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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2007.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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Hormonal Imbalance
by Leigh de Santa Fe (1991)

***

A boy goes through a strange but ultimately 
exhilarating transformation. (mf, youths, bi, tg, cd)

***

At breakfast his mother said, "Dennis, I think it's 
time to get your hair cut." 

"Mom, I got my hair cut last week." 

"It couldn't have been last week, honey. It's already 
over your ears." 

"No way, Mom. I just got it cut." 

"No arguing at the breakfast table," his father said 
from behind a paper. 

Dennis stomped out. In Geometry his voice cracked in 
the middle of an answer which broke up the whole class 
including the teacher. Dennis blushed but he recovered 
quickly. 

Nothing happened the next day but on Wednesday as he 
stepped out of the shower in the locker room, his chest 
felt sore. And seemed swollen. He could actually feel 
loose flesh around his nipples. He put it out of his 
mind but the next morning, alone in the bathroom, he 
examined himself in the mirror. Not only was his chest 
swollen but the nipples were larger. They looked like 
small pegs. The circles around them had turned a deep, 
reddish brown and were enlarged as well. 

"I have cancer," he thought as beads of sweat broke out 
on his brow. He became so obsessed that he didn't even 
notice that it had been four days since he'd last 
shaved. 

He buried his fears, dressed and rushed down to the 
breakfast table. 

"Dennis, didn't I tell you to get your hair cut on 
Monday," his mother said irritated. 

"I told you, mom. I went to the mall last Friday." 

"Come with me right now." 

She led him into the bathroom and said, "It couldn't 
have been last week, honey. Look, it's way past your 
collar." 

A lump grew in his throat but he managed to squeak out, 
"Okay. Okay." 

He cut gym that day and went to the library. Pouring 
over a fat medical textbook he could find nothing that 
would account for the swelling in his chest. "This has 
got to be some kind of weird mumps," he thought. 

After school he met his swim team buddy Jim in the 
hall. "Aren't you going to practice?" he asked. 

Dennis turned red. "No, I can't today." 

"Why not?" 

"I have to get a haircut." 

"That's a lame excuse. Coach'll be pissed. You okay? 
You don't look so hot." 

"I'm fine," Dennis said, walking toward his locker. 

"Gained some weight in your butt, dude," Jim called 
after him. 

Dennis instinctively put his hands on his buttocks and 
Jim's laughter echoed down the hall. Jim was right, 
Dennis thought, "Everything about my body is changing." 
He walked home, so engrossed in contemplation that when 
his girlfriend Debby called out to him, he just kept on 
walking. 

"Hey, didn't you hear me?" 

"What, oh, Hi." 

"Is something wrong Dennis?" 

"No, nothing's wrong," he said, his voice cracking. 

"You've been doing that a lot lately. I thought your 
voice already changed." 

"Look nothing's wrong, okay." Just as he reached the 
last syllable it cracked again and Debby suppressed her 
laughter because the look in his eye was murderous. 

"Look I've got to get a haircut now. I'll see you 
tomorrow," he said trying hard not to let his voice 
crack again. 

"Sure. Call me. Bye." 

He ran off toward the mall. 

When he finally got home, he raced to the bathroom and 
stripped off his shirt. His hands felt his chest. The 
soft flesh hung out into space about an inch. The 
nipples were larger and the aureoles were now three 
inches across and reddish brown. He could never go back 
to the swim team now. Not like this. He stood for a 
moment wondering if he should tell his parents when he 
noticed his hair. He'd just gotten it cut and it was 
over his ears again. "It some gland thing," he thought. 
"I've got tropical gland disease." Then he noticed his 
beard or rather he noticed his beard hadn't grown in a 
week. In fact, his cheeks were devoid of even the peach 
fuzz stubble that grew between shaves. Instead they 
were smooth and pink. He ran to his room. 

At dinner he wore a bulky sweater to hide his swelling 
chest. No one seemed to notice and afterwards he went 
to his room and shut the door. Around nine his mom 
knocked to say goodnight. He sat at his desk pretending 
to study. "Everything all right, honey." 

"Yeah, sure. Why?" 

"No reason. Hey, will you promise me to get your hair 
cut tomorrow?" she said as she closed the door. 

***

The next day at school his voice cracked so many times 
that he stopped talking altogether. On the way home, 
Debby knew something was wrong. 

"What the matter with you lately, Dennis? You're so 
sulky and weird." 

"Nothing's the matter, okay? I've just been studying 
really hard." His voice cracked midway through the 
sentence and stayed in the upper register. 

"Is your voice getting higher? I thought it was 
supposed get lower." 

"Debby, can I tell you something?" 

"Sure, Dennis. What is it?" 

He blurted out all the strange changes that were taking 
place in his body. 

"I want to see," she said. They ran to her house and 
Debby pulled him up the stairs. When they were alone in 
her room she said, "Well, take your shirt off." 

"Promise you won't laugh," he said. 

"I won't. Just take your shirt off and show me." 

Dennis unbuttoned his shirt slowly and then peeled off 
his T-shirt. He couldn't look at her. 

She said nothing but her silence spoke volumes. 

"What's wrong with me, Debby?" 

Her eyes were traveling down from Dennis's chest to his 
waist. 

"Dennis, take off your pants too." 

"Why?" 

"Just do it, okay." 

He kicked his tennis shoes off and dropped his jeans. 

Debby gasped. "Oh, my God." 

"What? What is it?" he yelled. 

"Your, uh, your butt." 

"What about it?" 

"It's bigger too," she said haltingly. "Look!" she 
said, opening the door to her closet and pointing at 
the full length mirror. 

Dennis looked over his shoulder into the mirror and for 
the first time all the puzzle pieces in place fell into 
place. His jockey shorts were stretched tightly over 
his bottom and he knew instantly why none of his pants 
seemed to fit anymore. His waist had narrowed as well. 

"You look kind of... like a..." 

"Like a what," his voice cracked. 

"Like a girl." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, your body looks... well, rounder and softer. 
What about down there?" she said, pointing to Dennis's 
groin. 

"It's the same. If anything it's bigger," Dennis said 
softly. 

"That's interesting," Debby said with a sly grin but he 
was too distraught to respond. 

"What's happening to me, Debby?" he said as he pulled 
his clothes on. 

"I don't know but it's really weird," she said, 
noticing for the first time how tight his jeans were. 

The next few days Dennis developed strategies for 
hiding the changes in his body. He combed his hair 
straight back with gel and he wore sweaters and his 
largest jeans. He put two pairs of socks on so his 
daintier feet fit into his shoes and he stopped talking 
except for tightly controlled monosyllabic responses. 
He tried to keep his emotions in check but whenever he 
was alone he wept uncontrollably. At night he'd go into 
the bathroom and take off all his clothes, examining 
his body for any retreat of the symptoms. There were 
none. His hair now fell just past his shoulders. Tying 
it back in a ponytail helped but it wasn't just longer, 
it was thicker. It didn't look like a boy's ponytail at 
all. 

