In a sea of frogs, Calvin was a prince. Strong and handsome, with shaggy, dark blond hair, hypnotic eyes, and a physique sculpted into pure eye candy, he was smart, witty, funny, and interesting. Calvin’s only downfall was that he was a nice guy; Calvin finished last. He lived alone, worked in isolation, and wanted for nothing, save companionship. Sex was never his problem. In today’s modern, egalitarian world, women lusted after him based on looks alone. Calvin mused that if he had a dollar for every time a woman had said, “You’re so hot and great in bed, just not boyfriend material,” that he could retire.

In a shallow, hookup-culture world, the prince sought his princess. His search proved fruitless, ultimately falling into quiet resignation that a real, true connection was simply as antiquated a notion as chivalry. Meaningless, temporary solace was found online, through the dating apps. Sex got his rocks off, but love fed the soul. Calvin needed both.

After a night of sexual thunder with yet another partying minx, her fleeing, via ride-share, as soon as she got what she wanted, Calvin went online to look for another stop-gap companion to fill the void. Swiping left, clicking right, from site to site, a message on Soulmates.com caught his attention. No hieroglyphic emojis, a poor excuse for communication, in this one. That message was unlike most of the others.

Buried in the depths of the usual, “how big is your cock,” “I’m lonely, want to hook up?” and “I want to sit on your face,” messages from women looking for action, that lone message stood out. It simply read, “I’m a fan of Oscar Wilde, too! You made me smile.”

Calvin had all but forgotten the nod to Oscar Wilde in his profile bio. “I’m the type of guy that causes happiness wherever I go, not whenever I go.” A truly sincere, heart-warming chuckle escaped his mouth. With delighted haste, Calvin clicked on her name, Amber. Oddly, her profile had no pictures. That was usually a warning sign, huge red flags, there be dragons.

Her bio was well-written, no poor grammar or truncated words, not even a single emoji. He smiled as he read it. Amber’s surface words were casual, friendly, and flowing, intelligent and whimsical. Beyond the shallow surface expectations, likes, dislikes, all of which aligned to his, her words hinted at humor, creativity, and a vibrant spirit. Ignoring the “no picture means a catfisher or wildebeest” rule, Calvin replied.

“You are the first to notice. It’s nice to see that people still read.” He sent his response, getting up for a glass of wine. It was a Merlot kind of night. By the time he had let the bottle breathe and poured his drink, Amber had responded.

“Mostly I read books with small words. I’m up to three syllables per word now.” No smiley to show humor, but the joviality was evident.

She was online; her chat icon was active. Calvin’s heart beat double-time. He typed, “I’m more sesquipedalian, myself,” into her chat window.

In mere seconds, her response dinged on his screen. “How verbose. I’m talking with the inventor of scrabble. I’m Amber.”

Hours ticked away as they chatted. No cybersex, no thinly veiled innuendo, just two people reveling in each other’s company. They discussed literature, movies, wine, personal tastes, unicorns, hopes, and dreams. With a heavy heart, Calvin ended the conversation; work was only hours away. They had chatted the entire night away. For the first time in forever, Calvin felt a connection with somebody, albeit virtually, over the computer.

“Tomorrow?” he asked. “I want more of you. You’re fascinating.”

“It’s a date,” Amber responded. “Good night, sweet prince.”

Calvin rushed through work, rushed home, poured some wine, and sat in the glow of his computer screen. Exactly three minutes early, his friend-alert dinged. She had signed on.

Throughout the entire week, Calvin and Amber repeated their initial encounter. They laughed together, debated with verve, drank the same wines together, even watched a terrible movie together. She never spoke of her appearance, ignoring his hints, but it didn’t seem to matter. Calvin was smitten.

“I want to meet you in person,” she said on Thursday night. “Eight o’clock at a bar and restaurant called Changes. Do you know it?” He didn’t.

“It’s a date. How will I know you?”

“I’ll wear my unicorn shirt.”

Although less than twenty-four hours away, Friday night came at a snail’s pace. Calvin surprised himself. Usually, he’d preen and groom, swearing that this one would be different; it never was. Instead of visiting the salon, shaving, and fastidiously selecting clothes to suit his date’s tastes, he selected his regular, comfortable clothes. No false airs to impress this time; he wanted her to see the real him.

