Billy tried not to look the beautiful Meda in the face as she recited his various inadequacies namely his nondescript brown hair and eyes, his slim build, his bland grey suit with brown shoes. The list went on and on. After she had finished hurling abuse at him Meda left threatening to “Make a man of him” whatever THAT meant. Billy sat back down at his desk and watched as Meda went to the coffee shop across the road from his office and glared at him. It was just one of those days.

Meda was furious. But she wasn’t going to let herself be beaten by an insurance clerk, after all Jason of the Argonauts had crossed her and suffered so what was a pathetic excuse of a man. She stopped and smiled. Yes, her former husband was a Royal Marine and she was sure they wouldn’t mind if she gave them a replacement. She sat at the table with her head in her hands and without taking her eyes off Billy began to chant in a whisper.

A quickie I dashed of. I admit that Being the best I can be gave me the inspiration for this but being a were royal marine is a fantasy I've had for some time now. Perhaps I'll write the story of that one if I ever get time. I know its short but then again I have many great ideas and dreams but having them and putting them into words is another thing. Enjoy.

Billy was writing up the report on Meda’s claim when he suddenly felt very warm as if he was wearing two sets of clothing. He peered down at his brown shoes in time to see them fade from light brown to coal black, inflate and become rounder at the toe and stretch up over his ankles to become combat boots. His shoulders started to roll back and out as his back straightened out of his usual slouch growing broader with and slow grinding noise. His face was being pushed and pulled into more masculine features, his face lost its smoothness to become weathered and tough. His chest and shoulders filled his white shirt with his biceps straining at his shirtsleeves with forearms thickening to massive proportions. His hands grew bigger and stronger as knuckles cracked and popped to become part of a pair of massive fists which he remembered winning his many fights. “EH! Billy thought” only now he wanted to be Bill. New memories shunted his old ones out the way like his new back muscles were forcing their way free of Bill’s shirt. His sleeves shredded as they failed to contain his biceps but this wasn’t a problem as beneath the wreckage of his trousers that his bulging thighs had wrecked was a camouflage uniform “WHAT THE FUCKS GOING ON, WAY THE FUCK CAN’T I FUCKING STOP FUCKING SWEARING!!!” Bill stopped, that outburst had come from his bull thick throat and he found he swore like a trooper out of habit, though he didn’t know that his language would become less colourful after a few hours. The last remains of Billy were now being lost to the more aggressive memories of Bill, Billy would, if he had the chance, have admitted that Bill had more to offer than Billy. Bill, for instance, didn’t take any shit. Bill ripped the remains of his suit off and put his fist through the computer monitor. He had always hated computers and it felt good to destroy it. Bill flexed his muscles, lit a cigar and trailing cigar smoke barged past several of his former work colleagues on his way back to barracks.

Meda watched the transformation with glee. “Now” she thought “For the bank manager”. •