Lamark's Syndrome
Bradley Kabbash

 

LAMARK’S SYNDROME

Christopher Williams, father of two daughters, a dog and husband to a working wife, walked into his bathroom and stared into the mirror over his sink shocked to find that he had grown a pair of breasts overnight. At first he thought it funny how his morning mind could play such a visual trick on himself. But the more he stared the more he realized that indeed he had grown a pair of female breasts. Christopher rubbed his cheek with his right hand feeling the stubble of his beard. That was there. That was male. He took his other hand and scratched his private parts, reassured to know that all his male equipment was still in place. He looked at the mirror again straining his eyes to focus. Bouncing back in the reflection was a pair of female breasts and if they weren’t attached to his body he would have thought that they were quite beautiful too. They were Playboy breasts, Ms. America breasts and they were the marketing breasts that he saw plastered all over every magazine or company that had something to sell. Christopher stood there wondering what to do next, the coldness of the floor on his feet urging him to do something. He moved closure to the mirror hoping that the pair of breasts would somehow disappear. Unfortunately the breasts got larger as did the reality of his situation. He had a pair of breasts. Tentatively he raised his right hand and brought it up with a pointing index finger. Christopher poked the side of the breast depressing the skin like one does a balloon filled with water. It gave a bit. Jesus he felt that! He moved his finger around and pushed its nipple inward like a doorbell buzzer. He jumped back and squinted his eyes straining his concentration out. He felt that too. How did this happen he thought? Quickly he turned around took a step, closed and locked the bathroom door. He had to think this through. He stepped over to the toilet seat, noticing that his breasts led the way. He closed the seat cover and sat down hard. Christopher moved his hands up to his chin, bumping his breasts on the way up. He rested his chin heavily, his elbows pushing hard against his knees, his breasts squeezed against his arms. How could this happen he thought again. He looked down at the curvy tops of his breasts and groaned. Somehow someone must have implanted them last night. That’s the only thing that makes sense.
     My Wife! His mind exploded the answer. She is a plastic surgeon. She did these operations all the time. Somehow she must have drugged and operated on him last night. It’s the only thing that made sense. How else could he have gotten these beauties? He looked down at his breasts not believing he had just called them beauties. A hard knock on the door snapped him to a new set of problems: discovery and subterfuge.
     “Come on dad I have to get to soccer practice this morning. You’ve got to speed it up in there and drive me to the field.”
Christopher heard his daughters footsteps shuffling away as he sighed. Soccer practice? Now? How was he going to do that with his new breasts? He looked down at them expecting an answer to pop out as suddenly as his mamory’s did. An image formed in his head of his daughter’s soccer playing friends screeching with freakish laughter as they pointed to his breasts.
     “See what happens when you take on the role of a mother for to long? You grow a set of boobs!”
     “Always knew your dad was way to much into being a mom. Now look!”
A yell from the kitchen downstairs brought Christopher back to his dilemma.
     “Come on already Dad!”
Christopher looked down at his breasts one last time then had an idea. He picked up his cell phone and pushed the keys hard. Within two rings the receptionists voice chirped in.
     “Doctors office how may we help you?”
     “Is Herald there? This is Christopher and it’s an emergency.” He heard the click, the pause into the queue, the inane music, and to his relief in moments Heralds voice on the line.
     “Chris what’s the emergency?”
Christopher paused for a moment. How was he going to explain waking up with perfect breasts?
     “Herald…have you ever heard of a cases where men develop…breasts?” There was another pause before the doctors voice patiently spoke.
     “Its called Gynecomastia Chris.” It is not that uncommon in older men. Is that your emergency?”
     “Yeah but do they develop overnight? I mean perfect C cup centerfold types?”
     “No that would be a bit unusual. Are you saying that you developed female breasts?”
     “I’m saying I’m looking in the mirror and what is staring back at me is Ms. Octobers pair.” Christopher sighed out.