His face was changing too. His beard had stopped 
growing but now his features seemed to have grown 
softer. The jawline seemed redrawn and his lips were 
fuller. Even his lashes seemed darker, longer. He noted 
each alteration with increasing fear. 

His penis, on the other hand, was the only part of his 
masculinity that wasn't in retreat. Instead it seemed 
to be a mocking holdout against the onslaught of 
feminine changes, competing with his breasts for rapid 
growth. 

***

Every morning he prepared himself for school with an 
increasingly sophisticated set of rituals designed to 
hide his form, his figure, his face but he knew his 
efforts were meeting with less and less success. 

One day a substitute teacher in his English class was 
going down the roster of names on a seating chart and 
matching them with the students. "Denise Johnson," he 
said looking at Dennis. No one even giggled and Dennis 
sat in silent mortification. 

He had avoided Debby for a few days now but on the way 
home she caught up to him. 

"Hi, Dennis." 

"Hi," he said, his voice a breathy whisper. 

"How've you been?" 

"Okay, I guess." He was fighting back tears. 

"I like your hair like that." 

He was silent. 

"Dennis?" 

"Yeah." 

"Maybe it's time you told you're parents." 

"Tell them what," he lashed out. "That I'm turning into 
a girl?" 

"No!" she said, "Tell them that... tell them that 
there's something wrong with your glands or something. 
I don't know." 

"It's getting worse. I can't button my pants all the 
way. I cut my hair every night and in the morning it's 
longer and thicker than ever. This morning I had to 
tape my... breasts so that they wouldn't show. I had to 
quit the swim team. . . " he broke off. 

Debby reached out to hold him but he pulled away. He 
didn't want anybody touching him. He didn't want her to 
feel how soft he'd become. 

That night when he mother came in to say goodnight he 
looked up from his textbook, his eyes glistening. 

"Are you crying, Dennis? What's wrong, honey?" 

"Mom, I'm... uh. Mom?" 

"What is it, baby?" 

"Something weird is happening to my body." He broke 
down and blurted out the whole incredible story. She 
asked him to take his shirt off. He did and a look of 
panic crossed her face. 

"Baby, oh, honey, everything's going to be alright. In 
the morning, I'll take you Dr. Felder and we'll figure 
out what's happening. Okay?" 

"Don't tell Dad." 

"Why not?" 

"I don't know. Just don't tell him. Okay?"

"Alright, honey. For now. Till we see what Dr. Felder 
has to say." 

The next day Dennis and his mother waited silently in 
the Dr. Felder's office. Finally, a nurse emerged and 
beckoned to Dennis. Seeing the fear in his eyes said, 
"Your first exam is always the hardest," she said 
reassuringly. She led him back to another waiting room. 
"If you'll just take your clothes off, Denise, and jump 
up here, the doctor will be in shortly." Dennis looked 
at his feet. 

"Could you ask my mother to come in too?" he said. 

The nurse hesitated, sensed his fear and said, "Of 
course." 

He undressed, covering his privates with his t-shirt 
and eased himself up on the examination table. He tried 
not to notice his bust but it was impossible. They were 
so large, he thought. Why did they have to be so large? 
The doctor and his mother came in. 

"Now, young lady, what's the problem?" 

"The problem, Dr. Felder, is that this is my son," his 
mother said. 

An hour later Dennis and his mother drove home in 
silence. Finally she spoke. 

"I've got to tell your father." 

"Why?" 

"Because he's got to know." 

"But why, mom?" 

"Because he's going to find out." 

"No, he won't. I'll hide it. I've hidden it so far." 

"You're not going to hide it because you can't hide 
anymore, Dennis." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, that for the short term, till we figure out 
what's going on, I want you to start. . ." 

"No," he cut her off. "I won't do that! I'll never do 
that!" he screamed in his unfamiliar soprano. 

"Dennis, look at yourself. Your clothes don't fit. You 
can't hide your... chest. You're... you're a 36 C cup," 
she said as the tears began to fall down her cheeks as 
well. "And you don't look..." 

"Like a boy?" 

"Yes, you don't. Not right now. As soon as we figure 
this thing out we'll go back. You'll go back. I 
promise." 

"No, mom. I can't do that. Everybody will know." 

"Honey, I know it's hard but you won't have to go right 
back to school. 

We'll take some time. Time to adjust. Time to figure it 
all out." 

"But Mom, someday I'll have to go back and when I do 
everybody will stare at me. They'll laugh at me." 

"Honey, they're already staring." 

When they car drove up the drive, Dennis jumped out and 
ran up to his room and locked the door. When his father 
got home he could hear the fighting. 

Harsh words of disbelief and then the pounding of feet 
coming up the stairs. 

"Dennis, I want to talk to you." 

Dennis took off his shirt and laid it on the bed. 

"Dennis, open the door please. 

He pulled his pants down past his thighs and stepped 
out of them. 

"Right now, Dennis." 

He took the rubber band off his hair and shook his 
head. Then he unlocked the door. 

"My God!" 

"Dad, what's happening to me?" he cried. 

His mother appeared in the doorway behind his father. 
She ran to him. "Oh, my poor baby," she said, cradling 
him in her arms. 

Fifteen minutes later, after the tears had come and 
gone and come again his father said, "Your mother has a 
plan. She thinks you should..." 

"No!" 

"Dennis, it's best this way. For now. For this period. 
As soon as its over, we'll go back to the way things 
were." 

"Dad, don't let me do that!" 

"Dennis," his father's voice broke now too, "you've got 
to try it and that's it." 

"Let's go to bed now and see if you don't feel 
differently in the morning." 

They left him alone and after three hours of staring at 
the ceiling he finally drifted into troubled sleep. 

***

For three days Dennis stayed in his room. His mother 
brought him his meals in silence and he stayed in bed 
and thought and slept. At times he would drift into 
strange dreams and wake up coiled in his auburn hair. 
His body ached from the changes and he slept a lot. He 
used the bathroom only when no one was around. An 
scratchy old bathrobe was the only thing he wore. He 
avoided his image in mirrors. 

Changes continued to transform his body. If he didn't 
tie it back with a rubber band, his hair fell forward 
and surrounded his face like leaves from a flourishing 
vine. He stopped sleeping on his stomach because it 
hurt his chest and his back ached from the new top 
heaviness. 

At times he would lie in bed and run his hands up and 
down the sides of his body, feeling its contours, the 
softness, the fresh hills and valleys that had grown 
during the night. He avoided touching his chest because 
that was too painful, both to the touch and to his 
bewildered psyche. When his robe irritated his nipples 
he put on a t-shirt but found that the jiggling of his 
breasts beneath the taut fabric only directed his 
attention to his enlarged bust. Jockey shorts were out 
for similar reasons. Pants were out of the question. He 
went back to wearing the robe. 

