But, But, But               by: Ilean Anne Jerque

 

CHAPTER 1

As we grow up, our parents are always trying to teach us one lesson or another to help us grow into well rounded adults, beneficial to society, and responsive to the needs of others. That is, if they care about their children. My parents did, although my dad’s caring was limited mostly to monetary support, but Mom had a way of going to far with every lesson she "taught." And so it was with my lesson on respect for womanhood.

My sister is Karen Walton, my mom is Kelly Ranor, my step-sister is Julie Ranor-Mays and my step-dad is Richard Ranor. I’m Kris. At the time, Mom was married to my real dad, she named us with Ks because his name was Kurt. He died in a plane crash, flying in a load of cocaine from Mexico. I was almost one at the time. I don’t remember him. Richard tried to be a dad for me but was so busy being a hot-shot lawyer that he really never gave it a good effort. I know he cares but what he feels for me, for Karen also, is responsibility, not love. Mom legally let him be "shared guardian," but she blocked his adopting us—that probably would have helped—and she never really explained why. That’s the family. This story takes place in 1982.

I was a smartass forteen year old. I wasn’t very big so I made up for my size with a smart mouth, except to the bullies, to them I gave respect, or avoidance, whichever was the most prudent at the time. But those smaller than me feared me, Mom had patience with me, and Karen and Julie hated me.

Julie was an unwed mother living at home. She was nineteen, jilted at the alter, and should have received my sympathy but got taunts and pathetically stupid, forteen year olds’ jokes. Richard became angry with me, Mom tried to make me understand how I was hurting Julie, Julie cried a lot, and Karen called me names. Two months later, Karen got pregnant and I doled out more of the same on her. Richard began avoiding me he was so mad, Julie began calling me names, Mom began cussing me out, and Karen cried.

I had been pretty lucky to this point, but I was still young and stupid and pushing the limits. Then Mom got pregnant. Well, it wasn’t the same, after all, she is my mom, but there was still something to be said that shouldn’t, and I knew what it was, and I did it, at least one time too many. Richard became absolutely livid, threatening to kill me at one remark, Julie hit me in the mouth, Karen began yelling at Mom to control me, and Mom became quiet. It was then I got the first inkling that I had gone to far. Then everybody got quiet and I began to wonder what was up.

Tolerance invaded the house. No matter what I said, no matter what I did to make fun of the rounding women in the house, the family just smiled and ignored me. Normally this would have given me carte blanc but it was something that Karen said that put me to guard.

I had made a remark, something stupid I’m sure but I can’t remember what, and she said: "Just wait till you’re pregnant." She had turned her head. I wasn’t supposed to hear. When I pressed her for what she meant, she just denied that she had said anything, said that I had "mis-understood" her and that that wasn’t what she said.

Now, that by itself probably wouldn’t have been enough to make me question anything had it not been that I was beginning to have some unusual changes in my body. Actually, at that age changes in a boy’s body are common, but I had already started to have some of the changes that other boys had and they abruptly stopped,like my voice, which had just started the cracking of changing, suddenly stopped without getting deeper. And people began saying things to me like: "Kris, you’re lookin’ a little pale, you feeling alright?" and "You’d better find a way to get some sun this winter. You’re mighty white." That was true, even to the point of my skin not only looking white but it was starting to feel as soft as it looked. More than that, the hair on my arms and legs became real thin and short almost to the point of not being there at all. Even the peach fuzz that had started to come in above my dick practically disappeared. And then there were my nipples.

They began to get dark and tender, so tender that I couldn’t wear any of my denim shirts without a t-shirt on under them because my nipples would rub against the shirt and get all sore and stiff and would feel like they were on fire; the cotton shirts were almost as bad.

I had gone to Mom about this problem and she had taken me to this new doctor over in Rakesburg. He felt all around my chest and pushed on my nipples, which really hurt, and made me get completely undressed in front of him. He poked around on me and sat back and looked at me with this funny look and I almost felt like I was going to puke. But he told me that things like that sometimes happen to boys my age, that: "Sometimes boys seem to go through a reversal of their maturing before it gets solidly started." It sounded like a load of crap but he was a doctor so I believed him. Then he said he would start giving me shots once a week that would, "...get you maturing faster so that you will get through this problem faster." So he gave me a shot and winked at my mom and I didn’t think that I trusted him.

There were other changes in attitudes toward me that puzzled me. While normally I would be bitched at about my hair getting too long—I wanted to wear it long like the members of KISS—suddenly, I was given permission to let it grow long, provided I kept it clean and neat. Julie said that when it got longer, she would not only show me how to fix it like the band did, but she would also show me how to do make-up like theirs. She also began asking me to take care of her baby, Brian, which I said I didn’t want to do seeing as how that was woman’s work, so I put up a fuss about it but then did it because Brian was funny with all his giggling and making faces and because I secretly thought it was fun, except when he was wet or shitty and that’s when I’d give him back to Julie.

It was the first day of Spring break, unseasonably cold, and the day after I had had my fourth shot from Dr. Carl. My nipples were hard as hell and painful. I couldn’t even wear a t-shirt. I was looking at them in the mirror, wondering why my chest had such a rounded look to it and why there was a big, hard knot under each nipple when Karen came in and saw me poking on them. She kinda laughed and asked me if I was masturbating.

"Real funny," I said. "I guess that’s the only kinda sex you’re getting since you’re to big to let a guy lay on you."

She got red around the throat, the way she always did when she was mad, but then she cooled and said, "I’ve got some breast cream that you can rub into them. It will make them feel better, if you don’t mind doing something that we pregnant women do."

The idea made me sick but I needed to do something. I agreed. We went to her room and she opened her big jar of the stuff and told me to rub a big glob into each nipple and all around it. I felt stupid doing it but the stuff was cool and soothing. As I sat there rubbing it in, I noticed that it not only felt good, it felt absolutely electrifying. The more I rubbed, the better it felt and the bigger and harder my dick got. I didn’t realize I was sexually excited, despite my not-quite-stiff prick, until I almost came.

Karen was watching me with this kinda surprised, kinda shit-eating grin. I stopped touching myself and sat looking at her a moment. It was embarrassing. Then I looked at my chest. My boobs were swollen almost to the point of looking like girls tits. I must of had a shocked look or something on my face when I looked up at Karen.

She said: "Oh, that’s what happens when you use that in this cold. I know you are having trouble wearing your cotton shirts. I have a sweater you can wear. Its very soft and feminine but it won’t rub on your nipples and it will keep you warm."

I asked to see it. She pulled out this fluffy, cream colored, angora sweater. The puffy selves were rhinestone trimmed and the collar was cut in a rounded V shape, trimmed with rhinestones, and there were three ribbons that ran up the front to two balloon shaped, rhinestone trimmed, holes on either side of the collar with the third ribbon running to the pointy end of the collar so that it appeared to be another balloon. It was real girly. I started to refuse but she shoved it onto my chest before I said no. It not only didn’t grate on my swollen nipples but actually felt warm and comforting. Since there was no school that day and since it was pretty cool in the house, I took it and slipped it on. It’s fit was a little large—Karen said that it would fit better after my boobs were bigger, ha ha—but it was warm and quite comfortable. Walking around the house in a girls’ sweater would have been bad enough but I was not quite prepared for what I would have to do next.

As I strolled down the hallway, Mom passed me with a hefty load of wash, and commented on how nice I looked in the sweater. I was prepared to explain why I was wearing it except she didn’t give me a chance, she hurried on down stairs. Passing Julie’s room, I got a wolf whistle. I stopped to explain why and she listened and invited me in to watch her TV with her.

What she was watching was actually a tape about movie make-up. The narrator was speaking about hair styling. Julie started telling me that this is how KISS gets their hair to look wild and wondered if I would like to start learning how to do the same. I said that mt hair wasn’t even down to my shoulders, and she countered, "Well we could do something with it." I agreed.

She started by washing it and putting all kinds of sweet smelling conditioners and gels in it. When I protested she explained that those were all she had available, that when I had learned how to do this myself, I could get whatever I wanted to use. That was logical. So, I sat, intently learning, even practicing how to use rollers in my hair to get that full look. After sitting under the dryer, Julie had gone downstairs for lunch. I padded downstairs in my pajama bottoms, angora sweater, and rollers. Everyone laughed at me, including Mom, who was on the phone with the appliance repair man because our dryer had quit. I had a sandwich with the others. While we were eating the radio was on and the DJ was holding a contest, the prize: a pair of tickets and back stage passes to the KISS concert in Houston, two hours away. The question was trivia about the band members, the answer to which was "Paul Stanley." The ninth correct caller would get the tickets. I was on the phone.

I was the third correct caller but I immediately called back and was also the ninth. I won! They had to talk to my parents because I was underage but after Mom got off the phone the tickets were waiting at the radio station for me and someone over eighteen to escort me. It would take two hours to get to the dome but there would also be time necessary to get to the radio station and maybe time for supper but the concert didn’t start till eight and it was just one PM. Neither Mom or Dad were willing to go. Julie, who had just turned nineteen, saved the day by agreeing to take me. I ran upstairs to get dressed.

In my room, I pulled off my pajama pants and jerked the sweater off over my head but it wouldn’t pass the rollers. Twisting back into the sweater, I began looking for some pants to wear. There were none. None. Even the one pair of dress slacks I had was gone. I pulled back on my PJ bottoms and headed downstairs.

As I came into the den, I heard Mom saying, "...it was quite fortunate that he won those tickets. It will make today’s agenda easy and maybe step-up the entire plan."

I didn’t pay any attention at the time, I just blurted out: "Mom, where are my pants?"

She was startled by my presence, and took a moment to think, then said, "They’re all wet. The dryer is broken."

Panic set in, "Well get me a pair to wear."

Her face reddened, "You don’t give me commands, you understand?" Oh yeah, parental shit. She continued, "All your clothes are wet."

I countered, "I don’t care, I’ll wear them wet. Please, just get me some pants."

Her eyes narrowed, "You will not wear wet clothes in this cold weather. You don’t need to miss any more school."

I became frantic, "I won’t miss any school! I won’t get sick! I gotta go see KISS. I gotta go! I’ve even got a backstage pass! I’ve gotta go, Mom, I’ve gotta go!"

She put her foot down, "Not in wet clothes, you won’t."

