Research Journal Entry #1471: Human Petrifaction
As noted in the previous entries, my recent DNA mapping experiments accidentally have resulted in isolating a compound with the property of triggering a recombinant catalysis which produces a metallic substance as a by-product that ossifies or "marbleizes" living tissues for approximately twenty-four hours. This remarkable effect, utterly unexpected, may ultimately be of immeasurable value in the areas of medical anesthesia, bodily protection, undersea or space exploration as well as other yet-undreamed-of applications.
To further my research, I have prepared modifications to the critical mixture with the goal of further examining the effects of the enigmatic paralyzing and petrifying process, what I have now named my Suspended Animation Solution from Stoichiologicated Yttrium (or SASSY.)
Four variants, in liquid form, now exist: The first vial, labeled ‘instant stone’, will merge extremely quickly with the subject’s digestive physiology, enacting total hardening in mere seconds! The second is a slight stoichiological variant, which I have nicknamed ‘instant stone after exactly one hour’, has the same rapid marbleizing impact, however the inception of ossification occurs after an initial sixty-minute time delay. My third vial of purple fluid was yet another time-shift of the chemical reaction; the onset of immobility happens almost immediately after its ingestion, allowing a subject to be posed into any attitude or orientation in the subsequent two minutes, after which total petrifaction ensues swiftly and assuredly. A fourth SASSY formula interferes with subject’s hormonal equilibrium to create an ineluctable estrogen (or testosterone) imbalance closely resembling clinical nymphomania for a few minutes prior to complete petrifaction.
After successfully completing animal trials, I have decided to gauge SASSY’s effect on human subjects. However, obtaining a statistically significant quantity of student volunteers has proven to be difficult, despite the offer of significant remuneration following one unfortunate incident. After receiving notice of University Research Council denial for further lab testing of SASSY, I felt I had no choice but to take matters into my own hands. . .
[Editor’s Note: At this point, several handwritten pages have been stapled into the laboratory notebook. What follows is an attempt at transcription of this supplemental record]
A. “The Motley Crew"
Cruising the local nightclub scene, I attempted to obtain several volunteers for the next logical project stage: continued human testing of my invention. Late one night - right before closing time at O'Casey's bar on Trinity Street - I seemed to have attracted my first potential laboratory subject.
Her name was Christina, a statuesque raven-haired beauty of Mexican-Amercian descent with a bronze complexion, a trim athletic figure, and possibly the most gorgeous gams I had ever seen. Her face was oval and large-eyed, with a mouth that some might claim was overlarge but that I found enchanting, especially when she smiled, which was often. She knew she was hot; her short clingy dress was cut low enough to show her ample cleavage and she perched atop high-heeled sandals that made her already amazing tanned muscular legs seem almost endless.. Judging from the twinkle in her golden-flecked hazel eyes and flushed glow of her pretty features, my display of four purple vials (with an adjustable sprayer-applicator atop each one) had apparently coaxed and lured her towards joining my collection of human living statues. Now, I freely admit that the thought of her trim athletic figure becoming solidified into inert marble - frozen and helpless against 'purely scientific' examination for a full twenty four hours - was more than a little bit alluring to me. But there were obstacles.
