesh and expose more of her rapidly expanding figure.
“Don’t forget to write,” Josefina said as Wanda departed.
“I won’t forget,” Wanda replied, “but I might feel too lazy to actually put the pen to paper,” she added.
“I have taught you well,” Josefina said, her apple shaped cheeks dimpled in a wide grin.
Chapter Three:
Next stop on Wanda’s list was Italy. On the plane, she heard an announcement that Rome would be having a pasta eating contest. Who could pass on that, Wanda thought to herself as she licked her lips in anticipation.
The contest was held in the old Coliseum, a throwback to the old gladiator days. Hundreds of hefty looking Italians stood in rows, while a giant black cauldron the size of a small house cooked spaghetti. A ladder led up its side, and a short, gray haired woman with a large nose stirred the noodles and sauce with a massive wooden spoon.
Wanda took her place at the end of the one of the massive table rows, next to a mountain of a woman wearing a black puffy dress.
The woman looked Wanda up and down with a disapproving sneer. “What’s a slight little thing like you doing at a contest like this?” she asked in a thick Italian accent.
“Um, what do you mean?” Wanda asked as she looked down at her bloated body. “I’ve never been this heavy in my whole life,” she said, lamenting the pounds the trip had added to her formerly slender frame.
“That may be, but you’re a toothpick here,” the woman replied. “Even if you win the contest, how could you ever be accepted as a champion looking like that?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it like that,” Wanda said. “I just thought it would be fun to eat some tasty food. I’d love to fit right in with everyone.”
“You would, huh...” the woman said, her voice trailing off. “Tell you what, forget what I said. I’m sure everyone would love you if you won the contest.”
“Really?” Wanda asked, her eyes lighting up.
“Of course. Now get ready, the contest is about to start.”
With a loud yell of “Manja,” the feast had begun. The pasta was delicious but Wanda didn’t shovel it down quickly - she knew she was in this for the long haul and wanted to pace herself. As the minutes passed, a few of the contestants rose from their tables and left, their bellies distended and their faces smeared in red sauce.
As the remaining contestants dwindled, Wanda began to notice a few patterns about her competitors. For one, more of the men had given up than the women. Italian women certainly looked nothing like her - most of them had dark hair, and large breasts. Wanda had always had a slim and modest figure. The trip’s binging had caused her to become a little puffier but had hardly changed her overall body shape.
Manners seemed to have a different definition here, Wanda noticed. The women didn’t seem to have a problem belching as loud as the men, or wiping their face on their sleeve if a napkin wasn’t handy. A few of them even raised their large bowls of pasta up to their faces and just slupred it down without a fork. As they lifted their arms high, Wanda could see a fair amount of underarm hair.
“How European,” she thought as the kept working on her noodles. Wanting to fit in with her fellow guests, she tried to belch and sleeve wipe as well, though she barely managed a squeak and her sleeves were far too short to provide much help.
After a few more bites, Wanda’s stomach started to protest. Painful gurgling sliced into her side, and she started to breathe heavy. A quick glance around revealed only a handful of other guests, all of them women, were still eating.
The large woman seated immediately to her left had stopped a few moments earlier, and seemed increasingly concerned by Wanda’s slowdown. One of the contest monitors came by and refilled her massive bowl with more pasta, and Wanda merely shook her head.
“You can’t quit now, you’ve come so close,” she urged.
“I’m full. Do you want my stomach to burst?” Wanda complained.
“I’ve got something that will help,” the woman suggested. “I bought a block of homemade Parmesan cheese,” she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a yellow cheese brick and a cheese grater.
“How is more food going to help me?” Wanda protested, but the woman was already at work grating cheese over her plate.
“It’s not against the rules,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Now, eat up.”
“No,” Wanda protested. “My stomach is hurting more and more. I honestly couldn’t have another bite.”
The woman grabbed the back of Wanda’s head and pushed her face down into the bowl of pasta. Wanda’s first inclination was to be angry, but she for some reason all she could do was smile.
Wanda didn’t want to eat anymore - she was certain of that. Her face could be pressed into spaghetti, but she couldn’t be forced to eat it.
