I continue this for someone else.

Hello All,
     
     Here's my first "Turnabout Tunnel" story in a while, and I'd like
to do something a little different.  I've written Part One, and am now
completely exhausted.  If anyone would like to take a crack at Part Two,
let me know by Tuesday. 
      If no one wants to participate in this two person "round robin,"
then I'll finish it up after Tuesday.  I did have fun writing this part,
but thought that this might be fun.   
      Please send me comments indicating whether you like this idea or
not.  We could even have multiple endings from several different writers
if there's enough interest.  
      I always like constructive criticism, so let me know what you
think of the story as well.
      As I always try to mention:  feel free to write in this story
universe.  The rules are very lenient.  This is a world with completely
random body swaps.  Do whatever you want, just leave the body swapping
device since it's the whole premise.  If you want to learn more
background read Mike Harris's FAQ.

Enjoy,

Michael  

                Arnie's Desperate Measure (Part One)

      Arnie Cutner was sick and tired of being at the mercy of others'
good graces.  He had been hired and fired from numerous low paying jobs
over most of the 53 years of his life, and he had all he could take.
     The graying and overweight Cutner had been a waiter, fry cook, cab
driver, janitor, garbage collector, and doorman, but had lost each of
those jobs for one sole reason:  he offended people. Unfortunately for
Arnie, he tended to always end up offending people with the time,
influence, and money to make his life miserable.   Arnie, however,
generally had no idea that they were offended until it was too late.
     For example, as a waiter he always tried to be polite and prompt
with his customers' food.  One time, however, after taking great care to
offer the best possible service to one particularly well-to-do elderly
couple, he received no tip whatsoever.  
     "Ma'am?  Sir?  Was there a problem with your service?" he had asked
as they got up to leave.
     "The food was unsatisfactory," the old lady had snapped while
adjusting her fur coat.  
     "Well, Ma'am, I wish you had told me when you got it."
     "Look here son...don't bother my wife," the old man ranted.  "We
didn't like the food, and we don't like your attitude.  You don't have
the grace to work in a restaurant of this caliber, even when its food is
bad!" 
     "Well, I wouldn't take any money from you two old farts even if you
offered it," Arnie had concluded abruptly, rubbing his scraggly face as
he said it.
     That comment was an example of Arnie's poor ability to deal with
criticism, and it got him fired from his waiter post.  His most recent
job had ended, predictably, the same way.  
     Arnie thought that he had finally found the job that suited him
perfectly.  A doorman only had to open a door for people and tip a hat.
Occasionally, of course, he had to say, "Good morning," or "Cold day,
isn't it?", but mostly he could just keep his big troublemaking mouth
shut.  The pay was also better than most of his other jobs had been,
allowing him to afford his old battered apartment on the other side of
New York City.  It also helped him pay his assortment of gambling debts.
     Arnie actually liked his job.  His enjoyment of his job did not
transfer over to admiration for most of the tenants of the high rise,
wealthy apartment building, however.  He could only guess at how much
the occupants paid to live in such comfort in the heart of Manhatten. 
His least favorite people in the entire 50 story building were the
penthouse-dwelling McColloughs.  
     James C. McCollough III was a newspaper tycoon who had been in the
business for sixty-plus years and had amassed a fortune.  He had been
married and divorced five times during those years.
     "One of his alimony payments is probably more than I would see in a
year," Arnie had often thought.
     McCollough was now an octagenarian who had to use a wheelchair on
his infrequent trips out of his apartment.  Arnie was amazed that
someone so old and seemingly so near to death could be so arrogant and
unpleasant.
     "Doesn't he want to impress God before he dies?" Arnie had asked
Langley, the McCollough's tall, African American limo driver.  Langley
shared Arnie's dislike for Mr. McCollough and had laughed heartily at
Arnie's comment.
     The two had to be careful to conceal their laughter, however,
because of the old man's personal nurse, a large, muscular man named
Burt.  Burt showed an undying affection for the frail man, constantly
trying to make him more comfortable and showing what appeared to be
genuine concern for his welfare.
     The one time that Burt had heard one of Arnie's comments, he had
grabbed Arnie's spindly left arm and said, "Now listen, fat boy.  Don't
make fun of Mr. McCollough again."
     So Arnie didn't make fun of the old geezer again...in front of
Burt.  
     As much as the doorman didn't like Mr. McCollough, there was one
person he liked even worse, and that was Mrs. McCollough.
     Tiffani McCollough, the former Tiffani Vance, had been a Sports
Illustrated swimsuit model just three years before meeting the old man.
The newspapers (especially the ones that the old man owned) all reported
that it was "love at first sight" for the couple. Arnie, and anyone with
any sense, knew of course that it was more a case of "love at first
sight of money."
     On the rare occasions that Arnie had seen the mismatched couple
together, it was almost a pitiful sight.  The old, withered man in the
wheelchair with a scowl on his face being rolled alongside the young,
blonde, full-figured model.  (She had put on at least thirty pounds
since her modeling days.) She made it a point never to talk to anyone,
as if she was "too good" Arnie always said.
     "Do you s'pose she's started a list, writin' down what she's goin'
to spend all that money on?" Arnie had asked Langley.
     "She probably has that memorized," he had answered.  "More likely
she's watching her calendar, growing more impatient by the day."
     "I wonder if she's ever thought of poisoning the old goat."
     "Wouldn't make much sense.  He can't have more than a year to go
before he heads to that big newsroom in the sky."
     Langley had overestimated the old man's time left, however, and the
news quickly spread among the apartment employees and occupants that his
personal physician had given him only a few weeks to live.
     "Imagine that," Arnie said as he buttoned an extra button on his
overcoat to protect himself from a stiff New York wintry breeze.  "Just
a few weeks and she's gonna be one rich bitch."
     Arnie was speaking to Langley who seemed perturbed and
uncomfortable.
     "What's wrong, Langley?  Don't you want to work for the next Leona
Helmsly...the meanest bitch in town?"
     Arnie seemed to be staring a hole into the ground.
     "What are you lookin' at, man?"
     Just then a leather gloved hand tapped Arnie on the shoulder, and
he turned around to see Tiffani McCollough herself staring at him
venomously.  Even with that stare she had a beautiful face, with a
perfect complexion and deep blue eyes under long lashes.
     "Well, Mr. Doorman, I'd hate for you to ever have to open a door
for the next Leona Helmsly.  You'll be contacted soon about your job. 
If I were you I would go ahead and start looking for another."
     Smiling wickedly, Tiffani walked away (even while angry she had a
sexy walk), opening the door to the building herself.
     Within 24 hours Arnie had received notice...he was fired.