Five other people occupied the bar during wee March morning hours. My small audience had been there since sunset and were well into the ‘Philosophical Phase’ of the evening. We sat at an antique 1880's solid-mahogany bar discussing and examining each of the four petrifying agents contained in my leather carrying case laying open upon the polished countertop. Needless to say, such unusual topics brought along unwanted attention. Seated on saddle-shaped barstools next to us was Christina's old college roommate (the roommate wasn’t old, but the college was; oh, you know what I mean…) along with a persistent guy trying to pick up either of the lovely duo for the evening. Christy’s ex-roomie Stephanie was a tall honey-blonde whose physique edged into the realm of overly-thin; perhaps once a candidate for attending an eating disorder clinic? Nonetheless, many guys today seemed irresistibly drawn to such gaunt supermodel-ish appearances, especially when they were augmented (as in this case quite obviously) by a decorative boob job. The push-up bra and three-buttons-open blue ruffled chemise brought to mind the word 'overkill' in Steph's case. Undeniably elegant facial features had perhaps been a bit too heavily applied with make-up this evening; yet her tipsy sorority-girl-style appearance summoned the stereotypical drunken male counterpart towards her… with annoying results. The guy who introduced himself to her as Richard was inebriated just enough to not know when to quit. His designer clothes and flashy new Saab (parked right outside the front door for all to see) had generated a modicum of interest among the pair of young ladies after he insinuated himself into our group some three-quarters of an hour earlier. Rick's swarthy good looks and trendy stubble meant absolutely nothing to me, other than causing distraction from my intentions and matters at hand. Yet as the minutes (and drinks) rolled past, a blunt personality and aggressive pickup style wore ever more thinly upon his attractive twin targets. Claiming to be Co-Captain of UT's lacrosse team momentarily brought him added consideration from sleek green-eyed Stephanie, who closely scrutinized his dark curly hair and his firm fireplug build with renewed interest. I heard her whisper to Christina, "Money and a Jock… now that's an interesting catch for the night!" Ultimately, he just came on too strong. This hormonal parry-and-thrust against mostly disinterested parties would have been mere background noise, except for his brash interjections into my conversations with the very intriguing (and mildly-intrigued) lass seated atop an adjacent barstool.
Whereas Christina expressed polite skepticism about the truthfulness of my biochemical discoveries, Rick and Stephanie were out-and-out rude. The dumb jock, particularly, tested my patience and manners time and time again. Some of these derisive remarks were no doubt fueled by an overindulgence in the establishment's wares earlier that evening; plus that the guy was obviously frustrated by my presence and its thwarting of his intentions that all feminine attention be focused upon himself. But the crass adjectives he spouted, such as "lonely egghead" and "four-eyed fossil" seemed inappropriate and uncalled-for. To make matters worse, the tall thin blonde woman appeared especially receptive to his comments, and seemed to favor this muscle-head's opinions over my own. They began to openly express their desire to depart with Christina… and without me. I saw my chances of initial impromptu empirical testing begin to slip away as a lovely young lady's gaze wavered back and forth between her friends and myself. Whereas she was as-yet-unconvinced about my potential experiments, she was now being openly discouraged by her companions. My own frustration and anger welled, rapidly turning to desperation. I had to do something, and quick. Immature visions of surreptitiously spritzing Richard's Guinness Stout with a dose of "instant stone" chemical seriously crossed my mind… solving a distracting problem solved and providing scientific proof all in one blow! Looking down at my watch, however, I knew my credibility soon would be vastly improved.
You see, at the start of my fourth Jim Beam sour (some fifty-eight minutes earlier, well before I had mustered the courage to wander up to the bar and speak to these pretty bookends), I’d made a rash decision. It probably had more than a bit to do with the exhibit of bronzed cleavage and derriere being barely being contained by our waitress' abbreviated outfit. Carmen's slinky white sleeveless top and size-too-small aqua running shorts had tantalized me ever since her first Hispanic "May I heelp vuuoo" first lofted my way. She clearly ascribed to the 'big tits for big tips' school of waitressing, and threw in a coquettish bright smile and waggling fanny for good measure.
As my painful stonewalling by the University steadily drowned in alcohol, I admit that I considered attempting to trick this curly-haired Mexican cutie into becoming my next human trial subject. Thoughts of watching her adobe-skinned calves and thighs turn to stone stretched my imagination (and other parts of the anatomy as well) to the point where I was no longer thinking with my head. So at precisely 12:05a.m., I shoved the nozzle dial on my “hour-delay” SASSY applicator to its coarsest setting and shot two full streaming bursts of my potion into my own drink! Next, I conjured up my most disgusted-disappointing face and summoned the bountiful Carmen over to complain about the bartender's improper mixing of this latest whiskey sour. My heart skipped a beat and I held my breath as the late-twenties coal-eyed knockout brought the drugged drink close to her face. Staring intently into the yellow-brown trap, she sniffed it first, bringing the rim of the glass up to her full caramel lips for a quick taste. But then Lady Luck intervened.
