"They think that what's between their legs is so fucking special and so fucking precious."

"Yeah. They think the same of themselves."

"They don't give a fuck that we're suffering."

"That's the problem. They don't give a fuck, period."

"Eww. I wouldn't want a fuck if she was having a period," I said, wrinkling up my nose. The guys laughed.

"Actually they enjoy making guys suffer," observed Bernie. "That's the nature of the female." We all nodded. Bern was the intellectual in our gang. "They enjoy holding out. All women are cockteasers by nature."

"So why are they so reluctant to fuck anyway?" Hunter asked.

"It's not girlish."

"They're stupid," suggested Chuck. If there was an authority on stupid it would be Chuck.

"They're just plain selfish."

"Yeah, always just thinking of themselves."

"They're afraid they'll get pregnant," observed Bernie.

"That's dumb. Fuck, there's a pill to prevent that."

"Like I said, they're dumb," repeated Chuck. Like I said, Chuck wasn't the brightest bulb in our neighbourhood himself. He was the fattest.

"Who knows how girls think?"

"Girls can think?" I asked and the guys laughed again.

"It sucks."

"Girls around here sure don't."

"I heard Carson got a blow job from Cindy, Saturday."

"Carson's a braggart. I wouldn't believe a word he said."

"Well, if I was a girl and a guy promised not to talk I wouldn't hesitate giving him a blow job. In fact if I was a girl and a guy treated me decently I'd put out with him, willingly," I said.

"You wouldn't be scared you'd get knocked up?"

"That's just a lame excuse. Like I said, there's a pill to prevent that. And if I wasn't on the pill I'd make the guy wear a safe, or pull out."

"Pull out and spray your body with his jizz I bet, just like you like to spray your body with your own jizz when you jerk off now," joked Hunter.

I looked at him in surprise and he went white when he realized he'd just revealed a secret he'd sworn to never reveal. One day when we were jerking off together, I'd mentioned that one of my jo fantasies was to cum all over a girl's tits, and I confessed that once, just once, I'd cum all over my stomach.

"Yeah? Well we won't mention who you fantasize about when you whack off, motherfucker."

"And there's other ways to put out," observed Bern, trying to change the subject before a fight started, like he always did. "Like taking it up the ass, giving blow jobs, hand jobs, lots of choices if they don't wanna fuck."

"Right. The whole point is getting a guy off," I observed, glaring at Hunter.

"Yeah, well, if you were a girl I wouldn't make out with you with that ugly face," Hunter said with a grin.

"I would," observed Chucky. "It's not a girl's face I'm interested in." We all laughed.

"Yeah. Put a bag over their head and all women look the same," I observed. I remember my dad saying that to his buddies during some drunk session. The guys laughed, just like my dad's buddies had.

"Screw it, I'm so horny I wouldn't give a damn what a broad's face looked like," Chuck observed.

"Me too. All this talk about fucking is making me nucking futs," Hunter said, grabbing his crotch.

"You were nuckin futs before we even started talking," I observed, dodging his fist.

"Well, we can't do much about it."

"We could buy them flowers or candy," observed Chuck. "That always works for my dad when he wants a piece of tail from my mom."

"Mine too," said Hunter.

"Your dad buys Chucky's mom flowers and candy for a piece of tail?" I asked, pretending shock. The guys laughed and I dodged Hunter's punch.

"You know what they say, candy is dandy but liquor is quicker."

"Or give them a dose of Spanish Fly."

"Yeah, get them so horny they'll fuck a door knob."

"Oh yeah!"

"Fair turn around. They don't think twice about loading a guy up with Salt Peter so he's as limp as a noodle."

"Yeah. My brother said it took two months for him to get a boner after coming back from Scout Jamboree."

"There's a drug that knocks them out and you can do what you want. They can't resist and in the morning they can't remember. Date rape drug they call it."

"Yeah, GHB," Berne said.

