By: Socks the Catt
© 2005 Socks Furrotica

Charles walked from his office building with confidence.  His.  Hobart Securities and Trust was all but his now.  In fact the world was his, the world just didn't know that yet.  Not that it mattered to Charles, he knew his place was to be the ruler of it all.  Not politically, but where the true power was.  In money.  In power over others.  Buying out those he couldn't force out of the picture was just a part of the game.  Nothing personal, it's just business. And he had plans to buy a lot.

"Chuck!"  Charles didn't stop walking even as the man ran up behind him.  "Chuck?  I'm amazed I ran into you!  You're always busy?"

"It's Charles." He said, sounding annoyed.  "And I've got places to go."

"Don't you remember me?" the other man said, keeping pace.  "From high school?  Jeff?  We hung out a lot behind the movie theater and stuff?  I can't believe you're here!  Working in the same building as me!  You look good!"

"I should, the suit cost enough." Charles said, still not breaking his stride.

"We should get together again, like old times." Jeff said.  "We can hit the bars and..."

Charles stopped, and Jeff ran into his back.  Charles then turned to face the man.  "Look...  Jeff, right?"  Jeff nodded.  "For all I care the little geek club I had in high school is a long dead memory.  In fact, everything before I left that podunk little town is a bad memory that I'm choosing to let wither and die.  That includes you, and anyone else I knew back then.  People like you make me sick.  If you had any drive you wouldn't be working under me.  Now go away before I have you fired.  If you haven't heard I'm about to be named the Vice President of my company and I have appointments to keep."

Jeff stood stunned as Charles pivoted and walked away.  Jeff watched his old friend walk away, shook his head, and pulled out his cell phone.

In the parking garage Charles was thinking of  the night ahead.  He'd go out with that sow of a woman the President called his daughter, and figure out if she was actually of any use as a human being.  Pumping his secretary for information was always a good time investment, especially when he could fit her in between signings.  He got a lot of information between pumps. Of course he'd just accidentally run into the bosses daughter at the bar he knew she liked to hang out at.  He already had her friends around his finger, she wouldn't be much of a challenge.

He beeped his BMW, and got into the driver seat.  He put his cell phone on the dash, and fumbled in his pocket for the earpiece.  He happened to look up through the windshield and saw a homeless man there.  He held a sign that said "I need money for food", and his unclean appearance repulsed Charles.  He made a mental note to tell security about this waste of a man in the garage as he waved with his arm.  "MOVE IT!" he shouted.

The man stood there, looking vacantly at the car.  Charles started his car, and revved the engine to show he meant business.  The man didn't budge.  When Charles was about to put the car into gear to run into the homeless man, a white smoke began to billow through his vents.  "What the..."  He revved the engine in reflex, causing more of the smoke to roll in.  He began to cough and gag on the smoke.  He reached for the doors, but they were locked.  He tried for his phone, but he couldn't see straight enough to reach for it.  The last thing he saw was the homeless man folding up his sign casually, and putting it into his overcoat.

Jeff walked dejectedly into the bar.  A few of his friends waived him over to a more private area they had gotten earlier, and he sat down.  "We got you a beer." Cathy said.

"Thanks." Jeff said.

"You know it's for the better good."  Peter said.

"I do." Jeff nodded.  "But that doesn't mean I can't hope."

"Look, you've seen how he is now." Cathy said.  "And you know what he's doing to the secretaries he has, I mean by God he tried to feel me up looking for a wire he thought Jansen put on me to spy on him?  And I can't imagine what he's doing to the other girls."

"You can't say they all don't like it, babe." Peter said.  The smaller group laughed, and Cathy slapped him jokingly.  Peter looked at Jeff.  "But you were the last holdout.  Why did you change your mind?"

"He's not Chuck anymore." Jeff said, sipping his beer.  "I'm sorry guys, I just don't feel like celebrating.  I should probably go."

"Like hell." Cathy said, grabbing his arm.  "You're staying right here until we hear from them.  That's the deal.  Everyone accounted for."  Jeff sighed, and the room started to get louder as the drinking went on.  He looked around and saw most of the staff he worked with, and a lot of people he didn't.  He shook his head, pouring himself a beer from the pitcher.

Charles woke up, feeling his mouth filled with something nasty and wet.  Cloth, he thought.  Tasted awful.  He couldn't see, he had something taped on his head that pressed into his eyes and pushed his head into a surface of some kind, it was so hard to think rationally.  He tried to move his arms, and found they had been somehow bound to whatever he was laying on.  He had an inch or two of movement, at most.  He then became aware of the cold metal on his back, and realized he was naked.  Whoever did this to him would dearly pay for this.