     “Well that would be unusual. Why don’t you drop by the office today and I’ll have a look. I’m sure there’s an explanation and remedy. I’m going to pass you to Evett, she’ll squeeze you in…and Herald don’t sweat it we’ll take care of the problem.” In seconds he was passed to Evett who wedged him in at twelve noon. The line went dead and so did Christopher’s hopes of an immediate solution. He looked up at the mirror again and dropped the cell phone into the sink with a gasp. His body had changed again. This time it was his hands, which had transformed becoming more slender, his fingers longer, and his nails each had become longer with perfectly manicured red tips. Christopher looked at his hands, then held them up to the mirror, then pulled them back to the front of his sweaty face. He squinted his eyes focusing all his concentration through his wide pupils. There in front of him was a pair of delicate perfectly manicured hands. He palmed his wet brow and hair that had become longer, silkier, and blonde too. Christopher’s world was falling apart. He swung the medicine cabinet open and searched for the Valium, causing some of the files to fall into the sink. There he found the jar and immediately popped four of the Mothers Helper’s. He collapsed on the toilet seat again. From downstairs came the cry from his daughter to hurry up before it was to late. Her last two words resonating in his head like pinball that slams the bumpers of the machine. TO Late…it’s already to late, I’m changing into a woman. Think just think it through. There has to be a way of reversing the process. Perhaps the change was just temporary, maybe it was conditional. He clung to the last thought. Ok maybe I have brought this on. Maybe it’s all because I’ve taken on all the traditional roles of a mother, the primary caregiver, the women of the household. He had after all been doing all the cooking, laundry, housework, and homework. It all started several years ago when he decided to stay at home and work so that he could be closure with the kids while his wife went to medical school, residency, and finally her plastic surgery practice. Its all her fault he thought. He should never have accepted her roles and responsibilities. At first he felt funny, kind of ashamed, being the only dad at mothers day at school or the only male on the PTA board. It was just weird being around all those women and mothers at soccer events, the grocery stores, the hair and especially the nail pallor for his two daughters. Gradually though he became adjusted to it and so did everyone else. In fact he had gotten pretty good at cooking, cleaning, sewing, homework, and scheduling after school events. He even enjoyed it. In fact he was damn proud of it, especially every time his kids came back with a good report card or scored a goal. Christopher smiled, feeling both the effects of the Valium set in as well as the warmth of feelings that blanketed him. He sighed, shrugged his shoulders, opened his eyes then screamed. Right between his legs, his manhood, his dangleese, began to shrink and recess into his body. Think masculine thoughts his mind screamed back. MALE MALE MALE! But it was to late as thoughts of football and racecars where forced aside to images of great dinners and perfectly groomed children. Christopher closed his eyes and sighed as he felt his whole body change. His breathing became shallow as his mind flooded with images of his children and his duties to them. The pounding at bathroom door forced him to open his eyes.
     “Are you ok in there dad?” You could hear the worry and confusion in his daughters voice muffled through the door. Christopher got up, wrapped a towel around himself and shuffled softly to the door, unlocking it before stepping back. Slowly the door opened as his daughter stepped inside her eyes wide with confusion. She stared hard, her brow wrinkled with confusion before she spoke.
     “Mom what happened to Dad…Where’s dad?”
Christopher spoke slowly adjusting himself to the sound of his new voice.
     “He’s asleep in the bed pumpkin. Don’t wake him either because it’s going to be a helluva morning for him when he wakes up.” Christopher’s daughter just looked at her mother and shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.
     “Can’t be any weirder than this morning…I swear. Come on let’s go to soccer practice before I‘m to late.”




Brandon Christopher Knight, is a Work At Home Dad (WAHD) Investment Banker who raises his two daughters, while writing part time. His articles about the intersection of work and life can be found on www.medicalspouse.com, www.mommd.com, www.slowlane.com, and sometimes the Greenwich Times newspaper. He has just completed his first novel.

 

 

Copyright © 2002 Bradley Kabbash
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"