It was one thing to make fun of Mom’s enlarging belly but I don’t cross her when she has that "don’t challenge me" look on her face, and she had it then.

I was about to cry when Karen suggested a plan to save the day: "Why don’t you go dressed as a girl?"

"Huhh?"

She stood up and pointed out why she had the idea, "Look, you’re already wearing my sweater and your hair is already rolled, I’m sure I’ve got some jeans that will fit you, and with a little make-up, you’ll easily pass as a girl. Just go as a girl. Nobody will know the difference."

Now that was stupid. I’m going to go to a KISS concert dressed as a girl? "No way." Nothing was said for several moments. With a shrug of her shoulders, Karen sat down. I sat down. I couldn’t think of any other options and that look hadn’t yet left Mom’s face: "OK. I’ll do it." Mom nodded her approval.

Karen took me upstairs to find some pants to fit. I had my choice between two, blue jeans with tulips on the back pockets and a beige pair of pants that co-ordinated with the sweater I was wearing, having three balloons floating up the left leg, the rhinestone trimmed holes showing thigh skin. Well, if I was going to do it I might as well look nice, I chose the beige.

Back in Julie’s room, I was to get some make-up applied before the curlers were removed. Julie held a powder puff to my face but stopped short before the first pat, "Those eyebrows just aren’t a girl’s. I’ll have to thin them out a little." Putting down the puff, she picked up her tweezers.

My head tipped back as she approached, "Oh no. You aren’t going to pluck my eyebrows."

Her eyebrow raised above her right eye, "I am, or you won’t see KISS. No girl would let eyebrows like that stay on her face. Besides, they’ll grow back."

I began to refuse until I noticed that she had much the look on her face that I had so recently seen on my mother’s. It must be a woman thing or something. I relented.

It was done and the powder, blush, mascara, and lipstick applied before I could see the result. I stared into the mirror. My face had a smooth, soft, feminine appearance, and my eyes stood out, large and liquid looking, greatly accented by my arched, dramatically female eyebrows. "Oh, no." Next, she went to my hair. Removing the rollers, she decided that the shape wasn’t right and that a little trimming would be necessary. I objected. That look remained on her face but she promised that she wouldn’t make it look as feminine as my eyebrows and that it would look even less feminine after the setting gel was washed out. I was forced to agree.

Soon I examined my hair. It was soft and fluffy, not a dramatically feminine look, but had bangs that further drew attention to my eyes. I looked like a girl, a point that Karen underlined, "Gee, Kris, you really do have a woman’s eyes."

"Yeah, big deal."

Karen got me some off-white knee-highs and some white shoes that fit. Mom clipped some rhinestone earrings on my lobes and sprayed Chantilly Lace on me, took some pictures, and I donned Karen’s old fake-fur coat. A look in the hallway mirror made me a little sick to my stomach. I looked ‘girlish,’ but at least I was going to see KISS.

Julie and I got to Houston, got the tickets, and made the concert in time. We liked the opening band, HIDDEN AGENDA, and KISS was riotous. Sitting in the third row, Julie and I were recipients of a tongue wag, directed to us by Gene Simmons. The show was incredible.

Afterwards, we made our way backstage to a party. Meeting KISS was a wonderful honor. When I was introduced to Paul Stanley as the ticket winner, he took my hand, grinned into my face, and said, "So you know what high school I went to. Not many people know that. You’re pretty special, Bright Eyes," and he leaned into my face and kissed me on the lips. I fainted.

I woke moments later with Paul carrying me to a couch and setting me on it. Seeing that I was now awake, he offered, "Sorry."

I was still a little groggy, "That’s alright," I offered, "I’m the one that should be apologizing. You see, I’m not..."

"She’s always fainting when she gets to excited," Julie interrupted as she made her way to sit beside me.

One of HIDDEN AGENDA sat next to her and asked if I was alright. I nodded ‘yes.’ He turned to Julie, "So, we’re going to go our hotel rooms and have a bar-b-que chicken dinner. Why don’t you two come along. There’ll be plenty to go around."

Paul joined in, "Yeah, sure. You can sit with me Bright Eyes, if you promise not to faint again."

‘Shit,’ I thought, ‘he was thinking of me as a girl.’ On the other hand, an opportunity to have dinner with KISS in their hotel room was certainly rare, a once in a lifetime at least. I nodded agreement to Julie who accepted for both of us.

The guy with eyes toward Julie, who’s name was Wes, grinned, "Alright."

Paul graciously agreed, and leaned to me, "Would you faint again if I kissed you again?"

"Uhh," I looked at Julie, who gave a little nod and a jut of her nose indicating that I should accept. I had to swallow hard to squeeze out a, "No," to him. He pressed his lips to mine in a sweet, lingering kiss. I didn’t faint but I couldn’t speak for several minutes. It was like I had to swallow that kiss and it had to fight it’s way down. I could only sit there with this kinda dumb like smile because I was so scared of what he would think if he knew what he was kissing.

We got to ride with HIDDEN AGENDA in the limo to the Hilton. It was crowded, but fun, especially when we got to sing with them. And dinner was very good. I stuffed myself since I hadn’t eaten anything but one simple sandwich all day.

As we were fixing to leave, Wes and Paul approached us. Wes spoke, "Julie, we’re playing Austin, Wednesday. Would you two like to be our guests." Julie agreed readily.

As much as I wanted to see KISS in concert again, I wasn’t about to dress up as a girl again to do it. Then Paul leaned down to me, "Why don’t you bring a nice dress and be my date to a luncheon at the college. OK, Bright Eyes?"

I was standing outside my body, watching myself saying "Yes," just before I fainted as Paul gave me another peck on the lips.

I stood looking at myself in a dress in the mirror, "I don’t think I should go through with this. Jesus, Julie, I’m a boy, not a girl."

Julie put her arm around my shoulders, "You don’t have to do it but you’ll miss the concert if you don’t."

"Yeah," I said. I looked at myself again. The dress was lilac plaid with a loose flair cut just above the knees, and with the top darted and long sleeved and scalloped, appropriate luncheon attire for a forteen year old girl. I scratched at my chest, the darts lay directly on my hyper sensitive nipples and were digging at them. "I can’t wear this, it hurts me."

"Hang on," Karen said as she ran from the room. Returning with a bra and slip, "try these," she offered. "The dress will look better with you wearing these, anyway." I moaned as she unzipped the dress.

I never realized how much trouble it was to put on a bra nor how uncomfortable they could be and the learning was certainly one lesson that I could have done without. Squeezed into the push-up device, I stared, amazed at my chest. I had boobs. I had cleavage. The shocked look on my face was as apparent in the mirror as the startled look on the girl’s face. I turned to Karen, "I’ve got boobs!"

"No! No," Karen quickly blurted out, "it’s just the bra. It’s the bra." She nodded toward Julie, who nodded back, and then both turned toward me, still nodding.

"Yes," Julie said in explanation, "a push-up bra pushes up the skin and the muscles of the chest. Anybody, any guy, would have boobs in that."

"Yeah," Karen agreed, with increased effort in her nodding.

I wasn’t convinced. I turned back to my reflection, ran my finger down my shallow cleavage, and poked at my small but feminine breasts. Suddenly my view was clouded by a slip being pulled over my head. My hands were pulled under the straps and the dress was pulled up from my ankles. By reflex I slid my arms in and the garment was secured behind me. Those darts, which were so annoyingly flat before, now defined the curve of my captured and bound breasts and allowed the hint of clevage at the depth of the shallow.

Karen moved to my face, "Does it itch now?"

I didn’t. But as I began to question why the bra fit, another bother was painfully thrust on me.

Julie jerked a pinch of hair from my shin. "Too hairy," she complained. "You’re going to have to shave your legs."

I completely forgot about my boobs. "Oh, no," I protested, looking into her face. "I don’t need to do that, you can hardly see the hair anyway." That ‘look’ came back to me.

There had been a little ‘refining’ to my eyebrows and to my hair before it was washed and set, but the itch of my nipples had been completely replaced by the sting of razor burn on my legs. I scratched at my nylon encased legs as Mom demanded that I stop before I put a run in my panty hose. I stood up. "Now smile," she said as she clicked off two more pictures. I tried to but couldn’t do it well. "What’s wrong?" she asked in a demand.

I scratched at my upper thighs as I answered, "Why do I have to wear a girdle if I’m wearing panties and panty hose? It’s digging into my legs and it’s so tight around my stomach that I can hardly breathe."

Mom answered both questions, "I’m sorry that it is tight on your legs but you needed it tight around your middle to give you a proper waist line."

Not fully understanding, I asked, "Why do women wear all this stuff anyway?"

Again Mom answered, "So that men will like the way we look. Don’t you like women with thin waists and shapely legs?"

It felt funny having your mother asking such a question, especially when I, a boy, was the object with the narrow waist and exposed legs, but I nodded, "yes."

She continued, "Perhaps you are beginning to appreciate how much sacrifice women go through to look good."

I grinned. "Well, at least I won’t have to appreciate how funny a woman looks with her belly all pushed out with a baby."

She grinned an odd grin, "Oh, I’m sure that you’ll come to appreciate that one day, also. Now you go and have fun."

I wobbled in the white high heels as I walked to the hall mirror to re-examine my sacrifices for another KISS concert. God, I looked like a girl. In addition to my hair, which now had a wedge-ish look and much more fullness, earth toned eye shadows made my eyes even more apparent and feminine. I raised my pale lavender nails to clip Mom’s pearl earrings to my ears. She took more pictures.

Karen slid a little white purse containing my make-up over my shoulder and held out her fur coat for me to take. I slid it on and headed to the car, my steps becoming more stable as I walked on the three inch heels.

Mom accompanied us. At the car she stopped me, "Remember, no one knows the truth about you. Don’t be self conscious, just relax and have fun. Anyone you meet will accept you as the pretty, young girl that you appear to be, so just be casual. And don’t scratch at your body parts." She kissed me lightly on the cheek.

We arrived in Austin at the Hilton just before noon. The weather had improved, it was already in the high sixties, so I left the fur in the car. By the time we had made it across the parking lot and lobby, I had discovered two things about walking in heels. First, if I walked with my butt ‘cocked’ back and my back straight, and my head kinda pulled up, my heels would hit the ground more softly, turning the heavy thack and jarring bounce of each step into a click and slight jostle, and second, that it is much easier to balance on the tall heels if you put one foot directly in front of the other, allowing your hips to roll outward, and keeping your body centered over your feet rather than trying to keep your hips centered under your body like I was used to doing. After inquiring at the desk and being announced upstairs, we were told the floor and room at which we were expected. The elevators were closer to me, so I headed for them, concentrating on making my practiced walk smoother.