His commotion caused movement away from his table.  "You're awake." The voice said clinically.  Whoever it was sounded slightly muffled, like he had something over his mouth.  Charles tried to speak, but found the cloth in his mouth made his jaw and tongue numb.  "Save your energy.  Not like you'll need it, but I hate to see effort wasted.  Struggle if you must, you are not going anywhere."

Charles tried to rip his arm free, and was rewarded with searing pain as the strap cut into his wrist.  He thrashed as violently as his well toned body could, but to no reward.  He tried to yell, but whatever was in his mouth made it impossible to scream, or speak, or do anything but breathe through his mouth.  After a minute of fighting, he lay on the table panting, moving from side to side trying to make his wrists and ankles stop hurting.

"Are you quite through?" the voice asked.  Charles wanted to spit the cloth out of his mouth, but didn't have the energy to even do that.  "Good.  We can begin."  Charles could hear small metal objects being moved next to him, and the man just spoke.  "I've already done the worst to you I will do, and you'll need to believe me.  What I'm about to do is nothing compared to what I could have woken you up for."  The voice sighed.  "But, I need you awake for this part, to make sure that it does not kill you.  Or worse."

Charles felt something wipe on his upper forearm, and a very strong hand pressed his wrist to the table.  "If you fight me this will be more painful than it needs to be."  Charles was still panting, and couldn't fight back.  He felt a sharp sting, and after a few moments something was taped at mid forearm and he could feel some foreign object imbedded in his arm.  "This will take some time.  If you fight I will be forced to bind you harder for your own safety.  You may feel a sharp sens..."

Charles didn't hear any more, his skin felt like it was on fire all the way up his arm and his head exploded in a buzzing noise.  He tried to scream, but nothing came out.  He felt a tap on his chest as the fire sensation crawled to meet it.  Charles wondered if this is what it felt like to die.

Jeff was on his fifth beer when the private room came to a silence.  Ann was talking into a cell phone.  "Yes, we're all here."  Pause.  "I'll let them know.  Thank you."  She turned off the phone, and looked at the crowd.  "It's done."  There was a cheer, except for Jeff.

He closed his eyes, and said a silent prayer.  "Forgive me Lord, but I know this is for the better good."  He made the sign of the cross, and tried to drown himself in the remainder of alcohol.

Charles was panting hard, whatever it was in his mouth was making his chest feel numb now, a welcome relief from the agony he just endured.  He could hear the man putting small tools away on a metal surface.  "It's my policy to tell you what you shouldn't do.  Don't exercise for the next three days.  You'll try, but you won't be able to do anything.  They all try.  I wouldn't recommend heavy lifting either, not that you would.  Oh, and sex.  Don't try it for three days.  If you do, I can't guarantee you'll enjoy it.  If you thought the injections were painful, sex will be enough to make you a monk."  The man laughed as Charles tried to wish the agony would stop.  When he felt his body become heavy and his head light, he welcomed the sleep.

Charles woke up with the alarm at 5:45 on the dot.  He sat up in bed like a shot, and looked around.  He was in his condominium, in his bed, in his pajamas.  Perhaps it was a dream?  He turned on a light, and inspected his arms and wrists, no marks or blood or wounds of any kind.  Same with his ankles, and as much of his body that he could account for.  When he stood up, the world spun in all directions at once.  It was more than his stomach could handle.  He crawled his way to the bathroom and vomited.

"Hobart Securities and Trust" Cathy said mechanically.  "Main desk. ...  Oh, Hello Mr. Reynolds. ... I'm sorry you're sick today, shall I inform your appointments?  Yes Sir, try to rest.  Feel better tomorrow."  She tried to sound sincere before she hung up, then she called up his appointment book on her computer monitor.  She smiled to herself, even if the stuff didn't work she got a day off from his groping.

Charles tried to make calls from his home, which comforted him to know he was still being productive.  He still got in his required workload, but barely.  Between the sickness he felt and the helplessness he experienced at being this ill so suddenly put him on edge for a whole day.  He tried to figure out what had happened the night before, only to draw a blank.  He knew something happened, but there was no evidence.  The security records of his building said he had arrived home at 7:34 PM, or at least his car did.  But he wasn't in the mood to care.  He told his building security to look at the tapes.  They showed him his car's tinted windows drive into the garage.  Charles made it an early night.

