Chapter 3

In the early hours of Friday morning, Nick awoke with all of his covers thrown off and his flaccid member itching again. He rubbed some cream on it to alleviate the worst symptoms and returned to wander through lurid dreams until the alarm dredged him up from the depraved scenes in his imagination.

He refrained from panicking as he fought the traffic, driving to work to avoid any complications on the subway, knowing that Val would be there to alleviate the coming, unavoidable itch. The car kept the wafting scent emanating from his crotch from the rest of the free world. With a bit of confidence in his step, Nick walked down the hallway only to find an obese fake blonde who was far north of fifty in Valerie's seat.

"You must be Mr. Korman," the tub of lard nasally declared, "your secretary called out sick. The temp agency sent me over. It's a pleasure to meet you."

When she pronounced 'you' with a long, drawn out whine, Nick visibly winced. He could have sworn this woman was selling subway passes in the battered booth under Madison Square Garden a couple of nights ago, but he kept his mouth shut. He put on his best 'life is great' smile and waved his greeting. He rushed past her desk and shut the door behind him. Only then did he contemplate whether he wanted to hyperventilate or not.

Bringing up his calendar, he groaned loudly again at the screaming block of evening hours devoted to dinner at his parent's house;. He reached for the top right drawer and popped a couple of gelcap pain relievers into his mouth, hoping that they would dull the unrelenting itch in his pants. He dialed Ajay's extension.

"Hey, Ajay, you want to come with me to Tenafly, tonight? I've got dinner with the parentals. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Is that the same girl that you brought to the wedding? You're a lucky man, Ajay."

Nick hung up the telephone in defeat. A brief knock at the door brought his head up and the temp stuck her head in the door, "Your 9:30 is here. What is that wonderful scent I smell?"

Nick looked for a suitable object on his desk to throw that would render her senseless. The paperweight clock looked appropriate but instead, he barked out his orders, "Send him in. Close the door. Don't disturb us."

"When you're done, I'll be glad to help you with whatever you need," she oozed, drawing out the last word into two syllables while lewdly squeezing her thighs together.

Nick used his trembling finger to point her towards the door. He took a moment before the client stepped in to smack his head with the palm of his hand a couple of times in an attempt to banish the image of 'big fat Fanny' from his head. He succeeded partially.

Nick tried to keep his mind occupied most of the day. He did make a detour to the pharmacy and bathed his body in one the new male body washes in the executive washroom in hopes that it would mask the poison scent.

Dinner was surreal as Nick constantly shifted in his chair trying to keep his underwear from making contact with his cock. Everything about his house was so utterly normal, the same plates, the same conversations, the same food. The normalcy of it all highlighted the alien-ness of his cursed body. He wanted desperately to tell his parents what had happened, but he held his tongue.

After dinner, his father invited him out to the garage with a couple of beers. The elder Mr. Korman was a tinkerer and he had the engine of his suction pump partially disassembled on his workbench. As Nick passed tools or held a piece in place he got up the courage to ask the unasked questions.

"Dad," Nick began with a casualness he didn't really feel, "why did you change our last name to 'Korman'?"

"Business. Korman Plumbing is an American business. You can't expect to make a living fixing toilets for Russians who refuse to learn English," he answered without looking up from his task.

"What was our real name?" Nick dropped.

"Korela," his father answered looking up with a steady bead on Nick, "we were Cossacks."

Nick's mental bullshit detector went off in the back of his brain. His father's expression was the same face he gave customers when he offered them a new faucet when a ten cent washer would fix the problem. The old lady's insult that his father was a lousy liar tasted bitter on his tongue. Nick took a big swallow from his can of beer.

"So our ancestors rode horses and chopped off people's heads with big swords in the name of the czar," he dredged up from his memory.

"Something like that," the older man muttered and returned to the examining a bushing.

Nick tossed out a feeler, "I met an old lady at Chad's wedding last week who insisted on calling me Nikolai, arguing that we were fools for denying our Russian heritage."

His father shrugged, but refused to answer.

Nick continued, "She said her name was 'Yagablovsky' and she spoke with a thick accent."

"She's lying," his father snapped, "there is no last name 'Yagablovsky' in Russian, 'Yablovsky' is a real name but it's not found in the region from which we come. Are you sure you heard right?"

"I danced all night with her daughter, Papa, I remember her grandmother's name. The girl called her grandmother 'Baba', you know, 'Old Lady'."

"Baba Yagablovsky?" Mr. Korman recited the name aloud letting the name roll slowly off of his tongue, "are you still seeing this granddaughter?"

Nick shook his head, "No, Papa, she thinks I'm a pig."

"I'm sorry she thinks you're a pig, Nicholas," his father frowned, "but perhaps it is for the best that you don't see her again. There is something disturbing about her grandmother's name. Hand me that 3/16 ratchet."

Nick handed his father the tool. He shook the empty can, double checking that there was no more beer and tossed the can into the corner making a bank shot into the recycling bin.

"Want another?" He offered his father as he turned towards the kitchen door.

His father gave him a nonverbal wave off and Nick returned to the kitchen to see if he could pump any information out of his mother. First he wanted to raid their medicine cabinet and see if there was anything he could take to mask the increasing pain. As he crossed the house, the doorbell rang.

His mother called out from the back, "That's Selma with the forms for the Breast Cancer walkathon. Would you let her in, Nick?"

Nick groaned inwardly out of fear of delaying his pain relief, "Sure Mom!"

He opened the door, expecting the dumpy Mrs. Selma Gottfried, and instead blinked in surprise at the voluptuous Kimberly Gottfried, who was the skinny brat next door, or used to be. She was about six years younger than Nick, but he hadn't seen her in at least ten years; Kimberly had been friends with Nick's younger sister.

"Hi, Kimberly," Nick shyly greeted her.

Kimberly seemed no less surprised, "Hi Nick. I didn't know you were visiting tonight."

She seemed to have forgotten the papers she was holding in her hand as she stared back at him. He invited her in once and then had to repeat himself. She blushed and stepped through the doorway, brushing close to Nick.

"It's good to see you," she flirted and then she took a deep breath," whatever that wonderful scent you're wearing is, it smells yummy."

It was Nick's turn to blush and he fumbled, "My new body wash."

They stared at each other for a moment, neither saying a word. Kimberly seemed to be enjoying deep breaths and Nick was taken by her large chest that kept moving back and forth. She grasped his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Maybe we should take some time and catch up with everything," she suggested while batting her eyelids.

"I think I would like that," Nick agreed and he started for the door, but Kimberly's grip stopped him. He looked at her quizzically.

"I'm supposed to give these papers to your mom. My mother isn't feeling well and was going to bed when she asked me to drop these off," Kimberly explained.

"I'll take them," Nick offered and ran the papers back to his mother's room. He told her Kimberly had stopped by and that they were going to go out for a little bit. His mother raised her eyebrows and wiggled her finger at him, indicating that she knew what he was up to after all. Nick tossed the forms on the bed and practically ran for the front door, grabbing Kimberly on the way.

Outside, he threw a liplock on her that brought all of his pent up anxiety to his lips. Nick felt her hand creep up between the two of them, grab his chest and push him back.

"Jeez, Nick, I know you're excited to see me and I'm excited to see you, but you can't just jump and hump me," Kimberly pointed out.