How I Spent My Summer Vacation

by C. Sprite

 

Chapter Three

 

For the first time in my life I found that it hurt just to focus my eyes. A constant pounding, as if someone with a sledgehammer was inside my head, trying to get out, made me wince and close my eyes again. I put my hand to my forehead but immediately pulled it away. I hadn't realized I was holding a fork until I felt the tines sink deeply into my forehead. Forcing my eyes open I looked at my hand, realizing only then that I wasn't holding a fork; it was my fingernails. They had apparently grown more than half an inch overnight. I was suffering from a bad hangover but I wasn't so far gone that I didn't realize that my cousins that put fake fingernails on my hands. I turned my hand over and, focusing on my nails, saw that each was decorated with a 'stars and strips' decal. My girl friends at school commonly used such decals on their nails, and my mother had even used them on occasion. I reached up with my other hand and tried to peal the fake nails off, but they were on there solidly.

Gripping the light summer cover, I threw it back and tried to sit up by swinging my legs over the side, but my effort was handicapped by the fact that I was wearing a woman's nightgown. I only remembered putting on the floral-print bathrobe and settling onto the floor in the rec room, so I never expected to find myself upstairs in the guest bedroom, dressed in a silky, pink nightgown.

I struggled to move my legs over the edge of the bed and sit up. But I sat up too quickly, and was both racked by pain and overcome by a sense of nausea at the same time. I closed my eyes and leaned down, putting my head between my knees until I felt better. When I finally did begin to feel better, I opened my eyes, but immediately felt ill again. I had seen that my toenails were each painted a bright cherry-red.

When I felt well enough to stumble to my bathroom, I was in for a surprise that really opened my eyes. As I stood in front of the sink, I could see in the mirror that my hair was up in large rollers. I touched the rollers tentatively, to determine if they were real. Yep, I wasn't imagining it. I bent over and splashed some cold water on my face, then dried it off. Temporarily, I felt a little better, but the little men with jackhammers were still trying to break out of my head.

Walking back into the bedroom, I looked around for my shoes, but all I could find were a pair of pink platform mules with two-inch heels. I slipped them on and then noticed the pink robe on the chair. It wasn't much heavier than the nightgown, and appeared to be made of the same silky material, but it had sleeves, where the nightgown was sleeveless with spaghetti straps attached to a lacy, almost transparent bodice. I put it on and tied the ribbon at the neckline that would hold it closed. There wasn't any belt or sash. The sleeves were only three quarter length, ending at my forearms, but it was better than just the nightgown. I would have preferred the floral-print robe, but it wasn't in the bedroom, and neither were any of my clothes.

Dressed as much as I was going to be, I made my way to the kitchen. I walked slowly, both because of the pain and because I didn't want to run into anybody while dressed like this. There wasn't anyone in the kitchen, nor any sign that anyone had been there for breakfast. I didn't want to wake anyone up if they were still sleeping, so I didn't go up to the bedrooms. Instead I went downstairs to see if I could find some toast or something. I'd eat anything that would help settle my stomach down.

Reaching a point on the stairs where I could see the downstairs kitchen area, I spotted Lizbeth sitting at the table reading a magazine. She was already dressed in shorts and another top that exposed her midriff. She must have heard me because she put down the magazine and looked up at me.

"Hi, Cousin Ashley."

"Are you alone down there?"

"Yep. Com'on down."

I finished walking down the stairs and over to the table. "If I wasn't so sick, I'd be really angry with you guys. I'll probably be angry later anyway."

Lizbeth smiled. "I know how you feel. I felt that way a couple of hours ago. Take three Tylenol from that bottle there and drink a glass of orange juice, then a couple of cups of tea. You've got to replace the fluids that are missing from your brain."

"What?"

"When you drink, the alcohol that enters your blood stream collects in your brain. Overnight, it evaporates through your scalp and your brain shrinks slightly. That's what causes the pain. You replace the fluid, expanding the brain to its proper size, and the pain goes away. Simple. Take the Tylenol to help deaden the pain and then start drinking liquid to replace the missing fluids. The antioxidants in the tea relax blood vessels and let everything flow better."