Jeff saw Charles come in almost two days after his rumored sick leave.  He didn't want to see Charles.  Jeff ducked into an elevator so he wouldn't have to look his old friend in the eye.  Not that Charles would remember him, but he couldn't do bring himself to it.  Nobody was supposed to say anything.  Nobody was supposed to let on they knew.  At least it would be over soon, Jeff consoled himself.

Charles got on to normal living when his illness broke, and tried to push it out of his mind.  He got over his flu in a few days, and he felt fine.  For some reason he couldn't bring himself to sex, even with the office "couch queen" he had flings with in the office.  It just wasn't something he was interested in, for some reason.  Even if he felt better, the night still haunted him.
Some weeks later, a memo was passed around the office.  "Charles Reynolds will be promoted in a company only ceremony on Friday, 1 PM."

Charles looked at the notice and smiled.  The company seemed to like to make official announcements after these ceremonies, and he knew the clout "Vice President" would carry in his circles.  It was only a matter of time to work on the President's daughter.  He knew she was a virgin, and based on her face and body he knew why.  But he could get an in with the family, as the president only had daughters to pass his business onto.  Just another step to the ultimate game.  Be the son he never had, and the "good old boy network" would do the rest.

Friday came, and Charles was calm as could be.  He had rehearsed the lines, he memorized the speech he paid a lot of money for, he knew how to play the game.  Most of the employees would be there, to witness his triumph, and he knew how to rub this in all their noses while still coming off as a hero.  This would be his moment.

The small auditorium filled with people from the company, filed in just after their lunch break.  Cameras focused on a small podium, and the President took the stage to polite applause.  He nodded to them all, and smiled.  "Ladies and Gentlemen.  Today is a very special moment for us all."

Backstage, Charles straightened out his jacket, cleaning the lapels with his hand.  He looked in a mirror, and made sure his hair looked perfect.  This would be a major stepping stone, he had to look flawless.  He smiled to himself.  He had this one nailed.

"After much consideration, I have chosen a man who is very deserving for this position." The President said.  "I would like to bring him out now, Mr. Charles Reynolds!"  Charles strode out on stage like he owned the place, which in his mind he did.  Charles nodded and smiled at the clapping, which seemed somewhat enthusiastic.  "Charles, I would like to welcome you to your new position.  And I don't want anyone to think you're just a talking head here.  You got here on your own merits.  So it's with great pleasure I would like to give you the stage."  He extended his hand to Charles, who took it and shook.  Charles never saw the President's other hand reach into his pants pocket.  The President looked into Charles's eyes as he pressed the first button on the small remote.

Charles basked in the applause given for a few moments.  He casually reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the script.  "Thank you.  I am truly humbled, and honored to be given this position in Hobart Securities and Trust.  In the last few yeaarrrr..."  Charles stopped, and cleared his throat.  "Excuse me."  He continued.  "In the last few years HobaarrrrrrRRRR!!!"  His throat suddenly felt raspy, and he reached for the glass of water on the podium.  It couldn't be nerves, probably just air conditioning kicking in he thought.

Trying to look unshaken, he started over.  "In the last few years, Hobart Securities and Trust has been conserrRRRRrraaaaaaaAAA!!!!"  He grasped the podium with both hands, and looked into the audience.  They stared back at him, not laughing or looking embarrassed for him.  They sat politely, like good wage slaves.  The unblinking cameras were trained on him, and he felt a little nervous suddenly. 

"CONSERVATIVE!" he shouted out.  "Conservative." He said a little calmer, standing as straight as he could to regain composure.  He ran his hand through his hair once, and took in a deep breath.  Trying to focus himself, calm himself.  "We have been conservative in our investment strategy."  Having gotten the line out completely, he smiled to himself.  All was better now.

"As a financial institution we must be ready to flow and ebb with the times."  He took in a breath.  "Flow and ebb with the times." He found himself saying again, even tough it wasn't in the script.  He shook his head slightly, and the words seemed to jumble on the page.  He felt a little dizzy, and tried to remember the speech as he memorized it.  "We can not thrrRRAAAAAAWWWWWWWWW!!!"  He arched his lower back and threw his shoulders behind him with this call, sounding animalistic as his head arched, allowing the sound to flow from his throat unburdened.

When his shoulders threw backwards, he chest made an audible crack that was heard without the microphones by the people in the back of the room.  Charles screamed out in pain as his neck made a loud pop as well.  He could feel something happening in his body, somehow he was gaining mass as his belly and chest began to expand.  The bone structure of his chest was pushing the skin forward with loud snaps and stretching sounds.