"I heard my brother and his friends talk about it," Chuck contributed. "Just slip it in their drink, knock them out, and knock them up and they'll never know they'd even done it."

"Your brother would need something like that if he ever hopes to make out."

"What you mean by that?"

"Com'on, face it Chuckie. Your brother is no catch, unless you're hunting whales. Whales with double chins."

"So he's a few pounds overweight. It runs in the family. Not everyone can be an athletic hunk like your brother, Hunter."

"Some can," Hunter said, flexing his muscles. "It runs in the family."

"Fuck you."

"Try it and you'll be picking your teeth up off the floor. Or your balls."

"That sort of takes the fun out of doing it, if they're unconscious, doesn't it?" Bernie asked, stepping in to avoid a confrontation. Like I said he always does when the guys went too far in their kidding.

"Who the fuck cares?" I asked. "Girls don't like it anyway so knocking them out first is doing them a favour actually."

"Knocking them out before you kiss them is doing them a bigger favour," observed Hunter and everyone laughed. He dodged my punch.

"Conscious or unconscious, who gives a fuck how a woman feels or if she wants it. I sure don't give a fuck. The only reason God made females was to have babies, and there is only one way to do that! I've had enough beating my meat. I want cunt! I need cunt, fucking now, and the fucking bitches — ."

"Stacey Mason!"

Oh God! It was my mother. How long had she been listening? How much had she heard?

"What sort of thing is that to say about girls? And where did you pick up that language?"

Evidently too long and too much.

"You're grounded young man, for the rest of the day."

"Grounded? For using a few swears? Everyone swears. Bern swears. You swear."

"That's enough Stacey."

"What makes one word acceptable and another not? They're just words. Who the fuck decides–."

"Watch your language!"

"Sorry. Whom the fuck–."

"Stace! Make that grounded for the weekend, smartass!"

"A, a, a-."

"All of you, out, now!"

The guys fled, like the proverbial bats out of hell, whatever that meant. I was in hell. In deep. I've seen my mother mad, but never this mad. She had to be having a period. I kept my mouth shut.

***

Stace went storming and stomping off to his room. At least he had the sense to keep his foul mouth closed. He had always been difficult and rebellious, but since reaching puberty even more so, and lately he has been impossible. That he used such language came as no surprise considering the language in the music they listen to and the language in the movies they watch, not to mention the language his father used. In fact, since his voice changed to what he calls his "man" voice, he sounds just like my ex. If I hadn't been looking right at him through the crack in the door I would have sworn it was Michael in the family room. That I think is what bothered me the most, how he sounded like my ex and was as vulgar as he was. Even worse was his attitude–Michael right down to a T. My ex felt there was only one purpose for my existence, to wait on him, to wash his socks and underwear, cook his meals, and satisfy his sexual needs. God created woman for two reasons, to have babies and to serve man, and it was man's duty to make sure she did both. Stacey had his father's attitude down pat.

The more I thought about it the angrier I got, with my ex, with Stace, with the entire male segment of our race. What Stace needed was not just a grounding. He needed an attitude adjustment, a complete one. If he could only spend a day as a woman he'd be singing a different tune. Let him see how it feels doubled over with monthly cramps, or with an aching back from packing a pair of breasts around all day. Then he'd see why we think we and our vulva are so special and precious. Let him walk in my shoes. Let him see what it is like to walk down the street and have men whistling at him and ogling his breasts, their tongues hanging out, thinking only of sex and their own sixty seconds of pleasure! Let him spend a day–no, a week–as a woman and we'd see a change in attitude!

I was so fuming mad my heart was racing and I was getting a headache. I had to get a break from him. Looking after a hormone-driven fourteen-year-old boy twenty-four seven was more than any mother should have to bear. Ever since my ex walked out on me for a woman half his age with a mentality to match, I've had to be mother and father to his kid. I had to get out of the house. I had to shop for groceries–another female chore — anyway.

