I threw myself face down on Angel's bed and cried. I cried and cried until
   I cried myself out and then I cried some more. Life sucked. It was awful,
   worse than awful, dog day terrible.

   Angel hated me. I could tell by the way that he looked at me that he
   despised me for screwing everything up. I had made him wreck his car and I
   snatched his body like some icky pod person from outer space.

   I had only been trying to help. It was pure chance that I happened across
   the soul spell the same night that Buffy had her first big fight with Riley.
   She came home really mad, and said that she could not handle Riley's male
   chauvinist tendencies anymore and that he kissed like dry wall compared to
   Angel.

   She cried. Oh Goddess, I felt so bad for her. I thought that I understood
   what my best friend had been through before Oz left but it was not until
   after he was gone that I realized I was clueless. Being in love and being
   left is like eternal PMS or a finger covered with infected paper cuts.

   Full of lemon juice.

   Anyway, back to the spell. I found it in an old Romany--that's the P.C.
   word for gypsy--book, amongst Jenny's old possessions. I never really
   noticed the spell before. It was a curse, a really nasty one, used to get
   even with dead enemies by tying their souls to their dead bodies for all
   eternity and preventing them from reincarnating.

   Thanks to my newfound prowess as a pretty kick-ass Wicca (sarcasm here), it
   occurred to me that maybe the spell could be modified into a blessing.
   After all, Angel is already dead, right?

   Right.

   So it would be to his benefit to have his slippery little soul tied down to
   his vampire body, right?

   Right.

   And two negatives make a positive, i.e. two curses are a mixed blessing,
   right?

   Wrong.

   I did not think long or hard about this. I shamelessly rationalized my
   decision and made my choice without thinking. I figured that I already had
   a kind of vested interest in his soul and its well being considering that I
   am the one who cursed him with it in the first place.

   I have always felt kind of bad about that, the cursing part. It makes me
   feel vaguely guilty to know that because of me Angel's sweet, puppy-dog soul
   has to suffer for the rest of eternity. Not to mention the celibacy part.

   It has always been at the back of my mind to fix the curse if I ever found a
   way. Well, I just happened upon a way, and with Buffy unhappy and that vast
   void of emptiness I have been lost in since Oz left...well, I just saw an
   opportunity to make things better for one of us at least.

   Angel says that I should have asked him and he is one hundred percent
   totally right. I should have asked him but I did not because I was afraid
   that he would say no. I was scared that he would not be willing to take a
   chance on my spell, or a chance at being happy.

   Face it, while Angel is really intelligent, sometimes he's just not too
   bright. Angel is noble to his socks but he loves to be a martyr, loves to
   suffer cause he feels guilty. He thinks he should suffer, and I have to
   admit that he is really good at the whole broody-boy thing.

   I happen to disagree. Yes, he has done some terrible things. Yes, his past
   is awful. "Duh!" I hate to quote Cordelia, but he should get over himself
   already!

   This leads me back to my reason for not telling Angel what I was attempting.
   He would have said no. I know it. He would have rationalized, excused,
   and run away from his own salvation. "I must remain as I am to fight for
   the greater good of humanity."

   Or, "This may look like my salvation but it's obviously not because it's
   plain and simple and right here under my nose, so I must smash it."

   Yeah, Cordelia told me what he did to the ring of Amara. Pretty stupid,
   huh? Noble, but stupid. Here, Buffy gives him the best gift in the whole
   world, the best gift that anyone COULD give a vampire and what does he do
   with it?

   He smashes it.

   Sheesh!

   I made up my mind not to tell Angel, not to tell anyone, in advance. I did
   all of my research in secret. I gathered my components, practiced my
   casting, and agonized over every little detail of the spell for weeks. My
   care paid off because the casting went perfectly.

   Which explains why I must have messed up the inscription. Murphy's Law: if
   anything can go wrong, it will. I was so exhausted by the time that I had
   the Mitzpah made that I mistranslated the blessing and never realized it.

   It was not until I suddenly found myself inside of Angel's body that I
   realized that I had screwed up. I guess maybe I should have waited until we
   were out of the car to give him the medallion but I was nervous.

   I was a babbling brook flooding out of control. No matter how hard I tried,
   I could not stop talking. I thrust the necklace into his fingers with a
   quick, "Here!" and the next thing I knew I was behind the wheel.