Charles looked at the audience, panic beginning to overtake him.  "HELP ME!" he screamed.  "Someone HELLLLLLLRRAAWWWWWWW!!!"  This sound came from deep in his chest, and he could feel his throat  get larger, expanding his vocal chords.  The audience stared at him, not running in fear but watching in utter fascination.  He couldn't help but see a few smiles in the audience.  His eyes grew wide.

The President walked over casually to Charles, who could feel his skull reforming.  He could sense the skin of his body being pulled tight as it expanded around bone mass that was alien to him.  The President looked at Charles, and simply smiled.  "And you really thought my daughter would have sex with a slime ball like you?"  Charles looked over and tried to ball his hand into a fist but was rewarded with shooting pains through his body.  He let out squawks of pain as he unclenched his fist.

The President smiled, and motioned off stage.  Two men entered from off stage, and removed the podium.  Charles had nowhere to hide now.  He tried to run but the twinge of motion made his body wrack with pain.  He tried to cover up, but his body wasn't reacting to his desires.  "You messed with my company, and my friends." The President said.  "And you royally screwed up a lot of lives trying to own my family's company.  Not just the people you stepped on, but all the people you used.  See I was going to have you killed, but that's too messy.  Relocation wouldn't work because I know you'd just jump to another company if you weren't under my control.  Seeing as I can't have you blabbering my company secrets to anyone like you did for me when you first came here, you're being relocated, permanently."

The President walked off stage, leaving Charles alone on the stage.  Charles barely had time to figure out what he was talking about.  His shirt felt tight, then his jacket.  He realized he couldn't move his hands to take them off.  The decision was made for him, as his suit split along the seams.  His shirt was ripped as well, and only held on his shoulders with his expensive tie.  He also felt his arms balloon in size, making his shirt rip further as he outgrew it's tailored size.

He heard more seams being torn, and looked at his feet.  His shoes had begun to balloon out as well, "NAAWWWWRRRRRRRAAAAAA!!!" he tried to scream as the pain if his constricted feet.  Finally, his shoes split along the back and sole, almost falling completely off his feet.  He felt his pants belt tighten as well.  In horror he realized he'd be naked when that gave out, but he had no way to stop it or cover himself up.

The audience watched as his belt buckle snapped from the leather, and his pants waistline tore apart to his growing size.  The remnants of his pants and underwear fell around his ankles, and he stood exposed to the whole crowd.  He tried to use his hands to cover himself, but he still had no control over them.  He stood there, breathing hard, trying to run, or hide, or get away.  But his body just stood, in display to the audience.

With a smile, the President pushed the remote again to stop the change momentarily.  He motioned to the men in the wings.  They came out with medical scissors and cut the excess clothing away from Charles.  They left him completely naked on stage, his chest and belly obscenely large.  His legs were also larger as well, stocky and short.  The President pushed the remote control again, and stood back with a smile on his face.

Charles felt his head get shorter.  He realized he couldn't feel his ears anymore, but he could still hear the snickers of the crowd.  His shoulders made a loud snapping sound, and his chest pushed further forward  and caused his arms to cock backwards slightly.  He squawked in pain again.  He looked over the audience with pleading eyes, trying to find someone to rescue him.  But they all sat, watching his fate unfold.  He then realized, they wouldn't come to his aid.

He suddenly clenched his feet, and he could feel his toes fusing together.  He looked down, and one of the cameramen panned to film the change.  He looked in horror as his feet split down the middle, his five toes fusing into only three stubby ones.  His heels pushed out behind his feet and beyond his ankle.  He groaned in obvious pain as yellowed nubs pushed out from them, curling downwards to the floor.

Suddenly, his hips shifted violently, widening out with a loud grinding sound.  Charles wanted to fall to the ground, but his new stance prevented him from doing that.  His feet shifted to keep him facing the audience.  He tried to turn away, or at least close his eyes, but he wasn't being allowed that pleasure.  He'd have to look at his audience as they watched him on display.

They gasped a little, and Charles looked down to see what they were staring at.  His manhood, something he had always been proud of, was vanishing.  He wanted to cry out, but realized he'd make that awful screech again.  Without much pain, his entire maleness was pulled into his body, leaving only a slit between his legs where it had been.  He could feel his rectum fusing into the slit as it grew longer between his legs.  He could also feel his testicles enlarge in size as they pulled into his body.  He let out a loud screech of pain when they finally reached their final destination deep in his gut, painfully pushing other organs out of the way.