Julie made a quiet wolf-whistle behind me. I slowed and looked at her. She grinned and explained, "That’s some walk you’ve got there kid."

I didn’t understand, "Does it look funny? It’s the only way I can keep my balance in these things."

She touched my shoulder, ‘No sweetheart, it looks fine. Quite feminine, in fact."

That wasn’t really what I wanted to hear but at least I wouldn’t have to worry about being figured-out because of the way I walked.

Upstairs we were stopped by security guards and had to wait till Wes came out to vouch for us. He kissed Julie a little peck on the lips and said to me, "Hi, kid. You look real pretty," as he swatted me lightly on the rear. We sat around Wes’ room for about ten minutes before the guards informed us that the limos were waiting. We were heading out the door just as Paul Stanley came in.

He looked at me and smiled, "Well, you look absolutely fabulous, Kris. If I give you a kiss, will you not faint?"

Surprised he remembered my name, I couldn’t help but smile, so I lowered my head a little to try to hide it because I didn’t want to look like I really wanted the kiss, after all, I was a boy and men don’t kiss boys on the lips. I said, "No," but again, I think he thought that I meant that I wouldn’t faint when what I was meaning was to say "no" to was being kissed. Anyway he stepped forward and tilted my head up with his finger and kissed me a little kiss. I’m not sure why, perhaps it was because my head was turned so far upward, but the kiss didn’t rob me of blood as it had before, so I didn’t faint. Instead, the kiss sent shivers down my spine that bounced off my pelvis and radiated up to my entrapped boobs and out though my nipples. This was certainly something that I hadn’t felt before and I wasn’t sure why I felt it. I stared at him with my eyes wide open.

Speaking close to my face, he asked, "Am I the first boy who’s kissed you?" I’m not sure what he read on my face but he knew the answer. "I’m so sorry. No boy has ever kissed you and I just did it callously without even asking. Please, Kris, may I kiss you?"

My head was spinning. I was afraid that I was going to faint again. I think I said, "yes," I’m not sure, but he put his arm around me and his lips to mine and kissed me with a long, sweet, unrequited kiss. The shivers that had scampered down my spine were replaced with a flow of heat that followed the same path, but left my nipples burning as the flow escaped. He pulled away from me with another soft peck. I opened my eyes, which I hadn’t even realized that I had closed, and looked up at him. Even with his make-up on, I realized that he was an attractive man. I also realized that the look on his face was one of concern. Thinking that he might be thinking I was about to faint, I whispered, because my throat wouldn’t produce more, "I’m alright. I won’t faint."

"Good," he said as he stepped back and offered his elbow to me. Unconsciously I slid my hand around it as if I had done it many times before.

A private elevator was just across the hall. I looked at myself in its mirrored doors. There, on my still hot, sweating chest was something that I could not believe I was seeing. Obviously, quite obviously, my nipples were pushing out in pronounced, pointy mounds just to the inside of the darts. Scared and stunned at the same time, I knew that I was looking at a female response and not a male one at all. I tried to hide them but quickly realized that behavior just served to make my predicament all the more obvious. I tried to believe that it wasn’t really happening. It didn’t help. I found myself becoming more anxious and fearful as I thought about the prospect that these guys would see me standing there with my nipples all sticking out.

They were on fire. The stretching began to hurt. I wanted to push them in, like you push on a cut to keep the pain in, but I knew that I couldn’t reach up there and hold my tits in front of everybody. I was in a quandary. I had to do something; I could feel them stretching bigger, becoming so engorged that my head was getting light from the lack of blood flow. Paul turned and looked down at me. I smiled back at him. He turned away. Then suddenly, I realized that I was pushing my hard nipple into his arm as I would had it been my hand. I jerked backward so hard that everyone turned to look at me. "Uhh," I had to think fast, "I’ve got to go before we leave."

I ran back to the room and into the bathroom. Slamming the door, I stared into the mirror. I could feel the horrible embarrassment at what I had done but my face didn’t show red as it had before when I was embraced. I was white. All my spare blood was held in the two rounded orbs that now showed so predominately on my chest and in the burning nipples that strained at the material holding them fast. I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. I grabbed at my breasts and squeezed the nipples, attempting to force the blood out. But that isn’t what happened. As I squeezed, my head was drawn back, my mind went white and spasms of orgasm waved through my body.

I wasn’t sure how long I had been there. My breathing was slowing and the swelling in my breasts was subsiding, although my nipples still stood defiantly enlarged. Wet, gooy cum was tickling me, flowing around my entrapped prick. It was still pumping even though it really didn’t feel hard. It slowed and I squeezed so to push out what was left. It was a lot and it gushed out pushing clear up into my crack.

I pulled up my skirt and pushed down my girdle and pantyhose. Peeling my panties down, the smell of sex hit me in the face. But this was different than before. Normally my cum was white and had a strong odor. But this wad was almost clear and glistened on the white cotton patch of the nylon panties, and it wasn’t strong smelling but smelled more like something sweet, more...feminine.

I cleaned myself up quickly, doused my private parts with some powder that was on the counter to try to absorb the goo that I hadn’t gotten off, pushed my sticky dick back between my legs, and positioned the wet panties as comfortably as I could. Redressing myself quickly, I checked the mirror. My boobs had almost returned to their normal size but my nipples retained their pointy, enlarged appearance.

In the hallway, only Paul was waiting for me. This time I could feel the heat of embarrassment in my face.

He spoke first, "The others are waiting downstairs. Shall we join them?"

That was pretty nice. I’m sure he knew what had happened, especially with me shoving my hard nipple into his arm, but he was being a gentleman, treating me with the respect he would of any young woman, which he believed me to be. Suddenly I felt more comfortable and was able to smile at him.

"Ahhh," he said with a smile as he again offered his arm. I took it and walked with him into the elevator as gracefully as I could even though my legs quivered with each step.

There was only one limo downstairs. All the others had gone. We had this one alone to ourselves. Julie had left me alone. Paul made some remark about not believing that my sister trusted him to be alone with her little sister. I couldn’t believe it either but I just smiled and nodded like I did, which I really did. The phone rang; it was so neat being in a car, a limo, with a phone in it. Paul answered and spent the rest of the trip with the handset pressed to his ear, engaged in a conversation with his agent about something that had happened in San Antonio, the site of their next concert.

Actually, I was kinda glad that he was busy. It gave me a chance to reflect on what had happened. I felt so weird. I knew that something was wrong with me now. Girls breasts got swollen like that when they were sexually excited. I knew that. And I also knew that guys didn’t. What I had experienced was a female’s orgasm and not a male’s at all. That, I knew also.

We arrived just as the others were exiting their cars. Even though most of the commotion was away from us, thankfully, there was still a bevy of photographers dancing around us, shutters flashing. Many asked for my name but Paul refused it to them, answering the question only with "Bright Eyes." I just tried to hide behind him as he made his way forward.

The reporters where held outside. Paul made his way around shaking hands and such. I held onto his elbow, scared at all the commotion, and smiling as he introduced Bright Eyes to all the dignitaries. Finally we were ushered into the dinning room. I sat next to Paul, gradually relaxing, managing to eat some of the roast and potatoes, but not saying a word. It was neat being there with a celebrity but all of the attention was scary.

After the luncheon, we went back to the hotel. Julie and I were provided a room to rest in before the concert. When we were alone, Julie asked me what had happened. I couldn’t talk about it yet, so I just told her that I had to pee and that was all, and that I had to go again. I locked the bathroom door behind me, hiked my dress, pulled down my girdle and panty hose, and pulled at my panties. They were stuck to me. Stuck solid. It was painful pulling them away. I spread my legs to free my dick from where I had pulled it up tight between my balls but it was stuck even more soidly, held fast by a mixture of orgasmic fluid and whatever was in the powder I had applied. I pulled on the head but it only gave slightly and with great pain. I did have to pee badly, so I sat and went, believing that would loosen the adhesive that had me bound. It didn’t help. I was forced to wipe rather than shake. That felt funny. I stood before the mirror and pulled at my prick again. It still hurt. I let go and looked at my crotch. My sack was stuck around the top of my dick and to itself, so that it made a crease in the front, while the lower part of it was pasted firmly around my prick and below that to the skin near my butt hole. I gently pushed against my balls. With a little pop, they went up, out of the sack, and hid behind the skin of my lower stomach. They stayed there without my touching them. I had never seen a pussy in real life before, and all the ones I had seen in pictures had hair on them, but I was sure that at that moment, my crotch looked as much like a pussy as was possible without surgery. For a moment I couldn’t move. I just looked at it, imagining that it was a pussy, astonished at the possibility. I touched the crease with one finger, softly running down it until just before touching my hidden prick. I felt the heating of my nipples. Again they were pushed out in well defined points. A sudden fear engulfed me. I jerked up my panties and other stuff, jerked down my skirt, and rushed out of the bathroom. Julie was asleep on one of the beds. I didn’t feel like sleeping so I sat in a chair and read the Life magazine that was on the table until I fell asleep.

A knock at the door woke us at six-thirty. Julie drug herself from the bed. When she opened the door, Wes poked his head in and kissed her. "Everybody’s gone to the gig. There’s a limo waiting for you two whenever you’re ready. I’ll come out and join you after our set, so save me the seat next to you." He handed two band passes and seat claims to her and, after a long kiss, left.

Julie turned to me, "Guess I’d better get my face changed. Yours still looks nice but it needs a touch-up. Comon’," she took my hand and pulled me up, "let’s go, Bright Eyes."

After washing away the patchy residuals, Julie repainted her face and helped me with mine. She was touching-up my blush when she stopped and looked at me, "Your skin is so pretty. Mine never looked so smooth, except maybe while I was pregnant with Brian. Guess it was all those female hormones in my system. Daddy said that I was just one of those women who looked better pregnant. Anyway, I hope you keep this skin. You know," she leaned back to get a fuller view, "you do make a pretty girl. You really do. Being a girl agrees with you."

I smirked at her remark, "You don’t know just how much."