Noting commotion from across the room, owner-bartender Sally O'Casey shouted "Whaat's awwhll the fuss, honey?" in my direction. Just in the nick of time, the curvaceous waitress spun on her spike-heels and sauntered –drink in hand- over to the counter. My distress at coming so close to capturing this pretty guinea pig and creating a tantalizing female sculpture was softened by the Carmen's delectable departing rear view. Depositing the maligned concoction onto the countertop, the well-rounded waitress whispered my accusations into her employer's ear while shooting none-too-kind glances at me over her right shoulder. Sally, now, was something of a celebrity in town; not simply from owning one of the more popular campus watering holes. A former UT homecoming queen and Miss Texas 1982, this statuesque auburn-haired beauty had gone on to win supporting roles in several 'slasher' movies popular in her day. Never quite hitting the big-time, however, she had invested her Hollywood paychecks into the purchase of this Austin landmark, banking on quasi-fame and a dynamite appearance to bring her local acclaim and popularity. It had worked. Sally tried hard to maintain her pale-skinned, slightly freckled Irish girl natural beauty (that type always seemed to age more gracefully, anyway) in the spas and gymnasium, with considerable success. Those inevitable sags and bulges of mid-forties existence had been aggressively staved off, though just a few stray white strands intruded among her shoulder length wavy red tresses. These at the moment were mostly stuffed up underneath a full-gallon cowgirl's hat; part of a Western get-up which included spurred boots, buckskin chaps and vest intended to cater more effectively to her rowdy clientele. Now at that very moment, twin fiery blue eyes bore straight though me, as Sally’s face reddened in anger at my insult to her mixological skills. With an annoyed defense of whisky-sour-creating ability (“what's to go wrong”?), she then repeatedly sampled my rejected elixir, pronouncing it a fine example of the bartender’s art. My initial disappointment turned to astonished delight upon realizing a stony time-bomb had begun to tick!
B. “Moths to a Flame"
Last call had come and gone; the clientele was thinning out, and O'Casey's proprietor and employees now wished to hasten our departure. Richard and Stephanie urged Christina to catch a ride with them in the back of his Saab, thereby leaving me and my Stoichiologicated Yttrium vials behind as a mere bizarre memory. And yet Christina hesitated. Something about her demeanor and body language suggested continued interest in my indecent proposal at some primal, psycho-physiological level. I looked at my watch. She who hesitates another few moments would be won! But could I hold onto her for that long?
A ringing cowbell drew my attention to the exotic 5'10" frame of the starlet owner as she swaggered by us behind the bar in her painted-on Wranglers and other cowgirl accoutrements. "This har saloon be closin' young ladies and fellers… you too, Mr. Perfessor. Ox, show these fine people to the door, would y’all? I'd suuur 'preciate that", Sally commanded to her bouncer at the exit. Never was a character more properly nick-named. Considerably taller than my own 6'4" frame and easily 95 pounds heavier, this escapee from a Harley Davidson rally
(a pony-tailed wall of flab and muscle complete with grizzly goatee, logo’ed black leather, body piercings and arm tattoos!) lumbered menacingly in our general direction. His greasy thinly-veiled sadistic leer portrayed several blackened and decaying teeth. My entire body shivered in its anticipation of incipient sharp pain should I persist with my alcohol acquisition attempts.
But then Ox’s intimidating gaze shifted (as did everyone else’s) to witness a most remarkable sight. Maybe Ms. O’Casey had partaken more than my glass of her own inventory this evening, but -whatever the reason- she now lapsed into maudlin theatrics which would haunt her for some significant time to come. With knees bent and legs spread wide, the former pageant winner assumed an Umpire’s stance while gazing in my direction. Using a booming false baritone, she pointed straight at me and exclaimed, “Send MY drinks back as no good, will ya?!?… Professor, Yoou’re OOOUUTAH HEEEERE!!”, sideways leaning and jerking her thumb up-and-back into a classical baseball umpire’s gesture. Suddenly seeming to pause, in this pose she remained.