At times his father or mother would drop by and try to 
talk to him but he remained steadfast in his silence 
and after a while they went away. It was enough that he 
ate. Debby came by one day. He refused to talk to her 
as well so she left his homework assignments outside 
the door and said she come back the next day to pick up 
his homework. Dennis didn't touch it and the next day 
she tried to talk to him again. 

"Dennis, it's me." 

Dennis leaned against the door. His heart was pounding. 

"Dennis, let me in. I just want to talk." 

"Please go away," he said softly. It was the first 
words he'd spoken in 72 hours. His voice had crept up 
another octave and he bit his lip in shame. 

"Dennis, you can't stay in there forever. Let me in. 
Please." 

"Come back tomorrow. Okay?" Dennis said. 

"Promise?" 

"Promise." 

"Okay. See you tomorrow. Bye." He listened to her 
footfalls down the stairs and then walked to the edge 
of window and watched her leave the yard. When she 
reached the gate she turned and looked up. He darted 
back into the shadows. 

The next day she came back. 

"Dennis, can I come in?" 

"The door's not locked." 

Debby opened the door slowly. Dennis had his back 
turned to her and was looking out the window. He wore 
the bathrobe tightly wrapped around his body. 

His hair was pulled back in a ponytail that fell to the 
middle of his back. 

"Dennis." 

He turned around and studied her face as she tried to 
contain her surprise. 

"I haven't looked in a mirror in 5 days. Have I changed 
a lot?" 

"Well..." she swallowed, "yes, since I last saw you but 
that was a long time ago," she added hastily. 

"A week." 

"Yeah, I guess so." Her eyes fell from his chest to his 
hips and then to the walls of his room. "How are you?" 

"Oh, I'm fine. I'm great. Another week and I'll be 
ready for my deb ball." 

Debby walked to the bed and sat down. 

"What are you going to do?" 

"I don't know. What would you do? What can I do?" 

"Well, your mother..." 

"What did she say?" 

"Nothing! She just thought that, for now anyhow, you 
could..." 

"Could what?" 

"I don't know!" 

"Debby, I can't do that!" 

"Why not?" 

"Because... I'm a boy. I'm a boy. I'm a boy," his voice 
cracked and he fell on the bed sobbing. She reached out 
to comfort him but his robe had fallen open and she 
stopped for a moment to stare at his bosom. His breasts 
were now bigger than hers. 

"Dennis, show me. Show me your body." 

"No." 

She held him close. "Come on now. I'm your... friend. 
You can show me." 

He sat up next to her. His hair had come undone and 
framed his face with disheveled curls. He drew his robe 
together tightly. 

"Look, I'll show you mine and you can show me yours. 
Okay?" Before he could answer she stood up and pulled 
off her sweater. She was wearing a black bra. 

"I can't do this." 

"Come on. I showed you mine," she said, pulling up off 
the bed. 

"I'm naked." 

"Okay. Okay. Here." She unhooked the bra in front and 
slipped it off. 

"Now you," she said, tugging at the robe. He let it 
fall to the floor. 

"Oh God, Dennis," she said as her eyes quickly took in 
his widened hips, his narrowed waist and the breasts 
which bounced only inches from hers. She looked into 
his eyes. They were filling with tears. She hugged him. 

The door opened and his mother appeared in doorway. 
Debby pulled away quickly. Dennis drew his arms up over 
his chest. 

"That's okay, Debby." His mother looked at Dennis. 
"We're all girls here now." 

"Mom!" 

"Oh baby, I'm sorry but you've got to face facts. Look 
at yourself, honey. Something has happened." 

Dennis turned away. 

"Just try it for a little while. Here in your room. You 
don't have to go out. Debby can help you. I'll go away. 
Just try..." 

"Try what?" he said. 

His mother bit her lip. "Try being a girl," Debby said. 
"You might even like it." 

"Oh, God! Now you're both against me." 

"Dennis, Debby wants to help you and so do I." 

"Help me what?" 

"Adjust." 

Debby put her arm around his waist. "It's not that bad. 
I'll help you." 

"I don't know," he moaned. "What do you want me to do?" 

His mother approached him tentatively and put her arm 
around him too. 

"Just... just try some clothes on. That's all. Here. In 
your room. You don't have to go out. No one will see 
you but us." 

"No one. Not even Dad?" 

"Not even Dad." 

"What clothes?" 

Dennis's mother glanced at Debby and smiled. "Whatever 
you want, honey. You 

can start with jeans and a... blouse." 

"I think you should start with a bra," Debby blurted 
out. "A bra that fits." 

His mother's face lit up. "I'll see if I can find 
something." She dashed out of the room and came back 
immediately. 

"Where'd you get this?" Dennis said. "It still has the 
tag on it." 

"Well, I just thought..." 

"You bought this for me, didn't you?" 

"Just try it on," Debby said, putting his arms through 
the straps. "It's hooks in front. Try hooking it 
yourself." 

"You bought this for me," he said as his hands fumbled 
for a moment and then his breasts were captive in the 
lacy white cups. 

"It's perfect," Debby said. 

He looked down at his chest and saw the deep crack of 
cleavage. It was a revelation. Much more shocking that 
a simple mirror reflection, he could now see and feel 
his girlhood in three dimensions. The juxtaposition of 
his pliant flesh and the female garment met at more 
than simple juncture of skin and fabric. They were 
joined now in some synapse in his brain. A mindset was 
incubating. 

"I want to see," Dennis said, heading for the bathroom. 
His mother stopped him. 

"Not yet. Put these on first," she said, handing him a 
pair of beige cotton panties. He turned away and 
stepped into them. The fabric stretched over his 
buttocks like a second skin. But in front his cock 
struggled against containment. Debby and his mother 
looked askance as he bounded past them to the bathroom, 
the final strands of hair unraveling from the make-
shift ponytail. 

When his mother and Debby caught up with him he was 
turning to examine his profile in the mirror. Tears 
streaked his face. 

Debby started to speak but Dennis's mother stopped her. 

"I'm so big. I'm so big," he gasped, his fingers 
grazing the surface of his bra cups. "You're not big. 
You're perfect." 

"But I'm so... " He looked at his body. It was so 
different. So womanly. He had cleavage. Clouds of 
auburn hair unfurled around his face and fell past the 
cups of his brassiere. 

He turned to the women. "I am a girl now, aren't I?" he 
said in a frightened whisper. 

"Almost," Debby said. 

Every day for the rest of the week Debby arrived at the 
Johnson house at four o'clock with clothes for Dennis. 
She began with old jeans and sweaters which he would 
try on. One day she brought in large shopping bag. 

"Now don't freak out, okay?" 

"Have I freaked out yet?" Dennis said petulantly. He 
sat on the bed, legs crossed in a distinctly 
unmasculine way and wearing only his bra and panties. 
His hair was pulled back in the familiar pony tail but 
a careful observer could see that his bangs were ever 
so slightly teased. 

