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A Stranger Comes to Town, Part 5 (Multi TFTG)
🕑 Added 2023-09-08 06:21:12 +0000 UTCAww, I did a sweet one this time.
By FoxFaceStories
Friendly Oaks is just an ordinary rural town, full of common people and professions. But beneath that kind surface there are all manner of rivalries, tensions, hypocrisies, and love affairs. When a Stranger wanders into town, the people of Friendly Oaks find themselves changing - literally - after encountering him. Some transformations are small, others massive, some well-deserved, some not at all. But the town won’t be the same once the Stranger is done with it.
Part 5: Dryad Dreaming
Gretchen Arbor always got up early in the morning to tend to her garden. She was an old soul, well into her mid-seventies, and had long lived alone, ever since her ridiculous husband had run off to Europe with that French so-and-so that was young enough to be his own daughter! It had been quite the scandal in the town of Friendly Oaks, and it remained a curious point of discussion even though it had been nearly twenty years ago. By that point, Gretchen was too old by her own standards to find a new partner, and she’d never had children with Gregory besides.
Thankfully, she always had her garden. It had driven Dan up the damn wall when he’d been around, how much time she spent in it, growing her sunflowers and roses and hedge walls and lilacs and dandelions and so on and so forth. She cultivated her vegetable patch with special care, growing far more tomatoes and strawberries and carrots and beets than she would ever need, and happily leaving them for others to collect in an open box by her mailbox. It wasn’t like she was a particularly big eater: she was slim and shrunken, wrinkled and old, with long, frizzy, grey-white hair that sometimes obscured her spectacles. She was often seen in her gardening outfit, her gloves slung over her shoulder by a strap even when she was purchasing other necessities about town. Suffice to say, she was seen as a bit of an odd eccentric, albeit one who was well-meaning and quite lovely, if deeply introverted and shy. She knew that herself: since Dan had left, people were just so darn difficult. Plants were a lot easier: they grew and bloomed with proper care and the seasons, and that was well enough.
Still, she did miss human connection, sometimes. Mills and Boon novels - her secret little shame - could only bring her so much delight. It wasn’t that sex was some great appeal - being a septuagenarian does wonders for killing one’s libido - but romance was not truly dead for Gretchen. Perhaps it was simply the knowledge that Dan was still out there, only a little younger than her and still with some young French tart, that made her wistfully imagine starting life again with some quiet romantic poet - also French, for revenge - who would help bloom her garden with her. A sanctuary for two, as it were.
But such hopes were the idle dreams of an old woman whose life was far behind her. There was a great wall looming ahead, and like the plants of her garden, it would someday come to an end. For now, all she could do was tend to the roots, and hope the soil would keep true.
It was this image of the aged woman carefully cultivating her front patch before her deck that the Stranger happened upon. The coffee, in the end, had been rather marvellous. He suspected the new cowgirl Annabelle would be remarkably productive in her role. Perhaps her boyfriend would even come to enjoy her milky new form - he’d decided to add a little bit of magical libido to the mix, just in case. Young love deserved to bloom, after all, even if it should pay more attention to a customer’s order.
But now it was an image of age that gained his attention. The Stranger was not struck by many things: as a rather eccentric and ethereal being not quite of this world, morality was an ever-changing and rarely inflexible thing to him. And yet, for the first time in a while, he was struck by the quiet beauty and serene calm of Gretchen Arbor tending to her pots and plants, watering and talking to each as if they were her children. Which, for all intents and purposes, they sort of were.
Gretchen didn’t notice the figure approach the classical white picket fence that demarcated her front yard. She was far more focused on clipping the roses just so, and getting rid of the leaves that had been chewed away by weevils. She didn’t like to use insecticides of any kind, preferring the human touch over the artificial: far better for the environment, after all, and insects had their own part to play in it. She still mourned the loss of monarch butterflies in the region, and this was her small rebellion.
So it came nearly as a fright out of her skin when the Stranger, having watched her for several minutes in the front yard, finally spoke in that strangely hollow, crackling voice of his.
“Excuse me, but I cannot help but notice the beauty of your garden, madam.”
“Holy hells!” she exclaimed, whirling about with the energy of someone that felt briefly twenty years younger. “Young man! You nearly scared the life out of me!”
“I meant no alarm, my apologies. I was just appreciating what you have created here.”
She adjusted her spectacles, taking in his immense statue and somewhat grim demeanour. She had seen his type before decades ago: the wandering preachers and stragglers, legacies of the Great Depression that had moulded their mothers and fathers. At least, this is what she assumed of him.