Charles then felt his belly expand beyond the proportions it had been, which took the pressure off his insides and let them shift to his new frame.  It was uncomfortable for him to feel all his internal organs spill into the new gut he had.  His backside, however, tilted up a little in an almost obscene way causing his back to arch at the end of his spine.  He panted as he felt his skin get hot.  His arms pulled back more at the shoulders, as his body moved on it's own accord.  He found his arms rise against his will, almost parallel to the floor.  His head held up by some force, arms spread, and his feet spread apart, he had become an obscene display of what had been a man.

He stood there like this for what felt to Charles like hours, then he heard the churning in his body.  The sounds of what he thought was liquid being pushed out of his flesh.  Many people in the audience smiled as they watched feathers grow out from his chest and belly.  Most were small, all grew in the same formation.  Starting at his head pointing down, layering over each other to hide his flesh.  It was too much to feel individual feathers grow in, Charles just felt the sensation as a wave as hundreds simultaneously grew.

The sensation was not painful as much as discomforting for Charles, who wanted to squirm, wanted to get away, wanted all these eyes to stop looking at his horror.  He clenched his teeth, trying not to make that infernal sound again.  When he felt the feather covering on his back, he lost the fight and let out another cry.   A tear flowed down his face, knowing he couldn't go back to working here again, or anywhere else.  What was happening was horrible enough, but the audience in attendance wasn't scared.  Most were smiling.  They liked seeing him in pain.  They wanted to see him suffer.  Charles mind began to break down in the shame.

When the feathers formed down his stubby legs, he couldn't fight back the pain any more.  He cried out loud, long songs of agony and shame.  It came naturally, almost too easily for him.  It caused him to tear more as the feathers reached his ankles, and stopped.  He cried because he knew that whatever was happening, a part of him had just embraced it as his new life.  He fought it all, only to find comfort in the near completion of the act.  He wanted to die.  He hoped the worst was over.

Instead, his backside flared up.  He let out a loud screech as larger, longer feathers pushed out from him.  His tail plume grew in agonizingly slow, the red tips only giving way to the blue base at the end.  His cries of pain made more people smile, and got the cameraman to get a close-up of his tail as it spread.  He shook his tail feathers involuntarily, causing them to look even larger.  It was too natural, it was too much a part of him.  It was all too much.

The sensation ran across his shoulders to his hands, which began to fold backwards slightly.  Everyone heard the bones crack as Charles fingers splayed a little, expanding up his wrist slightly.  Hundreds of feathers now grew from his shoulders and down his arms.  Charles let out short, panicked squawks as the red feathers grew in on his biceps, then the green near where his forearm had been, then to blue where his hands had been.  From out of the smaller feathers he felt the long feathers flow from him again, and tried to close his eyes trying to make it stop with his mind.  He let out a long, agonized call again as the long feathers defined the form that had been his arms.  He tried to wave his arms to make the feathers drop out, and only flapped his wings weakly.

He then felt the sensation run up his head.  Around the back his hair suddenly dropped from his head, and the feathers rushed to fill the void.  The red wave ran around the back of his head, around his neck, and up to the top of his head but not covering his face.

Charles looked around nervously, panting in fear.  Suddenly, his nose and jaw cracked, and calcified as they folded away from his face.  He let out a screech of pain, opening his mouth as his lower jaw became blackened and formed a cup.  His upper jaw pushed from the remaining skin in a wedge, and formed an upper beak that ran from the top of his head to his lower jaw.  He felt it quickly pull out, over biting his lower jaw greatly with a slight curve at it's tip.

He looked around nervously, and then felt the only flesh on his body begin to burn.  Around his eyes, and on his feet and ankles.  His feet felt like they had thickened and calloused as white scales formed along his clawed feet to his ankles.  Around his eyes, the skin wrinkled and became leather-like, taking on a white hue as the color drained out of it.

Charles felt his body tense up, and he tried to fight the desire of his first call.  "Naa... noo...  naaarrr..."  He tried to deny the final step, but he knew he wouldn't win.  Something in him was thankful it was almost over, as much as the thought repulsed him.  He arched his back, and felt all of his body tingle.  All his internal organs were resetting to the new form, including his voice.

"NAAAAOOOOORRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"  He arched his head to make the loudest call he had yet.  He felt his eyes sting, and he closed them when he made his first true call.