Shrill crackling noises permeated the late-night silence of the empty bar, unexpected audible evidence of a transformation initially hidden from view beneath her cowgirl boots and tight blue jeans. Yet once the stoning effect reached high enough on Sally’s frozen frame to be visible over the shirt’s neckline among ample cleavage, looks of sheer amazement were served up all around as her slim body petrified before their eyes. Now, each subject’s cellular structure entwines differently with the Yttrium catalyst, such that any resulting specific outcome is unpredictable until the last. In this particular case, my 60-minute-delayed SASSY solution was producing a gorgeous gesturing granite gal! Mottled pebble-gray latticework spread immediately and inexorably over her mounded upper torso, greedily engulfing the ex-starlet’s chest… then arms… then neck and head. Her features -so exquisite in smooth pink flesh- now took on an imprecise, slightly-unfinished dimensional texture. The left index finger pointed my way was the last of her to be swallowed inside the biochemical lithofying blast. Flare-bright blue eyes drained of color to become featureless gray orbs with only black pin-pricks where once were punctuating pupils. Lustrous red tresses coagulated and compressed into thickened battleship-colored rocky waves amid bizarre scrunching sounds. Then all was eerily silent and a monumental deed was done. Our vivacious bartender-owner was gone; now a mere gargoyle-esque shell of her former self stood in her place. Aghast witnesses all beheld a caught-in-mid-motion Sally statue.
Carmen and Ox were struck completely unprepared for the event, standing fully transfixed with mouths agape and eyes saucer-wide. More informed bar room occupants, however, who had just (some more nicely than others) sat through my own scientific explanations-descriptions, swung their astonished expressions back toward me. “So you really CAN turn people into stone… Holy S#@*!, Dr. Rodinsky, you’re out of your F&!%*# mind!”, blurted Stephanie, her flushed face betraying more than passing excitement.
As far as Rick was concerned, you could see the wheels turning inside his head. In retrospect, I only wish I hadn’t underestimated him quite so much. With my energies and attentions focused upon SASSY’s scientific implications -and all its potential good uses- I’d never fully thought about the tremendous power and potential for abuse that misapplication could present. If the confirmation to the tautology, “absolute power corrupts absolutely” had started to dawn in my mind while watching a maniacal smirk appear on his swarthy features, it was abruptly erased by what I noticed to my immediate right.
Lovely Christina sat upon her stool, legs uncrossed and extended wide over the bar’s foot railing near the floor. Her open-mouthed, wide-eyed gaze was likewise affixed to the brand-spanking-new statuesque masterpiece teetering in spurred boots behind the counter. And she was clearly being affected by what she saw, both visually and otherwise. Twin pronounced pointy peaks now blossomed from beneath the lacy full brassiere, faintly discernable through her white Oxford Cloth shirt. A rosy color had spread over and throughout her exposed skin, from blouse neckline to the tips of her ears. It could not be debated that this former coed was becoming extremely aroused by what she saw. The piece-de-resistance, however, rested in her hands: literally. Both of them had crept surreptitiously up underneath the hemline of her blue plaid skirt… drifting across creamy thighs toward her crotch. I could not help but emit a sharp gasp of breath as their progress pulled back more and more of her clothing in an involuntary-yet-immodest show. At that very second, Christy’s right index finger probed the interior of lacy pink panties (which now seemed to be more than a little bit moist) and…
My obvious ogling drew attention to circumstances by her old roommate and bar-hopping companion. Needless to say, Stephanie had not taken too kindly to my near-drooling stares in her friend’s untoward direction. All three of us were now red-faced (each for separate reasons), with the angry protective Steph standing with hands on her hips demanding an explanation -from both of us- with a bold facial query. I just rubbed an aching left jaw and straightened my tie as Christina smoothed down her skirt and looked at the ceiling. We all realized what this meant. It was becoming clear that each and every one of us was irresistibly attracted to SASSY's effects! The honey-blonde was first to verbalize it: “Aw, come on, Christy. You've told me all about those weird statue fantasies of yours back in college. Look at that bartender, for heaven’s sake; she’s living proof. Talk about a stiff drink!! This old guy here can really make your dreams come true. Why don’t you do as he so clearly wants… and make science history? You’ve been practically craving for it as soon as you saw Sally turn into a statue. So, do it; here and now! Don’t chicken out and regret the chance later. Remember when you bailed on pledging to Alpha Sigma Phi Rho sorority with me? All those hunky guys you never got to meet? Loosen up a bit and let yourself go. Take a chance; live life on the edge"!