     The next two weeks had been the most difficult ones in Arnie's
life.  He had applied for several jobs, but had been turned down
repeatedly.  He finally found out from one of his potential employers
why he had been turned down for one of the jobs.  Apparently, Tiffani
McCollough wasn't through with her revenge for Arnie's comment.  She had
hired someone to follow Arnie and quickly convince any employer not to
hire him as soon as he left each business.
     "Damn, that rich bitch!" he stomped around his messy apartment in a
rage.  "I'll make her pay!"
     As he walked he was barely aware of the newsman on the television
early morning news. 
     "According to sources from the State Department and NASA, the
energy clouds from the massive meteor shower from early this fall are
still causing strange events all over the world.  Apparently, the
personality, or mind, transfers are still occurring.  Most recently a
Philadelphia man traded personalities with a chimpanzee from the San
Diego zoo."
     By now, Arnie was watching with some interest as the screen split
in half, one side showing a man squatting in a cage with his hands held
over his head in an apelike fashion, and the other showing a chimpanzee
scribbling the man's name in terrible handwriting.
     "Scientists say that they have pinpointed many 'stable' clouds near
meteorite landing sites and have actually established where some 'energy
tunnels' connect to other clouds.  According to a source who asked to be
unidentified, two such connecting clouds are located a short distance
from our city, in New Rochelle and along the Jersey border."
     A lightbulb immediately went off in Arnie's head as he listened to
the square-jawed newscaster.  He remembered being told the exact
locations of those two meteorites when he was still driving a cab.  He
looked back to the TV.
     "In other news, 89-year-old newspaper entrepreneur James McCollough
was admitted to the hospital tonight after an apparent heart attack. 
Doctors do not expect him to survive the night."
     A brighter light bulb flickered to life in Arnie's head somewhere,
this time in the recesses of his brain that were set aside for desperate
measures and blurry, improbable plans.

