Copyright 2000 by Samantha Michelle. Permission given to post on FictionMania and C.Sprite's StorySite.

Standard warning and disclaimer: All characters are fictional. If you see yourself, buy a new mirror. Contains subjects some people may find offensive. If you are one of them, why are your reading this? Protect your kids. If you are worried about them reading this sort of material, please censor free speech and use a safe surfing program such as net nanny. Or better yet, teach them early and lovingly to understand and accept different lifestyles. Before they learn they from bad experiences.

Constructive comments appreciated. I have a delete button and I'm not afraid to use it! Please send comments to sam@pobox.alaska.net

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Sister-1          by: Samantha Michelle

If anyone had told me a year ago I would be sitting here, letting my Mom braid my hair and fix my makeup for the senior honors ceremony, I would have laughed at them. So would Mom. I for the hair and makeup, she for both appearance and academics. But I really do want to look good in my new formal.

I should still be mad at my sister, but since I'm stuck like this, we've called a truce. She says she feels really bad about it being permanent, and she's been a lot of help in my survival at school.

It started as simple sibling rivalry, and slowly escalated. I was three years younger than Sherry, my sister. She claimed that younger brothers were created exclusively to bring misery to her life. So I tried as best I could to fulfill her claim.

We were both super-smart, but not particularly wise. So the level of our pranks grew quickly. I guess what got me started into my current predicament was when she was running really late for a concert, and I filled the toes of her dress boots with Vaseline. The look on her face when she went "squish" was great. Especially since I caught it on film. Since she was late, she had to do two performances in the goo. I got grounded for two weeks, and had to clean out the boots.

A month later I was wearing my favorite jeans, and when I squatted to pick up a pencil, the entire seam down the middle parted. And I wasn't wearing undies. I wound up wearing gym trunks and getting razzed for the rest of the day. It was no surprise when I checked the seam; it had been re-sewn with a special rip stitch. So she got a lecture and two sleep-overs canceled. And had to buy me new jeans.

I put a virus on her computer, which wiped out four weeks of assignments and her term paper.

She snuck into my room while I was dead asleep. She and a friend put blonde streaks in my hair, and gave me a permanent-makeup Barbie makeover. Which with my small stature and extra-long hair made me look like an oversize Kewpie doll for several weeks. I hated being called a girl, and there was little I could do until the makeup faded.

I found an idea on the net, and the day before the spring dance, when she found she needed a tight panty-girdle to get into her dress, I knew the time had come. Mom bought her one of those long-leg shiny satin things that looked half her size. While she was in the shower, I snuck into her room, and put the powdered glue I had gotten through the Internet in her talcum powder shaker.

What I didn't know was that she had just started her period, and was taking water pills. Or that she would not wear any other underwear. The dance was in a town nearly an hour away. When she left I emptied the shaker and refilled it with her powder alone. Five hours later she came home in tears, wrapped from the waist down in a plastic trash bag.

Half-way through the dance she had started to leak, and went to change her protection when she found the girdle was firmly glued to her skin. Everywhere. So there was nothing she could do but borrow a super pad and tape it on the outside. This was bad enough. Then all the punch caught up with her. She tried to hold out, but when her boyfriend surprised her, she lost it right on the dance floor.

Once Mom and Dad had her calmed down, and had dissolved the glue enough to cut and peel the girdle off, she claimed she would never be able to show her face in public again. It was a week before they got her to return to school, and the others gave her hell. I spent the week standing up. I'd never seen Mom get so mad. She broke two hairbrushes and sprained her wrist.

Sherry told me she would get even. But soon she seemed to be treating me better. Little did I know what she was planning.

Because Sherry was the first one up, she was in charge of getting breakfast on the table. In June she started serving herself and me these "energy shakes" made of milk and fresh fruit. They tasted a bit weird, but good. I quit bugging her as much, it was summer and I wanted to be out playing.

In mid-August I noticed my chest was itching, and by the middle of September my nipples had gotten lots bigger and hurt. I also noticed that my face fuzz, which I was carefully cultivating, seemed to be disappearing. I was having a lot of mood swings, and would suddenly start crying without a real reason. It was early October, when I found I was losing muscle tone, and had been getting chubby in the chest and butt, I really started to worry. But I was afraid to find out what was happening. I figured that as soon as swimming started I would get some exercise.