I shook three tablets from the bottle and swallowed them with the help of some juice. "How long does this take?"

"It varies. In a couple of hours you won't even remember that your head was aching."

"I'm not going to forget this headache; ever. There are too many other things to remind me of it."

Lizbeth giggled.

"It's not funny, Lizbeth. Who painted my toe nails?"

"Uh, I think that was Nicole."

"You think?"

"We were pretty drunk, Ashley. After you fell asleep, Suzanne cut your hair, colored it to make it a little darker, and put it up in rollers."

"SHE CUT MY HAIR?!" I had finished the sentence before I remembered that I shouldn't yell. My head started pounding like crazy.

"Relax, she only trimmed and styled it. She cut off the split ends and evened it out. It was pretty bad, you know. It's probably less than an inch shorter. It will still cover your breasts."

I looked down at my chest. "Breasts?"

"Well, it would if you had breasts."

"I thought that it was okay the way that it was."

"Oh, please. It was horrendous. I can't believe that all those people thought you were a girl. No girl would ever let her hair get that bad. You won't believe the difference when you see it. Now, even women will believe you're a girl."

"No way. No woman has ever referred to me as a girl, except on the phone where she couldn't see me. It was only men, here and there. Wait a minute. Did you say she colored it?"

"Yes."

"What color?"

"We thought your color was a little too pale, so she made you a 'honey' blonde. She remembered that Mom had a bottle in her bathroom. It's a rich, golden shade now. Anyway, while Suzanne worked on your hair, I gave you a manicure and Nicole gave you a pedicure."

"So I have you to thank for my patriotic nail job?"

"Yeah," she said smiling. "I bought the decal set to use on Independence Day, but while I was drunk I decided to let you have it."

"Thanks," I said sarcastically.

"You're welcome, Ashley Michelle."

"Stop calling me that. My name's Jimmy."

Lizbeth smiled wickedly. "You don't look much like a Jimmy right now, sitting there in my nightgown set. You look just like an Ashley Michelle."

"Who dressed me in the nightgown?"

"We all did. Right after the hair removal."

"HAIR REMOVAL?" My hands flew to my head.

"Not on your head, silly, except for your eyebrows."

I quickly felt for my eyebrows. I could only feel a little bit of eyebrow hair there. I must have been so preoccupied with the hair curlers that I hadn't noticed them in the bathroom mirror. "You cut off my eyebrows?" My voice registered my shock.

"Sorry. We were chatting and I got carried away with styling them. I guess that I began thinking I was working on another girl."

"Is that it?"

"Uh, not quite. Nicole decided to bikini wax your legs."

My jaw dropped. "She waxed my legs?"

"Yep. We were going to wax your chest, back, and arms too, but we couldn't find a single hair there. Still, it was a good thing that you were passed out; a bikini wax is very painful. But you didn't even flinch."

I had lifted the nightgown and was feeling my legs as she talked. They were now smooth and totally hairless. I could really feel the difference on my legs, now that I was aware of the change. As she had said, I hadn't had any hair on my arms, chest, or back. "Great," I said sarcastically. "Is that all you did? But then I can't imagine what more you could have done."

"Uh, Suzanne decided to shave the rest after Nicole was done with the waxing."

"The rest?" I reached inside the robe and felt my armpits. They were completely devoid of hair. "My pits too?" I said shocked.

"And more."

I couldn't believe my ears but I dropped my hand to my lap and felt around through the fabric of the nightgown. I couldn't feel any hair at all. "Who?" was all I could manage to get out as I struggled for breath.

"Uh, Suzanne. It was no big deal to her. She does it all the time when prepping patients for certain surgeries."

"Well it's a big deal to me. I get drunk, and have my body­­ vandalized, by my own cousins."