   In Angel's body.

   Suffice it to say, I crashed the car. Things went downhill from there. We
   called a tow truck and walked two miles in the rain because no taxi was
   available. Angel glared and brooded at me the whole time. It made no
   difference that he was in my body, his brooding talent could not be
   suppressed.

   Oh Goddess, this is awful! I want my body back! It may not be the most
   beautiful or athletic body in the world but at least it was mine! My hands
   and feet fit! I had a pulse and working lungs! My body temperature equaled
   above room temperature!

   Calm Willow! OK, think... If I go getting hysterical again then I will be
   in here forever, and this body will live that long. As much as I hate
   admitting it, Angel had a point about talking...and about changing out of
   wet clothes.

   For the first time I noticed what I was wearing. Black shirt, black leather
   trench, and black leather pants with classy black loafers. Classic Angel.
   I dressed for a funeral or maybe a night out in a really chic gay bar.

   Spike insists that Angel is a sexually repressed POOF. I try not to listen
   to him but...well, Spike IS Angel's child and if anyone knew about Angel's
   poofiness or lack thereof it would be Spike.

   EWW...

   My mind will not go there.

   I jumped up off the bed and hurried over to the wardrobe. Inside the wood
   chest I found plenty of dry clothes, mostly black. I dug and dug and
   finally managed to find a gray pullover but it was a labor.

   Change of clothing in hand, I tried to focus on the task at hand and not to
   let my thoughts stray. Gingerly, I unbuttoned Angel's shirt, trying not to
   look too closely at the pale expanse of heavily muscled chest under my
   fingers.

   I looked.

   Oh Goddess! He's buff! He's beautiful! Oh sigh and drool! Against my
   will my fingers rubbed over his pale marbled flesh, pinching his pecs and
   caressing his nipples. The tiny nubs hardened and lighting shot through my
   crotch.

   I jumped three feet.

   Oh Goddess!

   I had given myself a hard-on!

   It wasn't like I had never *thought* about Angel before in *that way*. I
   have a very good imagination. Even nice girls can have very naughty
   fantasies and a woman would have to be blind not to notice Angel.

   I mean, he IS gorgeous.

   But never in my wildest dreams or dirtiest fantasies had I imagined standing
   in Angel's bedroom, undressing Angel's beautiful body, arousing his huge,
   heavy cock (That is actually speculation because I have not checked. Yet.)
   and it being MASTURBATION. I had NEVER been the soul inside of his form!

   The harder IT got, the more uncomfortable my pants got. Tentatively, as if
   it might bite me, I eased my zipper down and gasped in relief. It helped
   relieve some of the tremendous pressure on my crotch.

   Oh Goddess! This was embarrassing!

   I tried to ease Angel's leather pants down off my hips but they got stuck.
   The wet leather had mostly dried, and apparently, had tightened. Angel's
   pants are already inhumanly tight. The dried moisture from the rain had
   made them shrink like Saran Wrap in the microwave.

   I pulled and pulled but they would not budge. I kept losing my balance so I
   finally laid down on the floor on my back. "EH, EH, EH," I grunted and
   groaned. I squirmed, strained, shoved, pushed, pulled, flexed, twisted,
   thrust, and fought those pants like my life depended on it.

   They would not come off.

   All of the rubbing and friction made my hard-on worse. It ached and
   throbbed and hurt really bad. No wonder men have so much trouble thinking
   clearly all of their lives. I was nearly in tears again.

   Sniffling, I decided to give it one last try. I grabbed hold of my pants,
   which were down around my thighs by now and impeding my movements as
   effectively as a bolo, and TUGGED with all of Angel's mighty strength.

   "Willow?" That exact same moment, Angel opened the door without knocking.
   Startled, I jumped again and tore the pants to shreds. Above me, Angel
   gaped with rounded eyes.

   >From flat on my back, I stared up at him in unmitigated terror, clad only in
   an unbuttoned shirt and skimpy black silk boxers. Horrified, I grabbed my
   shirttails and pulled them across my lap. I sat up, wrists crossed at my
   crotch, attempting to hide Mr. Happy's salute.

   "ANGEL! HI!" I shrilled in a high pitch. I plastered a goofy grin on my
   face. Goddess only knew what Angel thought I had been doing in here with
   his body all this time!

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