Her expression was curious, "How do you mean that?"

I wasn’t sure how to answer, "What would you think if I told you that being a girl is agreeing too much with me?"

Julie looked at me for a moment as if she were trying to see into the depths of my soul, she grinned, "Go with it girl. Maybe you’ll be one of those women who looks better pregnant."

That had a somehow sickly profetic ring to it. I shook my head, "The last thing I would ‘go with’ is being a fat belled, baby bearer. What girl wants a pussy all stretched outo’ wack by a baby shoving through it."

Julie’s fist clenched and she gave me a shot straight into my right boob. "You little asshole," she angrily fired at me, "I can’t wait until you finally understand what it’s like to be pregnant. Maybe then you’ll be tolerable but I bet you’ll just remain an asshole." She stormed from the room.

I had heard what she said, but while she was saying it I couldn’t have cared less. The pain in my chest was excruciating.

I staggered back until I hit the wall and slid to the floor, landing on my butt. My breaths were shallow and weak and I had almost passed out before I could draw in a full breath. Gradually, I pulled myself from the floor. Sitting on the toilet until the pain subsided, again I realized that this was a female reaction, that no male would experience such completely debilitating pain from a shot to the chest.

When I was able to breath better, I marched into the bedroom. Julie was brushing her hair. Even though she was bigger than me, I grabbed her hair, spinning her toward me, and screamed, "You know what’s happening to me. Tell me what’s happening to me, you bitch!"

She swung out with her left elbow, crashing it solidly into my left tit. I fell backward, again debilitated with unbelievable pain. But this time I couldn’t get my breath quick enough. The room went black.

I woke a moment later. My chest felt like an elephant had stepped on it. Julie was on the phone asking for EMS. "No!" I called to her. "Don’t bring them here." She dropped the phone and ran to me. I grabbed another breath, "Please don’t bring them here. Please!"

She ran back to the phone and explained that her sister had been chocking on some candy but had coughed it up and was alright now. She listened to the response and turned to me, "They’ve already been dispatched."

I was scared that they would expose me. I couldn’t have Paul finding out. I couldn’t let him know that he had kissed a boy. "Please get us out of here, Julie. Please don’t let them find out about me."

Julie helped me to my feet and to my shoes. As I slid into them, she gathered up our stuff and we headed out the door, just getting into the elevator as EMS was exiting the main elevators. By the time we got to the limos, I had regained my breath. Driving to the concert gave us time to fix my fucked-up eyes but she never answered my question.

An usher took us to our seats. As we walked en route, guys were whistling at us and offering us joints an other stuff if we'd sit with them. The ushers just pushed them away.

Even after we were seated, offers came and didn’t stop until the music started. HIDDEN AGENDA was really into it. Wes sang a romantic song about a guy having to leave the girl he loved to follow the road and he didn’t take his eyes off Julie the whole time. As he finished, he handed his guitar to one of the roadies, jumped off the stage, shoved through the crowd to Julie and gave her a passionate kiss.

It was embarrassing, sitting there under the spotlight while they kissed. Finally the lights went out. KISS started a few moments later. They played well, too. As they came to their last song, the one that came before an encore, which surely would come tonight, they sang a song about ‘young girls,’ that I had never heard before. During the song, Paul and Gene jumped into the audience while playing. They moved around, singing to one girl or another while the bouncers kept pushing people away, until right at the end of the song. The last words of the song were: "...those fine young girls." Paul was standing right in front of me when he sang them. As he struck the last note, his hand swung out, gently catching me under the chin, lifting me from the seat. Then he put his face close to mine and asked, "May I kiss you?" I nodded and he kissed me, there in the spotlights, in front of all those people, not as passionately as Wes had kissed Julie, but with more than I would have expected. I didn’t faint but the hot rush set me on fire and exploded from my nipples much as it had before. As he backed away, he said, "Thanks, Bright Eyes," and ran back to the stage. That’s when I fainted.

After the concert, everybody was in a rush to pack-up. KISS was being ushered out when Paul caught sight of me. He couldn’t get to me but kissed his fingertips, then touched his star-ed eye, then blew the kiss to me.

The limo took us back to our car. We talked and talked about the past few days, right through the burger dinner we stopped for, and on the road until I fell asleep. I could barely wake enough to get into the house, get undressed, and into bed.

When I woke-up my boobs were on fire and so sore that I couldn’t touch them. I ran to the bathroom to look at them. They were swollen to hugeness. They easily were bigger than Karen’s were when she was my age, easily bigger than almost any girl my age that I knew. I ran into my Mom’s bedroom, holding onto my boobs because they hurt more bouncing than being touched. "Get me to the doctor!" I screamed at her.

Mom was angry at my outburst but calmed quickly when I took my hands away from my boobs and she saw how large they were. She called Dr. Carl, who agreed to see me as soon as we could get there. I walked back to my room as carefully as I could so as to not shake my tits. Putting on a T-shirt was agony. I threw it onto the floor and grabbed the Angora sweater that was still hanging on the post of my bed and carefully donned it. The beige pants hung beneath the sweater, so I slowly slid into them, completing the outfit. Sliding into Karen’s shoes I was ready. I glanced into the dresser mirror as I passed. It was evident that I had boobs, there was just no denying it.

The ride was torture and the wait endless. I had to pee. In the restroom, I dropped my pants. It was then I realized that I was still wearing panties and further, that I was still glued to myself. Being in enough pain already, I didn’t try to pull my dick free but just spun and dropped onto the seat. Finishing, I again was forced to wipe myself dry.

Finally, I was sitting in front of the doctor. He didn’t even flinch when he saw how I was dressed, in fact, he said that it was a nice outfit but that I would have to shed it for the examination. Mom helped me out of the sweater. He began palpating my breasts cautiously, pushing until I winced and then backing off.

He stepped back a moment and then asked, "Did your chest get hit or otherwise impacted."

I explained what had happened, the fight between Julie and myself. Then I had to make a short story out of the whole evening so I could explain why I was in a dress and in a bra anyway.

He just nodded in understanding and offered, "You have gynomastacoma. It is a condition where young males experience a feminization before maturing. This condition is most often accompanied by excessive breast enlargement and occasionally by a shrinking of the male organs. What has happened to you is that you are experiencing a rather dramatic effect of the condition complicated by bruised breasts. Your breasts are swollen because they are badly bruised. I’ll give you something for the pain and swelling and increase the dosage of your shot so that maybe you can get through this more quickly." He retrieved a syringe and a bottle from a cabinet and filled the syringe half full. "With this much I’ll need to give you the shot in the rear. Please pull your pants down." I stood up and loosened my pants, letting them drop to the floor. Dr. Carl only raised one eyebrow when he saw my panties but just pushed them down a little, cleaned a spot, stuck in the needle, and squeezed in the stuff. "Pull them up please." He turned to another cabinet and took out a smaller syringe and filled it from a different, larger bottle. Looking at me, he stepped forward, "This will sting but will help the swelling go away." Cleaning a spot below my breast, at the chest wall, he injected the full load. Then he did the same at the top of the breast. The treatment was the same for my other breast. "Dress please. Oh, wearing a bra will help ease the pain but not the push-up ones. OK?" I nodded.

The shots stung like mad and didn’t seem to do anything for the pain. In fact, the oily substance he put in them just seemed to make them heavier. I laid down in the back seat while we drove, and while waiting for Mom to get the prescriptions, and she and I spoke about what I was going to do for the next few days to relieve the pain and swelling.

At home, I took the Motrin and Feldine and went upstairs to ask Karen if she had a bra that would fit me. She did. It really made me feel funny that I was going to have to wear a bra.

Mom came by and announced that they were going to go get pizza. I declined the trip, went to my room and stripped in preparation for a shower. I was reaching for my towel when my door opened and my friend Jeff walked in.

At first he thought he was seeing a girl. That was natural seeing as how I had breasts and no dick. "Cool," he says in a lecherous way. "Kris never told me he had a girlfriend. So what’s your na..."

That’s when he realized that he was looking at me. His tune changed: "Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. What happened to you man?" His voice was shaking. "Oh, god, what happened to you man?" He was backing out the door.

I grabbed the towel and ran to the door, blocking his exit. Wrapping the towel around me, I told him to sit down while I explained. He listened to it all—except that I left out the parts about being kissed—and, unbelievably, he seemed to understand.

I could see it was all rolling around in his head, then he asked, "But your dick’s gone. What happened to it?"

I told him that I creamed in my jeans, or panties, as it was, while I was watching a girl while I was using the bathroom and that I was just stuck. At least it was partially true. I wasn’t sure that he believed it but he accepted it, perhaps because he sensed that the truth was something he didn’t really want to know.

He thought on it some more, "So those are real boobs?"

"Well, yeah, sorta. It’s really me."

"Can I feel them?" He was almost drooling at the mouth.

"Gross. Gross, man. I’m still a boy. You want to feel up a boy?" I challenged him.

At first he relented but then shot back, "Well, I just wanted to see what real boobs feel like. You said that that whateveryougot causes feminization before you start maturing, right?" I nodded. "So those are female boobs even if you are really a guy, right?"

There was some point to that logic, but I wasn’t going to accept it, "No, man, I’m a guy and these boobs are on me. They are guy boobs, got it?"

He looked almost as if he was going to cry, "Jees, all I wanted to do was feel them. What’s the big deal? I let you have my favorite fold-out, the one that I stole from Phillip’s Playboy, didn’t I?"

The trade-off wasn’t the same. He was, however, my friend and if it was so important to him that he would almost tear-beg for it, it wasn’t much to ask. "Well, don’t tell anybody."

"Cross my heart," he said the pledge with the appropriate gestures.

"Well, OK. But just for a minute. And don’t squeeze them. They still hurt." And that was true, but the pills were taking effect and the pain wasn’t bad and my head was getting pretty light, a side effect of the anti-inflammatory.

Walking toward me as if he were sneaking up on a squirrel, his trembling hands lightly touched me. He cupped my breasts, running his hands softly around them.

I couldn’t watch. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the bed post.

He squeezed a little, "These are really neat, Kris. I’m not hurting you, am I?"

My head was beginning to spin pretty good by then and I had to think about it before I answered, "No." I evaluated again. "No, actually they are so sore that your rubbing on them feels pretty good."

He squeezed a little harder, kneading them slightly. "Does that hurt?"