"Sorry. We were drunk too though. We all had way too much to drink. We went through six bottles of wine. You were just unlucky enough to pass out first. Last summer, after I fell asleep while we were drinking, I woke up with pink hair," she said almost absentmindedly, then came back to the present. "It all started with us trying to help you with your hair and then we got silly and started doing a few little things like the manicure and the pedicure. I guess we just got carried away because of the wine. You looked so much like a girl after Suzanne finished with your hair, that the rest just seemed necessary. I'm sorry, Ashley Michelle. But look at the bright side; hair grows out so quickly that you'll be hairier at the end of the summer than you were when you arrived. And the holes in your ears will seal up by themselves if you don't continue wearing earrings."

"My ears?" My hands flew to my earlobes. I could feel three earrings in each. "Oh, God."

"Oh, did I forget to tell you about the ears?" Lizbeth asked, before biting her lower lip.

"Yes," I snapped, "you sort of skipped over that minor little detail." I was so angry that I was hardly feeling the pain in my head anymore.

"That happened after we dressed you. You looked so sweet lying there, but something was missing. Nicole went to her bedroom and came back with the kit for piercing ears. She put three studs in each. You just have to use disinfectant on them, daily, for about a week, while the holes heal. Don't forget to twist the posts each day."

"Is that it? Is there anything else you're forgetting? Did you pierce my navel or sew my ass shut. Anything like that?"

Lizbeth laughed. "I'm glad that you're taking this so well. I was afraid that you'd be angry."

"Lizbeth, I am angry. You had no right to violate my body like this. If my skull didn't ache so much I'd probably be screaming my head off. But I'd only be hurting myself if I yelled."

"Have another glass of orange juice, Ashley Michelle. You can yell at me when you're feeling better. I'll make you some scrambled eggs and toast. It will help settle your stomach."

While Lizbeth prepared eggs, bacon, and toast, I sat at the table morosely looking at my hands or feeling my eyebrows. I had stopped correcting Lizbeth's use of the name she had bestowed on me. They say that when something abnormal occurs several times in a row, it becomes the norm. Besides, I was too bust thinking about what people would say when they saw me. I would need some believable excuse such as 'My eyebrows burned off while I was lighting a barbecue'. When Lizbeth brought the food over I asked, "How do I get these nails off. My mom just peels hers off."

"We have to wait until Suzanne comes home from work, Ashley Michelle."

"Why?"

"Uh, the nail extensions weren't sticking properly so we used super glue."

"Super glue?"

"Yeah, it was all we had. But the hospital has a solution that dissolves the glue. It's better than just using acetone because it's not harmful to skin. I forget what it's called, but Suzanne is bringing some home. They use it sometimes when people glue their fingers together or when they get stuck to something they were gluing, like when the guy glued his favorite coffee mug to his hands while trying to repair it." Giggling, she said, "I wish that I'd seen that. Suzanne said he had both hands stuck to the mug and had to get a neighbor to drive him to the hospital."

 

It was difficult but I slowly learned to function with the long nails as I figured out how to eat with them. Lizbeth just sat across from me and stared at my face. Finally I said, "What? Did you remember something that you should tell me? Is my nose pierced or something?"

"No. I was just studying your face, Ashley Michelle. I can understand why all those men thought you were a girl. The long hair wasn't the reason. That just reinforced it."

"I already know why. I don't have any facial hair yet."

"But there are lots of young guys, much younger than you, whose facial hair hasn't started to grow yet. They don't get called 'Miss'."

"When I get scared or excited my voice goes up in pitch. It's already too high when I'm speaking normally, and when I sing, I sound like a soprano. That's why I never sing anywhere, except in the shower."

"Yeah, we heard you last night. You actually have a beautiful voice, and if people can't see you they'll never believe the voice isn't coming from a woman. Everybody's voice goes up in pitch when they're scared or excited.  That isn't what makes people think that you're a girl."

"Okay, what is it then?"

"Your face is shaped like a female's?"

