Nigel Deare had felt for sometime that he was born in the wrong era. Back when his father was his age, he had to hold down several jobs but at least the variety was in the employment not in you.
Not these days, not since they’d introduced multi-species adaptation. To meet the mortgage payments, his medical insurance and the considerable amount of depilation cream needed between morphings, Nigel was, variously: an engineer for the local cloning company; a guide dog to help old Mrs Tweeble; a trainee Jersey milker, providing supplies to the local dairy; and a randy stag, servicing a herd of forty-two hinds in Rickmansworth. He’d chosen the last, not for the money but the two weeks of continuous sex though he had come to realise it might be something of a mistake as he had yet to master exactly where the antlers were meant to go.
The current two-week stint on the rut had just begun, shortly after he had met and started dating Lily, an accountant, part-time school gerbil and recent convert to the vegan employment opportunities that came with transmigration into various plants.
So it was that Nigel had just finished a shift and was due to meet Lily for some sushi and cud when he had a call from his boss at the engineering company he worked for. Could he divert to Richmond on Sprout and fix a Communal Mark V Vibromax cloning scanner which had developed an arrythmic reflux which if not stopped would river a children’s birthday party the following day.
He needed the money so agreed to meet Lily at the cloning office. She agreed she’d be happy trying out her weekend’s commissions while he sorted out the problem.
Being a stag isn’t the best preparation for working on delicate machinery – the obvious lack of opposable thumbs is one problem but so are the wretched antlers. While Nigel cursed and struggled with the spanner, Lily kept up a string of mindless chatter as she slipped from a small copse of alder saplings into bowl of petunias. As Nigel lifted the cowling and peered inside, Lily read the details of her next role.
‘OMG!’ she squealed. ‘Just look at this.’
With his hoof on the recalcitrant on button Nigel looked up, at the exact moment Lily became to transform. There is a point when a morphee is between states and, in that moment, you might take on characteristics of both states. In this case Lily was becoming her namesake, a yellow Lily. As Lily slipped into something green and slinky, Nigel first froze as she took the form of a slick naked green nymph but then as her pert stamens and buoyant breasts became apparent he lost all self-control and, in his oversexed, rutted up state his hoof twitched violently.
I was like mainlining concentrated deernip.
The twitch might have been the start of something romantic had he not also jammed the functionality sensor into overdrive.
It took them both a few seconds to realise what Nigel had done but as Lily began to produce more and more lilies disaster loomed.
‘I need water, Nigel.’
‘But I must turn off the machine.’
‘Later. Get me in the river. NOW!’
Lilies were filling the office and spilling out of the door. Nigel made a decision he was to regret. Using his usefully prehensile tail he grabbed Lily, who held onto her clones and dragged them to the River Sprout.
As Nigel, now totally trapped in a writing mass of lilies and moving further and further out into the water, he looked back at the receding river bank. Standing, staring at him was the Deliveroo driver.
‘You order the sushi?’
This has been written in response to the latest ‘I Challenge You’ prompt from Esther Chilton, here