Her entreaty to her shy cohort met with a brick wall; so she got angry. While all her friend would do was stare at the floor in embarrassment, the more-than-a-little-inebriated Stephanie lapsed into a cruel taunt:
BAAAAAAAAAWWWK... BAWK, BAWK, BAWK… BAWWWWWKK… BAWK,BAWK, BAAAWK!!!
This insult-added-to-injury was more than my potential subject could stand. Being caught in nearly-full arousal at sight of ‘stoned’ Sally O’Casey had clearly flustered cute Christina (not to mention having her innermost sexual fantasy exposed in front of total strangers). She was gathering up her purse and shawl and preparing to make a bee-line for the establishment’s exit door. My salvation came from a nearby distraction.
Ox and Carmen had steadily approached the rocky replica of their boss until they were now within ground-zero range of the sculpture. It seemed their thoughts were in tandem, even without the need for verbal agreement. With glancing nods toward the bar’s front bay windows, they gently tipped their stiffened employer down onto the wood floor behind the antique 1880’s bar. Rick, Christina and Stephanie exchanged glances of confused bewilderment amid garment-rustling and scuffling noises now emanating from frenzied activity hidden from view. At one point huge Ox stood to produce a hunter’s knife (surprise, surprise!) concealed under his leather jacket inside a sheath tucked into the small of his back. Various denim-ripping sounds ensued. Finally, Rick yelled, “What the HELL are you two doing back there”? As if in answer, the still-animate team emerged from behind the bar stretcher-carrying a horizontal frozen
cowgirl. However, Sally was substantially less attired. She still wore spurred boots, chaps, a buckskin vest and Western hat, but nothing else. With mischievous smiles plastered across their faces, the bouncer and waitress carefully deposited the legs-spread slightly squatting statue on a 1980’s vintage mechanical bull situated in the bar’s street-front window display. There the intimate details of Sally’s statue-ized curves would be the topic of consideration and conversation for the next twenty-four hours. I was especially impressed by award-winning granite-gray boobs bursting forth from beneath her costume; frozen amid an intoxicating montage of pressed-flat nipples (courtesy of departed brassiere) and bouncing-free juggling imposed by her Umpire’s lunge. It took huge effort to tear my gaze away from motionless melons… their rock-hardness spreading to me.
Shrugging off our horrified expressions while heading back toward the counter, Sally’s two employees explained: “Zat weeetch haz beeeen blackmailing me for half ov my teeps ever since she deeescovered zat I waas ileeegal,” said Carmen. Ox growled, “Sally pink-slipped ME just yesterday after twelve years here… told me that my looks scared away customers! We’re gonna see how her looks -all of ‘em- help get us’n some more customers. Don’t tempt me to turn on the bull, either!” the bouncer grumbled; talk about employee dissatisfaction! It came to me that I guess she had it coming as I swore never to get on their bad sides.
While Ox completed turning his boss into a sexy window display by interlacing a souvenir lariat from the far wall through Sally’s outstretched arms and fingers (this resulting dangling lasso was a nice touch, I’ll have to admit), Rick sauntered back from behind the bar counter carrying a tray of past-last-call drinks. “When the Cat’s hardened clay, the Mice will play”, he joked, and received particular giggling appreciation from Stephanie. Blushing Christina kept glancing over at the petrified Sally, but I knew my chances with her were still barely above zero.
Freed from the supervision of their boss for the rest of the evening Ox turned his attention to the sexy Carmen as both slipped into the small kitchen for what I had to assume was some long-awaited ‘private time’; I didn’t really see them go, concentrating as I was on my own lovely target, but for the next few minutes the unlikely pair was nowhere to be found as I had more important things to worry about.