"It's what?"

"Your fa…"

"I heard you," I said interrupting. "I just don't know what you're talking about."

"There are four basic shapes to faces, Ashley Michelle; rectangular, oval, round, and triangular. Most rectangular faces belong to men, while oval or round faces can belong equally to men or women. Triangular faces are almost always found on women because the female jaw is typically much smaller than a male's. You have a very narrow chin and jaw, giving you a triangular look, so that even without makeup, it creates the impression that you're a woman. You don't have a developed Adam's Apple yet, that I can discern, and you haven't started to develop the strong upper arm and chest muscles that most men eventually get. Your shoulders are as narrow as a teenage girl's. Also, your legs have a much softer look, like a girl's, instead of the lean, muscular legs that many boys have. You're thin and you must not get very much exercise. What do you do, spend all your time sitting around playing video games? Wearing tee shirts, instead of collared shirts, highlights your small chest size. And with your hair hanging down, covering the area where your breasts would be starting to protrude if you were a young girl, those men just assumed that the tiny buds were there, beneath the hair. And by the way, most boys have a male looking face long before they reach their teens. You definitely have a woman's face. No doubt about it."

"You're crazy," I said angrily. "I don't have a woman's face. I just need my beard to start growing out."

"Think so? Suzanne has a bunch of books on anatomy and stuff. I saw a picture in one that shows what I mean. I'll be right back."

Lizbeth jumped up and hurried up the stairs. In a couple of minutes she was back.

"Here it is, Ashley Michelle. Look at this."

She shoved a book towards me that was open to a page containing drawings of skeletons and bones. One picture showed the 'average' shape of a female's jaw compared to the 'average' shape of a male's. I could see instantly what Lizbeth had meant. My jaw was shaped like she had said. I had been looking at it in a mirror long enough to reach that conclusion without running to a mirror now. The jocks at school all had jaws like the one showing the average male jaw.

	The 'average' shape of a female jaw compared to the 'average' shape of a male jaw.

"So? What's that prove?" I asked. "My face is shaped a little bit more like a woman's than a man's. Once my beard grows, it won't matter. I'll grow a beard."

"No, it isn't just shaped a little bit like a woman's jaw, it is shaped exactly like a woman's jaw. Look at the picture again."

I slammed the book shut, startling Lizbeth. "That doesn't mean a thing. My beard will hide that."

But Lizbeth didn't even seem to be listening. She was just staring at me again. "I bet that, if you were wearing my clothes, and some makeup, I could make you look so much like a woman that no one would even begin to suspect that you were a guy."

"You're crazy. There's not that much makeup in the state."

"Wanna bet, Ashley Michelle?"

"No, I don't wanna bet."

"Afraid?"

"No, I'm not afraid. There's no reason for me to put on your clothes, and I don't want to risk anyone seeing me."

"Who can see you? We're the only ones here."

"There's absolutely no reason for me to put on girl's clothes."

"You're afraid," she said grinning. "I could always tell when we were small. You know that I'd win, so you're afraid to bet, Ashley Michelle," she said smugly.

"You would not," I said defiantly.

"Then bet me if you're so sure that you'd win."

I hesitated. I would love to wipe that smug, self-satisfied expression from her face, but Lizbeth was absolutely right, I was afraid to bet. The spectre of feminine appearance had been sitting on my shoulder for as long as I could remember. While the other guys in my school had long ago begun to develop strong male characteristics, I still had the non-gender-specific pre-pubescent looks that many very-young males exhibit. The trouble was that I was no longer pre-pubescent; and as I've already explained, my hair is longer than that of most of the girls in my school. You'd think that if I was so concerned with my looks, I'd have shortened my hair, but it was my desire to look masculine that made me keep it long. My favorite video games were the ones where the hero, or heroes, look like Vikings or Norse gods, with very masculine features and long, flowing, blond hair. I always saw myself like that, except I was still waiting for the masculine looks part to arrive. I had done my part in letting my hair grow long, so why hadn't Mother Nature done hers? But while I was waiting, my long hair did seem to helped my acceptance among the girls at school. And as you've already read, many strangers have mistaken me for a girl in person, and always called me Miss on the phone. I feared that Lizbeth just might be able to make me look enough like a girl to fool everybody. But I'd never admit it to her, I thought as I gritted my teeth, never in a million years. "What's the bet?" I foolishly asked instead of just ignoring her challenge.