Still, the pungent aroma of the cheese sent a tingle her nose. In spite of herself, she could feel her stomach start to growl with hunger again. She felt the hand of the woman sitting next to her let go of her neck - she knew she could take her face away anytime she wanted. Instead, though, she decided to nuzzle her face into the noodles and take a little nibble. She just had to know what it tasted like.
The cheese was sweet, salty, and tangy all at once. Wanda eagerly started chewing, and she felt the full sensation in her gut melt away. She lifted the bowl high above her head and shook it, eagerly trying to push as much food down her gullet as fast as possible.
As the cheese covered noodles slithered down her throat and into her overstuffed tummy, it expanded. Before she had arrived in Rome, Wanda’s abs were softer looking than they used to be. After downing five bowls of pasta, her stomach was sticking out even farther. Now, it was turning into a full blown pot belly. It was a large, smooth curve, like a pregnant woman’s, but much softer looking. It rose and fell with each deep breath, and it grew a little larger with each swallow. Wanda’s upper arms, holding the bowl above her head, began to look meatier and bigger. Her breasts grew into a pair of authentic Italian knockers, sticking out so far in front of her that a few stray bits of cheese fell down on them, along with a small dollop of sauce. Wanda’s reddish hair darkened into a deep black shade, and little hairs started to sprout under arms. Before long, she had a veritable forest of dark, curly hairs fanning out from each underarm. A couple of stray hairs even erupted around her areolas. Under her panties, which were strained from the widening of her thighs and hips, her pubic hair was coming in much thicker and darker. The bottom part of her tummy started to sprout some hair a well, giving her a bit of a happy trail. Even the tops of her toes started to get some dark hair.
As Wanda chowed down, the woman sitting next to her and several of other withdrawn contestants started to cheer. A short woman rushed over to Wanda to place the crown on her head, and she was told she had won.
None of that mattered to Wanda - all she wanted was more.
“Where’s my next helping?” Wanda demanded.
“There isn’t anymore, you just ate the last of it,” was the faint reply.
“It was so good! I have to have more,” Wanda said. She looked to her left and spotted the block of cheese.
“Give me that,” she demanded, and grabbed it before anyone could say anything.
“Woah there, be careful with that,” was all the woman could say, but Wanda was already gnawing on the cheese like a hungry rat. It was so salty that she could feel tears running down her cheeks, but it tasted so good she couldn’t stop chewing.
Wanda’s breasts continued to swell, reaching colossal proportions, sagging down to her large belly in the process.. Her shoulders and upper arms became incredibly beefy, and the hair around her arms and genitals grew darker, thicker, and longer. Her skin became softer and greasier, and even her back started to get love handles. Dark little hairs, thick and strong enough to be immune to any razor, grew in around her upper thighs.
When at last she finally stood up, having eaten every last bite, she was a hairy, jiggling, cheese and sauce covered hunk of softness - almost a human Ravioli. She received applause, and many lustful looks from some of the male contestants she had out-eaten.
Wanda felt different, that was to be sure. But what was more important to her was that she felt full, a feeling she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years. She decided right then and there to let herself feel that way from now on, regardless of the consequences.
Chapter Four:
After a few days eating herself into a food coma passing through different restaurants in Rome, Wanda awoke to a knock on the door - she was being kicked out of her hostel. Her credit card was declined, and she had already used almost all of her traveler’s checks. The manager started shouting that he was going to call the police, so she ran as fast as her jiggly legs would carry her.
Wanda made her way to a train station, but getting to the airport was hopeless - she didn’t have enough left to get her back to the United States. It was an unusual situation for her, as she had always planned everything meticulously. This trip had been planned for months to the smallest detail, yet now she had no idea how she was going to get back home.
Eager to at least continue the trip, even if she couldn’t afford to end it, Wanda asked the young man at the booth if there were any special discounts going anywhere. He replied that there was a special on train tickets to Romania, but upon inspection of her traveller’s checks, said that she was short by about a hundred Euros.
“What if I show you my tits?” Wanda asked. “I know you’ve been staring at them.”
“I...uh...” the man stammered, but his eyes were on her chest.
“Here, take a look,” she said, and pulled down her far too small top, letting her breasts drop free. They bulged out, two giant white balloons with blue veins, freckles, and stretch marks They were sagging down somewhat and with a couple of curly hairs right next to the nipples. As she wriggled her chest, two plumes of dark hair were exposed under her husky upper arms.