"Okay, but this is different," she said as she pulled a 
baby blue taffeta prom dress out of the bag. 

"What's that?" 

"A prom dress." 

"Oh, God," he said, falling back on the bed in excited 
giggles. 

"You promised." 

"I can't wear that." 

"Why not?" 

"It's too... too much." 

Debby put the dress up against her body and strutted 
around as though she just arrived at the ball. Then she 
turned to Dennis, "Aren't you curious to see what a 
real dress feels like?" 

"Yes, but I'm scared." 

"Scared of what?" 

"Scared that I'll like it too much." 

"Well, you're supposed to like it." 

"But what if tomorrow my breasts go away and everything 
changes back?" 

Debby rolled her eyes. "Come on, get up. I want to see 
how it fits you." 

Dennis obliged and she held the dress up to his body. 
"You'll have to wear a different bra. The straps'll 
show. Here," she said, pulling a strapless longline bra 
out of the bag. 

"Oh, I'll never get this on," Dennis said, looking at 
all the hooks in back." 

"I'll help you. Now, take off your bra and put this 
on." Dennis gave her a withering look and slid off his 
old brassiere and Debby helped him hook the eyes on the 
longline. 

"Ooo la la," Debby said when he turned around to face 
her. The bra pushed his breasts up and squeezed them 
together creating generous cleavage. Dennis blushed. 

Debby now pulled a powder blue tricot half slip out of 
the bag and said, "Now, put this on." 

Dennis pulled the slip on and swooned a little as the 
deliciously cool fabric grazed his naked thighs. His 
mouth went dry as he anticipated wearing his first 
dress. 

"Are you ready, Cinderella?" 

Dennis's dainty foot trembled as he stepped into the 
rustling heap of blue. 

A moment later he was twirling around the room, the 
enormous hoop of his skirts floating out from his body 
like a swinging bell. Shoulder-framing gathers of soft 
taffeta met at his decolletage in swirl of baby blue 
that looked like a cinnamon role. 

"Don't you want to see yourself?" Debby said, rushing 
him toward the door. 

"Yes, but..." His father had still not seen wearing a 
bra and panties, let alone a dress. The last thing 
Dennis wanted was to surprise him in this big, poufy 
prom gown that displayed his gorgeous bosom 
unashamedly. And yet, he was terribly curious about how 
he looked. Debby's face waited expectantly for his nod 
and even the sound of the rustling taffeta seemed to 
urge him on. He relented. "Okay, let's go, but watch 
the stair." 

Debby opened the door and looked both ways while Dennis 
picked up his cascading skirt. 

The reflection literally took his breath away. He was 
lovely and so demure. He loved the way the shoulders 
tapered to frame his decolletage. A new emotion was 
stirring down deep inside, an emotion that confused and 
frightened him. He was almost proud. 

As he turned this way and that to view his profile 
Debby also noticed the first signs of a feminine vanity 
creeping into his demeanor. She was dying to undo his 
ponytail and brush his hair out and Dennis must have 
been thinking along similar lines because after 
observing himself for a long moment he discarded the 
rubber band and shook his head. The long auburn waves, 
free at last, framed his face with a kittenish 
dishevelment that literally forced his face into a 
pouty sultriness. 

He turned to Debby. "I look really good, don't I?" 

"Really good?" 

He blushed deeply. "I mean, do I look okay?" he said, 
painfully aware she had caught him basking in the 
ecstasy of feminine conceit. 

"Yes, you're gorgeous. Now let me brush your hair out." 

Dennis smiled and sat down on the edge of the tub like 
a princess awaiting her chambermaid. The brush moved 
through his tangled curls reluctantly at first but soon 
Debby's hand pushed down easily and the snarls resolved 
into a smooth cascade of mahogany, the strands aligned 
like exquisite wood grain. It felt so wonderful he 
wanted to purr. 

"I've been wanting to do this for weeks," Debby said. 

"Weeks?" 

"Yes, weeks. It's a sin to have hair this beautiful and 
not brush it. In fact, it's a sin not to have it 
styled." 

Dennis turned to look at her. "But I can't do that. I'd 
have to leave my room." 

"So, you're going to stay in your room forever, 
Rapunzel?" 

"I'd like to. I'd like to have you come brush my hair 
every day and talk to me and bring me..." 

"Dresses?" 

"Yes. And we could be together like we used to be." 

"We'll never be like we used to be." 

Dennis folded his hands in a sea of blue taffeta. "I 
know." 

Debby glanced in the mirror and caught Dennis's eyes. 

"You know, there's one thing I can't show you here 
that's absolutely essential." 

"What?" 

"Shopping at the mall," Debby laughed. "Why don't we go 
out together to the mall tomorrow. You need to get some 
things that fit. You'll love it." 

Dennis was skeptical. "What would I wear?" 

Debby smiled. She knew he was ready. "Anything you 
want, princess." 

***

The next day was Saturday. Dennis got up at dawn and 
was already possessed by the question of what he would 
wear on his mall spree. He also had to get out of the 
house without seeing his father. Around nine o'clock 
his mother knocked on the door and delivered his 
breakfast. "You okay, honey?" she said. 

He turned to her and smiled. "Yes, I guess. I'm 
supposed to go to the mall today with Debby." 

"That's great!" she said. "What are you going to..." 

"I don't know." 

"What's wrong with jeans and a sweater?" 

"Mom!" he said with exasperation, "It's not what I'm 
going to wear. It's wearing a bra and stuff out there," 
Dennis said. He turned his head to the window, creating 
a curvy cameo against the blue sky. His mother put her 
arm around his waist. 

"It'll be fine. No one will ever suspect." 

He spun out of her grasp. "No will ever suspect what?" 
he demanded. 

She stepped back in alarm for a brief moment. Then 
regaining her composure she said deliberately, "That 
you're not a girl." 

"Even though I look like one?" 

"Yes, a very lovely girl," she added. 

Tears welled up in his eyes and he said, "I'm scared, 
mommy." She hugged him. 

"I know, honey. I know. It'll be fine. Everything will 
be fine." 

An hour later the door opened and Dennis emerged like a 
shy butterfly. He wore his old jean jacket over a tight 
black turtleneck sweater and a pair of girls' jeans 
that Debby had brought him. The jeans were so tight 
that the outline of the credit card his mother gave him 
was clearly visible in his back pocket. Furthermore, 
his sweater accentuated his bust in a way that both 
embarrassed and excited him. His mother had brushed his 
hair out and pulled it back in a ponytail, tying it up 
high on his head in a more feminine way. Dennis 
protested but secretly he liked the way it made him 
look cute and little girl-like. 

They drove to the mall in silence. Dennis looked out 
the window and played with the end of his ponytail. 
When they arrived his mother said, "You'll be fine. Try 
to have fun with it." Dennis made an effort to smile. 
She watched him walk across the parking lot, losing 
track of him as he blended into a crowd of teenage 
girls headed for the mall. 