It took two hours but I finally calmed down. It was a good thing I'd gotten out of the house. I had been ready to murder the little shit after hearing their teen boy bravado and vulgarity. Well, cut off his nuts anyway. Now that would produce an attitude adjustment! I was starting to get worked up again. I needed to treat myself. I hadn't bought anything for myself for ages. I headed for Nordstrom. Might as well be something expensive. An hour later, I emerged from the store with a new blouse. Actually, just looking had done me wonders. Making a purchase was a real treat.

As I turned to head to the parking lot, I spotted the store. The Pleasure Chest. Adult and Magic Entertainment. It was a small shop, squeezed in between two larger ones, Sears and JC Penney. The windows were draped–such stores were not allowed to display their wares. In fact, they were not normally allowed in shopping centres. I suppose it was the inclusion of magic supplies that allowed them to set up shop in the mall instead of in the sleazy part of town with the porn book stores, cannabis shops and brothels. Smart marketing. I considered protesting, and then considered checking it out first to see if they had a magic wand which would change Stace and his buddies into females for a day. Or perhaps a magic powder.

That reminded me of the comments the boys had made about saltpeter. That was not the first time I had heard of such a thing. My brothers and their friends had talked about how they mixed it with mashed potatoes at Boy Scout jamborees and summer camps to curb their desires and how they knew it was true because they could taste the salt. Not the same as turning them into girls but maybe cutting off their urges for a prolonged period would change their attitudes. I headed for the shop. If such a thing really existed, Stace and his buddies were going to be treated to a heaped serving of the saltiest fries they ever ate. The shop was dimly lit and cramped, the aisles narrow and the shelves cluttered, much as I had expected. The clerk who approached me was not. Old, dishevelled, and bent almost in half, but a woman, not a man.

"And how might I help you today?" she asked my belly, which was about level with her eyes.

"Saltpeter," I croaked, my throat suddenly dry. "Do you sell such a thing?" I asked with embarrassment.

"Oh, of course. A big seller, especially in these parts. This way." The shelves we passed were stacked with bags of all shapes and sizes, and she reeled off their contents as she surveyed them. "Mint tea, green tea, ground beetle, powdered locust, sleeping powder, itching powder, Peruvian aphrodisiac, Spanish fly, Epsom salts, ginseng, cinnamon, ah, here we are, salt peter. How many bags would you be wanting?"

"They look rather huge."

"Twenty, fifty and hundred pound sacks."

"So huge."

"Sell them to Church groups and summer camps mostly. Takes a lot of powder to tone down a bunch of horny toad boys. A 20 pound sack will be good for 2 weeks for a 14 year old. Multiply that by a hundred boys. I'd recommend the fifty-pound sack if you want him to have the sex drive of a eunuch or of a Mother Superior."

"Actually what I want is for him to become a Mother Superior, even if just for a day." She looked at me curiously. "I want him to know what it is like to be a woman. I want him to know what I have to go through, know how I feel, know what I think. Let him see what it is like to have monthly cramps, to see what it is like to walk down the street and have men you don't even know whistle and ogle your breasts. I want him to walk in my shoes."

"And wear your panties?" she said with a leer. "You want your man to be a woman, to think like a woman, have sex as a woman." I began to open my mouth but she continued. "Don't be embarrassed, dear. A lot of women have fantasies of making out with their man as a woman. Teaching him how to be a lesbian as hot for their crotch as he is now as a man."

"That's not exactly — "

"Yes. You look like a woman who would prefer another woman between her legs rather than a man."

"What?" Now she was getting me angry. "This saltpeter is the real thing. It really works?"

"Oh yes. Guaranteed. Will have your man dead from the waist down, even if he is as horny as a teenage boy. If he's especially macho or juvenile-minded it might take a couple doses for him to stop thinking with his balls for just a day though. And it doesn't last. You'll have to keep up the dosage.

"I can't be coming in here every 2 weeks."