In his excitement to meet Amber, he left early, only losing his way twice. Changes was a typical middle-class hangout, peaceful, serene, and casual. Calvin wished he had frequented the place before, as it seemed to be his kind of place. It was a relaxed establishment, devoid of the usual meat-market atmosphere most of his online dates preferred. Entering, visually scanning, pleased that loud, obnoxious music wasn’t assaulting his eardrums, his eyes overlooked her twice.

Changes was far from filled, but the patrons were all unique, obviously a niche crowd of individualists. His hookup-culture conditioning had created unconscious bias. He was looking for a plain woman, a large woman, somebody afraid or ashamed to post their picture online for perverts to masturbate over. A millisecond after experiencing the disappointing feeling that she hadn’t shown up, he saw a beaming, joy-filled face, one of the most beautiful, sexiest faces he’d ever seen, with a body to match, wearing a unicorn T-shirt. Catching his eye, she waved enthusiastically.

She wore a black unicorn T-shirt, as promised. Pale, curve-hugging leggings disappearing into ankle-high boots covered her lower half. Her hair was a radiant, natural red, cute freckles decorating her face. Brilliant green eyes accented her coif of winter fire. Her delicate neck was adorned with a leather thong necklace, a seashell and some polished stone beads giving it a bohemian flair.

Greetings exchanged, table secured, mutual bail-out calls ignored, the tension over meeting face-to-face was broken when they both blurted, “Pinot Noir and water,” in unison to the waiter’s query about something to drink.

Their meal was late, troubles in the kitchen they were told. Lost in conversation, bonding, neither of them noticed or cared. Conversation flowed, the drinks flowed, neither wanting the night to end. When her hand delicately touched his, mid-laughter, Calvin felt electric sparks run up his arm. Laughing at themselves as they left, Amber purred when he gently put his arm around her waist to lead her away.

In the parking lot, they had their first kiss. It wasn’t a horny, “let’s fuck” kiss; it was an intimate meshing of souls, a delight to the senses, a kiss that sent one’s mind cascading into pleasure.

“I never do this,” Amber blushed. “But can I go to your place for a nightcap?”

Thankful that his condo wasn’t in total chaos, Calvin sped the few miles to his place, the two of them laughing, enjoying each other, all the while. The door had barely clicked shut, Calvin idly mentioning some of the decor features, before Amber stripped out of her unicorn T-shirt.

Braless, her breasts stood up round and proud. Perfectly symmetrical, her nipples, delightful cherries atop puffy areolas, were as flushed as her cheeks. Words became superfluous as their lips met in a passionate kiss. Her body fit his perfectly, the heat between them rising into a stoked inferno.

Pushing him down to the floor, ripping off his shirt, salivating at the sight of his well-formed torso, Amber kissed her way slowly down his body, her hands desperately opening his pants.

“I can’t believe how sexy you are,” Calvin exhaled. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Hushing him by plunging her mouth over his exposed cock, she sucked him into hardness, her tongue flicking over the glans, her mouth taking his impressive length all the way. Stopping briefly to hurriedly strip, Amber couldn’t contain her lust.

“It’s been so long for me, I need you.”

Without ceremony, she cried out in passion as she squatted over him, forcing his thickness into her dripping pussy. Feminine nails, painted in a dark gray, raked his chest as her body convulsed. Hips moving in perfect sync, his thrusts met hers as they bucked, humped, fucked, and moaned.

“Fuck me. Fuck my hot cunt. Fill me with your cum.”

Flipping her over, onto her hands and knees, Amber moving in perfect harmony with his desires, Calvin entered her from behind, taking her doggy.

“You feel so good,” he screamed. “Your pussy is so wet, so hot.”

“Call it my cunt,” she moaned. “Fuck my cunt; fuck my cunt. Please fucking fuck my cunt.”

Pounding into her hard, deep, and fast, as if this were the first and the last time that he’d ever know such pleasure, he brought her to orgasm over and over.

“You know exactly how to make me cum. Do it again, make me cum again.”