I evaluated again: "Well, no. That feels, feels fine. It’s not hurting me. It feels...nice."

Kneading with more earnestness, he began flicking my nipples. "Does that hurt you?"

My head was spinning pretty fast, "No, my nipples don’t hurt much at all. They get hard though. I think they are getting hard now. Can you feel them getting hard?"

He was having trouble speaking he was so excited, "Yeah, they are hard. Does it hurt if I squeeze them like this?"

He squeezed my nipples between his fingers, and twisted and pulled a little, too.

I wasn’t sure what he was doing but hurting me it wasn’t, "No. That, well, that feels nice." I couldn’t help it feeling nice. "That feels nice, Jeff. You can do more of that if you want to. I like the way it makes my boobs feel."

He put his mouth on one nipple and began to suck. Gradually I realized that what I was feeling was his tongue and teeth on me. I tried to push him away but when I pushed on his head, he didn’t release his suction and I only felt the pull of my nipple, which excited me even more. I could feel myself wiggling, squirming, with my legs spread and Jeff lying between them. Even through his jeans, I could feel his boner. He sucked harder and my resistance began to fade away, being replaced by young lust.

Soon my towel was open, exposing my soft, smooth belly and white skin. Jeff was enchanted, "God, you’re beautiful, Kris. You’ve got a beautiful body, Kris." He laid on me, his pants off, his erect organ searching for an opening that wasn’t there.

I tried to push it away. I couldn’t. He pressed against me harder. I closed my hand around his member, again trying to push it away. I pushed down and he pushed forward. There was a sudden, sharp pain in my butt. I jerked and tried to focus on what it was but the pleasurable sensations from Jeff’s sucking coupled with my loose mind, wouldn’t allow me to figure out what had happened until I felt Jeff’s balls banging against my tailbone.

He was in my butt! He was banging away inside my butt! I could feel him sliding in and out, in and out. I tried to push him off but it was too late. His pelvis thrust hard against mine and I could actually feel the spasmodic pumping and warmth of his cum as it entered me. He jerked back a few inches and slammed into me again, pushing more warmth deeper into me. He was fucking me! Jesus Christ, it took forever but finally my mind had gotten it all together: he was fucking me like a girl!

I jerked my arms up and brought them down on Jeff’s head as hard as I could, which wasn’t very effective. There wasn’t much room for my elbows to swing, and my head was still cock-eyed inside, my arms slid down the back of his head and crashed mostly ineffectually against his back. I reached up and back, over my head, grabbed the bedpost, and pushed forward attempting to push him off. At that moment, Jeff chose to draw back and drive forward with his entire body. As he slammed into me again, my head was driven into the bedpost, my mind went blank, and I blacked out.

I was out for maybe a minute. He was laying on me as I came to. I could feel warmth oozing inside me as small spasms of his gonads squeezed out the last drop possible. It was over. I had been raped. I just laid there in disbelief and confusion. Then I felt him getting harder. He was getting another full blown erection. He began pumping, his strokes becoming deeper and firmer.

"Oh, god, no," I said. Jeff paid no attention. "Jeff," tears were beginning to roll down my cheeks, "I can’t believe you’re doing this."

He released my nipple from his mouth, "God, Kris, you’re my first fuck and I’m going to come twice. Jesus, Kris, you are a better lay than I ever could have imagined. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

I surrendered. I’m still not sure why, but I did. And then, as I laid back, a curious, or perhaps unexpected, revelation came to my head: it felt good.

We were sweating profusely. He was gasping for air as he surrendered one nipple for the other and restarted a vigorous sucking session. He pounded harder and harder into me trying to generate another orgasm and load of cum. Pounding in and pulling out, I could fell his veins straining against his hardness, barely trapped by his skin. Fire was burning inside my stomach and exiting through my nipples with each draw of Jeff’s energetic suck. When I felt his hips lock against my pelvis, his balls press almost into me, and his warmth again blast into me from his heavily pumping organ, my head went white, my back arched, and I came.

With my head swirling with each heartbeat, I realized I wasn’t breathing. I sucked air in and my head began to clear. Suddenly I felt my own organ, trapped between pelvises, straining out it’s last drops to dribble onto Jeff’s prick, slither down his balls, and drip onto my towel. We relaxed in the warmth and wetness of each other, I trying to figure out why, and Jeff softening inside me. But it was short lived. I heard Dad’s car revving up the drive, the clutch living it’s last days.

Pushing Jeff with new found strength, he finally broke free of me. I tip-toed to the window as if the people on the drive below would hear me, and peeked out. The whole family was emerging from the vehicle and three of them were carrying pizza boxes. I turned to Jeff. He was quite a sight, his pants crumpled around his ankles and his shirt and hair soaking wet with sweat. "Jeff, get out of here! You look like you’ve been fucking all day. My parents can’t see you like that. Get your pants up and go out my window."

He didn’t argue but just did it, until he got to the window. There he turned to me, "Kris, I didn’t mean to...I just wanted to feel...god, Kris. Look at yourself. You are a beautiful woman." He slid out the window.

I grabbed my wet towel, ran to the bathroom, and turned on the shower. But before I got in, I looked in the mirror. I did look like a girl. In addition to my breasts and my stuck still dick, my skin was white and smooth and my hips were beginning to become too wide to be a boy’s, this accented by a waist that had already become quite thin, and lower, by a rounded and enlarged rump. I had seen these changes coming for several months but denied them. I could no longer do that. I stepped into the shower.

Julie stuck her head in after a few minutes, "Hey, kid. How you feeling? You up to pizza?"

"Yeah," I answered. "Hey, Julie."

"Yes."

"Did Mom fill you in on what’s wrong with me?"

She paused before she answered, "She told me about your condition and bitched me out for hitting you in the boobs."

I giggled, "What did she say about hitting me?"

"It was a safety lecture on the possible danger of breast injuries leading to tumors and cancer."

I was familiar with the genre: "Heavy guilt?"

"That was the intention."

I didn’t want to ask what I needed to ask because it was a release of the denial that had been supporting my self-image, "Did she tell you that my boobs would probably be swollen for several days and that I would be wearing a bra?"

Again there was hesitation before she spoke, "Why are you going to have to wear a bra?"

It was hard to get it out, "To keep my boobs from shaking around so much. But there’s another problem related to this: with my boobs so big, it would be a lot easier if anyone that might see me would mistake me for a real girl."

"So what are you asking me?"

My throat clinched up and I had to clear it several times before I could ask, "Will you fix my hair again and loan me some make-up?"

Julie giggled, "Sure. No problem, Sis."

Gag. There was a bad sound to that. "And can you ask Karen if she can dig up something else for me to wear...and a bra?"

"Sure," she agreed, and then asked, "Can I ask you for a favor?"

"Yeah."

There was a slight giggle in her voice, "Can I call you ‘Kristy?’"

I had to think on that a moment, "Well, alright...for a while."

"Wash your hair, Kristy," Julie called as she left, "I’ll fix it after we eat."

‘Kristy!’ This was humiliating. I looked down at myself, realizing that my hands were guarding my overtly sensitive and sore nipples from the stinging spray. And then I farted, a gooy one that smelt more of cum that shit. Lord, what had happened to me?

I washed, shampooed my hair, and got out. The big wet spot on my towel reeked of sweat and sex. I just wadded it up and threw it into the hamper. Wrapped in a fresh towel, I headed into my room.

The scent of sex was still in the air. I opened the window and saw Jeff, sitting on the curb about a block away, looking toward my house. Retreating back into the room, I went to sit on my bed, but I couldn’t. There, on the bed, was a girl’s pale pink blouse, the Tulip-ed jeans, a soft, pink bra, and a flowered pair of panties. I left the panties in defiant choice of Haynes briefs, donned the rest of the feminine attire, and with my wet hair wrapped in the towel, as my sisters always did, went downstairs to pizza.

Sighing, I asked, "We’re not going anywhere, do I need to put that stuff in it?"

Julie was impatient, "You have to put it in while your hair is wet. You can curl it later, right now," she shoved the jar into my hands, "put..some..in."

Taking a small glob of the sweet smelling gel, I spread it through my hair. Combing it through, I reached for the blow dryer.

Julie came back into the room, "Now that your hair is dry, maybe you should practice putting on your own make-up. It’s not that I really mind doing it, it’s just that it is your face, not mine."

I smirked, "Why bother, we’re not going anywhere."

She raised a finger so to make a point, reminding me, "Wes is coming over tonight. With your hair not being set, you still look passably female, but, are you willing to trust the eye of a lady-killer man not to see your flaw without make-up?"

"I think I aught to fix up my hair and eyebrows, too," I wasn’t willing to take a chance. Julie nodded in agreement as she handed me a pair of tweezers.

Julie answered the door. Wes and Jeff, both wearing their best casual, spit and polish, were at the door. Wes advised, "I met this dude coming up the walk. He wondered if he and Kris would like to join us for burgers and the movie."

Julie looked, in shock, across the room at me, "Kristy?"

I was hiding my face. She continued, "Jeff would like you and he to go with us on a date tonight. Would you like to?"

I walked over to Jeff, "What are you doing here?!"

He stammered, "I wanted to apologize about what I said. I mean, I’m your friend, I should be more understanding."

Julie’s eyes were wide. I leaned near her ear, "He was here this morning. He left pretty freaked-out after I explained everything." She accepted that. Turning to Jeff, I tried to back out, "I don’t think that our going out would be a good idea."

"Pleeease, Kristy," he pleaded, "I just want to make it up to you somehow."

Wes lent support, "Com’on, Bright Eyes, let’s make it a foursome."

Julie betrayed me, "You’ve already got your face on and you look nice. Let’s go."

With daggers in my eyes, I looked at her, and then agreed.

We ate at Burger King, my favorite, and went to see "Rocky Horror Picture Show." All of us had seen it before but this time it wasn’t quite as funny for me. Afterward, Julie suggested that we walk through the adjacent park and check-out the newly renovated fountain. I knew it was a low light, romantic area; my eyes sent more daggers toward her as we walked.

Now bathed in blue light, the old fountain, and the surrounding benches and walks, were truly impressive and truly Quixotic. Wes and Julie began making out and I got some exercise fending Jeff’s advances.

In exasperation, I demanded, "Damn, Jeff! First you rape me and now you want to be all kissy with me? What’s the deal? Have you gone gay or something?"