It was then I noticed my “paralyzed and poseable, then stone” vial was missing. Searching the floor and immediate vicinity, I thought I saw a glint of glass sticking out Richard’s jacket pocket… along with some $50 bills! A rather nervous-but-excited frat guy lowered his tray and distributed four drinks: Guinness for himself; another Grasshopper for Stephanie; a refill of Christina’s Black Russian; and one last Jim Beam Sour for me. As my mind raced to extrapolate and imagine what Rick had been up to over at the now-untended bar and cash register, he cleverly toasted:
“Here’s to Professor’s incredible Petrifying Potion. BOTTOMS UP”!
The evidence (combined with my limited knowledge of Rick's personality) dropped into place at the very last possible second; mental warning bells and alarms began claxoning through my head in self-preservation. My arm arrested in mid-rise, a whiskey sour only eight inches from its intended target. I turned in the direction of Christina (away from Richard and Steph) and desperately hissed an imperative, "don't drink it… you'll instantly be frozen"! in tones barely above a whisper. Amazingly, her pretty eyes showed no surprise as she returned my gaze, mouthed a smiling silent “I know,” and calmly raised the container of icy black-brown liquid full against coral lips. Was she demonstrating her commitment to volunteering as my stone subject through actions rather than words? Mind wheeling in dread and delight together while watching Chris' deliberate gulps (it was too late to stop her now), I turned to see that Stephanie already had suffered a corresponding fate. The slinky honey-blonde's green elixir was now lowered more than two inches from her glass' rim, which hovered… and hovered… and hovered a foot or so above the countertop. Her eyes stared straight ahead, glassy and fixed amid a vacant thousand-yard stare that you'd be more likely to see upon a department store dummy than a flesh-and-blood woman on any given day. Of course, this wasn't just any typical day; or night. The frozen gal's pursed ruby lips were contorted, caught within a savoring smack of the elaborate green concoction, smearing the lower-left-outside corner of her mouth. Stephanie's tongue darted out to daintily redress this less-than-lady-like situation, but it too had been stopped in its curling-sideways flick. Except for the stressful circumstances of the moment, this sorority-girl-type's resulting frozen facial expression would have been hilarious. Yet only one of us was laughing. I turned to see my would-be-captor; intertwining emotions of avaricious glee and lustful anticipation contorted his beaming grin. As his throaty guffaws subsided, Rick triumphantly marched past me to more closely examine Christina. She, too, sat immobilized and rigid atop her barstool, her glass of drugged liquor still affixed to her lips and countenance locked in that determined gaze towards me that had begun thirty seconds before and wouldn’t end until many hours later. Taking both friends' drinks out of their arrested grasps and placing them down onto the wooden countertop, our gone-over-the-edge-with-power companion now addressed me as only other animated colleague, "That's OK, Doc. I don't mind if you wouldn't join in my toast. It was intended -the last part of it especially- more for these two sexy ladies, anyway. WATCH THIS"!!
While I sat gaping from my barstool, the handsome strong athlete lifted both paralyzed-but-poseable women out of their saddle-seats and into ramrod-straight "at attention" stances. Dragging the stiffened figure of Christina by her heels with a cross-chest carry until she tottered helplessly next to her matching mannequin-still friend on my left, Richard then focused his attentions and energies upon Stephanie. Now pulling her backwards also, several feet away from the bar, the lust-crazed thief began the process of posing his victim.
"Guess we oughta change your name to 'Stiffanie'," he taunted her point-blank into her immobile lovely features, turning her to face away from the bar. Next he spread her static stance out to about shoulder width, rotating her trim figure at the waist; down and over until her voluminous enhanced chest swayed freely in mid-air. Bottoms up indeed, a tiny mischievous voice commented inside my head as my pulse and respiration began to mount. I probably should have stopped him when it became apparent what was to happen next, but instead I sat dumbfounded and agog as Rick's lascivious plan rapidly unfolded. In less than a minute, he had "Stiff's" frilly blouse fully unbuttoned; it slithered slowly down her lowered-straight arms to find the hardwood with a satisfying rustling noise. Khaki slacks soon joined the top of her outfit, undulating down pale shapely gams until resting over her argyle socks and penny loafers. Richard then queried me, his voice snapping the sexual tension of a paralyzing spell which had reached out to engulf me almost as surely as if I'd drunk SASSY also. "'bout how long does she have between being frozen and then turning to stone, Doc"?, Rick asked as he again approached the bar with left hand searching into his jacket pocket. Shaking my head to loosen my riveted gaze from the bodacious blonde lingerie-clad bent-over statue-in-progress, I replied, "Too many variables in that equation to say with mush precision. Steph here orally ingested the Yttrium solution rather than inhaling it in mist form or absorbing it through her skin… and that's the slowest way for the catalysts to reach her brain. My curare derivative has clearly run its course, disrupting and short-circuiting key synaptic signals to voluntary muscles, but any actual petrifying instructions to the adjacent cellular membranes would…"
“Just give me a number… IN ENGLISH”!!