Hours later, having gone through the entire Kama Sutra, Calvin felt his eruption drawing near. Begging him to pull out and jizz all over her tits, he screamed in release as she quivered and moaned as each hot spurt hit flesh. Her fingers scooped it up, spread his sperm over her flesh while she moaned in ecstasy. It was more than physical sex, it was a perfect union of souls. Exhausted, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, the both of them feeling serene.

Calvin awoke, feeling refreshed and happy. His contentment instantly turned to sorrow; she was gone, hadn’t even left a note. Mentally shrugging, he decided to send her a message before he’d even wet his toothbrush. Oddly, her account was closed.

I’m not heartbroken. His thoughts failed to convince.

Weeks passed. Calvin’s evenings were spent looking for her someplace, anyplace. He began frequenting Changes, telling himself that he just enjoyed the atmosphere, knowing that it was in the hopes of seeing her once more. He dated here and there, but nothing real. His heart just wasn’t in it. Whoever had said that it was better to have loved and lost was full of shit.

One night, while nursing a Pinot at Changes, a shapely, lithe blond with sparkling eyes approached his table.

“You look like you could use some company,” she said softly, in a mirthful voice.

Although her voice was unfamiliar, it had a familiar tonality. Snapping his head up, he was awed by the sight of her. Long flowing hair, falling in healthy waves, framed her smooth skin and deep, pale, blue eyes. The Devil danced in her smile, her full lips ruby invitations. Her buxom figure showed a woman addicted to exercise, in the prime of her life; her simple makeup, accented by a silver necklace with a seashell pendant, reminded him of Amber.

Despite himself, he smiled. “It’s a free country, sit.”

Her name was Amy and she was an absolute delight. Conversation flowed easily, familiarly. Laughter came naturally. They shared the same tastes in most things; hours passed as they laughed, touched, ate, and drank. The venue closed up around them.

She kissed him, closing the distance between them. The impassioned kiss was torridly hot, eerily familiar as if they were dear friends, old lovers, reunited. She boldly asked if he’d like company for the night. Tempted, Calvin declined.

“It’s nothing personal,” he lamented. “If it were any other time, I’d love to. It’s just that there’s this girl, Amber. I only spent one night with her, but I’d only be thinking of her. It isn’t fair to you.”

She smiled, a huge, beaming, triumphant smile that set her entire, silky-smooth face alight. She kissed him hard and deep.

“Goodnight, sweet prince,” she said as she turned once more, humming as she skipped away.

Calvin’s drive home was filled with self-admonishment, lecturing himself over how stupid he was to pass up such a beautiful, sexy woman that wanted his cock. His sexual activity that night was self-induced, his thoughts upon Amber, not Amy.

Some weeks later, having fallen into a routine, his online meat-market date never showing at Changes, another woman approached. She was beautiful, model-thin, lithe like a runner, with ebony skin, straight, long, crow-black hair, and deep brown eyes. Full, elongated lips framed a perfect smile, her attire a classy but revealing red scoop-neck dress, accentuated by a golden necklace of cockles linked upon a fine chain.

“We need to talk, Calvin,” she said. The sing-song timbre of her voice, dripping with affectionate honey, caught him by surprise, as did her knowing his name.

“Do I know you? I wish I did, but you are so out of my league. Are you a model?”

She sat in a fluid motion, barely swishing her dress. The high slit showed off shapely legs capped in deadly high heels. Calvin couldn’t help but smile. While he longed for connection, the company of a beautiful woman was a welcome diversion.

“Two glasses of Pinot,” she said to a passing waiter, John.

“And water,” they said simultaneously, then giggled at each other.

“What can I do for you, miss…” Calvin let his words trail off.

“Angela,” she beamed. There was something vaguely familiar about her. It wasn’t her amazing looks, it was her body language, a haunting familiarity.

“Angela,” he nodded. “What do we need to talk about?”

“I think I love you.”

Despite its flavor, Pinot Noir burns the nostrils when guffawed through the nasal passages. “Love me? You don’t even know me.”

Her visage turned sour, disappointed. “Let me make you an offer. Spend the night with me, then you can tell me if you feel the same way in the morning.”