"You let me dress you in girl clothes, and then give me one hour to work on your face and hair. When I'm done, if you don't think that you look as much like a female as the average girl in your school, you win. But if you admit that you look just like a girl, and not at all like a man, I win."

This wasn't sounding so bad. Her shorts and top weren't all that feminine, and I was to be the judge. "For how much?"

"A shopping trip?"

"A what?"

"A shopping trip. You said last night that you have two hundred dollars spending money. If you win, we go get faded jeans and grungy tee shirts to replace the stuff that you lost in your luggage, up to two hundred dollars worth, and I pay the bill. If I win, we still go get you clothes to replace the stuff that you lost, but I get to pick them out, and I promise you that there won't be a pair of ugly jeans or a grungy tee shirt in the lot. You have to pick up the entire tab for the stuff that I pick out."

"What if I hate the stuff that you pick out?"

"Are you already admitting that I'd win?" she asked smugly.

"Not at all. I just want to know all the rules."

"Okay. Then let's say that for ten days you can only wear the stuff that I pick out. You wear what I say, when I say it, and I'll introduce you to a lot of nice girls during that time. After that you can go back to your grungy tee shirts and ugly jeans again."

"Ten days, eh?" I thought about the bet. It didn't sound so bad after all. If she couldn't make me admit that I look like a girl, she had to buy me jeans and tees. I'd have new clothes and still have my entire summer's spending money. If she did manage to make me genuinely look like a girl, I wind up wearing preppie slacks and pullover shirts for ten days. They might even make me more appealing to the girls that she'd introduce me to, as she had said yesterday. It sounded like a win-win bet. "Okay, it's a deal. If I win, you pay; and if you win, I pay."

I held out my hand to shake. She shook my hand and then held up her little finger.

"What?" I said.

"Don't you remember?"

"You want to 'Pinky Promise'-- like when we were little kids?"

"A Pinky Promise is a sacred vow, remember? We swore that we'd rather die than break a Pinky Promise. As far as a I know, neither of us ever broke one."

"Okay," I said, and wrapped my little finger around hers.

"I would rather die than ever break my pinky promise," Lizbeth said, then looked at me, expectantly.

"I would rather die than ever break my pinky promise," I mumbled.

We unhooked our fingers and Lizbeth said, "Go take a shower. Use the shower cap on the hook behind the door so you don't get your hair wet. Oh, and make your bed before you use the shower. How's your head?"

"Better, but it's still hurting."

"It'll be better in another hour. I'll clean up the dishes and stuff."

I walked upstairs to my bedroom and made the bed, then pulled off the nightgown. They had put a pair of matching panties on me and I pulled them down, getting my first good look at my naked groin. I had never been very big, certainly nothing like the jocks at schools who walked around the locker rooms with their dicks slapping against their knees, but now it reminded me of one of those small, wrinkled, newly born kittens that don't have any hair. I think the breed is called Sphynx. I had seen a movie once where a woman made reference to her male partner's sex equipment by holding up and wiggling the tiny pinkie on her right hand. That could me to describe me, once I grew a bit. And while I hadn't had that much hair to begin with, and it hadn't been that long ago that I didn't have any, I still felt violated. Now there was nothing to hide my diminutive size. Plus, my legs felt really strange. It's amazing how quickly you get used to the hair that your body grows and how you notice it when it's gone.

I pulled the large plastic shower cap over my hair and stepped into the shower. Not having to shampoo again today shortened my shower considerably, and I stepped out and toweled my hairless body dry. My armpits were still a little tender from the shaving, but other than my ear lobes, everything else felt fine. I'm not including my headache in that statement, of course. That was still hurting, but it was down to a dull thump now.