“Give me the ticket,” she said as she struggled to place her breasts back in her small bra and top, the man’s jaw agape. He complied, though he did take the rest of her traveler’s checks, too. She was officially destitute.
The train to Romania was long and gave Wanda time to ponder how she would return home. She thought about what she had learned, up until this point - always trust mysterious strangers, for they come bearing gifts. Enjoy a good drink in a bar and relax when the opportunity is presented to you. Sloth and gluttony are virtues, not sins. Sadly, there were no mysterious strangers on the train bearing gifts - she had accost quite a few strangers just to make sure. She tried to think of a way to eat or drink her way out of her problem, but felt too lazy to ponder it all the way through, instead opting to watch TV in her cabin.
When she arrived in Galati, she was hit with a wave of punishing humidity and grimy smog. Despite this, she felt instinctively drawn to the shady part of town, feeling like it was her best chance to find a way out. She noticed a handful of people dressed in garish costumes playing a game on the street. A ball was being passed under a cup, and tourists were trying to guess which cup it was under. It looked obvious enough, but the tourists lost every time. Within a few minutes, hundreds of Euros had changed hands.
“Hey, I want in on this,” Wanda said as she waddled closer to the crowd of gypsies.
“What, are you going to reel in our targets with your staggering good looks?” One of the men asked, as his friends started to cackle.
“Of course I am,” Wanda said, not sure why they were laughing. She had been crowned prom queen just a few months ago at school. She was gorgeous. What man could resist her?
Wanda tried to strike some provocative poses, but the first few men walked right past her without taking the bait. She huffed a little, hating being wrong more than the lack of attention.
“You need a makeover, sweetheart,” one of the women said. “Come with me.” Wanda followed the woman through an alley, to a creaky looking shed half buried in snow.
“I’m not sure about this...” Wanda began, hesitating.
“I’ll give you some whiskey for the pain,” the woman said with a gnarled smile.
“Oh, ok then,” Wanda said cheerfully, unable to refuse a free drink from a stranger. She never thought to ask what ‘the pain’ might be. She walked into the shed, a big grin on her face.
Before Wanda knew what was happening, hands were grabbing at her in the darkness. She could feel her arms and legs forced into stirrups.
“Hey - you promised booze!” Wanda shouted, concern for her safety absent from her mind.
“You’ll get it,” the gypsy woman said, and Wanda felt a funnel being forced into her mouth. The sweet taste of whiskey filled her cheeks before long, and Wanda felt her body start to relax and her vision start to blur. Whatever was going to happen, she felt confident it was for the best.
A few hours later, Wanda felt herself roused from her slumber by a hard slap on her chubby cheek. A mirror was being thrust in front of her face, and Wanda got to see the effects of her “makeover.”
Each ear now had six bolts in it, in addition to a piercing on her eyebrow and through the septum of her nose, like a pig. Her shoulders now had a tattoo of a skull, with snakes slithering out of the eye sockets.
“Not bad,” she said, apparently to the surprise of the gypsies. “You guys should start your own beauty salon.” Wanda looked out towards the street, and saw a man with a plane ticket sticking out of his front jacket pocket.
“Hey!” she shouted at him. When she didn’t turn, she grabbed his hand and pulled in towards the group. He started to protest, but as he did so, Wanda reached into the pocket of the gypsy ringleader who had insulted her and fished out a wad of cash.
“You get this if I can’t guess what number you’re thinking,” she said, seductively licking her lips as she did so.
“And what if you succeed?” the man said in a thick Eastern European accent.
“Take me to an airport and buy me a plane ticket home,” Wanda replied.
“Alright, I’m game,” the man said at last. “What number am I thinking?”
Wanda glanced back at the gypsies, hoping for some assistance.They shrugged, unsure of where she was going with this. The man whose money she had grabbed looked very angry.
She turned back at the traveller, weakly smiling. She thought about trying to guess the number, but there hadn’t even been a defined range given. She looked for clues, and found nothing odd except his briefcase, which had a red hammer and sickle prominently displayed.
“Sixty Nine,” she said with confidence. The man’s face blanched.