     "Hello Langley," Arnie surprised the chauffeur driver, who was
taking a midafternoon coffee break in the parking deck beside the
apartment building.
     "Arnie?  What are you doing here?  You're wearing your uniform. 
Did you get rehired?" 
     "Yeah...I guess Tiffani ain't so mean after all.  The owners of the
building called me and told me that she insisted I was brought back to
my old job," he was surprised at how well he was lying to his old
friend.
     "Wow.  I never expected that," Langley replied.
     "Listen, Langley," Arnie became very serious.  "The reason I came
out here is to deliver this note from the old man's lawyer.  He says it
has to do with the old man's will.  He's almost kicked the bucket you
know?"
     "Of course I do,"  Langley couldn't help but smile as he read the
note silently.  "Says here that I'm supposed to take her to the Jersey
border. It's where he wants his ashes scattered.  Apparently he insists
that she sees that spot before he dies."
     "Yeah, I snuck a peek at that note too.  Did you see the part about
the back road you'll have to take?  Apparently the main road has been
closed for some reason.  Here look at this map."
     Arnie spent the next hour explaining how Langley was to get Tiffani
to the spot (near a large hole in the ground) by exactly Seven P.M.
Arnie had spent the previous three hours traveling to the very spot and
finding a back road to the site.  Surprisingly, there was a small
contingent of scientists, and only a few government officials near the
meteorite landing site.  A large bush nearby was where he wanted Langley
to escort Tiffani.  Hopefully she would be concealed and close enough.
     "And Langley.  Did you read where she was to observe the actual
"ash tossin'" site by herself?"
     "I did," he answered.  "I guess I should get this car around front
to pick her up.  She should be outside within the next few minutes."
 
     Arnie had also sent a note to Tiffani McCollough.  Using some of
his unscrupulous sources from some of his many former jobs around town,
he had discovered the name of the McCollough's lawyer.  The note to
Tiffani indicated that as a condition for her to receive the inheritance
in the old man's will she would have to visit the site where his ashes
would be poured, near New Jersey.  A cheap lawyer who had once sued for
Arnie in a disability case had provided stationery with the McCollough's
attorney's letterhead. (He kept it for personal reasons he said...namely
to impress people with fraudulent recommendation letters from this
bigshot attorney.)
     Keeping his fingers and toes crossed, Arnie watched the door to his
old building from across the street.  Finally, a couple of minutes later
than he had appointed, Tiffani swayed out of the building, all
businesslike, and entered the limousine.
     Arnie jumped into his waiting cab.
     "New Rochelle, please."

     Arnie's friend, a former bookie and distant cousin from New
Rochelle, greeted him upon his arrival.  
     "Joey," Arnie said.  "Are you sure you understand what I need you
to do?"
     "Sure," the Italian, wiseguy-wannabe answered.  "Youse want me to
help you get close to see where that meteor landed.  Then youse want me
to chloroform you and keep youse tied up and gagged for 24 hours.  Then
I take youse back to the meteor place."
     "At exactly 10 tomorrow night."
     "Gotcha," Joey said.  "You were always my best customer.  Never
whelched. And I sure made a mint offa youse."
     "Sure," Arnie brushed aside the backhanded compliment.  "Now how
are we going to get to the meteor site."
     "Did I mention that my older brother is a police lieutenant?"
     At 6:55 pm, Arnie approached the crater, while Joey and his brother
talked about the Knicks game.

     Meanwhile, on the Jersey border, Langley had found the going rough.
The road that he had been instructed to take was not really a road, more
like a collection of potholes.  All he could think of was his limousine
and the work he would have to put in to wash it.
     "I can't believe I have to do this," Tiffani mumbled from the
backseat.
     Finally, the duo arrived, stopping the car in a clearing surrounded
by trees.
    "Ma'm, I believe the spot is just beyond that bush over there.  It's
the only one with green leaves, and that's what the note says."
     "Let's get this over with.  I'll go over, look at the spot, then
you can be my witness at the reading of the will that I did my duty."
     She stomped out of the car, slamming the door behind her.
     At 6:58 she stepped around the bush.
     "STEP BACK MA'AM!" a loud voice boomed through a bullhorn.
     "What's this all about?" Tiffani indignantly yelled.
     At 6:59 she seemed to lose, then regain, her balance.

     Back in New Rochelle, Arnie collapsed at 6:59.  Joey ran over as
Tiffani looked up at him angrily.  Joey quickly chloroformed him.

     Arnie had lost consciousness for a millisecond in New Rochelle, but
now it was restored on the edge of Jersey.  Bright lights were focused
at him, and he remembered being near this spot earlier in the day.  He
turned and ran back toward the clearing that he remembered.
     He was immediately aware of many strange physical sensations
despite the incessant bullhorn and searching light.  Putting off
exploring them further, he dashed into the waiting limo.
     "Take off, Langley!"
     "Yes Ma'am!"
     As the limo bounced along the rough non-road, Arnie finally looked
down to see the primary source of his current strange feelings.  What
greeted him was the sight of two well shaped breasts bouncing up and
down frantically.  He reached up and grabbed them, trying to put an end
to the sensation.
     His desperate plan was a success so far, and his dizzied mind
couldn't believe that he was trying it!