Dennis arrived at the appointed meeting place early and 
sat down on a bench to wait. His breasts felt bigger 
and more conspicuous than ever and he unconsciously 
began to hunch over to hide his curvy, new figure. When 
he saw Debby walking across the mall he straightened up 
a little. 

"Hi," Debby said quietly. 

"Hi." 

"You look great." 

"Thanks." He blushed. "Everything feels so... tight." 

"That's because it is, dear. And that's why we're here. 
Are you ready?" 

"Not really." 

"Come on, let's go get you a bra that fits." She pulled 
him up off the bench and they headed off to the 
lingerie department at Dillards. 

Debby took Dennis back to the dressing rooms, and said, 
"Wait here. I'll be back." 

He sat down and fidgeted, trying not to feel like this 
was the oddest thing he'd ever done, trying not to 
listen to the sounds of dressing dropping and bras 
hooking. 

Soon Debby returned with several bras, slips and even a 
garter belt. When Dennis rolled his eyes she said, "You 
might like it, you know. Now take off your sweater." 

He spent the rest of the afternoon taking off his 
clothes and trying on others. Debby was having a great 
time selecting things and then having him model them 
for her. Soon he forgot who he was and where he was and 
began to look forward to trying on the pretty blouses 
and skirts that Debby handed him. 

By two o'clock he had discarded the turtleneck and 
jeans and was wearing black tights, a black denim skirt 
and a white blouse with puffed sleeves and a plunging 
neckline. By three o'clock he had replaced his mother's 
low pumps with a pair of shiny black heels and he 
carried a small brown leather purse. 

He felt more at ease in his new role now and even a 
little proud of his figure which Debby never stopped 
praising. "You're such a fox," she'd say or with mock 
envy "You're so stacked. I wish I had your figure." 
Dennis couldn't help grinning when he heard these 
compliments. Even though he felt comfortable walking 
along side Debby in his new skirt and blouse, he found 
it difficult to take the larger step of enjoying his 
femininity. Debbie sensed that this shyness might be 
shed if he could see his feminine loveliness reflected, 
not in a mirror but in the eyes of his beholders. 

"How about a makeover?" she suggested as they strolled 
through the cosmetic section. Dennis hesitated and then 
thought why not. Moments later an attractive young 
redhead in a cream colored lab coat was daubing bright 
colors on his cheek and speaking in low soothing tones 
about contrast and shade. Dennis found himself enjoying 
the attention. Especially when Carole the cosmetician 
praised his cheekbones or his aquiline nose. When she 
finished he swooned at the luscious girl who stared 
back at him in the circular mirror. Carole had 
uncovered or rather created a glittering creature with 
her brushes and paint and Dennis was amazed at this new 
level of transformation. He was barely begun to admire 
himself when Debbie said, "Let's get your hair done 
now." 

Dennis went pale beneath his blusher. "Oh, I don't 
know. Can't I just leave it the way it is." 

"Your hair is lovely but it needs to be trained. Just 
like your breasts need a bra for support, your hair 
needs to be... tamed." 

"Tamed how?" 

"You'll see. Come on," she said, taking him by the arm 
and leading him into Hair Designs. 

When he left the salon an hour and a half later the 
ambisextrous pony tail was gone but you couldn't really 
call what replaced it tame. The hairdresser, obviously 
delighted to get her hands on Dennis's thick, abundant 
hair, had taken this raw rapunzel and worked his hair 
into a frothy bouffant. Parted on one side it now 
sinuously fell over his face in a dramatic cascade 
which culminated at his shoulders in a thick, bouncing 
wave. 

Dennis was mortified when he saw what had been done to 
him. Debby couldn't stop laughing. He looked as though 
he should be wrapped in ermine and carrying a 
chihuahua, a soap opera vixen at a supermarket opening. 
It was the worst possible outcome: big, starlet hair 
which called attention to his burgeoning femininity. In 
fact, it was the perfect complement to his glamorous 
makeover and a small part of his girlish self was 
celebrating. The rest of him found his new look, like 
his pouffy coif, to be an unwieldy burden, top heavy 
with sex. 

"You look faaabulous," Debby said over and over in her 
best Fernando Lamas ooze. People were staring at him. 
He could feel heads turning as he walked past. And when 
they reached a knot of teenage boys his composure, 
already on shaky ground, completely abandoned him and 
suddenly he was a teenage girl, giggling with nervous 
energy, embarrassed and proud of his beauty, knowing 
and innocent. It was as though he'd been handed a 
scepter that had compelling power but he had no idea 
how to control it. And so he passed through the crowded 
mall causing small whirlwinds of sexual confusion in 
his wake. 

The two girls made their way out into the silent 
twilight and fell silent themselves. Dennis felt his 
nipples stiffen in the October chill. He drew the jean 
jacket tighter. 

"How are you going to get all this stuff home?" Debby 
said finally. 

"I guess I should call my mom but I don't really want 
to." 

"Why not?" 

"I don't know. She's never seen me like this." 

"Yeah. Well, I could call my mom, I guess." 

"Does she know?" 

"Not exactly." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"She knows." 

"Oh, great." 

"Hey, it's not a big deal." 

Dennis exhaled a bitter laugh. "Okay, well let's go 
call her." 

Debby's mother was not discreet. She gawked, she 
stared, even her silence was uncomfortably intrusive 
and Dennis was glad when they dropped him off at home. 
He gathered up all his purchases and went up the walk. 
His mother opened the door. 

"Is that you?" 

"Yes," Dennis said, bowing his head so that his 
bounteous hair shrouded his face in shadow. 

"Let me take a look at you. Oh my God!" She reached out 
to hug him but he pulled away. "What's the matter, 
honey?" 

He ran past her up the stairs to his room. When he got 
there he was shocked to find the room had been 
transformed. Gone were the beige curtains, the brown 
bedspread and the dresser he'd had since childhood. In 
their place, were pink draperies, a chenille bedspread 
and a vanity replete with a tableful of cosmetics. A 
long, rectangular mirror encircled by tiny bulbs 
completed the picture. A note was taped on the mirror. 
It read: "For our new daughter, Mom and Dad." 

Dennis didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He did 
neither. Instead the girl in the mirror beckoned. 
Finally alone, she demanded his undivided attention. 
The androgynous jean jacket fell to the floor like a 
discarded husk and her delicate hands covered her 
decolletage. It was a gesture of instinctive modesty. 
Head tipped forward in shy retreat of her own 
loveliness, hair spilling over her naked shoulders, she 
resembled a little girl simultaneously chastened and 
adored for wearing Mommy's good blouse. A mischievous 
smile now overtook her diffidence and she swiveled in a 
three quarter turn to see just how big her hair was in 
back and how much space her breasts displaced in 
profile. The small smile turned big as she took note of 
her own womanly grandiosity. Hands went to hips next 
and back arched, trailing her mane down to her waist. 
The little girl had disappeared. A starlet was 
emerging. 