Grabbing me by the nape of my sport coat, Rick pulled me into extremely close proximity with his clenched fist. I guess his patience and temper had worn thin from the pressure and nervous excitement of undertaking this questionable strategy, not to mention his potential sexual frustration. And I was the available whipping-boy upon whom his fury could be vented. Yet I was thoroughly confused. I heard (but could not see, given Richard’s tight hold upon me) some commotion -paper rustling and glasses clinking together- upon the bar countertop at my immediate left. This dominating dumb jock had resorted to sheer blunt intimidation and brute force to accomplish cruel selfish objectives. The sad part of this story was that his tactics seemed to be working. “Probably maybe one or two more minutes before her petrifaction”, I sputtered weakly, shrugging as best I could. Regaining his composure, he released me and focused on ramrod-straight Christina, still frozen stiff beside us. “Don’t worry, honey, I haven’t forgotten about you. Maybe you’ll ‘end up’ another ass-in-the-air stone plaything… bookend to baby-long-legs over there? I’ve got it! You’ll be stripped and stuck atop a table; knees bent and legs parted wide to accommodate visitors, your hands undercupping stone tits to serve up delicious twin appetizers to a tantalizing main course down below. Mmmmm… yeah, doll”.
I pondered the appropriateness of Rick’s appellation for the fully-poseable young lass beside me as he took a courage-gathering pull on his Guinness and strolled back (purple vial in hand) to finish with his Stephanie sculpture. Matching sky-blue bra and panties were all of her remaining attire, and Stiff’s top was quickly loosened and disposed of by a few skilled wrist flicks. Slowly and deliberately, the gone-round-the-bend egomaniac slid a silky lower undergarment off her shapely, proportioned, tan-lined oval tush. A private R-rated showing rolled relentlessly onward (to both my shock and sexual delight) as this impromptu sculptor rotated both her straightened arms up and back to capture each raised half-globe in the cupped palms of her slender hands. Resulting sideways force from this maneuver had interesting impacts all along the deep dark crack bisecting her full-display moon; both cheeks parted somewhat to suggest a crinkly-blonde-covered pinkish heaven. It was the best of times… it was the worst of times, as my conscience nagged at my libido to coax me toward intervention, my boyish lust made my head spin with voyeuristic glee in sharp contrast to the distinct ache of an over-swollen member throbbing to escape my trousers. Richard wasn’t finished posing Stephanie… quite yet. Taking a one-inch-diameter SASSY vial and turning its rounded end toward her nether folds, he began an approach, meaning to slide it deep inside her! “Once you’re turned to stone, I’ll take this back out gingerly to make room fo…” Leaning forward with hand outstretched, a curly-haired dumb jock stood suddenly stock-still with an evil smirk cemented onto his face. HUHH?!? I wondered.
My confusion was only slightly lessened by hearing a distinctly feminine peal of laughter from the “at attention” frozen woman on my left. Christina now relaxed from her artificial stiffened pose and walked briskly ahead to turn the tables completely on her would-be-captor. In just seconds, frozen Rick’s trousers and mini-briefs joined Stephanie’s attire on the establishment floor. It now became evident that this younger man had experienced a physiological outcome similar to my own from earlier stimulations. Christy (inexplicably) held the upper hand, and so used it -both of them- to fully sample his solid wares. “Uh huh… a hard man IS good to find!”, she teased while winking at me. “I’ll explain shortly, Doc”, she continued, while advancing to her bent-round female companion. Now amazingly, she didn’t try to help her previous roommate out of her predicament… but instead adjusted her sexy pose! Adding a little more ‘squat’ by deepening the bends in Stephanie’s knees, a heavy-breathing Christy rotated and raised both elbows into points above the small in her back. She turned Steph’s head to face forward, craning her thin neck out-ahead as far as it would go. When she opened a paralyzed mouth as wide as possible into one last BAAAWKK, I knew what she doing; taunting her friend while stepping to face her newly-completed avian objet d’art:
“And WHO’s the chicken now, sweetie”?!?
