James leaves Avery behind him, headed towards out a section sign reading "Motherhood". He's never seen a whole maternity section before. On a whim, he meanders past the rows of bookshelves, each made of dark wood carefully polished to shine under the gentle lights of the library. The ceilings are high, he notices idly, but not consistent. While the section he heads to has a fairly normal nine-foot ceiling, just a few dozen feet away the ceiling flies away to reach at least twenty-four feet in height. In another spot, one would need to crawl to check the shelves. He passes by comfortable looking plush armchairs in rich navy velvet, and goes straight past the sections "Malaysian Culture", "Male Identities", "Mesozoic Biology", "Miniaturization", and "Monkeys". The row of shelves in front of him, a good twenty feet long is labeled "Motherhood", and just beyond it the section reads "Moths".
Once more James is struck by the appealing strangeness of these categories. It's almost as if, he considers, the whole library was established by some rich eccentric to contain his many thousand interests in just the order and manner he preferred, and then opened the building to the public! James considers for a moment what such wealth would be like as he steps into the aisle.
James notices another queer detail as he scans the spines of the book. They are not all in English, nor are they all in the same condition. Some fo the texts are ancient and weathered, others new printed and shiny. He checks the titles on the spines of the books he can read "Myths of Motherhood by Circe Spellman", "Becoming Maternal by Sara Secondus", "Mother of Monsters, Translated by Leslie Bishop", "Jamie Earnest's Lactation Primer", and "7+: Septuplets and Beyond!". These books are fairly new in appearance, scattered between books in Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Chinese and stranger tongues. Some of these older books James notices are inlaid with precious metals, or studded with diamonds.
James considers all of these books but is drawn most to the leatherbound tome titled "Mother of Monsters". It is heavy in his hand as he slowly slides it free from the shelf and turns to open it. The yellowing pages open with a crinkle and a rushing smell of old paper and something metallic. The text inside is a faded older font, and the illustration on the page is something to behold. An ink drawing like you would see on a tarot card, the colors faded with time, depicts a woman with a moon-round belly, her legs spread as serpent-like things crawl forth. The card is entitled "Lilith".
James snaps the book shut with a shiver, his hair standing on end. Yet another mystery, this clearly unwholesome illustration. But he supposes Avery might be at the door to turn away kids. He tucks the book under his arm, pressing the warm cracked leather of the cover to his side as he walks to the front desk under an archway with a second motto, different from "Reading Can Change Your Life". The carved stone reads "Good Books Make Good Readers".
James sets the heavy leather-bound book down on Avery's desk to check out. It is small, for its weight, and the leather is dark and cracked. The cover once had some embossed design but it appears to have flaked and rubbed all away by now. Avery eyes it with trepidation, glancing between it and James. "You're sure?" they say as they gesture at the book, and him, together. "You don't look the type."
James isn't sure he's ever had a librarian or bookseller say such a thing to him before. He supposes it's true and shrugs. "It's interesting. I kinda like strange books." Avery hums thoughtfully at that and nods, responding, "I suppose that is true. Well, I hope you enjoy it. You'll need to return it in two weeks, so make sure you've gotten all you want from it by then."
James nods and scoops the book up to leave. "Sure thing! See you soon Avery." He's well out the door and on the way home when he realizes what they'd said. As he makes the short walk to his little one-bedroom apartment he murmurs to himself. "Gotten all I want from it?" He says, glancing back towards the large glass building. "Whatever can that have meant?"
James arrival at his apartment is unheralded by friends, lovers, or pets. He is alone in the little one-bedroom space. The door often sticks during the balmy summer weather but today it opens easily, inviting him into the dark space of his home. The air conditioning has run all day and the air is cool and dry as he steps inside, setting down his keys on the little table kept by the door. He kicks his shoes off by the sofa and takes a seat in the old leather armchair his grandfather left to him. The old curmudgeon had loved reading as much as James and left the antique piece to him when he passed earlier that year. He reached up and tugged on the lamplight behind him, casting warm amber throughout the living room, and opened "Mother of Monsters" in his lap.
It begins with an epigraph attributed to an unknown writer, reading, "Those who lie with monsters, make monsters of their own." James furrows his brow and lets out a quiet "Duh" at this, and turns the page. Skipping over the table of contents to the introduction he began to read. He reads the translators introduction, about how she was fascinated by these symbols of dangerous female power, of maternal perversion, and how the chapters lay out historical and mythical trends. James shifts, finding it difficult to become comfortable even in his favorite chair, as he reads of archaeological records of women clutching strange demonic seeming children to their breasts. His stomach grumbles and he sits up slightly, feeling his jeans pinching him somewhat. He pays it no mind as he reads stories of women who found power and satisfaction by coupling with demons and monsters. He flicks his hair back from his eyes as he continues to read, shifting as he feels his clothes seeming to swaddle and constrain him. He feels a warmth growing in his crotch as he reads about the raptures of these women, of the dark maternal magic they worked on men, beasts, their own monstrous spawn.
He shivered, warmth in his gurgling belly as he imagined one of these beasts, a werewolf perhaps, or something stranger, filling him, of his back arching, his breasts aching his...
He pauses then and shivers at the vivid feeling, of the raging arousal he feels in his loins and terrific wetness there as well. Has he come, he wonders, and looks down. What he sees is the final strange surprise of a strange day. His clothes no longer fit him. Her hair, once short and muddy brown, is a mess of black curls that falls across his eyes. She trembles as delicate hands seep back the curls and she stares down at her new body. Wide hips, heavy breasts, poorly clad in clothes made for an average male. She stands, spilling the book onto the floor with a loud thud, and races to the mirror on the wall.
There James sees a stunning woman of his own age looking back at her. Sparkling dark eyes, dark curls. Ruby libs. Breasts that fill her shirt to the brim, wide hips, a dark stain at the crotch of his jeans. Her stomach rolls and she stares at herself, recognizes herself, can barely remember the way she looked. She panics, cursing a blue streak as she tries to pull her wallet out. Her new hips make it difficult, wallet trapped in the pocket until she can tear it free to see her old face, but it's not there. Her ID reads, "Jamie", same age, height, lighter weight, and shows the face that stares at her in the mirror. Her old face and name are fuzzy memories, but these new ones belong to her, deep-seated identity.
She feels the heat in her belly again and remembers the images, thoughts, spells in the book. The image of a woman being bred by a white bull, a great serpent, a giant. All these fill her mind. She feels drawn to these creatures, and as she thinks of dragons, enormous writhing eels, satyrs, centaurs, tentacles and more, she unbuttons her jeans.
The smell of her own sex is rich in her nose for the first time, sweet and metallic, her pubes dark and thick. She searches furtively, staggering towards her bed as she imagines the creatures from the book more and more. Her fingers slide in as she pictures Cerberus' three heads slavering over her. They hook wriggle within her as she imagines enormous spiders draping themselves upon her. She rubs her clit furiously, picturing griffins penetrating her. She cums, thinking of monsters, spraying out on her bed.
Jamie lies, panting, sweaty, half-dressed and new. No thought of normal men or women brings the slightest interest in her, but the idea of these creatures already sets her loins stirring again. It's almost overwhelming, and she staggers into the shower. As the cold water runs over her new body, her hands cupping her own strange flesh she decides what she has to do...