Lowering his head, "After what happened today, I can’t think of you as a boy anymore. You’re too much a girl."

I tried to mount an argument but failed. I was beginning to doubt my masculinity, in body and spirit, but I couldn’t give in; why I was beginning to belive it puzzled me more.

He went on, "It’s true! And I can prove it."

"Yeah, how?"

Leaning his face into mine, "If you can kiss me and feel disgusted, then I won’t believe it."

"Oh, shiiiit."

Slowly he leaned into my face and softly kissed me. I stood there like an idiot, not fighting, and, unexpectedly, not being disgusted. It wasn’t a long kiss and it was sweet, not pushy. Jeff asked in a whisper, as he backed away just far enough to look into my eyes: "Disgusting?"

I closed my eyes and nodded but I didn’t move. He pressed his lips against mine again. I kissed back. Shit! I tried to pretend that I didn’t like it but when he took a hold of my elbows and pressed into my lips, my body began to fail me, becoming weak. I raised my hands, putting them on Jeff’s ribs to push him away, but I didn’t push. I just touched him and didn’t move and felt the kiss move down my spine, bounce off my pelvis, and scald my nipples into reaction. He pressed forward, his body against mine, my erect nipples driving into his chest. Slowly I became aware of the feminine desire building within me and I was scared. Shoving him away, I ran for the car.

I didn’t talk much on the way home; I couldn’t be drawn into a conversation even by Julie. Though I tried to act like there was nothing wrong, the whole week, the rape, my obviously out of gender reactions were crashing down on me. As soon as the car stopped, I said goodbyes as pleasantly as I could and I headed for my room, barricading myself in, with excursions only for food and nature calls until Monday morning.

Everyone had pretty much left me alone, which was a good thing, because it gave me time to figure it all out: the broken dryer, the tolerances, the odd remarks, Dr. Carl, the entire conspiracy. Monday morning, after showering, I put some gel in my hair and combed it straight back. Although the swelling was way down, my breasts still looked exactly like breasts. I remembered an elastic tube top that Karen had outgrown. The last time she had worn it, it had squeezed her so tight that she had been complaining that it was crushing her boobs. I had seen it in one of her drawers a few days before. While she was in the bathroom, I snuck into her room and swiped it. It was an effort, but the tight garment and a loose shirt held me in enough to hide the predominances on my chest. Dressed in my clothes, as they were, I headed downstairs for breakfast a few minutes early.

Only Mom was in the kitchen. I had a few questions for her: "Why are you all doing this to me?"

She spun to face me, "Oh! You startled me. ‘Doing this to me?’ Whatever do you mean by that, sweetie?"

‘Sweetie,’ that was a dead give away. She had only called me by that stupid pronoun since the tolerance started. "I’ve figured it out. The whole conspiracy. I just don’t understand: WHY."

She turned her back to me and began putting sausage and eggs on the plate for me, but her head was tilted: she was thinking. "Well, sweetie..." There was a pause, and she didn’t move a muscle. "You see, Kris," she turned and placed the plate on the table, and then looked at me, "you don’t treat women very well. We found that there was a way to increase your awareness and sensitivity toward us."

She acknowledged it! God, I was in deep shit. "OK. I‘m aware now. Stop it!"

She smiled at me and pulled out the chair for me to sit, "I really don’t think that you are aware. I’m sorry dear but your lesson isn’t over yet."

My stomach churned, one thing that I was aware of was that Mom’s lessons could be excessive. I pleaded, "Please, Mom. It’s got to stop. Please don’t do this to me."

She tapped on the chair back, "Sit down and eat, dear. We’ll talk some more about it perhaps after school today."

I couldn’t be sure whether that was true or not. A test was necessary: "Keep Jeff away from me!"

"Jeff?" she chuckled, "what’s going on between you and he anyway?"

I slammed my fists into my hips for effect, "Just keep him away from me."

Her expression changed to one of curiosity, "Jeff was never in our plans; the events of last week were never planned. What is going on between you two?"

Jeff hadn’t been there to fuck me! I knew that only made it worse somehow but I wasn’t sure just how yet. I sat down without answering her. I needed to think. Even with some of my best contemplaiting ever, over the sausage and milk, I hadn’t devined a clue. Leaving the eggs, I left for school.

The two blocks to school passed in a fog. As I turned the corner around one of the extension buildings, Jeff was there waiting for me, with a rose in his hand.

"Oh, god." Suddenly I knew why it was worse. "Go away, Jeff."

"But, Kristy..."

"Don’t call me ‘Kristy,’ and leave me the fuck alone."

"But, Kristy..."

I grabbed the rose, threw it to the ground, and stomped on it. Cramming my nose right against his, I yelled into his face, "Leave me the fuck alone!"

He kissed me.

I kneed him in the balls. It seemed like a perfectly fair trade at the moment. Even though my friend was there, writhing in pain on the ground, I went to class.

A few people were staring at me and chuckling. I was pretty sure no one saw what had happened. I couldn’t figure it out. I got my stuff from my locker and headed for Social Studies. A few more people were looking. One of the macho, shit for brains, red necks that hung around the "C" wing bathrooms said, "Hi ya, sweetie!" in an effected, faggoty voice as I passed. I threw down my books and hit him in the eye.

The ensuing fight wasn’t much to watch. Fortunately a teacher broke it up before I was beaten up very badly.

My lip was bleeding. I was escorted, rather belligerently, to the nurse’s office, where I arrived just in time to see the paramedics carrying Jeff out on a stretcher. An ice pack rested on his groin.

After the bleeding was stopped, I was escorted to the principle’s office. I sat there alone for about fifteen minutes until Mom showed. Then the session began: a berating for fighting, especially for sending Jeff to the hospital, and then moved to asked my side of what happened. Finally I was given a chance to explain myself.

I started to dump the whole conspiracy thing on him but I saw something in Mom’s face that I hadn’t seen in a long time: fear. It took a moment, but I realized that if I spilled the beans, there could be some severe repercussions from it. A girl in elementary school, Becky Davis, was sent to a foster home and her parents both went to jail because her dad was sexually abusing her and her mom was allowing it. I didn’t know what was planned for me but I sure wasn’t going to send Mom and Dad to jail over it. I turned to Mr. Belding, "I’m sorry about Jeff but they both damn well deserved it, and I’ll knock Chad’s head off his fucking shoulders next time he says something like that to me."

Mom hugged and kissed me. Mr. Belding gave me a three day suspension and a month’s probation and admonished Mom for her "too forgiving behavior." Mom shot him the finger and we left.

We walked to the car in silence. Once in, she grabbed my face and kissed me again and again until I pushed her away. "You’re such a smart kid. I love you," she beamed at me.

"OK. So I couldn’t destroy the family. Why are you doing this feminine thing to me?"

She became serious, "You have a strong disapproval of women. We all discussed it and felt that you needed to be in a girl’s shoes for awhile so that you would truly know what it felt like to be a girl."

"But it’s over now, right?"

She looked down, "No, Kris. I’m sorry, but we are certain that you won’t truly understand until our plan is fully played out. Now, you can run away or you can bring down the entire family or you can just try to learn how women should be treated and see this out to the end with us."

I put my hands over my face and sunk down in the seat. Mom drove us home.

 

CHAPTER 2

The last two months of school had been a bitch. Guys were still making fun of me, but girls had become more friendly. Jeff steered away from me but I missed his friendship. In fact, I hadn’t been spending any time with any of my male buddies.

I had been hiding my boobs, but even with elastic tops and loose shirts, they were obvious. My eyebrows had grown out and so had my leg hair, although it wasn’t very visible, and that had helped some, but my hair was getting longer and still had a girlish cut to it. Dr. Carl had written an explanation of my "medical condition," and I didn’t have to go to gym anymore. Finally, the last day of school had arrived and I could hardly wait to get out the door for home.

When the bell rang, I ran out the door. Unexpectedly, Mom, Julie, and Karen were there waiting for me. I got in the car, "Hi. What are you doing here?"

Mom almost looked sad as she answered, "Kris, you’ve been a lot easier to live with the last two months but we’re still going through with our plan."

Sitting in the back seat, I had thought about running but it would be difficult to get out past Karen. Besides, she had this maniacal look on her face that warned me away from trying. "So, what are you going to do to me now?"

Julie responded as she leaned over and put her arm around my shoulders, "You are going to spend the summer as Kristy."

It sounded as if there was something she wasn’t telling me, "And that’s all?"

Her eyes diverted, "Mostly." Then she looked at me with honesty, "But don’t worry. You’ll get through the summer just fine. In fact, I’m going to like having Kristy back again."

Mom had begun driving but was heading away from the house. Karen pulled a bag up from the floor and shoved it over the seat to me, "You’ll be more comfortable if you put these on."

Inside the bag was a bikini, a girl’s summer sweater, a pair of shorts, and sandals. Fear began to well in me, "So where are we going now?"

Mom answered, "To the beauty parlor." I was shocked and couldn’t speak. She continued, "Please, don’t fight this, Kris. Just go along and learn from the experience."

I couldn’t answer for awhile. No one else spoke. I knew that I had no choice in fighting it. I had given that oppertunity over in the principal’s office. Now, it just felt easier to agree to it. "I’m scared," I admitted.

Julie hugged me, "Just be cool. I think you’ll actually have some fun."

"I doubt it, I just can’t fight you all and remain strong enough to prevent it." I started unbuttoning my shirt.

The bikini fit OK and, though I didn’t want to say so, the bra top felt much better than the elastic tops that I had been wearing. "So why am I wearing a bikini?"

Mom grinned, "You’re going to get the works, including a leg wax. I thought that you would be more comfortable in that than in a bra and panties."

"Yeah. Thanks," I really didn’t mean it. I slipped the bikini on.

Sandi’s Salon was a big affair, one of those spa type places with private rooms where women readied themselves for battles with age and for attractiveness to men. I was on the verge of puking as we walked in. Having to wait half an hour, reading Ladies Home Journal and First Woman and such, was almost too much to bear. Finally, I was escorted to a small room where I was told to strip to the bikini.

Two young girls came in a short time later, plugged in the wax warmer, which had already been warming somewhere else, and started my leg waxing. It was hot and painful and took too long. A facial, including herb mask, followed. When that was over, I was given a robe and taken to a smaller salon for hair works. First, there was a wash and then a cut. I had no choice in the style, Mom had already chosen it and instructed the stylist. Then there was a perm. I begged for it not to happen but Mom held firm, so I sat through the ordeal. Then I received fake fingernails with pearl pink polish.