After a few tense moments, Charles stood on the stage and looked around him.  He could see many people in the audience were smiling and nodding in appreciation now.  He could see on one of the monitors the cameras pointed at him.  He saw before him a large, humanlike, bird.  "Noarrrrrr" he said, but his form was undeniable.  His bird-like eyes looked into the TV monitors, and he could see what almost looked cartoonish in nature.  A large, overgrown Macaw stood on the stage.  His gut too large to fly, his wings too large to let him hold things, his beak too strange to make words.  He twitched his head left and right, letting both eyes look at the image on the screens.  What he saw was undeniably once a human, but undeniably now a bird.  "NOORRRRRRAAAAHHHHH!!!!"

The cameras turned off, and the TV monitors went dead.  Charles still could barely move, feeling emotionally and physically drained from the experience.  The audience, however, started to clap.  It turned into a roaring applause as Charles stood, unable to run away or hide.  Many of the people whistled in approval, which was shrill to Charles sensitive ears.  He tried to cry, but he found his eyes would not water.  He could only stand there and accept the applause, not even having the energy to hang his head in shame.

Soon after, the President walked back onto the stage, and the audience became silent again.  He looked at Charles, and showed him the remote.  "I know you can still think in there." He said, looking into the parrot-like eyes of Charles.  "And I know you see color.  See this button?  The blue one?  I can push this, and I will destroy the human mind that's left.."  Charles eyes grew wide, staring at the button.  "And I can do it too, the nanomachines in your body are pre-programmed to wipe that out and give you the intelligence of a parrot."  He smiled sadistically.  "I should do it, just to shut you up forever."

Charles felt like he would faint, but he couldn't fall over, his body still wouldn't react to his commands.  He watched helplessly as the President put his finger on it, then stopped.  He took the batteries out of the remote, and put it on the ground.  With his foot, the president smashed the controller sending pieces all over the stage.  "No, I want you to be stuck in there." The President said.  "I want you to suffer like you made a lot of my friends suffer, and then suffer more.  Who knows?  You might learn from it."  He paused, looking over the large bird-man on stage with him.  He simply smiled, and nodded.  "Goodbye Charles."

A group of men walked onto stage wearing jumpsuits and wearing heavy leather gloves.  They carefully placed a hood over Charles head to blind him.  They then blew something into his beak, and Charles body relaxed.  They wheeled out what looked like a specialized stretcher, and loaded the bird-man on it, folding his wings over his body to get him to fit on it.  As they carted Charles off, the audience began to cheer louder.  Charles lost consciousness in his dark, rolling prison.

Cathy ran into Jeff at the bar that night, where Jeff was drinking as hard as he could.  "I didn't see you at the meeting." She said cheerfully.

"I didn't go." Jeff said.  "I couldn't see it."

"It's not like he didn't have it coming." Cathy said.

"I still made the final decision to do it." Jeff said.  "And right now, I'm not sure I can live with that."

Cathy stopped, and looked at him.  "You're not going to kill yourself over that bastard, are you?"

"No." Jeff said, reaching into his pocket.  "I'm just thinking."  Jeff put down a brochure on the counter and slid it to Cathy and drank his drink.  Cathy picked it up, and looked at the title.  "Dr. Finch's Exotic Bird Land".  The part highlighted read "Now seeking exotic and rare birds and animal oddities."  She looked at Jeff, who was finishing off his drink.  He shrugged his shoulders, and ordered another one.

Charles woke up, and opened his eyes.  It had all been a dream, he thought.  It was all a bad dream.  But his eyes betrayed him, as he looked at a dirt ground.  The calls of birds filled his ears.  As he looked around, he saw himself surrounded by a cage and blue sky beyond it.  He looked in his prison, and saw things that looked like a rainforest environment.  He then looked down in horror, and realized he was perfectly perched on a rock.

He then looked at the walls of his prison.  A sign caught his eye, and he tried to flap his wings to go over to look.  He stopped himself, and realized that even if he wanted to he would never truly fly.  And the thought of wanting to repulsed him.  He shook his head, repeating that he was NOT a bird.  He waddled to the sign, and turned his head to read it with one eye.

"Rare Great Macaw.  Presented by a grant from Hobart Securities and Trust"

The call of the great Macaw was heard in all corners of the property.

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DISCLAIMER : All stories included in this archive are Copyright 1994 - 2005 Socks Furrotica Press.  These stories are (unfortunately) all works of fiction. They depict sex. Lots of quite graphic sex between several genders and arguably a few species. Af any of this offends you, or anything vaguely pornographic bothers you, don't read this, and don't send me your nasty e-mail (I may enjoy it, you know...)