“No offence taken, young man,” she said, removing one of her gloves. “I take great pride in my garden, so it’s always kind when someone sees fit to notice. The world is far too quick to appreciate these things these days, I find.”
“I would agree,” the Stranger said, drawing closer so that he was nearly pressing against the fence. “I imagine it takes a great deal of effort to maintain such splendour?”
She chuckled. “A lot more than my body can take these days! I’m nearly at the point of hiring a hand for some of the potwork and soil changes: my old knees can barely take it, but I’m a stubborn woman, I suppose.”
“No husband to help you?”
“Pah! He’s off gallivanting in Europe with some French girl half his age or less. Only reason I don’t divorce him is because it’s too inconvenient and the house is already in my name. No, I just potter around myself now. I’m Gretchen. Gretchen Arbor - appropriate last name, I know.”
The Stranger smirked. He already knew Gretchen’s name. He knew the name of everyone he met, and their natures. And while he changed people unjustly, or for mere amusement or the poetry of the thing, he found himself intrigued by Gretchen’s nature, her literal connection to nature. She was old, and tired, and he sensed within her the beginnings of issues in her heart and muscles that would likely leave her in a nursing home within the next half decade, and yet it was as if the very garden she had formed was part of her, and she drew nourishment from it.
“Folks call me just the Stranger,” he said, extending a hand.
To his surprise, Gretchen took it and shook it easily in her weak grip. “Lovely to meet you, Stranger. I won’t ask questions; I know we all have our own stories. Would you like to come in for a tea? I rarely get visitors or get to meet new people, and I don’t much go out myself. But if you like the garden out front, I think you’ll love what I have out back.”
The Stranger took her up on this offer, and his esteem of her was raised as she served him some lovely scones with cream and jam, and brought him out back where the true sight was. Though the Stranger had lived a long time and seen many cultivated spaces, his alien senses could feel a rare connection here: the front yard paled in comparison to the back, which was a wilder space with numerous fruit-bearing trees, native plants and shrubs, various vegetable patches, and a number of carefully maintained trees. It was a delicate balance between order and enlightenment, and the natural chaos and wildness of nature. In the mid-morning sun, the shade was cool and inviting. He sampled a scone and nibbled upon it - not that he needed food to live - and took in the sight.
“It is the most marvellous personal garden I have seen in my long years,” he said.
“Well, that’s a high compliment indeed,” Gretchen said, feeling chipper. She stood up to fetch his tray, only to wince. It was her back pain again.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, just my darn back. Don’t worry about it, darling it’s part of getting old.”
“Mhm. I understand such things, though I do not fully know them. May I ask how old you are, Gretchen?”
She shot him a look. “Well, if you must know, I’m seventy seven years young, as it were. Not that I feel young. But the garden is what I’ve got, and it makes my old soul happy. I feel younger here.”
“I can see why. May I inquire further, Gretchen? I am a stranger, but I must know what happens to this garden in the future?”
“The future?”
“After.”
She narrowed her eyes. “After?”
“Once you are gone.”
There was silence, but for the chirping of insects and birds. “Well, I don’t think this is a comfortable discussion, mister Stranger. But I imagine my errant husband will bulldoze it all if he inherits, damn him, so I’ll probably hope that council can take care of it. Not that Mrs Tyde will do much good, I imagine.”
The Stranger nodded. “That is very sad. You have the green thumb, Gretchen Arbor. A rare gift indeed. If you had the chance, would you tend to this garden forever? Grow it more and more, so that it became a place of great beauty for all to take in?”
Gretchen didn’t even need to consider it. “Of course I would. I’ve often dreamed of such a thing. But flights of fancy for one so old as I are not worth considering. No, I know I’m the only one to really care about this. But I’d like to know the garden was well-cared for. God knows that dealing with the weeds is far too tasking. I can barely manage it these days.”
The Stranger did something quite different. He removed his hat, revealing his dark hair and weathered forehead. At least, that’s how he looked at that moment. He turned his eyes upon Gretchen and beheld her. Even with her old vision, which the glasses could only help so much with, she saw something strange and alien in his eyes.
“I can give you the chance, you know,” he said. “To be the custodian of this garden, and others. Of the wilds of Friendly Oaks.”
Gretchen’s aged hands shook. She placed her tea upon the table before her.
“You - you’re not human, are you?”
“No.”
“Are you . . . an angel?”
“I am not. I am far too changeable for that. But I am known to give banes and blessings, and it is the latter I am willing to bestow upon you, and by choice as well. I ask you, Gretchen Arbor, if you would like to turn back the clock, and bloom once more as your garden does?”