"You angry with your man because he's abusing himself?"

Stacey? He very well could be. From his comments he was, and not hiding the fact. Maybe I should take a fifty pound sack.

"There's other ways to stop your man from playing with himself, and more amusing." She continued talking as she shuffled down the aisle, pulling out merchandise and tossing it at me. "Mormon underwear, starched stiffer than great granny's girdle, restraining straps, handcuffs, fur-lined, replica old west, official state police, plain old-fashioned rope."

"I don't want him to stop, ah, masturbating. I want him to suffer for his attitude and behaviour."

"Ah, suffer. If it's into bondage that you are, I have a wide assortment of restraints, rubber bands, chains, silk scarves, straight jackets. If you're into S/M maybe I can interest you in our selection of whips? electric prods? C/B torture? We have some amusing c/b cages. Perhaps some urethral sounds?"

"No," I said emphatically. Most of what she said I had never heard of and had no idea what they would be used for or how. "I'm just looking for some way to stop him from wanting to follow his urges."

"Perhaps a chastity belt. I have all sizes, will fit boys, men, small horses," the hag cackled. "Your man a big man where it matters?"

Chastity belt? I never heard of such a thing for men. "You don't understand. I don't just want to prevent him from having sex, I want him to understand a woman's point of view. What I really want is to change his attitude and his behaviour, to have him see what it is like to walk in a girl's shoes. What I really want is to change him into a woman for a day or two so he can experience being a woman and thinking like a woman and to learn how to give a woman proper respect."

"Ah! I see. You want to change your man into a woman, not just his body, but his mind too. Give him the breasts of a woman and a feminine attitude between his ears to go along with them." She was off down the aisle again. The store was much larger than it appeared from the outside. "You should have said so in the beginning." I wanted to scream that I had done so. "I have just the thing you need. Triple A Transformation Custard. Walk this way." She hobbled on without looking behind to see if I was following. I was tempted to hobble like she was. "Let's see. Sleeping powder, sneezing powder, no, it's not powder, instant mix cement, moulding plaster, super gel, jelly, ah, here it is. Much more popular than you would imagine. Just one flavour though. You would think they could produce it in more than one in this day and age, but then why mess with something if it works as they say." She handed me the package, a plastic container stamped AAA.

"So what do I do, sprinkle it on his head? On his breakfast eggs? Perhaps between his legs? Rub it on his chest?"

"No, no, he has to eat it."

"There's not much here."

"Yes, but good magic comes in pinches, not bushels," she cackled, amused by her joke. "Small, but very powerful. Eat just two spoons of that and your man will have the budding breasts of a ten-year-old girl. A quarter cup and he'll have boobs teenage boys drool over, half a cup and he could pose for playboy, and if you want a pair you can play with — ."

"I don't want to play with them at all!" I shouted with irritation. Perhaps she was deaf besides feeble-minded. "I want him to become a female so he can see what it is like, to have breasts, and for him to have some respect, a change in attitude — ."

"Ah, yes an attitude adjustment. This is just what you're looking for. Will have to eat a bit more than a couple spoonful's to do that, mind you. Remoulding the body is one thing, flesh is soft and pliable. Even young flesh. Changing the mind is much more difficult, especially the male mind. Stubborn they are, men. Two spoons and he'll be looking for a training bra but he'll still have the mind of a man. A quarter cup and he'll have a nice rack, but he'll still be thinking like a hormone-driven teenage boy, especially if he's a macho, hairy- backed single-minded Neanderthal, which I suspect is the type of man someone like you has hooked up with."

Someone like me? Now what did she mean by that? My blood pressure began to rise again. She was beginning to really piss me off. Even more than Stacey or my ex.