When it was time for the first day of swim class I was, as usual, late. So I was the only boy in the locker room. When I showed up in my trunks at poolside, the new girl's coach screamed, threw a towel around me and hauled me to her office.

"What are you doing going topless young lady?" she stormed. I looked at her like she was nuts.

"Hunh? Who are you talking to?"

"You, you little hussy, that's who."

I looked around, then it dawned on me that she must have thought I was a girl because of my super long and still blonde-streaked hair. I smiled, and said laughingly "Hey, cool it ma'am, I'm just a guy with long hair."

She looked at me carefully. "I don't think so, miss." She hauled me to one of the big mirrors in the gymnastics room, which was full of girls. They were giggling and pointing. The air was cool, and when she removed the towel, I looked in the mirror and I almost died. With my nipples and wet skin tight in the cool air, I looked like an athletic, topless teeny-bopper. My chest wasn't getting fat. I was growing boobs.

"Hey Sam." I looked and it was one of Shelly's cohorts. She was pointing and laughing "When did you decide to change locker rooms?" I stood there with my mouth open, gurgling. The gym teacher hauled me back to her office, and pulled a very tight tank suit out of a drawer.

She shoved me into her private washroom, and told me to put it on immediately, or else. I was too numb to argue, and failed to notice how well it fit. It felt like I was stuffed into an elastic tube. I staggered back into her office. The boy's coach was there, and he stared at me, then her.

"Well, that's Samuel all right, but he looks, well…"

"I don’t care if Sam's a he, a she, or whatever. If Sam, or whatever it is goes around looking like a topless girl it will give my students a bad reputation." She was hopping mad. I was confused. I wound up having to walk through the entire guy's team to change back to my regular clothes in the locker room. I was razzed beyond belief. I left the tank suit on. It was dry and kept my sore chest from jiggling.

I was glad swimming was my last class. I managed to make it to the bus, and was immediately accosted by several of the girls from the gymnastics class that knew me. I tried to defend myself, but one of them shoved a hand down my shirt, and grabbed a nipple. When she pinched, I whimpered. She looked totally surprised. She started to palm and fondle my breast, and it caused a surge of electricity to zip through my overly compressed penis. I moaned.

"Damn, they're like really real." She looked at me. "Sorry about the pinch, I know that had to hurt." Her voice had sympathy. I wondered who had pinched her. Soon they were asking me all kinds of questions I could not answer. I managed to make it inside my house before I collapsed in tears.

Shelly found me curled up on the living room floor, still crying. I looked at her, and when she saw he straps of the suit, she just smiled, and went to her room.

I was sitting at the table, holding my head in my hands when Mom and Dad came home. They looked really worried. "Sam, we got a call from the school, and…"

I looked at them, stood up, and took off my shirt and pants, and stood there in the suit. Mom's "Oh my god, Sam, what's happened to you?" drowned out Dad's "Oh shit". She started babbling and wanting to take me to the emergency room. Dad was trying to ask me questions.

I finally told them I was about to throw up, and got escorted to the bathroom. When my stomach decided it was just hunger, they agreed to get me something to eat. I, as usual, suggested Chinese, and pulled on my pants and shirt. They were staring at me.

"Sam, do you want to go out like that…" I looked down at myself. The suit changed my whole appearance, and the straps were visible on my shoulders.

"No, but I don’t think it's gonna make a lot of difference what I want." Rather than arguing, we wound up in Dad's car heading for my favorite Chinese place.

Mom looked at me with tears and pity in her eyes when we parked. She reached behind my head and pulled the band out of my hair, then brushed it out, leaving it free to cascade over my shoulders and cover the straps. Dad made strangling noises. We walked inside, and I saw the reflection of a pretty auburn-haired girl in the door. I managed to make it to the table before I broke down and started sobbing.

Mom had dried my eyes when the waitress came by. She took their orders, and asked what their daughter wanted. Dad almost lost it then, but mom simply gave her the order, and when the waitress left, shook her head.

Dinner was actually great. Mom and Dad avoided any reference to my appearance, and I was hungry. We made it back home without further incident.

The next morning I was wearing my own clothes, and wishing for the support of the tank suit when Mom said I was not going to school. I looked at her like she was nuts. If there was one thing I was reliable at, it was attendance.