While my nails dried, the perm was washed out, and the stylist showed me how to blow-dry my hair to achieve the proper shape and curl. It was a very feminine style, with lots of curls and fluff on top and down the back to where it stopped at the base of my neck. Long bangs fluffed nearly to my eyebrows but my ears were fully exposed, except for where the big curls lay back from the side of my head across their top edge.

Next, my eyebrows were waxed into two narrow, blatantly female arches that the beautician claimed to be: "absolutely perfect!" Then, I sat through her skill at painting my face. Actually, she was very good and I made the effort to learn some tricks from her, since I was going to be doing this for the summer, anyway. And, just when I thought the torture was over, another pink lab-coated lady showed-up to drive three piercing studs into each ear.

Embarrassed, for they all knew I was a boy, Mom finally led me back to the little room. Hanging now from a hook on the wall was a simple, sleeveless, summer blouse, and a short, blue jean skirt. On the bed was a bra, panties, panty hose, and canvas Kids. Getting into the stuff with the nails was no easy task since my pleas for assistance were refused for the best of reasons: "I needed to learn how to be a girl for myself, just like all other girls." If it had been anybody else but my Mom saying that, I would have punched them in the nose. As it was her, I just got nauseated.

Emerging from the "House of Feminine Torture" after three hours, I looked as fully female as my two sisters and my mother. I was still embarrassed but also thankful that I did look so feminine because it would be harder for me to be recognized now than as I had looked before the ordeal had begun.

Dinner at Griffin’s, a popular restaurant, was the next order of business. This was a well planned bit of torture. Griffin’s was situated behind the high school, just down the street from a major mall, and next door to an "alcohol free" pool hall whose clientele at this time of day were primarily teen-aged.

Mom said that I could have something to drink but nothing to eat. I wondered why but didn’t argue since I was already self-conscious and queasy from all the boys my age looking at me. Then Karen drug me to the pool hall for a couple of games, not because she or I particularly enjoyed it, but to show me off. Many boys came to me to talk or to ask for a game. I refused all until Karen said she was going to the bathroom and then disappeared for half an hour. It was more embarrassing standing there than playing, so I opted for the latter.

The boy’s name was Tom. He was thirteen, tallish, with big hands and ears and smile. I wouldn’t have admitted it at the time, but he was kinda cute and I did feel some attraction to him, probably an effect of all the hormones I was laden with. Anyhow, we played two games before Karen returned. By then I was laughing at his corny jokes and sharing a Gatorade with him. Leaving there was a relief, until I discovered our next stop: Dr. Carl’s.

It was almost dark when we arrived and many of the lights were out in his office. We didn’t go in the front door, but drove to the back of the building, near the dumpster, and parked, entering his clinic through the back door. I was scared. The silence from my family, even when I pleaded for an explanation, had me literally in tears.

Dr. Carl tried to calm me, "There, there, sweetheart. There is nothing to be frightened about. You are just here for a little minor surgery. No big scars or anything drastic. We’re not going to take your penis off, or even touch it, if you are worried about that. You’ll be home in bed in less than three hours. You’ll wake perhaps with some discomfort in your belly but nothing more."

I had to dress in a hospital gown and was led to a small operating room where the doctor and two nurses were scrubbed and waiting. Directed to the table I laid down and spread my arms to the side as instructed, and each nurse inserted an IV into the veins on my arms. I began to equate myself to Christ, seeing myself laid-out on the cross, arms spread, nailed down, belly slit.

Dr. Carl leaned over my face, "Alright, my precious, you’ll feel a cold sensation running into you arm and then the lights will go out. When you wake, you will be next door in recovery. Your family will take you home after about an hour, and then I’ll be seeing you every week. Don’t be scared, you’ll only be asleep for about twenty minutes to half an hour." The lights went out.

When I woke, the room was slowly spinning and I threw up. A nurse and my mom were there to help me, which I really needed, because my belly was now extended, round, and weighed heavily on my guts. I laid back, looked over my now larger breasts, to my ballooning belly. Touching it, it moved slightly but the nurse stopped me from moving it, saying, "You’ll need to leave it alone for a few days to allow it to ‘sit in.’ Then, after the skin stretches around it, it won’t hurt to get up and walk around. Within two weeks, when the stitches come out, it won’t be bothering you at all."

I looked at my mother, who was smiling at me and holding my hand, "Mom, what did you do to me?"

She smiled broadly, "Why, you’re pregnant, sweetheart!"

I fainted.

The trip home was painful as hell and it was three days before I could get up and walk to the bathroom, even with my stomach being held together by multiple winds of Ace bandage. By then, I had cried myself out. I felt betrayed and abused by my family and mother in particular. I staggered to the bathroom and uncovered myself to view what had happened to me, having never seen the work other than from the top as I lay on my back.

A full length mirror had been installed on the back of the door just for "my viewing pleasure"—a lousy joke by my sister. Taking the Ace off, my belly protruded much as if, I was told, I were five months pregnant. Beneath the roundness, just above my penis, a small, flat tube extended from a sutured-shut incision. This was for the purpose of adding more of the water-based gel that now sat like a rock in my stomach, so that my "pregnancy" would increase "with a ‘normal’ size and weight gain." My breasts had also been enlarged by oil injections, a temporary step, which should not be necessary to repeat once the new hormones began to swell my breasts and lactation began. The thought of what had been done to me made me sick and I threw-up, as much as from the revolting as from the hormone load. And that was something else I was to have to endure, because I had the "pleasure" of having morning sickness almost every day for the next two weeks.

After a week had passed, I was moving around pretty well. The girls had me up and dressing every day, doing housework and such. About this time, my breasts began to swell tremendously. I sat rubbing them and watching TV, when suddenly I realized that a yellowish liquid was beginning to flow from my nipples. I screamed and ran for help. Because everyone was busy with Mom, who had just gone into labor, I didn’t receive anything more than a quick explanation of the fact that I was on the verge of producing milk, a miracle made possible through medical chemistry.

Katina, my new sister, was born a few hours later. Mom and baby were home the next day. I was really kind of excited about Katina; she was pretty, with long blonde hair and pale, pale blue eyes. I had watched Mom breast feeding her a couple of times and found it interesting, especially since my own breasts were now dribbling liquid every time I bumped them, rubbed them, or even put on a bra.

The following day, Karen and Julie had gone shopping and Mom was relaxing on the couch. I was sitting in the rocker, holding Katina, rocking slightly when she began crying. Mom instructed me to check her diaper, even though she had just been changed. She wasn’t wet or dirty, just hungry. I started to get up to give her to Mom but she spoke first, "No, sweetheart, you feed her."

I didn’t understand what she meant and responded with a simple, "Uhhh?"

She smiled at me, "You feed her."

"What do you mean?"

A funny grin appeared on her face, "You are lactating. You feed her. It will make your milk come in and you will stop being so sore and it will probably stop your morning sickness."

Oh, god. That was sick. I exclaimed, "I’m a boy. I can’t breast feed a baby."

Mom was quick to correct me, "Right now you are about as chemically similar to a pregnant woman as is humanly possible. You can feed her just as I can, or as Julie feeds Brian, or as Karen feeds Michael." (Oh, yeah, she had him two months ago.)

As I looked down at her, I was amazed to see wet spots forming at the tips of my nipples. I couldn’t fathom such a thing. Mom kept on encouraging me until I finally opened my blouse and pulled my bra up, freeing my dripping boobs.

Katina was squirming and crying louder now. I still couldn’t conceive of feeding a baby from my breasts.

Mom spoke softly, just loud enough to be heard, "I won’t force you to do it. I won’t require you to be a Nanny, but I really think that you should try it."

Looking down at her as she cried, a large drip oozed from my left nipple and dropped into her mouth. She stopped crying for a moment and tasted the drop. It was different from Mom, but she accepted it as food none the less. I could see in her eyes that she wanted more. I moved her up slightly, positioning her next to my nipple. As it touched her cheek, she turned and eagerly sucked it into her mouth.

It hurt and I started to pull her away. Mom stopped me with a sharp, "No!" I looked at her in astonishment. She explained, "It hurts at first. After a while you nipples get tougher and it feels marvelous."

I sat for a moment, unbelieving what was happening, shocked at what my mother had just said to me. But then she spoke again, "Look at Katina, sweetheart. You are feeding her."

Looking down, I saw that it was true. She was sucking eagerly at my breast, feeding from me. I was spellbound, and hooked. It was impossible but it was occurring there as I held her. I was nursing a child.

A dry diaper hit me on the ear, breaking my awe, and fell into Katina’s face, disturbing her slightly but not enough to stop her sucking. I looked at Mom, who had thrown it. She said, "Your right boob is dripping all over her. You’ll have to watch for messes like that. And don’t let her suckle for more than a few minutes on each nipple or they will get really sore. Move her from one to the other so that each breast has some draining, that way she won’t get full off one and leave your other breast leaking a lake."

I held her, watching her for a few minutes as she fed from me and then moved her to my other breast. She accepted the change without complaint and suckled just as easily from that side. I moved her twice more before she was filled. Then she fell asleep in my arms. A baby had fed at my breasts, to its fill, and contented, lay sleeping in my arms. Carefully, I cleaned the dribble from her chin and wiped my nipples before I looked at my mother.

She was smiling, "Motherhood in a pretty remarkable thing, isn’t it?" I nodded. "Reach over and get one of those wet wipes and clean your nipples. They can get infected if you leave milk and spittle on them."

I did so carefully, not disturbing Katina. Julie and Karen came in a few minutes later. No one had to explain to them what had happened. They said that they knew what I had done as soon as they saw my face. Smiling stupidly, they hugged me and kissed my cheeks.

A couple of hours later, I was sitting in the kitchen eating a sandwich. Karen came in holding Michael, who was crying. I could tell his hungry cry and that is what he was doing. She walked up to me, "Michael is hungry. Would you like to nurse him?"

"Me?" is all I could ask.

She grinned, "Well, don’t get used to it. I’ll be doing it most of the time. But I need to take a bath right now. Michael’s dad will be here at six and I would like to be ready for him." She kept the child close but leaned to me. I took him.