The old woman looked about, then at her veiny hands which shook slightly, trembling with a mix of nervousness and age. She was briefly terrified that she had died, and that the Grim Reaper himself was offering her a deal. But her lungs were still working, her heart still beating, even if those organs no longer worked with the same alacrity as they once had. Gretchen looked across her garden, this work of so many years of careful tending, and that sense of romance welled up within her. She had been alone for so long, and this garden was hers. If there was a chance to turn back the clock, to meet someone who cared for this place like her, to start again and continue her work . . .
“Y-yes,” she said, her eyes slightly wet with tears as she answered. “Yes, I rather think I would, Mister Stranger. If - if such a thing were possible. I wouldn’t want part of any contract or anything, or a deal with the Devil, or -”
“No contract required. Simply a gift.”
“Then . . . please. If - if you can. If you will it.”
The Stranger extended a hand and took Gretchen’s. For just a moment, she felt as if his flesh were not quite right, as if there were a glamour or charm upon it, or that it was not made of the substance of man. And then he directed her away from that thought.
“Look into my eyes, Gretchen, and see the possibilities.”
She looked.
And she saw.
Nature abounding in all its beauty, spreading and coiling and tending and cultivating and receding with the seasons before bursting, bursting, bursting back into full bloom with the delight of spring. Butterflies and beetles thriving in their beauty, birds spreading seeds across the garden and beyond, the environment of Friendly Oaks itself changing to push back against the rigours of mechanical, clinical, robotic greyness and flowing instead with the full wonders of nature. And her in the centre of it, or a figure, green-skinned much like the rest of it, hair wild, body naked, laughing and dancing as if young again.
She saw it all, and the tears began to flow.
And the changes flowed as well.
It happened so much more quickly than the changes to Priskett or Annabelle or Polly or the garbagemen couple. Gretchen welcomed the flow of transformation into her, marvelling at her body as it changed. She gasped, grunted and groaned a little, but spoke almost no words as her wrinkles skin smoothed out, as the years rolled back on her form. She breathed heavily as her figure, long made thin and rectangular by age, suddenly filled out again and then some, regaining lost womanly proportions. Her hips spread wider, her waist narrowed, losing the flab it had gained since her life became more sedentary. Her thighs thickened, arms gaining lithe muscle, while her jowls and neck resculpted to become poised.
“Oh my God,” she said. “This is - this is wondrous!”
“There is much more to come. Behold your changes.”
To Gretchen’s astonishment, her years continued to turn back. Her body clock reversed through her sixties and fifties almost immediately, but they did not stop there: soon she was in her forties, energy returning, then in her thirties, her figure young and fit and nearly in its prime. Her stomach became smooth, with just a slight healthy pooch that was ordinary for a young, fertile woman.
“It’s actually happening,” Gretchen marvelled. “I’m - I’ve forgotten how it felt to be so young! So full of life!”
“You shall be more full of life than you can imagine,” said the Stranger. “And far closer to nature. Observe.”
Gretchen’s clothes began to fall away, almost as if they were crumbling to golden ash. She should have felt shame at being suddenly exposed, but instead it felt . . . natural. Right. Her breasts, useless dried up tubes moments ago, now filled out full and ripe, and far bigger than they had been even in her prime. She had always been a lithe woman, but now her chest became quite blessed indeed, becoming pert E-cups or large, full and sensuous and delightful. She couldn’t help it: she giggled in delight at their size and softness, being like large cantaloupes themselves. These magnificent curves were matched by the way her rear filled out, and her hips as well, giving her an impressively curvaceous figure. She was no stick-thin supermodel, but a full-figured woman that would be beautiful in any age, but certainly had the popular figure of the 1950s, of her own youth. Such changes were matched by her face: her face regained its old heart shape, though her lips were fuller than ever. Her nose became aquiline and pure, while her hair extended further down to her naked buttocks, twisting and growing wild and yet strangely ordered at the same time.
“Ohhhhhh,” she moaned, feeling a rising pleasure. Her large nipples stiffened with a strange bliss, and as they did so, they changed colour unexpectedly. She bit her lip, viewing this odd change with anticipation, and soon the colour spread across her body, extending over her skin in patches at first and then across her form entirely. The sensitivity of her skin grew tenfold, causing her to jolt backwards; her various curvaceous parts jiggled pleasantly in response to this.
“I’m - dear lord, I’m turning green!” she cried, though she was not horrified, but fascinated. Intrigued.