“How did you guess? Because of sex?” he replied.
“No, because that was the number years the Soviet Union existed,” she said, remembering her history classes. “I think somebody owes me a plane ticket.”
The man nodded grimly, and stroked his big, bristling beard in silence. He flagged down a cab a few minutes later. Wanda did not pay much attention to where she was going, she was just happy to head home at last. When they arrived at the gate, the traveller approached the ticket booth alone, then returned with a wide grin.
“Two checked in for arrival in Moscow,” he said.
“Moscow?” She said. “I asked for a ticket home!”
“That’s where we are going - my home,” he said. “Are you coming or not?”
Wanda had no choice - she was broke. And she couldn’t turn down a gift from a man this odd.
~
When they landed in Moscow, they headed for the Kremlin. In front, the traditional flag of Russia hung limply on the flagpole. Inside, though, were the red hammer and sickle flags of the USSR, along with statuettes of of Lenin and Stalin.
“Why all these Soviet-era stuff? Wasn’t communism ended in 1991?” Wanda asked.
“That’s what we wanted you to think,” the man said with a loud belly laugh. “All of Russia is as it always has been, at least on the inside.”
“If you want all this to remain secret, why show me?” Wanda asked skeptically.
“Because, we are always happy to help re-educate Westerners...”
“Re-educate? You mean brainwash?” Wanda asked eagerly.
“Well...” the man began.
“Hey, you don’t need to do that to me. I did this trip to learn about other cultures. I’m happy to absorb whatever lessons there are to learn here - no brainwashing needed!” Wanda said, snorting a little. “A secret society, a forbidden ideology, what’s not to love?”
“Well, there are protocols to follow...” The man started.
“Screw that,” she said as she pressed him up against the wall. “Tell me everything now, and I promise you’ll be satisfied with the results.”
Epilogue:
Wanda placed at call to her parents when she landed at the airport. Within a few minutes, they were there to greet her. When she walked down the escalator, they didn’t recognize her. Wanda couldn’t imagine why.
Finally at the bottom, she ran towards them and gave them a big hug. For a brief moment, they backed away, not knowing who this strange looking woman was. Hearing their daughter's voice calling out “Mom and Dad” convinced them.
Their daughter looked like entirely different person. Before, she had a been a blonde, lithe cheerleader, feminine and modest and the image of modern beauty. Now, she had pale skin, freckles, yellow crooked teeth, piercings and scary tattoos. Her body was huge, with impossibly large and sagging breasts, a large middle full of squishy looking rolls, thick, hairy thighs, and a fat jiggling behind. Her upper arms were husky and contained a massive amount of underarm hair. Her top barely fit, cutting into her lower belly, which had quite a few curly, happy trail hairs. Her dark hair hung in front of her face like greasy tentacles. Her skin was greasy too, with the freckles contending against blemishes, stretch marks, and the red marks of too-small elastic clothing digging into her fleshy form.
“You look so...different,” her mother said diplomatically.
“Nah, I wasn’t gone that long. You probably just forgot how I looked before I left,” Wanda said, her self-awareness completely gone.
“Well, your mother and I found out something great. You’re going to get a special internship with the college Republicans, helping the Romney campaign in the fall.”
“Fuck that,” Wanda said, to her parent’s shock. “I remember watching Fox News with you guys - they always called Obama a communist. If that’s true...”
“Of course it’s true. Obama is the biggest communist ever to get elected to anything,” her father fumed.
“Well, then I belong at his headquarters,” she said. “Us ‘comrades,’ got to stick together.”
“But what about his anti-Christian views, his war on religion?” her father pleaded.
“Didn’t you get the memo? God is an emotional crutch for weak minded fools - the opiate of the masses. It’s a lie sold to you so you’ll be an obedient peasant and not rebel against your capitalist overlords.”
“You used to go to church with us every Sunday,” her mother reminded her. “Are you saying that means nothing to you?”
“I spent my whole life in this small town - and then I travelled the world and grew up. What’s the big deal?” Wanda asked.
Wanda’s parents wept. How could they have been foolish enough to let their daughter go off on her own? And to Europe, no less?
“Come on, let’s go home” Wanda said. “Actually, let’s stop for some food before we get back - I’m starving.”
~~~