Two weeks exactly had passed since I became "pregnant," and Dr. Carl was taking out the stitches. He had more instructions for me: "This can still tear, so you will need to be careful until it heals more before you do anything to stretch it too much. This is the valve," he held the small tubing that extended from the incision, and pushed it gently inside, leaving only the tip showing, "and it will need to be kept tucked in and the site covered with a small strip of this sealant tape," he offered the roll, "at all times. Basically, this is an opening to the inside of your body and you want to be very careful about keeping it clean. An infection could kill you. The tape is very tough and waterproof so there should be no problems with it accidently coming loose. You can carefully peel off the tape and clean the adhesive residue away with alcohol. Wash the area every time you bathe and douse it throughly with hydrogen peroxide and let it air dry, as you have been when changing dressings, before applying more tape."

Having finished below, Dr. Carl turned his attention to my breasts. He pushed on them a little and then squeezed my nipple which let loose a stream of milk, hitting the doctor square in the right eye. We laughed. "That was pretty stupid of me," he said as he swabbed the wet from his face with a towel. "Your mother has told me that you have been feeding the infants, especially Katina, quite often. I really wasn’t sure that you would be able to do this. Do you enjoy it?"

I smiled even though I tried not to; the fact was that I not only enjoyed it but was enchanted and excited by it. Mom hadn’t even gotten up for Katina’s late feedings the past few days, I had been there to do them. As I said, I was hooked. While I was looking forward to all of this being over, that part would forever stay with me.

"Yes, yes," Dr Carl turned for the door, "I can see that you do. Well, you can get dressed now. I’ll see you next week when we’ll add a little to your belly." He left.

The door bell rang. I was just walking from the kitchen, carrying a sandwich, and was near. "I’ll get it," I called out. Normally I would have been mortified to chance there being anyone I knew on the other side of the door, but an event had happened the day before that made me feel more comfortable about what was happening to me. Mom and Karen had forced me to the mall. I had just washed and fixed my hair and face and was looking very feminine from the neck up, and I was wearing maternity shorts, a loose T-shirt, and a nursing bra, and looking absolutely nothing but female from the neck down. All kind of guys, young and old, were looking at me, most of the old with a hint of sorrow for the young pregnant girl, and the young ones with a ‘knowing’ look that said they knew what I had done to get that way, even though they couldn’t know the truth.

I had wandered away from Mom and Karen and was looking at a watch when Richie Arrow, a good looking kid from school walked up next to me and began hitting on me. It was pretty obvious that his interest was mostly because he knew that ‘I was a girl who did the deed,’ but, even though we had a little friendship, he had no idea who I was. He did offer that I looked familiar, and that scared me a little, but he was trying to get some pussy and I was just a pretty girl that had sex. I tried to turn him down, even asking him if he was only interested in me because I did ‘it,’ but he flattered me more and asked me to a Starship concert. I was tempted. I even found myself thinking that he was cute. But I gave him a fake number and didn’t hear from him until after I returned to public school—more on that later.

So, I was answering the door. It was Jeff.

"Hey, Kristy. How you doing?" he asked pointing to my belly. He had been over the week before and had gotten the full story, except for the part about my breast-feeding.

I motioned him in and responded, "I feel stuffed and off balance." I offered him half of my sandwich and he took it.

With a bite in his mouth, he asked, "Hey, my folks are gone for the day. They said that I could use the pool if I wanted as long as I didn’t have but a few guys over. I told them I was just thinking about seeing if Kris and maybe Scott would come. I haven’t asked Scott. You want to come?"

"With Scott there?"

His face flushed a little, "Naw. I knew you wouldn’t come if there was anybody else there." I went.

Wearing Karen’s bikini showed-off my belly big-time. Jeff said it was cool and that I really looked good pregnant. I really didn’t want to hear that. We took turns from the board. What was really odd was that I could float with my arms straight at my side and my feet down. In fact, I could hardly force myself underwater. Jeff thought that was hilarious. I started hitting his shoulders and he grabbed my arms, stopping me with ease. I tried to wrestle with him but my arms had grown thin and my shoulders soft and rounded and he held me with no effort. So I stood there in his arms, looking in his eyes, and he kissed me. At first, I just stood there. Then he kissed me again, and again, and I softened and began kissing him back. We made-out for about fifteen minutes, until the sun began to burn, and then moved inside where we kissed away an hour.

Needless to say, soon he had my top off and began to suck on my nipples, and, needless to say, I let down. He was absolutely floored by that revelation but accepted the explanation, and the milk, with eagerness. After ten minutes of his lust filled sucking, I wanted sex. I had even pulled his trunks off.

Testosterone was having it’s way with him. He was beginning to fill out in all the ways a man fills out. His prick was much bigger than I had remembered it, and was turned up, hard as a rock, and leaking all over the place.

On the other hand, estrogen and loads of other female hormones were having their way with me and I was barely erect, smaller than my thumb, and hyper-sensitive, much like having a two inch exposed clit. Further, my breasts were swollen over B cups and my nipples were deep red and leaking all over the place.

We tried to make love with him on top but it was to awkward for two so inexperienced as we. Then he entered me from behind but the weight of my ‘pregnantcy’ hurt my stomach. Then I remembered something that was in a book about pregnancy that Mom had forced me to read. Wether she knew it or not, the book had a chapter on sex while pregnant and explained that variations on the missionary position, such as the man straddling her lower leg while her other leg was held in his arm. The position allowed for her belly to be out of the way and allowed her legs to be spread wide enough to drive a truck in. We tried the position and Jeff easily pushed into me.

He pushed in deeper and deeper and my butt hole relaxed. Then suddenly, he pushed in all the way, as if there were real lubricant being produced. It felt grand, too. And more like he was in my belly than in my ass. He pumped away until we both had come twice. Afterward, after our strength renewed, we showered away the sticky fluids and went swimming again.

I kinda felt like I was queer but Jeff assured me that no queer looked as much like a woman as I, that since I was loaded with far more female hormones than male that I was currently more female than male, which was true and which made ours a normal boy-girl relationship, and that no queer could be carrying his baby. That last remark should have frightened the shit out of me, instead, it made me feel warm and secure and horny, for some reason. Anyway, we swam and screwed away every Thursday after that till nearly the end of summer.

The rest of the week wasn’t so great. Every Friday I went back to Dr. Carl’s to get another half a pound of silicon in my belly and another half a dozen cc’s of estrogen cocktail in my tail. That is until the end of July. At that point, he said that I was putting on too much weight, apparently because the heavy dosage of estrogen had increased my appetite and because I was gaining weight so fast that I was putting it all on in my belly which was unhealthy. He avoided the fact that I was also getting far bigger there than I was supposed to get, that I was already as big as I should be at eight months and I had a full month to go.

It was too hard to avoid the obvious. I had a full blown case of the waddles. My stomach had sunken way down into my pelvis and my hips were constantly sore from the spreading they were receiving. I was exhausted from carrying around the weight of my belly and my breasts were letting down whenever a baby cried—even a stranger’s baby. More than that, there were these funny feelings in my stomach, like someone tickling me from the inside caused by the silicon sack slipping around on my guts. Women had it tough having a baby and I finally understood.

August 20^th. Today the sack would come out and I wouldn’t be getting any more shots. That made me sad because it meant that soon I wouldn’t be able to nurse Katina, but I was glad to get rid of my "pregnancy," my leaking boobs, the nipple creams, the moisturizers to prevent stretch marks, and the neasua and stuffed and tickling feelings that I had had so much of lately.

A little anaesthetic around the filler tube was all that was necessary for my "birth." After the bag was drained, it could be pulled from the incision with relative ease.

I watched with glee as I laid there. My belly went down, down, and then didn’t get any smaller. The bag came out without much trouble and the incision was stitched closed. But when I stood, I still looked pregnant, my boobs looked huge, and my hips were wider than any boy’s. There had been too much change; not even a close haircut and no make-up and natural eyebrows could put a masquerade to the femininity below my neck. Dr. Carl assured us that the effects would disappear in time.

I looked far too much like a girl to go to school this way. It was decided that I would spend the next year at a private school while my body assumed it’s natural state. But, even as these plans were being put into motion, I was beginning to realize that something else was wrong.

After my "birthing," the neasua and fullness didn’t go away, and the tickling became far worse. Over the phone, Dr. Carl said that the movements I was feeling in my belly were from my guts moving back into their proper position. I didn’t believe him.

The next day I knew. My stomach was almost churning. I went to the bathroom, striped to my jockies, and looked at my belly. Ripples ran across my stomach, and then stopped, pushed out as a bump, the obvious outline of a foot. I fainted.

At the hospital tests were run. Doctors gathered around and peered at the results. They took blood. Doctors gathered around again and peered at the results. After a lot of discussion had passed between the doctors and my parents, I was moved to the MRI. I laid there as the machine whirred and buzzed, and sat and watched as the doctors all gathered around and peered at the results. Finally, I was invited to see the results of the scan.

They started with my groin, showing me how the estrogen had shrunken my male parts. Then they moved inside me and showed me how the estrogens had caused a maturing of my female parts, the parts that I wasn’t supposed to have. Then they showed me how my vagina had grown just below my prostrate, between it and my colon, and how it had an opening just inside my rectum, complete with a little flap that kept fecal matter from getting into it as it went out and how the flap would move down and allow access to my vagina when anything pushed in.

Jumping to the top of my belly, they showed me my fallopian tubes and ovaries. And then they showed my belly and the infant boy that resided there and would for three and a half months more.

They kept watching me for a reaction and asking me if I had any questions. But I already knew. Maybe I didn’t know the particulars of my peculiar plumbing, but a woman knows when she is pregnant. And maybe I didn’t know the sex of my baby, but I knew that it was my baby.

 

Epilouge

Kyle was born seven years ago, on December 9^th, by cesarian section. I never went back to being Kris but remained Kristy. I also had surgery to correct my plumbing, ridding myself of those parts that had so screwed-up my life by making adults, and me, think that I was male.

Today, Kyle is the ring barer standing at Jeff’s side as I walk down the aisle toward him. Katina proudly walks before me spreading rose petals. We had been planning a June wedding but May is nice. There are still lots of blossoms on the trees.

I am told that I look beautiful in my gown. I am a perfect size nine. But, I won’t be much longer. I’m two months pregnant.

 

© 1999
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