Wrapping the towel around my waist, I reentered the bedroom. A pile of clothes sat on the freshly made bed and I looked through them before walking to the bedroom door and opening it partway so I could shout. "You never said anything about having to wear a bra, panties, and stockings, Lizbeth."

She came walking towards my room carrying a dress and pushed her way in. Tugging gently at my towel, she said, "Don't be so modest. You haven't got anything that I haven't seen in the last twenty-four hours."

"I see no need to refresh your severely alcohol-impaired memory," I said.

"Who needs a memory; we have the pictures. Want to see the 8x10 glossies?"

"WHAT?"

"Just kidding, Ashley Michelle. I forgot to take pictures. Maybe next time. What were you shouting about?"

"You didn't say anything about wearing a bra, panties, and stockings. And what's with the dress? You're wearing shorts and a top."

"The deal is that I dress you in girl clothes. I never said the clothes I was wearing today. I normally wear a bra so you wear a bra. I wear panties, so you wear panties. You can't very well wear your boxer shorts under this dress because the outline will show. Here, I'll help you with the bra. It's tricky until you get used to it." She scooped up the bra and wrapped it around me after I put my arms through the straps, affixing it in the back. "It's necessary to wear the bra so that the clothes hang properly." She picked up two piles of old pantyhose that were on the bed and started stuffing them into the bra's cups, squeezing and shaping the cups as she worked. "That looks natural," she said as she finished and stepped back to look. "Finish getting dressed. I'll help you with the dress when you get to that point."

"What's the girdle for? I'm not fat."

"It's not a girdle. It's a control brief. After you put the panties on, push little Jimmy back between your legs. Then pull the control brief up and it will hold him there. Otherwise you'll have a very slight bump, even if it is a very slight one, where a girl should be flat. As far as being fat goes, your backsides could be described as minimally plump, no doubt due to your lack of exercise, but young girls don't have too much back there either, so you won't stand out. A little more padding wouldn't hurt though," she added thoughtfully. "Your face may look like a girl's, but your body doesn't have the curves that a sixteen-year-old girl has already started developing."

After Lizbeth left again, I looked at the stuff on the bed. She had done as good a job of maneuvering me as she had done when we were kids. How could I have agreed to this? Grimacing, I began to get dressed. Pushing my maleness back between my legs wasn't something that I'd ever done before. It felt strange, but it didn't hurt very much, although touching it made it start to stiffen so I worked quickly before I became aroused. The panties were so light and thin that I knew they'd never hold me back if I started reacting to the touching, even if I was small. The control brief, however, pulled it snugly up between my legs and left my lower abdomen as flat as a teenage girl's. Looking to the bed to see what remained, I saw stockings, a garter belt, a slip, shoes, and the dress, still on its hanger. It must have taken ten minutes to get the stockings on because I went real slow, afraid that I'd rip them with my long nails. At first I had tried to pull them on like socks, but I quickly realized that that wasn't going to work. I thought about the situation and then bunched them up so that I could put my foot in and pull it tight, releasing more material as I worked my way up. I experienced an unbelievable sensation when my nylon-encased legs slid along one another. It was kind of like an electric shock, without the initial jolt. It just felt kinda tingly.

Forcing myself to stop rubbing my legs together, I turned my attention to the garter belt. I put it around my waist and hooked the clasps but the hanging things didn't look right. When I twisted it around so that the clasp was in the back, like the bra, it looked more like what I had seen in men's magazines so I attached the hanging things to the stockings.

As I stood there in stockings, panties, control brief, and bra, I wondered again if this was such a good idea. I told myself that it was just material, maybe a lot softer than I was used to, and cut differently, but still just material. I continued on rather than just conceding to Lizbeth.