"Dennis!" his mother called from behind him. 

He wheeled around and felt the free fall of his hair 
over one shoulder. The little girl suddenly returned, 
blushing crimson. 

"Are you okay, honey?" she said, unable to conceal an 
amused smile. 

Dennis looked down. His mother gave him hug and it 
crossed his mind that his breasts were bigger than 
her's. "I'm so proud of you," she said softly. 

Dennis pushed her away. 

"Let's see what you got," she said, trying to break the 
tension. 

"Maybe later. I think I'd like to be alone." 

"Don't you want to show your dad..." 

"No!" 

"Dennis, you've got to face him sometime. You can't 
hide up here for the rest of your life." 

His glittering eyes flickered with a laser beam of 
hatred and his mother beat a hasty retreat. He locked 
the door, stripped his clothes off and looked at his 
body in the full-length mirror his parents had 
installed on the back of his door. His body was a 
conundrum with its voluptuous curves and a big cock 
swaying between his legs. He touched it. Not with the 
manly intent of his pre-girl years but daintily, 
gingerly, as though it were a foreign part of his body, 
an incongruous artifact of a forgotten time. Amazingly, 
it sprang to life in his delicate hand and the sight of 
his nodding tool in concert with his swaying breasts 
aroused him. He began to play with his image in the 
mirror. Legs spread and pelvis thrust out, he proffered 
his stiff rod with one hand and gathered up a shock of 
brunette hair with the other while his lips pouted with 
babydoll insouciance. It was an arresting image and one 
filled with coarse sensuality. Suddenly a wave of 
enormous shame mingled with a knowledge of raw, 
unbridled power swept over him and he lay down on the 
pink bedspread to catch his breath. His head was 
swimming with strange hormonal drumbeats and even 
though the blood drained from his cock, his mind 
retained the image of the lusty androgyne for a long 
time after. 

"Dinner's ready, hon," his mom called out from behind 
the door. 

Dennis stood up and turned to look at himself once 
again. A strange and mischievous smile overtook his 
mouth and he picked up his bra and twirled it around 
his finger. Then he put the bra and panties back on, 
tucking his maleness demurely between his legs. Pawing 
through the bags from the mall he selected the tightest 
jeans and a red sweater with pearl buttons that 
celebrated his new convexity to stunning effect. For 
shoes he chose a pair of black heels with ankle straps. 
Glancing in the mirror he smiled at his kitten-with-a-
whip look, freshened up his lipstick, brushed his 
bounteous hair over his shoulders and bounced down the 
stairs to dinner. 

His mother raised an eyebrow as he plopped into his 
customary seat. He smiled back at her, spreading his 
napkin over his lap with careful good little girl 
aplomb. When his father finally emerged from his own 
hiding place he turned white at the image of his son, 
whom he had last seen in uncomfortable transition, as a 
red lipped little hussy flaunting her breasts like Lana 
Turner. 

"What's the matter, Dad?" Dennis said in a breathy, 
Marilynesque whisper. "I thought you wanted this," he 
said, resting his hands modestly over his breasts. 

His father struggled with his emotions for a moment and 
then sat silently, a frozen smile fixed on his face. 

"Dennis went..." 

"I'm Denise now, Mom." 

She nodded in his direction. "Denise went to the mall 
today." 

"Oh," his father said, trying to seem interested. 

"He... she bought all kinds of stuff... on your credit 
card." 

"Oh." 

They ate in silence. Denise watched them carefully. 
They didn't look up once for 10 minutes. 

"Look! My nipples are hard," Denise finally said, 
nonchalantly breaking the silence. "What causes that, I 
wonder?" he said, throwing his shoulders back to 
emphasize his bust. His parents looked up for a moment 
and then down immediately at their plates. He toyed 
with a strand of spaghetti for a long moment and then 
said, "Look, I'm a girl now. You'd better get used to 
it because I have." He got up suddenly and went back to 
his room. 

"What was that all about?" his father said. 

"I don't know," his mother said. 

"Maybe you'd better go see if he's... she's alright." 

"Why don't you. I think that little performance was for 
your benefit." 

"What do I say?" 

"Just accept her." 

"But she's so... whory." 

"Have you looked around lately? That's the way girls 
are these days." 

"It's hard to adjust to him that way." 

"Her. And you'll just have to try." 

He got up and walked slowly up the stairs. 

"Denise, uh sorry, Denise," he called out. When no 
response came, he tried the doorknob and finding it 
unlocked he opened the door a crack and poked his head 
in. Denise was sitting at his new vanity. The sweater 
and jeans were gone. He wore only a black brassiere, 
panties and heels. His hair was piled up on his head 
casually in Gibson girl splendor. He turned to look at 
his father. In his hand he held a mascara brush. "Hi, 
Daddy," he said with a coy smile. 

His father eyes dropped to Denise's expansive cleavage 
and he withdrew hastily. "Sorry, I thought you were..." 

"Dressed," Denise finished. "But, Daddy, I am." 

Hiding behind the door, his father grew purple with 
embarrassment and rage. 

"Listen, Daddy, I'm not what I was. Physically or any 
other way. I'm your little girl now with not so little 
breasts. And I'm pretty and I like it. So you better 
get used to me this way because I'm not changing back 
again." Slowly the door closed and Denise smiled into 
the mirror for a moment before resuming the brush 
strokes of his mascara. 

*** 

On Sunday Denise went over to Debbie's and the two 
spent the entire afternoon trying on clothes and making 
up. He was an avid student, absorbing as much 
information as he could about make up, clothes and 
hair. Debbie was surprised at the new lack of self-
consciousness about his femaleness. Though late in the 
afternoon, as Debbie fussed over his hair, he admitted 
that he was worried about school. 

"Why?" 

"Why? I left there six weeks ago as a boy and now I 
returning with this?" 

he said, pointing to the the frothy pile of curls atop 
his head. "And these," he said, cupping his breasts. 

"But everyone knows something happened to you." 

"They do?" 

"Well, yes. I mean, it was happening before you left, 
you know." 

"What are they saying about me?" 

Debbie stopped teasing his hair for a moment. Their 
eyes met in the mirror. 

"They're saying you're a girl now, a beautiful girl." 

"How do they know that though?" 

"I told them," Debbie blurted out. 

"What did you say?" 

"I said that your body had changed and that you and 
your parents decided it was best if you started 
wearing... girls' clothes for a while." 

Debbie's matter of factness made Denise blush. 

"And I said that you were really pretty." 

Denise sighed, his bosom heaving beneath his blouse. 
"Do you really think I'm pretty, Debbie?" 

"Shut up, big tits and let me finish your hair." 

"I hate that word." 

"What? Tits?" 

"Yes. Do you really think my breasts are big?" 

"Oh, you just want to hear me say it. Yes, of course 
they're big. 36 C cup is big, darling. The boys are 
going to love you." 

