The War for Feminization! (The Book): Women fight for the right to feminize all mankind! by Grace Mansfield

Author:Grace Mansfield [Mansfield, Grace]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Gropper Press
Published: 2022-12-30T00:00:00+00:00

PART SEVEN

Sam was not pleasant to be around. He was surly and snappish, and the only person who could stand to be around him was Shiela.

She was scared of Sam. Terrified, in fact. But…she loved him. She forced herself to tag along, to walk at his side, to listen as he made his guttural sounds.

“I want a plane to Europe now.”

There were no flights.

“I SAID NOW!” He threw a cash register across the small terminal and through a window.

“Sam, it’s okay,” Shiela’s voice trembled.

Sam turned to her and said, in a calm voice. “No. Sorry, honey. It’s not okay.”

He turned back to the frozen counter agent. He looked through the window behind the counter agent. “Whose plane is that?”

The agent turned and whimpered. “Mr. Scott. It belongs to Mr. Scott.”

A white-haired gent could be see talking to a worker. He was short, a little chubby, and seemed very happy.

Shiela followed Sam out to the tarmac, and was terrified for the Mr. Scott, whoever he was.

Sam was like a charging bull. His feet sounded loud, his face looked like thunder. “I need a ride to Europe.”

Mr. Scott looked up and stepped back. He was a brave man. “Don’t think so, old chap.”

Shiela intervened. “Look, you’ve got to. Or Sam will pull the wings off that plane and then he’ll pull your arms out of the sockets.”

Scott smiled and tilted his head. “And how is he going to do this.”

Normally, Shiela would have prevaricated, made up a story, done something, anything, to forestall Sam from taking apart the jovial Mr. Scott and his plane. But something deep inside her spoke. It was that little voice, the conscience, and it said: Truth.

“Mr. Scott. My husband is some sort of demigod. Sometimes he’s referred to as a Warlock. He really will have his way, and your best chance of living to tell the tale is to give us a ride to Europe.”

Sam growled. It was the kind of growl that caused little kids to shit. And maybe some big kids.

Scoot glanced at him, then spoke to Shiela. “What’s in Europe, little lady?”

“A war, I think.”

“Hmm, sounds interesting.”

Sam grabbed Scott’s shoulder and turned the man to him. He was right in Scott’s face, and Shiela knew the end was here…but she underestimated Scott.

“Hands off, old chap. Now, you’ve got my interest, so I’ll tell you what…you see that pick up truck they use for baggage?”

Ten feet away stood an old Ford. Probably the eighties, and it was filled with suitcases and duffle bags.

If Sam had interested Scott, Scott had actually interested Sam.

“You throw that truck a ways and I’ll give you a ride.”

Sam grunted, which was probably a sort of a half assed chuckle. He walked over to the baggage truck, picked it up and threw it. It sailed a hundred yards, not as far as a trebuchet missile, but far enough for a heavy, old truck. Suitcases flew out on the runway and Scott watched the display of strength…and grinned.

“Good show, old man. Hop in.

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