"I am taking the day off and you are going to see Doctor Andrews." He was our new family physician. I tried to argue, but that ended as expected. I had to go back and take a shower, wash my hair, even brush my teeth twice. And put on all clean clothes and underwear. Again. Moms are weird like that.

The appointment was at ten, and we were there early. When mom explained to the nurse why we were there, she gave me a strange look. I soon found myself in an exam room, with Mom. When the doctor asked if I wanted my Mom present during the examination, I shook my head. Mom looked hurt, but left.

I was used to being without clothes around guys in the locker room, but felt really shy when I pulled off my T shirt and undies. Dr. Andrews eyes got really wide, but he carefully examined me from head to toe, asking all sorts of questions. When he had me lie down and began examining my chest, I started to whimper. He got really gentle, and carefully explained what each movement was for. I shortly knew how to do a breast exam.

He told me that I would really not like the next part, and put some lube on his gloves. He then proceeded to massage my penis until I was hard, then measured me. I was bright red from embarrassment. When he explained what a sperm sample was, I tried to beg off, but he threatened to ask my Mom to help.

I lay very still. He put a condom on me (yes, we had sex-ed in school) and continued the massage, adding a slippery finger in my butt that pressed on something inside that made me gasp and come. He carefully transferred the contents of the condom to a jar. Finally he gave me a towel to clean myself up, and told me to get dressed except for my shirt. Talk about embarrassed.

The nurse was called in, and they took several blood samples. As usual, I quietly passed out. I hate needles.

When I woke up I had my shirt on, and was lying between the rails of the examining table, covered with a blanket. Mom was looking at me. "Decided to rejoin us?" It was an in joke from a previous visit. I smiled.

We were told to come back the next morning to get the results of the tests. Mom took me for some ice cream. And I was amazed that I didn't have a pile of homework waiting for me at home. I spent the rest of the afternoon in front of the television.

It was just after nine the next day when Dr. Andrews asked us into his office. There was another, older man there who was introduced as Dr. Morton, an endocrinologist. He asked me a bunch of questions, and I was surprised to be able to give a firm answer to most. He asked if I was taking any pills or medications, or herbs, or anything like that, and I shook my head. I wound up back in the exam room, but it was quick and almost painless.

When I rejoined them in the office, Mom was crying. My terrified "I'm not gonna die, am I?" caused both Doctors to laugh.

"Samuel, you are in excellent health." I stared at them.

"But what about…?" I pointed at my chest. Dr. Morton spoke up.

"Samuel, when a person goes through puberty, the body manufactures hormones that tell it whether to mature as a boy or a girl. In a few people, the body gets confused, and generates too much, or too little, of one or both hormones. In your case, it appears that your body is making too much estrogen, the hormone that causes breasts to grow and keeps you from growing a beard. It also prevents your voice from dropping."

He paused. "From what you have told us, this has actually been going on for a long time. Your body has adapted to these levels, and changing them suddenly could hurt you."

"You mean I'm gonna keep growing…"

He nodded, a sad smile on his face. "Most likely. And you will also probably put more weight on your hips, thighs, and bottom. The really good news is that the semen sample Dr. Andrews collected is normal, so it appears you will be able to have children one day if you so desire."

"But I'll look like a girl…"

"At least until your body stops growing. Then, if you want, we can surgically remove your breasts and some of the fat off your hips and thighs to make you look more like a man. Sometimes it works well, sometimes not." The idea of being carved up like a turkey made me queasy.

I sat there and cried for a while. Mom held me, and Dr. Morton asked her if I needed a shot to calm me down. My "NO!" ended that. Dr. Andrews explained about me and needles.

When they suggested I see a psychiatrist about learning to handle my problem, I objected, but Mom immediately agreed.

They gave Mom a bunch of paperwork they said would make the school treat me properly. I asked about gym and swimming. They said they could get me totally excused from PE if I wanted. When I said I really liked to exercise, Dr. Morton looked directly at me.

"Samuel, you are going to have a hard time in either locker room. The boys will make fun of you and probably play rough with your breasts. To be blunt, you could be attacked and raped." Mom looked scared out of her wits. "The girls will be embarrassed by your male parts, and will also make fun of you. And the school will probably make you wear a girl's gym outfit either way."

