WILD CHANGE by Carlos Malenkov

Deep in the Black Forest, or *Schwartzwald* as the locals call it, there
stands a small, moss-covered cottage. Its quaint gingerbread trimmings
give it a charming Eighteenth Century rustic look. Civil servants of
the Bavarian state government maintain the hut and its surroundings,
and give guided tours to any hikers who happen by. Nailed to a post out
front is a faded wooden plaque explaining, in six languages, that this
was reputed to be the home of the fabled *Wechselhexe*, or Change Witch.

“Sir, could you kindly tell me what that’s all about?”

The tour guide slowly shook his head at the young American tourist’s
question. “My dear fellow, the Brothers Grimm never wrote *that*
particular story down. They considered it *unsittsam*, indecent. And with
good reason. Even in our modern, permissive era, it might be rather strong
medicine even for those who consider themselves enlightened. In any case,
it is best you do not enquire into matters that do not concern you.”

Charlie Mason had a reputation for doing just that. Over the years he
had stuck his nose into many a dark corner, and had lived to tell the
tale. So, he wasn’t about to be put off by an officious middle-aged park
ranger in a funny-looking uniform.

That night Charlie was back. The cottage loomed darkly under the full
moon, unlit and empty. It was unlocked.

The flickering beam of the penlight showed the same well-manicured
interior he had seen in the daytime. There was the open guest book. He
looked. His was the last name in it. What the hell was he looking for,

Secrets? Hidden trapdoors? Ha! This phony hut was just one more roadside
tourist trap. A waste of time.

Charlie thought he heard a voice echoing in the distance. Was someone

Outside. There was someone outside. In the bright moonlight, a woman
was dancing. Dancing and singing.

He cautiously edged out the doorway. It was a young girl, her long tresses
flying above her narrow hips as she twirled, her face savagely alight with
the joy of her song. A cloud obscured the moon and it was no longer a
maiden dancing. She blurred and her features and form flowed into those
of a mature woman, heavy of breast and hips, with a wicked gleam in her
eye. Charlie blinked. He looked again. Now it was a hag who was dancing,
dried up, wrinkled, with a face that had known far too many sorrows. The
dance slowed, then stopped.

“I’ve heard tell of a witch in these parts.”

“*Eine Hexe? Bin ich nicht, denn?*” the old woman answered.

“A witch? What else could I be?” Charlie heard. He understood not a word
of German, but the meaning of what she was saying penetrated deeply into
his awareness. He approached closer.

“*Na, Bursche, was soll ich denn mit dir?*” Well, my boy, what am I to
do with you?

Her face was no longer that of an old woman. She was a maiden, and a young
maiden, at that. Her figure was that of a girl just past adolescence. As
she whirled around, she transformed yet again. She was a woman in late
middle age, a merry widow exuding lewdness in her every gesture. Her
clothes had somehow vanished. “*Wagst du?*” she asked as she beckoned
to him. Do you dare?

He dared.

Charlie lay on his back on a patch of moonlit manicured lawn, just within
sight of the cottage. The witch was straddling him on bent knees, her
icily luminous locks tickling his face every time she descended upon
him. Now she was a young maiden again, taking girlish delight in the
feel of his member stretching her hairless slit. Now an aging dowager,
cackling as her well-used cunny clutched his boyishly enthusiastic
shaft. The moonlight dimmed, and she grew to gargantuan proportions, a
immensely fat lecher-woman squeezing every last ounce of pleasure out of
him. She lowered herself down atop him full-length, squashed him deeply
into her yielding flesh with all 400 pounds of her weight. He blacked
out in the agony of unendurable rapture as her hungry thighs milked the
vitality out of him.

He awoke, pinned facedown on the ground. “*Na, jetzt wird es erst recht
knallen*,” the voice above him intoned. Now things will really start to
pop. It was a man’s deep baritone.

Charlie felt his buttocks parted by powerful masculine hands, and a cry of
outrage died in his throat as he realized he was on fire with pure, animal
lust. Something hard and enormously large was slowly forcing its way
into him, and somehow it was *right*. He felt his rear entrance stretch
as his gut began to fill with what he knew was the rampant flesh of the
incubus/witch above him. “*Ja, ja, mein Schatz*,” he/she purred. Yes,
yes, my sweet. “*Jezt bist Du an der Reihe.*” It’s your turn now.

Explosive waves of passion ripped through Charlie as he lay there
flat on the ground. He cried out once, then twice. Darkness descended
upon him in as his flesh rippled and melted. “Wildwechsel,” the witch
screamed. *Wild change!*

Charlie awoke to voices.

“Yes, that is the one. The *verrückte* Ami tourist.”

“You are certain?”

“I gave warning, but still . . . ”

It was a hospital room. People were standing around the bed. There was the
tour guide from the cottage. A woman in uniform and a doctor flanked him
on either side.

“Welcome back to the world of the living.” The doctor smiled.

“Are these your identification papers?” The policewoman asked.

“I’m . . . yes, I’m Charlie Mason. That’s my passport and there’s my
Indiana drivers license. What happened?”

“We found you wandering in the forest. You were incoherent and mumbling
nonsense about a witch and magic. It appears that you have undergone
quite a shock, young lady.”

(Young lady?)

Charlie examined the passport photo. There was no doubt. That was her
face, sure enough. For a moment though, she had thought . . .

(I’m a man!)

Quite a shock. What crazy notions could have gone through her mind last
night? Breaking into a tourist attraction to find a *witch*? Of course,
there wasn’t any witch. Childish fairy tales.

“You are all right, Fräulein Mason?”

Charlene Mason decided right then and there that she’d had enough of
sticking her nose in other people’s business. Of taking stupid risks
and galavanting around on wild adventures. Stability, that’s what she
needed. She’d find a nice, solid man to marry, then raise a family and
settle down.

“Yes, quite all right, thank you.