“Is this a joke? Are there cameras around? I know, it’s a new Tik-Tok trend. Not interested.”

“Trust me, Calvin. Please just let me spend the night with you.”

It took some major persuasion, her feminine wiles dialed up to full. Even though Calvin declared his affection for another, his loneliness, desire for companionship, won out. Again, hours passed, the two of them lost in conversation, enjoying each other’s company.

Their first kiss was once more filled with electricity, the gods of lightning giving it extra intensity. Their unbridled love-making, mere sex to Calvin, was a perfect union of two souls conjoined in pleasure. Painfully reminiscent, she stripped out of her dress before the door latch clicked shut. Her sexual appetite rivaled that of Amber’s; their finishing crescendo mirroring her actions, hot sperm shot across her body, her playing in it, rubbing it in.

Uninterrupted, peaceful sleep, arms wrapped around each other, followed, until the morning. Angela awoke to Calvin’s hysterical, panicked screams.

“Who the fuck are you? How the fuck did you get into my house? What did you do to Angela? Where is she? How did you get in?”

“Calm down, Calvin,” the beautiful Oriental woman soothed. Her hair was shiny, long, and straight, her complexion like pristine alabaster, her nude breasts overly large and far too perky. Nude, except for the sheet covering her lower half and the gold, shelled necklace, she held her hands out, warding off the baseball bat Calvin grabbed, ready to swing.

She continued. “I’m Angela, please don’t’ hurt me. I love you.”

“Liar! Angela’s a beautiful black woman, what did you do to her?” Calvin was confused, angry, terrified.

“Please shut up, sweet prince. It’s me! I’m Angela, sort of. I’m also Amy, the blond you rejected. And….”

“What? Bullshit.”

“Sit down. How else do I know your tastes in music? How’s this? When I asked for our first date I told you that I’d wear my unicorn shirt.”

Calvin did what any logical man would do. He let his knees sag, his body falling to the floor, and cried out an agonized moan.

“Look at me, look closely, not at what I look like, but at the person you see inside, the woman you’ve always seen. I’m Amber and I think I love you.

“I know you won’t believe me, but I’m a Protean. Last night, I approached you and told you that we needed to talk and that I loved you. When I was blond, I kissed you after your Sponge Bob impression and you refused to have sex with me. See this?” She held out her necklace of seashells, wrought in gold. “I always wear a seashell necklace. That’s so other Proteans know who I am. Changes is a bar that caters to our kind, Proteans, involuntary shape changers.”

Sorrow, fear, anguish, all of these emotions, and more, coursed through him. “Just get out. Get out!” he pointed to the door.

“I’ll wait for you every night at Changes if you change your mind,” she blubbered out through tears. “Just look for the seashells. I love you.”

Feeling invaded and violated, Calvin’s mind could do naught but fixate on the strange, beautiful Asian woman that claimed to be Angela and Amy and Amber. After a trip to the hardware store for new, more secure locks and attempting to file a police report to the amusement of laughing, disbelieving officers, his curiosity got the better of him. Long, deep searches online revealed the legends.

Protean: adjective. Of or resembling Proteus in having a varied nature or ability to assume different forms.

Buried in the internet, among the conspiracy theories, bigfoot, and claims of reptilian aliens infiltrating the upper tiers of world governments, the myths of Proteans were revealed. Called Changelings, Polymorphs, sometimes related to lycanthropes, many legends told of people that changed form daily or at will. Recent websites, typically of the “Vampires walk among us” variety, espoused that they were real and some people are cursed to inhabit a different body every day.

Time passed and the trauma of waking up next to a total stranger in his locked condo diminished. Despite dismissing the gorgeous Oriental woman’s insistence, as well as the legends, as pure nonsense, Calvin’s curiosity got the better of him. Another trip to Changes wouldn’t do any harm.

Filled with trepidation, Calvin entered, seeing the place anew, from an entirely different perspective. Subtle details, previously unregistered, began to take on meaning. The bartender, always a different man, always wore a red knit vest. The couple in the far corner, a strikingly handsome black man with an Indian woman wore matching bracelets, as had every couple at that table on every night he’d ever been there. The waiter at his “usual” table, John, was different John than the last time, and all the previous times. Calvin chuckled, remembering that he commented to Angela that being named John must be a requirement to work there.