The Stranger smiled. “What better colour for a nymph of nature? For a dryad of the earth and wood and green?”
“I’m becoming - oh dear Lord, this is astonishing! This is - Mmhmphh! Exhilarating! Ahh!!”
More pleasure flooded her core, and soon she was the lush green of spring grass, her nipples darker woodland green. Her skin gained a curious texture to it, as if it were partly made of bark, with beautiful patterns of grooves and small dark pebbles of skin that almost appeared like wood hollows. And yet it was not hardened, at least not in its present state: she wondered if she could mark her skin like bark, her figure like a tree, and revert back again. The thought alone told her that might well be the case, and her heart leapt.
Her hair turned dark green and brown with strains of golden pollen running through it. Flowers grew in her hair, and it was difficult to tell how much of her new do was actual hair or hyperthin roots tangling around one another. It was wild and free, and while she could not know it, her eyes also turned a magnificent glowing golden amber.
“Mhmmm . . . I f-feel so good,” she said. “Younger, stronger . . . and - oh this is embarrassing and so wonderful! I feel better than I ever have!”
Unlike the other transformers who were left embarrassed, mentally altered, confused, or aghast, Gretchen looked over her sumptuous fae body with delight. She jumped, feeling her strength, and then without even saying another word she collapsed back onto the grass, running her hands over her curves and laughing.
“Oh my, you are an angel! I don’t care what you say! This is magnificent! Please tell me this is real?”
“It is indeed real.”
“Good! Because I can feel the grass as I never have. Ohhhh, I can hear the sigh of the trees, the call of the birds. I can feel the nutrients in the soil, the abundance of life. I thought I was a gardener - this is Eden, now!”
She giggled, her voice now light and seductive and playful, the years melting away to reveal the core of Gretchen that had faded over time but never truly dissipated.
“Oh, if only my husband could see me now. How he would lust after me!”
The thought made her perk up. She sat up, resting back on her hands and subconsciously adopting a pose that was, to put it lightly, the very image of seduction and sexual arousal. She hadn’t even intended it, but as a forest nymph and dryad, it came naturally to her. It had been so long since her own libido had stirred that she had almost forgotten the feeling, but now it returned with a force.
“Oh, good gosh. I think I’m feeling rather . . . perky.”
“That would be one way to put it. The forest nymphs and dryads of legend were indeed creatures of freedom, in matters natural and sexual.”
Gretchen swallowed, causing her green breasts to rise and fall heavily. They felt wonderful on her, but her body was already yearning for a man to enter her garden, so to speak, and taste of her fruit.
“Oh, this will take some getting used to. I think - if I remember correctly - that in some legends, a nymph’s power to expand her forest and spread natural wonders requires, um, a bit of lovemaking. Pleasure.”
The Stranger stood, eating the last of his scone. “That is indeed the case. Worry not, you may find a man with ease, or many men, depending on your preference. From this day, you are now a being of blended bark and wood and greenery, captivating in beauty and immortal youth. You will appear to be in your mid-twenties,, and will remain such as long as you desire to live and thrive in your garden and surrounding forests. Wherever you lay down in patches of grass and dirt and bush you will find wondrous comfort, connected to the soil and the land. Nature is yours to spread, Gretchen Arbor, and you may spread it as lovingly as you please.”
Gretchen launched to her feet, still astonished by her strength. Uncaring about her nakedness - and in fact already loving it - she dashed to the Stranger. For once, he was surprised, wrapped in a hug from the nymph. She raised herself up on her toes and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“Thank you! For everything! You are an angel.”
“Perhaps . . . just this once, I have been. Live well, Gretchen, and love well. You now have the body and role for it.”
She grinned impishly as he began to move away, already stroking one breast with arousal. It wasn’t a compulsion, just a low lying need of her body. She wanted to get used to it first before she used it, but she definitely intended to use it. Dan didn’t know what he’d missed out on when he’d run away all those years ago, but she’d spent far too much time single. Nymphs could change their appearance to be more human, after all. All it would take was to find the right man to build a garden with her, and she could make him a very happy man in turn.
She looked over her body again as the Stranger left her view, disappearing through her home. She was stunning.
“I think I’ll make whomever I find a very, very happy man indeed,” she said.
And then she fell back onto the grass, giggling like a young woman again, connected to nature in a way she had never before felt, but was destined to expand for years and years and years to come.
Comments
Fox Face
Very glad you enjoyed it : )
Rodrigo Martínez Rica
Pluf
SelkieKitsu
This one was so cute! Happy to see the Stranger let his softer side out a little XD