Denise looked up at the mirror. "No, they won't. 
They'll think, 'He's a boy who looks like a girl.'" 

"How long do you think that will last?" 

"Well, I'm not a complete girl, you know." 

"They won't be seeing that though, will they. And 
besides how will they know it's still there?" 

Denise smiled at his reflection. "It's kind of like 
being a spy. Like Mata Hari," he said, covering his 
face like a veil with a thick coil of brunette curls. 
Debbie casually recaptured them and resumed brushing. 

"At least you won't have to take P.E. anymore." 

*** 

The next day Denise and his parents met with the school 
counselor, Mr. Belson and the school nurse, Miss 
Ashley, to talk about "Denise's" return to school. 
Denise wore a long sleeve ribbed knit dress that 
revealed the contours of his new topography with such 
drama that Mr. Belson had trouble looking at the 
statuesque young tart without staring in awe. It 
pleased Denise no end to see that the slightest shifts 
in his posture reverberated throughout Mr. Belson's 
libido like tiny seismic disturbances. 

"Denise seems to be adjusting to her new role very 
well," Mr. Belson said, looking first at Denise's 
father who shifted uncomfortably in his seat and then 
at his mother who beamed with pride at her son's beauty 
and finally at Denise himself whose demure lips opened 
and seemed to Mr. Belson to mouth the words, "Fuck me." 
Belson turned crimson and then said, "Well, I guess 
that's it unless you have anything else, Miss Ashley." 

"I'm just wondering what bathroom Denise will use," 
Miss Ashley said matter-of-factly. 

"Well, I, uh," Belson stumbled. 

"Why can't he use the girls' bathroom?" Denise's mother 
asked impatiently. 

"She could but I'm afraid of what would happen if she 
was... 

indiscreet," Miss Ashley said, politely correcting his 
mother's slip. 

"Denise is a lady," his mother insisted. His father 
winced. 

"Well, I'm sure she is but some of the students know 
that Denise is not... completely feminine. I would hate 
to put her in an awkward position." 

"Why don't we try it for a while and see how it goes," 
Mr. Belson intervened. 

Miss Ashley sighed and retreated. The meeting was over. 

That night Denise stared at the ceiling and thought 
about Mr. Belson. "How nervous he was. He couldn't take 
his eyes off my breasts. I controlled him just by 
touching my hair or shifting in my chair. These are 
powerful," he thought to himself as he cupped his heavy 
bosom in his hands. He decided to experiment more with 
his new powers and when he appeared at the breakfast 
table in the morning, his clothes were even more 
provocative. He wore an ultratight v-neck red sweater 
and designer jeans which left nothing to the 
imagination. He hair was tied high up on his head and 
bounced merrily against his back in a thick spring-
loaded ponytail. His adorable bangs belied his 
tantalizing couture. He chose the brightest red 
lipstick he could find and his alabaster cheeks were 
brushed dramatically with pale rose blush. He was ready 
to turn heads. 

First class was English with Mr. Bostick. The usual 
preclass din was in full sway until he appeared in the 
doorway. Then the heads not only turned, jaws dropped 
and tongues fell out as the prettiest boy in school 
took his old seat. He waited for Mr. Bostick to make a 
speech about his return and it seemed as though that 
might have been the teacher's plan until he'd seen the 
statuesque boy's transformation. He was literally 
speechless before such a bewitching metamorphosis. 
Denise breathed a sigh of relief (an event followed by 
every male in the room) and felt secure in the 
knowledge that his imposing beauty had helped him 
escape an embarrassing situation. 

The rest of his classes followed a similar pattern. The 
few who weren't aware that he'd left school weeks 
earlier as a boy were soon apprised of the fact and 
turned to stare with undisguised wonder. He smiled 
politely at the girls and suggestively at the boys and 
basked in the reflected heat generated by his 
homecoming. No one talked to him between classes and he 
spoke to no one until he saw Debbie in the halls 
between classes. 

"How's it going?" 

"Not too bad, I guess. Everyone thinks I'm a martian 
but I don't care." 

"You're too beautiful. That's the problem. They can't 
believe someone with a set like yours was a boy a few 
weeks ago." 

Denise smiled. "Gotta go." 

"Bye." 

He walked down the corridor feeling the tightness of 
his sweater against his breasts, the swish of his pant 
legs and the clicking of his heels. He felt good. He 
felt alive. This feeling stopped abruptly when he 
pushed the heavy door into the girls' bathroom. A mangy 
quartet of tough girls fixing their hair and makeup 
turned to look at him. He smiled and went into a stall 
and shut the door. Like most stall doors the lock 
hadn't functioned in years and only gravity kept it 
shut. 

They girls resumed their conversation in stage 
whispers. 

"I don't think he looks that great." 

"His bra's gotta be padded." 

"I heard he still had his dick." 

"He's probably standing over the john right now." 

"Hey, leave the seat down, will ya?" Laughter. They 
moved to the front of his stall and began whispering in 
earnest. 

"Hey, Denise." 

"What?" 

"We want to see it." 

Silence. 

"Come on, Denise, we're all girls here right?" 

Denise tried to move his knee against the door but it 
was too late. As the door flew back he stood up hastily 
and made a futile effort to pull up his jeans. 

"Oh gross!" 

"It's huge!" 

Denise tried to cover himself but it was too late. He 
burst out crying and made the impromptu decision to 
cover his face rather than his privates. It was a bad 
decision. One of the girls had a polaroid camera and 
flashed a quick snap of the pretty girl and the 
unquestionably large remnant of her manhood. 

"You won't be so haughty after this gets around, Big 
Dick." 

"See if his tits are real," one of the girls said. 
Another girl responded by ripping Denise's sweater 
open, exposing his pert 36 C cup breasts bouncing in a 
lacy black brassiere. 

The camera whined again capturing the conundrum of 
Denise's body and her anguish at its rude exposure. 
Denise took his hands from his face to scream at his 
antagonists but that only served their interests better 
when a third picture was snapped that showed the pretty 
girl with the bouncing ponytail revealed, cock flopping 
and cleavage popping. 

This was the picture that went into wide circulation 
throughout the school the next day, reaching Mr. 
Belson's desk sometime in the late afternoon. It was a 
crude xerox of a xerox but Denise was still clearly 
recognizable. Curiously, his look of anger had mutated 
in the copy machine into cartoonish surprise giving the 
photo the look of a burlesque postcard, the kind where 
an airbrushed cutie loses her bathrobe to an obliging 
gust of wind. The fact that much more was revealed than 
a pair of white buns added a certain piquancy. What 
remained in the viewer's mind after the picture was 
gone was the magnitude of both his male and female 
attributes and, of course, his stunning face. 