Arnie's Desperate Measure (Part Two)



	"Shall I take you to the hospital, Ma'am," Langley asked as the

limousine cruised toward the Manhatten skyline.

	"No...you don't gotta do that," the blonde-haired, blue-eyed
woman
answered from the back seat.  Her Brooklyn accent surprised the
chauffeur.  She normally spoke with the accent of a California, former
"Valley Girl," but had tried to polish up her speaking voice and
vocabulary to match her new social standing.

	Arnie looked through the beautiful, ocean-blue eyes of former
swimsuit model, Tiffani McCollough, and thought about the events of the
past thirty minutes.

	His plan had worked.  He had successfully swapped bodies with the
eminent heiress of millionaire James C. McCollough III using the
mind-swapping energy clouds that he had heard about on TV.

	After taking off from the meteorite site in the limousine, there
had been some search lights pointing in their direction from the
scientific camp nearby.  The location, however, was surprisingly sorely
lacking in security personnel, instead crowded with scientists and
researchers. The backroad had afforded the car a great deal of darkness,
and there had been no vehicle positioned to pursue the pair.  Apparently,
they were in the clear now, and everything was peaceful on the road.

	In Arnie's mind, however, everything was far from peaceful.  The
53-year-old, gray headed, overweight male New York loudmouth was now a
28-year-old VERY buxom and slightly overweight, but very attractive
woman.  As the pair rode in silence, Arnie's thoughts whirled from
ecstasy over the success of his plan, to complete horror over the
physical state that he was now in.

	The first thing he had noticed were the extremely large
protrusions on his chest.  He had always thought that Tiffani had huge
breasts, but they seemed even bigger from this angle.  What was even
stranger was the feel of the large bra binding them upward and close to
his body.  He looked down at them as a voyeur might gaze through a
keyhole at a beautiful woman in a bedroom, still barely comprehending
that they now were his.  Slowly he reached up to touch them, but then
realized that Langley was occasionally glancing into the rearview mirror,
and stopped short of making contact with his chest.

	The next thing he had noticed was the tight, tingling feeling all
over his legs and rear end.  It took him a moment to realize that he was
feeling panty hose.  He immediately decided that he didn't care for them
at all.

	Sitting in the immense back seat of the limo, Arnie surveyed his
body casually.  He didn't want Langley to catch him in an all out
inspection.  He was wearing a navy blue business suit with a jacket that
strained while it was buttoned.  When he leaned forward, his massive
breasts caused the top to pooch out enough to allow him to see his lacy
bra underneath the silky shirt that he wore under the coat.  He strained
to see over his curvy chest and was able to spy navy blue pants
completing the ensemble.
	"Sexy...I look sexy," he thought and felt a revulsion at the
thought of his newfound femininity. 

	Arnie had never had any aspirations to be a woman.  He was very
contentin his manhood, having had an active sexual life as a young man
and anactive sexually imaginative life as an old one.  He considered guys
whowanted to be women "queers," and had no desire to even imagine life as
a member of the opposite sex.  Only desperation had caused him to take
this path.  Now he wondered if his plan would be worth this.

	As the limo sped toward the increasingly towering Manhatten
buildings,Arnie thought about the hidden part of his anatomy...the part
that most assuredly made him female.  He hated to think about the change
THERE,but the more he tried not to think of it, the more he thought of
it.Concentrating on the space between his legs, Arnie tried to detect a
difference in sensation.

	Meanwhile, Langley's mind was on the strange commotion that they
had apparently caused back on the dirt road.  He contemplated those
events,pausing to casually check the rear view mirror.  He did a double
take.
	There in the back seat was Mrs. McCollough gazing down at her
crotch with a look of fascination.  She slowly opened and closed her legs
as she looked, then began the process at a faster speed.  Langley stared
at her, then the road, then at her, until she finally looked up and
noticedhis eyes in the mirror.  She immediately stopped.

	"Hey!  How's about keepin' your eyes on the road, Langley!" he
snarled,his legs still in the open position.  He was in a bad temper
anyway because of the different sensations he had received from his
experimenting.  His midsection felt empty, loose, and very pliable.

	"Yes ma'am.  Sorry, ma'am!"

	Arnie thought to himself, "Gotta be careful.  I've gotta pull
this off!  After I become the heir, or heiress, of the old man's cash,
then some money will change banks, and I'll change bodies.  Yep...Arnie
Cutner's gonna be a rich, ex-doorman.  And this Leona-wanna-be here will
have been married to wealth for nothin'."

	He smiled as he contemplated the success of his plan, not
realizing the beauty that he was radiating as he did so.

I Want Power