As if in perfectly-timed reply, Stephanie’s body began to crinkle and crunch. This audible effect was something like crumpled paper encasing destruction of fine crystal. Inescapable hardening swept quickly up over languid legs and across her protruding backside, reaching dangling boobs in only a matter of eight or ten seconds. Various anatomical details shimmered and paled into a milky translucence as the Yttrrium catalyst affected her cellular structure, changing paralyzed flesh to unyielding mineral. For just a moment, her outer curves crystallized as veritably transparent, showing partly-solidified bones and organs in a grotesque med-school visual “what’s-what” demonstration. But these too transmogrified soon enough, providing thousands of refracting interior facets and angles adding dense-coarse texture and sparkly dimension to her display, while augmented cleavage became rigid pink-tinted Rose Quartz globes (to join the rest of her stony countenance). I wondered what Stephanie thought of her humiliating fossilized circumstances? I guess she’d tell us in twenty-four hours, after the SASSY potion wore off.
Leaving her friend-turned-erotic-artwork to gleam under overhead lighting, cute Christina came to stand next to me. “I saw that Rick was spiking our drinks with some of your stuff, and so faked taking a couple of sips so as to catch him off his guard. Sure enough, he fell right into my trap”, the diabolical bronzed beauty explained. When you two struggled, I quietly poured some of my drink into his… BINGO!!” A triumphant vixen now offered me up one quick shy hug of appreciation.
D. “Decisions, decisions…”
My body relaxed and released its tension, believing shaky circumstances had reached a denouement. As the gleeful statue-making lady continued her interrupted process of posing “Rock” (as Christy had now renamed him after the petrifying transformation), I looked about and began to gather my things in preparation to leave. Unzipping my leather SASSY carrying-case, I was next astonished to find dozens of $10, $20 and $50 bills shoved inside, rather than expected remaining vials of my lithofying liquid. That’s when Carmen screamed.
Standing at the saloon’s open-and-empty cash register with a sheer look of horror upon her face, our pretty Mexican waitress exclaimed, “WE”VE BEEN ROBBED”!! to anybody un-hardened within hearing. Unfortunately, one of those people happened to be Ox. He chanced to be glaring straight at me as I held the leather case full of purloined currency! Modesty prevents me from repeating the words that spewed forth from his mouth right then, but I will report that I didn’t get very far in attempts to convince him that I had been framed by a salacious, greedy, Rick. Of course, “Rock” wasn’t in condition to corroborate my assertions… pants down and (involuntarily) assuming an overtly X-rated re-positioning by aroused Christina’s design. Hell, he was as good as a stone sex-toy already! Yet I did try to extract stolen SASSY vials from his jacket pocket as proof of his machinations to land me in jail while escaping with my own inventions. However, Ox was pretty darn capable in his efforts to restrain me. Pinning both arms behind me (knocking the “poseable” and “60-minute delay” tubes from my hands, whereupon they smashed onto the floor to create a potent petri-pool of hazardous fluid), he forced me to kneel down via a booted foot firmly planted in the middle of my back. I squirmed in pain as the burly sleazy giant commanded, “OK, Carmen, he ain’t goin’ anywhere; call the cops”.
Visions whirled past in my mind of ten-plus years of scientific research (not to mention my reputation in the academic biochemistry community, as well as tenure and employment itself!) teetering on edge of a cliff. Then I noticed it! The “orgasmic stone” vial had survived its tumble to the barroom floor, rolling up next to pink-painted sandaled toes of young Christina. As her eyes met mine, I silently pleaded with her to help by using my invention on O’Casey’s employees to affect my release.
A naughty twinkle in her smiling hazel eyes suggested that I might still have hope.
And then…?? -Rodin