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The Amazing Transplant	By : TENEBRE Category: +S through Z > Simpsons Views: 20203 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Simpsons, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Coming Home
- 2-Exposure to Shelbyville
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- 2
Chapter 2

Exposure to Shelbyville

            Artie had come to the concert with nothing else in mind but enjoying good music, then he saw Homer. He'd wondered how long Homer had been out of the hospital. He wondered if Homer had known Marge would be here, she was a big fan of The Stones. Seeing Homer in Artie's old body made him just the slightest bit subconscious, like he would have to pay for Homer's mistakes from now on. Then he remembered, he had no intention of returning to his old body. What was the point when he was still having fun with Homer's wife.
            He looked from Homer to Marge, the music was blaring and as Marge moved with the rest of the crowd her breasts moved up and down. He was going to make Homer red-faced alright.
            The encore was coming up and Artie saw the opportunity to stomp on Homer's pride by exposing his wife. He turned to Marge.
            "Marge, you should flash the stage!"
            "What?"
            "You can sit on my shoulders, I'll hoist you up and you flash the stage."
            "You're insane."
            "Come'on, where's that crazy girl who let me feel her up during Lisa's music recital?"
            "I'll never forgive you for that, you made a fool out of me."
            "Marge, your body is beautiful. If you've got it...flaunt it..."
            "I only flaunt it for one man..."
            "...Is it wrong of me to want Keith Richards to feel a little envious?"
            "are you that insecure around celebrities?"
            "I just want you to make me proud."
            "And that would make you proud of me?"
            "Come'on Marge, lets show these teenage hussies what a real woman looks like."
            "Is that how its gonna be?"
            "Yeah, that's how its gonna be."
            Marge sighed, "Not for long though. Only a few seconds." she helped herself to a deep breath.
            Artie looked back at Homer, whose eyes were searching the crowd. He had come here to find his wife, fortunately Artie was intent on drawing as much attention to his wife as possible. More so than either Marge or Homer wanted. Artie knelt down.
            "Here, get on my shoulders."
            "I can't believe you talked me into this."

            The Stones were nearing the end of their last set. Marge must've been not five rows back. She could feel her heart racing, but not out of excitement at all but timidity. She was terrified but felt the anxiety to perform for her husband weighing her down with guilt. She wasn't excited the way she had been when her and Homer had made love in the windmill or nearly been caught trespassing when they wandered into that barn a year and a half ago.
            This was different though. This was unfamiliar.
            Marge had to give one thing to Homer, she loved her body, the way it looked and when she touched herself the way it felt. It wasn't beyond the reach of her modesty for her to occasionally take to the beach in a two-piece or even model a few items for Ned's Leftorium.
            She had nurtured a crush on Mick Jagger during her freshman year of high school. And the notion of a man so handsome, so famous, even not being her husband, singling her out, for any reason, did excite her.
            Homer was lifting her into the air. She could see over the heads of countless teens and the occasional baby boomer. She felt cold and small, then as suddenly as she was at eye level with Keith and Mick she felt herself blush, as if through the facade she created as a kept married woman. Her breasts felt heavy as if for the first time, full and intoxicated by he overwhelming sensation of her shrinking clothes, her constricting shirt. Her bare skin starved of the cold touch of the open air.
            Marge closed her eyes and pulled the lip of her top down toward her midriff, feeling her breasts emerge into the cold night she gasped.
            She opened her eyes and hoped she would see Mick's. But she saw she was spinning now, the faces of strangers, of Shelbyville sleazes and their tethered attention to the stage eviscerated by the sight of her breasts bare and bouncing. Waving hands and screaming smiles. Marge felt enormous and exposed.
            She wanted to be alone and touched. She'd made a mistake and now she needed to be alone. But she wasn't. Still she felt stolen, still even as the actual satisfaction was belated and replaced by these faces, these eyes.