Raising the slip over my head, I let it fall around my body as I tried to get my hands through the right place so the straps would rest on my shoulders. It took me three tries to get it right and it bunched up when it reached the bra. Pulling the slip over the pantyhose filled cups, I looked at the shoes that Lizbeth had brought in. They were pink shoes, matching the dress, and they had small heels that I estimated to be a little over two inches. I sat on the bed to slip them on, buckled the straps, and stood up, walking tentatively around the room a couple of times. I had seen skits on television where guys wearing women's heels stumble violently all over the place, but I didn't have any problems at all. I guess the actors were exaggerating in the name of comedy.

Opening the bedroom door, I called to Lizbeth, who came walking down the hall carrying something rolled up in her left hand, and a jewelry box in her right. After placing the box on the dresser, she turned to me.

"Let me look at you," she said. After giving me the once over, she reached down and grabbed the hem of the slip. I pulled back away from her.

"What are you doing?" I said shocked.

"I'm just going to see if you did everything properly. You put the control brief on, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Then what's the problem? I won't be able to see anything that I can't see if you were wearing a bathing suit, can I?"

"Uh, no."

She lifted and I didn't stop her as she raised the slip above my bra. "Very good, you got the garter belt on properly. You must have worn one before," she said with a smirk.

"Nope, first time. Why the garter belt and stockings? Don't you use pantyhose?"

"Not in the summer, because the panty portion holds in too much heat. They're great in the winter though. You'll have enough heat with the control brief. Next time put the garter belt on first so that you can pull your panties down without having to remove your stockings."

"Next time? This is the only time."

Lizbeth smiled and unrolled the black thing that she was carrying in her left hand. As she opened it up, I asked, "What's that?"

"It's a corset. Suzanne needed it for a pageant a few years ago when she modeled a real, Elizabethan era dress. I remembered that it was still in her closet."

"A corset?"

"Yes, you need a little help with your shape, Ashley Michelle. You still look a little like a boy."

"I am a boy."

"Not after I put this on. It has strange, magical properties and will turn you into a real girl as soon as it's closed."

"Yeah, right," I said sarcastically as she wrapped it around me.

She attached the two ends together in front of me and then stepped around behind me and began pulling on the laces. I cursed myself for ever agreeing to this bet. As Lizbeth tugged on the laces, I could feel the breath being, literally, squashed out of me.

"Lizbeth, I can't breathe."

"Of course you can. I haven't tightened it down at all yet. Now breathe out."

She kept pulling on the laces until I couldn't get a full breath. "I'm serious Lizbeth. I can't breathe."

"If you couldn't breathe, Ashley Michelle, you couldn't talk. Just breathe in slowly and regularly. You may not be able to get the full breaths that you're used to, but you can breathe. I'm not tightening it that much, you only need to lose about three inches from your waist to have the start of a female shape."

"Three inches?"

"Maybe four."

"Four?"

"No, three should be enough."

Lizbeth was finally satisfied with my shape and tied the laces off, then pulled the slip down. As I tried to fill my lungs, she removed the dress from the hanger and held it up for me to put my arms through. It had short sleeves and, like the slip, bunched up when it reached the bra. Lizbeth pulled it down and stepped behind me to zip it up before fastening some hidden hook and eye catch at the neck. She pulled on it here and there before stepping in front of me and wrapping the wide, pink vinyl, decorative belt around my waist and fastening it. Adjusting the bra again by squeezing the cups, she took a couple of steps back and looked at me.

"I swear you look better in my clothes than I do, Ashley Michelle. I can't get over how well my clothes and shoes fit you. It's like we're sisters."

"Nice try, but no cigar," I wheezed.

"What do you mean?"

"You're trying to play head games with me. You're trying to convince me that I look like a girl before you're even done."

"No I'm not. I'm genuinely amazed that you can wear my clothes so well. You must have very small feet for a boy."

"Or else you have very large feet for a girl," I said.

"No, I wear a size six. That's about average for girls our height."

"My mom says that I should start to grow quickly over the next couple of years. Boys grow until they're twenty."