"So I've got to quit doing what I enjoy, even though you say I'm going to be stuck like this?"

He nodded, then shook his head. "No, it is up to you. I can provide medical guidance for you to use either locker room, but once you decide to use one or the other, you will be stuck there for quite a while. And that applies to the bathrooms as well."

I thought about some of the jocks that had roughed me up because of my small size and long hair, and shuddered. I had heard rumors of dropped soap. "Make it the girl's lockers and washrooms. I'll be safer there." I suddenly broke out laughing, with an undertone of bitterness. "It's the dream of every straight guy in the school. Get free access to the girl's locker room, and find the truth about girls you want to date." Mom slugged me. They laughed.

I wilted. In a resigned voice I managed "And I guess I can forget about dates. No girl will be willing to go out with someone that looks like a sissy, or her sister"

Dr. Morton's "Don't bet on that" surprised both the rest of us. But he refused to elaborate.

Dad was horrified when he got home and Mom gave him the results.

Shelly laughed her head off, and said she wished I would have to put up with having periods. That got her yelled at. When they told her the changes were permanent, she suddenly got really quiet, and ran to her room.

I was lying in bed just after seven, wondering if life was still worth living, when Shelly came in. I figured she was going to tease me again. But she was crying. Real tears. She apologized again and again for making fun of my problems, and asked if she could help.

I sat up and shrugged. My bitter "Well, maybe tomorrow I can borrow one of your old outfits and a bra," caused her to break down in tears. Suddenly she hopped up and ran out of the room. Moments later she returned with a tape measure.

"I can do a hell of a lot more than that, little brother. She kicked the door shut. "Strip" Soon she was taking measurements from my neck to my toes. I knew she was really good at sewing, but what she was doing baffled me. When she measured around my breasts I whimpered at the contact, and the idea. "Get used to it." She then took a second set of measurements with the tank suit on.

She told me to take a nap, because we would be busy when she got back. I heard her argue with Mom until she got the car keys, and I tried to relax as she drove off. She woke me just before ten. "Come on, sleepy head. You've got clothes to try on. When I looked at my floor, there were almost a dozen shopping bags full of clothes.

"Where in the world…?" she put her fingers to her lips.

"Mom and Dad don’t know about these, yet." She pulled out something that looked like a tight, long-legged swimsuit, but white. "Body shaper. Best I could buy. Put it on."

It took both of us, as I had never done it, and she was trying not to put her hand in my crotch. When she adjusted the straps, I felt my chest being lifted, and my breasts suddenly being softly held in place. It felt really nice. She smiled, and looked me over. She made me put one of her super-maxi pads in the crotch, and re-tuck myself out of sight. She pulled my hair out of the pony tail and brushed it out like Mom had. The soft cotton dress she added felt light and cool on my skin, and the skirt brushing my legs was arousing. Five minutes later she took me to the mirror on my door. She was standing next to a cute girl almost her age. Me. I hugged her and cried. "Hey, you look good" she said.

"I'm not a girl!"

She pulled back and looked at me. "Well, little brother, or should I say little sister, you sure could fool me." I nodded painfully. "Tomorrow when you get up, shave your face, legs and armpits, and use my shampoo and conditioner on your hair." Before she had threatened me with death if I touched her stuff.

"I don’t know how to shave…"

I had not seen my sister naked in many years. We were both in the bathroom, and she was busy removing what little hair I had on my legs, and the brush under my arms. I was busy staring at her figure. She was really cute, and her breasts were large, pointy cones with big, firm nipples. She had a small forest of fine dark hair covering her crotch. Which made me horny, and embarrassed, and caused her to laugh as I stuck straight out.

When she hung the washcloth on my penis I groaned in embarrassment. "Hey, I know a lot of girls who would love to have that stuck in them." I turned beet red. "You will soon find out just what we girls talk about in the locker room, and think about the so-called studs at school." She told me to wash off the shaving cream. It had never felt my skin so smooth. "Yeah, It feels great. Wait till you put on your stockings tomorrow morning."

We had finished rinsing, and she reached up and fondled my breasts lightly, then started sucking on one of my nipples. I almost came all over her leg. It was the most incredible feeling I had ever had. She put her thigh between my legs, and ground her bush against my hip. I lasted about thirty seconds, and came for about a minute. She carefully washed herself off. I was shaking. She was grinning. "Good reflexes. Sleep good." She wrapped herself in a towel and disappeared. I was out the moment I hit the bed.