***

The next day when Mr. Belson called Denise into his 
office he expected a somewhat chastened version of the 
vixen he'd met at the parent conference. He was 
surprised to find that Denise was unrepentant. He wore 
a scooped-neck leotard that exploited the fulsome 
beauty of his bust and a denim sheath skirt fit tightly 
around his derriere. He wore his hair down and it 
framed his face in soft waves of kittenish abandon. 
There was nothing about him that suggested he had a 
secret surprise in his panties or that the humiliating 
events of the past two days had daunted his hussy 
image. 

"You don't seem bothered by this, Denise," he said, 
holding the picture up. 

"I am but I can't let it show or it will only get 
worse." 

"So you hide your true feelings." 

"I suppose." 

"Is that wise?" 

Denise looked into his eyes. "Mr. Belson, I know I'm a 
girl now. I have breasts and a girl's figure. I also 
happen to have a penis. Now everyone knows it. It's not 
a big deal." 

Belson stared in awe at the lovely boy/girl's 
insouciance. Then he looked down at the key in his hand 
and said, "Well, I don't think it's wise to use the 
girls' bathrooms anymore. I'm going to give you the key 
to the faculty bathroom. Do me and yourself a favor and 
keep the door locked from now on." 

Denise took the key and headed for the door. He turned 
round as he touched the doorknob and said "Don't worry 
about me, Mr. Belson. I know what I am." 

Yes, you're a slut, Belson thought as the pretty 
boy/girl left. 

The next few days were difficult ones for Denise as her 
notorious picture circulated throughout the whole 
school. Taunts of "Big Dick" and "Cock Girl" were 
whispered behind her back in the corridors and her old 
friends, including Debbie, were embarrassed to be seen 
with her. She didn't seem to mind much during school 
but at night, as she sat before her vanity, she would 
burst into tears when she scanned her lovely image in 
the mirror and saw her big cock resting peacefully 
beneath her tricot panties like a python in repose. 

Nevertheless she was determined not to back down and 
each day her provocative clothes reflected a "Take No 
Prisoners" attitude that did little to let the 
controversy around her subside. One day she arrived at 
first period English class in a bustier and short black 
skirt with a bolero jacket that mitigated her delicious 
cleavage but not by much. 

"Denise, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to go 
home and change," the principal had said after calling 
her into his office. 

"Why?" 

"I think that's fairly obvious," he said, 
uncomfortably. 

"Not to me." 

"You can't come to school dressed like Madonna and 
expect to get away with it." 

"You don't have to worry about the boys. Not one has 
even spoken to me since I've come back to school." 

"It's not just the boys, Denise. It's... everyone," he 
said, letting his own eyes drop for a moment to savor 
those milk white doves cupped in black underwired lace. 
"You're here to learn not to... parade around in your 
underwear." 

When his mother pulled up to take him home she feigned 
shock by his brazenness. "Denise, you've got to tone 
down. For goodness sake, you look like a whore," she 
said laughing but Denise could tell she took great 
pride in his "stop a train" figure. 

When they got home he changed into a tight black 
sweater. "That's better," she smiled. "Much more 
ladylike." In fact, it was even more tantalizing than 
the bustier but it didn't get him kicked out of school. 

*** 

Belson stood relieving himself in the faculty bathroom 
when the door lock clicked and the knob turned. He 
glanced over to see Denise closing the door behind her. 

"What are you doing in here?" he yelled. 

"Don't worry, I locked the door," she said, sidling up 
to him at the next urinal and unzipping her jeans. He 
looked straight ahead, his face a pinkish white as she 
made water next to him and the perfume of her hair 
filled his nostrils. 

"Am I embarrassing you, Mr. Belson?" she said huskily. 

He stood silently as she studied his face. He could 
feel her eyes shifting down to his cock, examining it. 
After what seemed like an eternity he finished, zipped 
up his pants and turned toward the exit. But Denise 
turned and stopped him. Her pink nailed fingers shook 
her big cock in his direction "Look at it, Mr. Belson. 
I know you've wanted it since that first meeting. 

Go ahead. It's not a snake. It won't bite." 

"Get out of my way, you little slut." 

"Look at it," she screamed. 

He glanced down. 

"That's it. Not so hard, was it? But it could be. Here, 
touch it." She reached out and grabbed his hand and 
placed it on the large tube of flesh. His hand curled 
around it like a tendril on a vine. 

He looked at her. She was never more captivating. The 
soft brunette hair that framed her face, the thick 
bangs that fell just above her wide eyes, the lovely 
innocence of her white skin belied the power of her 
spell, the cruel womanliness of her demands. She was 
irresistible. A wave of yielding weakness passed 
through him with a visible tremor and pulling her thick 
root like a handle, he drew her close and kissed her 
lips. 

As they kissed, she unzipped his pants and her hand 
slid through the opening to retrieve his cock. It was 
hard. She was not surprised. 

She pulled back and smiled at him. "Do you want me?" 
she asked, in a husky babydoll whisper. 

He said nothing but buried his head in her thick hair 
till he reached her neck and let his tongue answer with 
a long kiss that made its way from her neck to her 
mouth. 

"Suck me, baby," she said. 

Now he pulled back and looked at her with faint 
apprehension. "You do what I tell you, baby," she said, 
in a soothing maternal voice. 

He sank to his knees and looked up at her in helpless 
supplication. She smiled down at him and hoisted her 
tube top and bra up over her breasts, letting them sway 
above him like dark shadows. She smiled again. "Go 
ahead, baby." 

She guided her big cock to his mouth and drew it across 
his lips a few times before they opened and opened and 
opened and soon it was glistening and gliding, in and 
out across his tongue, down his throat, over his lips 
and back, swelling with each stroke until it threatened 
to choke him. 

As he fell into the rhythm of the trancelike motion, 
Denise turned toward the mirror and studied this 
strange tableau vivant. Her body now arched over the 
supplicant, hands against the tiled wall, breasts 
spiraling over him like heavy fruit and he below, 
shaking the tree by its thick trunk with drunken 
abandon. The thrust of her round, white buttocks; the 
dark, shimmering hair falling around her head, shaking 
with each lunge; the pouting, mocking lips, the raw, 
redness of her glistening cock. Were these the devices 
that pumped the blood to her groin or was it Belson's 
unschooled lips, his untalented tongue? No, it was her 
and her alone. The juicy vision of her contradictions, 
the crucifying beauty of her womanly body and her red 
male member, the sweetness of her face and the cruelty 
of her desire, the mingling of innocent youth with 
ravenous lust. The puppet Belson. She smiled at the 
ease with which she pulled his strings and her 
triumphant smile unexpectedly brought forth the 
streaming, white gism that flowed out the sides of his 
mouth and spurted into his damp hair and fell to the 
tiles in clotted, milky drops. 

Before the last spunk was spilled Denise pulled away 
from Belson to face the mirror and grasping her cock 
with both hands, she took aim at her own deliciously 
bawdy image. A final shot, issuing from deep within 
her groin, arced and hit the mirror, clouding the 
reflection of her face with hot, white cum. 

END

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 49