            Homer was taking a chance being here, but he knew those very same chances were in his favor. Marge was an avid fan of the Stones, maybe the only rebellious streak in her. And Mick Jagger in particular was the object of her affection, a chance meeting with __________ divorced her from any attachment to the man, because know that she'd met him in person he was only that.
            A man, like any other man.
            Mick, on the other hand, had remained a legend. One might even call it a fixation.
            Marge wouldn't miss a Stones concert if her life depended on it. Right now Homer depended on it. Homer wouldn't have been certain of Artie's intentions had he brought her here, or allowed her to come. Homer only knew that Marge's achilles heel was the influence, albeit dim-witted he was, that her own husband had over her. Maybe Artie was counting on that. This hadn't occurred to Homer yet, his mind was already miles away from what Artie must've been thinking, or worrying what Marge may be enduring.
            He recognized the tower of blue hair almost instantly, and it was funny and so surreal seeing Marge perched on his own shoulders while he was outside of her body. It was so surreal that his mind didn't confront the question of what she was doing.
            So funny...so strange...he'd tried to put it out of his mind that this was a dream. If it wasn't than he would only manage to distract himself from such inane existentialist thoughts.
            "A better view," he didn't say it but that's what he heard and for a moment it was somehow outside of his head, in the crowd around him. This was what he was thinking and this worked well to preoccupy him until he watched his wife expose herself gleefully. With her top pulled down to her near her waist and her bare breasts bouncing Homer felt a mixture of embarrassment and nausea. It lingered and seemed to penetrate some emotional blood barrier into the very physical facilities of his body, like an emotional hangover left behind by his own violation. No, his wife's violation. A violation of their marriage, of their vows, of the very privacy.
            Perhaps Homer had taken for granted that no one else but him would ever get the opportunity to see Marge naked, let alone be given the time to fully appreciate it. Then again he knew that Marge must've thought the same thing. Up until now, that is.
            What ever had happened now, whatever Artie must've changed, be it give her permission or simply pressure her into doing it, Homer knew that at the heart of all these mistakes was Marge's idolizing Mr. Jagger. She was a fly on a wall, but he owned this house, everything including the walls, and maybe Marge felt indebted to the man whose house she was in. Marge didn't need much reminding of what were her most appealing features. As much as Homer may have enjoyed the subtle language of lines with which nature had conceived the curves, outward and inward, which made up her face, it was her double-d's that men made drool. Young as she may have been and with however much grace she'd aged it was the her body's unwillingness to give into gravity that all the more made the point. Even Mick could appreciate Marge's resistance to age and gravity. Especially Mick, Homer imagined.
            Then she was turning and Homer could see a wave of reaction like a tide submerging the audience, row by row, column by column Back closer and closer, toward him.
            Sicker still, Homer felt like fainting. The voices around him, not at all inside his head were reminding him, long after he closed his eyes, of how beautiful she looked.
            How enormous.
            How perfect.
            And how, after all, they weren't her breasts, but her tits, titties, honkers, melons, balloons, jugs, and every other derogatory words he could imagine.
            He heard them all. His eyes shut, the lids leaking tears.
            He'd never wondered before as to any other man's opinions of how Marge's breasts looked. Now he knew perfectly well, as if by some definitive consensus, albeit put so crudely, how irresistibly-squeezible, how insanely-giant, and how much his wife needed a good tit-fucking.

            "Wonderful wasn't it?", Homer could hear his own voice, outside of his body. He was waking up on a stretched when he saw himself, or more rather his body, standing above him.
            "What?" was all he could think to say, he wasn't yet totally cognizant of what he known just a few moments before.
            "Marge. Quite a show she put on, wasn't it? Could you ever imagine your wife, uhh, my wife upstaging the Rolling Stones?"
            "You're sick!"
            "And you're divorced it seems. Whatever you call it when a guy goes from married to single. To think all those years of you protecting sweet Marge from people like this, people who would do anything to fuck her...and I brought her right to them."
            "I'll kill you."
            "No you're going to remain stationary, doctor's orders. In the mean time, those very same tits you just saw, I'm gonna take your wife home and slide my dick between them until I cum on her beautiful face."
            "Where's my wife now? What have you...?"
            "Backstage. Drunk. Maybe being fucked by some of the roadies. You married quite the insatiable lady there. While you were sleeping soundly at the hospital I was very busy. And so was Marge, by the way. But then if you read the tabloids you'd know that, most people in Springfield do now. You know, I didn't know there were tabloid newspapers in Springfield."
            "I'm gonna tell her..."
            "What? That you're really her husband and I'm just some jaded ex-boyfriend who spend all of this time on some made-up transplant surgery? Brain transplant? I don't think anyone would believe you. And I don't think Marge would take the word of a man like you, Artie Ziff. A long time ago you and your wife made a fool of me. She left me for you, and became the better person for it. You can have her back when I'm done with her, and this whole town knows your wife is a whore. I owned so much and been proud of so little of it. But I'm a humble person. What little I'm proud of I share. In time, any and every man who so desires it may have her. Except you."
            "You can't be so..."
            "I can, now you need some sleep..."
            Homer watched the man in his body, ball a fist and just as suddenly he was unconscious.

            style="mso-spacerun: yes"> "Tell me what you do when your husband is away. Do you think about me?", the voice was thick with an accent, but Marge wasn't even sure if it was British.
            She groaned.
            She heard the slapping sound of his pelvis impacting her own, and knew suddenly he was inside her. He felt old, older than her. Old enough to be either Mick or Keith from the Stones. She could feel a warm mouth over her right breast, and then began to wonder, as she felt another on her left, how many people were actually in the room with her. She heard herself calling out her husband's name.
            "Who's that supposed to be?"
            "Maybe her boyfriend." another voice said, this one was much younger, the accent sounded like Jersey almost.
            "Well open your mouth, Mrs. Homer."
            Marge felt something thick push open her mouth and move down toward her throat. She'd never had a nightmare so vivid. She hoped she would wake up soon.
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The Amazing Transplant