It was impossible, but it seemed to make sense. The polite, familiar nods from random strangers he’d never seen before, the knowing glances, the way everyone else in the place seemed to always know each other, all began to make sense. Calvin’s musings were interrupted when he saw her or at least the seashell necklace.

She was a short brunette wearing skin-tight denim, a tight t-shirt knotted at the front hem. Her skin was tan, her breasts extremely large, jutting proudly off her chest. Her smile was radiant and mischief danced in her dark brown eyes. Upon her neck was the leather thong, seashell necklace, the one Amber wore on the first night.

Stunned, Calvin waved away John, excusing himself. Trance-like, he approached the woman. Her face was foreign, but her eyes welled up when she saw him. Calvin dropped to his knees in front of her, taking her soft, warm hands into his own.

“Amber?”

She nodded, tears gracing her tanned skin.

“I’m scared and confused, but I think I love you, too. Can we talk?”

The extremely sexy woman with a body to die for jumped up, nodding. “I was afraid I’d never see you again, Calvin.”

He rose to his feet, embracing her to the applause of the other patrons. Taking a seat at his table, they had much to discuss.

Her real name was Amber and she was a Protean. Nobody knew how or why it happened, but it happens to a few people. Every time she sleeps, he body morphs into a different outer person, always female, always attractive. Such a life was wrought with difficulty, not allowing her to possess a picture ID or driver’s license. Most career options were closed, except for working from home, or a Protean-owned business. Calvin’s city was a mecca for Proteans; a large number of them had settled here to be around others that understood their unique plight. They even had their own support group!

After sitting in lengthy, stunned silence, Calvin finally found words. “You mean that every morning I’ll be with a new, beautiful woman but she’s still the same you on the inside?”

Amber nodded, more tears flowing, a timid smile on her perfect face.

“Infinite questions, but I’m in. Shall we go to my place?”

She stripped out of her T-shirt before the door had even closed. By the time the latch on the new lock clicked, she had shimmied out of her tight jeans. Holding her hot flesh in his arms, feeling her heart pounding through her magnificent breasts, Calvin caressed her body, hearing her purr and moan at his touch.

Hot mouths mashed together as their hands roamed, she clenching his hard member in desperate need as his fingers found her honey hole and rubbed her sensitive button until her knees gave way.

Carrying her to the boudoir, both of them laughing in delight, he kissed and nibbled down her torso, paying special attention to her large, round, firm breasts as her hands plunged deeply into her folds. Seeking refuge between her legs, his tongue licked her nectar slowly, moving up and down until her hips were pumping, her pouting lips begging.

Plunging two fingers inside her, her hips bucking to meet his thrusts, his lips sucked in her swollen clit, her moans of pleasure spurring him on. The luscious body of Amber’s was primed for heat. Not only did she have the body of sex-kitten, but she also squirted her orgasm all over his face, soaking him.

Pulling him up, amid surprised laughter, Amber stroked his turgid cock with fury as her wanton mouth sucked and licked her orgasmic juice from his face. Pulling him deep inside her, she begged him to go harder and faster.

“Fucking fuck my cunt. You feel so good. Fuck me. Fuck me.”

Her squirting orgasms, heightened by the release of her love, soaked the bed, her screams echoing off the wall.

“Cum on me. You know I love it. Cover me in your spunk.”

He did, screaming out his love for her as spurt after spurt of steaming white covered her fine, large breasts, her fingers moving over her engorged clit in a blur.

In the morning, after the initial shock, Calvin enjoyed morning sex with a curvy Navajo woman whose pussy was so tight it milked him dry in record time.

Time passed, Calvin became used to being in love with a woman that was born anew each morning. It wasn’t always easy, but the sex was always new and exciting. His few friends marveled at the fact that he was always with a new woman, always incredibly beautiful and sexy, and at how well they got along.

In a sea of frogs, Calvin was a prince. Calvin’s best asset was that he was a nice guy in love. True love is much deeper than skin. Amber was the love of his life with the added bonus of being a different, beautiful, sexy woman each and every day.