"I don't know any guys that have continued to grow very much after reaching sixteen or seventeen," she said thoughtfully. "I doubt you'll grow more than maybe a couple of more inches, at most. How much have you grown during the past year?"

"Let's get this over with," I said, reflecting my annoyance with her comment. "We can talk while you're paying for my jeans. I hope you really have the money. I'd hate to go through all this and then find out that you're broke."

"Don't worry. If I lose, I'll pay. I work for Nicole's catering business most weekends so I have more than enough stashed away."

"You work for Nicole?" I ask eagerly, forgetting about the clothes for a minute. "Do you think that she has any openings? I could use some spending money too."

"We'll see. We'll ask her tonight."

"Great."

"Hold still so I can get this necklace on you."

Lizbeth put a delicate gold necklace on me, then another heavier one with a locket. On my left wrist she put a watch and on my right wrist she put a dangly charm bracelet.

"It this stuff really necessary?" I asked.

"Yes, the accessories make a lot of difference in the final look."

Lizbeth put rings onto two fingers of each of my hands then stepped back for another look. "Perfect. From the neck down you're a girl."

"The bet covers all of me."

"I know, I know. I'm just getting warmed up. Come on downstairs. Be careful walking down the stairs in heels, if this is your first time."

"It's my first time if you don't count the times I put my feet into my mother's shoes when I was little."

"Did you do that a lot?"

"Not anymore than any other little kid, I don't think."

"Interesting."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Forget about it."

"You're trying to mess with my head again, aren't you?"

She didn't answer. She just kept walking until we were downstairs at the table. A large assortment of cosmetics and related items were arrayed on the table.

"Wow!" I said. "It looks like Dr. Jekyll's lab."

"We're not going to use it all, but I wanted to have everything available. I only have an hour and can't spend time running around if I need something."

I looked up at the clock. "It's now eleven oh three. You have until twelve oh three."

"My time doesn't start until I do, Ashley Michelle. Just sit down and relax. I'll tell you when I'm ready to start."

Lizbeth looked over her accumulated cosmetics, brushes, combs, tweezers, eyelash curlers, and things that I didn't have clue about. Then she looked at my face, twisting my head first one way and then another.

Finally she said, "Okay, I'm ready to start."

I looked up at the clock. "It's eleven fourteen."

Lizbeth opened a folded tablecloth and draped it around my neck to protect her dress before starting to work on my face. She worked quickly, but told me what she was doing at each step, why, and what she was using. She talked incessantly as she worked and I started to develop an appreciation for the intricacies of makeup application. She built my face quickly but it was still thirty-two minutes before she applied the finishing shade of lipstick. She had tried several shades before deciding on a medium red that leaned a little towards mauve.

With my face complete, I wanted to see and reached for the mirror, but Lizbeth pushed it away. "Not until I'm done. I still have to do your hair."

I sat still as she worked but I wasn't oblivious to the feel of the garments that I wore. I was receiving all kinds of strange sensations every time I shifted around, even slightly. The satiny feel of the control brief as I slid easily on the slip, and the feel of the bra and corset hugging my body were constantly refreshed in my mind. I tried to avoid rubbing my legs together because I feared that the sensation might cause my manhood to push its way out of its hideaway.

Lizbeth spent the rest of her hour removing the curlers, combing, and brushing my hair. She used a styling mousse by squirting it directly on my scalp or onto a comb. When she was done, my hair hung in soft, gentle curves and waves around my face and over my shoulders, except that several small groups with a slightly tighter curl framed my face just ahead of my ears.

At twelve fourteen she straightened up and said, "All done." Removing the tablecloth from around my neck, she told me to follow her to her bedroom where there were three mirrors mounted on one wall. The outer two mirrors were hinged and moved like wings so that you could see three different views of yourself at once.

As I stepped in front of the mirrors, Lizbeth said, "Meet Ashley Michelle James."

(continued)

  

  

  

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