Mom drove us to school the next morning. She was still shaking her head at the way I was dressed. I was wearing the body shaper, which gave me quite a bit of cleavage. And made my boobs feel, well, comfortable. A belted, long cotton shirt-dress with several buttons undone. I had never realized how comfortable girls' clothes were. Some dreamy silky stockings that made me so aroused when I slid them on I had trouble walking, and a pair of what Shelly called "Mary Jane's". I looked better than most of the other girls my age. I realized I was using other to include me.

The school office got in an uproar, especially when Mom said I was to use the girls' restrooms and lockers. But the doctor's paperwork included the legal references. Mom told them if they let me be harassed she would sue them out of their retirement. At their suggestion, Samuel was removed from the rolls, and Samantha added.

There were a lot of rude and nasty comments, but Shelly had spread the word to her friends, who I found out had contributed most of my new wardrobe. They provided escort services, and probably ruined several insteps when people did not heed their warnings.

The girls swimming coach blew a fuse when she saw me walk out of the girl's locker room in the tank suit and a new swim cap. But there were five "real" girls who made a wall between me and her. Her ranting about ever catching me looking at their private parts made me angrily pop up, "Then tell them to quit staring at mine." She looked like she had eaten a live toad. I can now guarantee the girls routinely checked each other over more thoroughly than they ever check me. Something about the competition.

By late February I was a full B cup, like my sister. They were incredibly sensitive, and I began to feel sorry for the guys whose only erotic area was their crotch. At school the novelty had worn off, and aside from a few die-hard idiots, Samantha might as well have always been a girl. It really was not that different. I loved the soft and silky clothes, and developed a love-hate relationship with bras and girdles. My new four-inch heeled boots were fantastic. I had always been so short, and now I was tall enough to look people in the eye. Plus the way my nylon-clad thighs rubbed when I walked was really erotic.

I was treated with more respect than before. I did not have to be as competitive or try to be macho. But I was still the same person inside. And most of my friends from before accepted me back.

Oh yeah, there was one major difference. Before, the girls either laughed at me or ignored me. Now I was up to my, er, well, whatever in them. Believe someone when they say it takes one to know one. I had almost the same erogenous zones. Meaning all over. And I listened very carefully to the locker room talk about who liked what, and how.

My first time was incredible. Cyndi was supposedly an ice queen. More like a dormant Volcano. Did you know that Moms can sense when you have lost your virginity? Or maybe it was the silly smile I came home wearing. I got a major lecture on birth control. And Dad quietly bought me two boxes of supplies.

The lack of pressure showed in my grades. For the spring semester I had straight "A+'s, and that is why I'm getting ready for the honors banquet. Last month Sherry broke down and told me that she had been putting a small dose of hormones in my breakfast every day. I tried to get mad at her, but I was now comfortable as Samantha. And had every guy's dream. Well almost. Lots of beautiful girls trying to get into my skirts. Or at least borrow them.

So, soon as Mom finishes my hair I'm joining up with Robert, who is my date and escort for the ceremony. A real hunk, with brains, all six feet three of him. And he's a dreamy dancer. He doesn't care if I'm a boy, and really knows how to make a girl feel light on her feet. And he cuddles so nice it gives me goosebumps, among other things. If I was all girl I would jump on him. Even as a boy it's tempting.

After the ceremony, we'll meet Angela and Cyndi, then head for the new teen nightspot. Angela is a six-foot teen biker goddess. And she could vacuum the seeds out of an unripe cucumber. Yes, personal experience. Wow. She has been giving Cyndi lessons. Mmmmm. For months she has been trying to jump Robert's bones. But poor Robert was scared silly of her. I hope I've helped him over that. So does she. I'll hear all the juicy, I hope, details in the lockers at gym tomorrow.

Cyndi is my Siamese twin. Most people say we are like two parts of the same puzzle. And both missing several pieces. She looks and acts like a ditzy Loni Anderson in a compact package. With straight-A grades. She is also really bi, which means I get to play sandwich on a regular basis. And no one gets left out when I get tired. She's already talking marriage and kids. Instead of being scared, I keep wondering if I can breast-feed?

---Finis

 

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