"Yes," she said to herself. "Will probably have to eat half a cup, but when it does kick in you'll be very pleased. He'll not only look like Miss July but he'll be all woman inside too, between his legs and between his ears. He'll be proud to show off his breasts to men who would appreciate them, but protective of them too, and of his muff, and thankful and proud he's a woman. And he will be a woman inside, all sugar and spice and everything nice, sweet, gentle, mothering, empathetic, everything the male sex is not. Now eat the whole cup–superwoman, boobs like watermelons, strong-minded and strong-willed, a modern-day feminist and a total butch–."

"You called it triple A," I interrupted before she got into that again.

"Ah, yes, anatomy, attitude, and age transformation."

"Age. Like the Fountain of Youth," I observed sceptically.

"Oh much more than that. Much more. Works both ways, makes your man older or younger, whichever you wish, a little girl you can raise and mother, or an ugly old hag a man wouldn't want even with a bag over — ."

"That I don — ."

"I did mention the custard works on both sexes?" She didn't wait for my answer. "Can change you into a man, a muscular, mature man your age, a strapping young beach boy college girls dream of, perhaps a randy teenage boy toy to keep a woman wet all night. And the more you eat the more masculine your traits. You want a broad chest and bulging biceps, a bubble butt, a salami between your legs with eggs to match, the more you eat the more manly you will be. Same with your mind, though the female mind is not as resistant to transformation as the male mind is. Want the body of a man but the mind and attitude of a woman, a quarter cup is plenty to change your body and I suspect a strong-willed woman like you will still think and have the attitude of a woman. Want to be a man all the way, body and mind? I know a few lesbians wh — ."

"You were talking about age transformation?" I was beginning to wonder if the old hag had designs on my body.

"Ah yes, a very different feature. Nothing to do with the amount you consume as you might think. Caffeine."

"Caffeine?"

"Right. It activates the restorative powers in the custard. The more caffeine your man drinks while he's eating his custard, the younger he will become. Coffee or tea, the stronger the better, coke, chocolate milk, anything with caffeine. Change him into a little girl, a teenage cheerleader, drink some yourself and change yourself into a stud half your age, anther cup of coffee and turn yourself into a teenage boy toy that can't get enough of your best friend's muff–."

"I'm not — ."

"Citrus does the opposite," she continued. She was on a roll again. "Puts on the years. Serve your man a glass of lemonade with his pudding and your man will be me, looks and attitude," she said with a toothless grin.

"How much?"

"The more the lemons, or the stronger the lemonade — ."

"No. I mean how much for the custard?"

"Ah!" she said with a wider grin. "Only two ninety-nine."

It was a bunch of nonsense but I had had enough of her prattle. Besides, it was an amusing fantasy. I could imagine the look of horror on Stace's face when he finished up his cup of custard and I told him what was going to happen to him. That would be worth the two ninety-nine even if it didn't work and was all a hoax. No coke for him that night though. I had my share of breast feeding and changing diapers. No, I wanted him a girl his age, in body and mind. I inserted my credit card and she punched in the sale.

"Ah, you punched in the wrong price."

"Oh no, the extra fourteen ninety-five is sales tax."

Two hundred and ninety-nine dollars? Plus tax? Well what the hell. Stacey had gotten me mad. I had no delusion that the custard actually worked, but the look on Stacey's face alone when I told him what the custard he had just eaten was going to do to him would be worth every penny of it.

"Be careful. This is very powerful magic. And it is irreversible. You won't be able to change your man back."

"I won't be wanting to." Even if it worked. If it worked I just might go back for three more custard cups and feed them to Stacey's friends. It would be worth the two ninety-nine each.

Of course, it wasn't going to do something as ridiculous as change Stacey into a girl in body and mind and after the prank I still had a problem. I thought about that as I drove home and prepared supper. Maybe I should tape their conversation and threaten to play it for their mothers unless they changed their attitudes. That should scare the little shits. I should have checked if the old hag sold hypnosis books. Shop like that probably did. If a hypnotist can get a mature person to cluck like a chicken, I should be able to get Stacey and his friends to act and think like girls. I could get them to wear girl's clothes for a while and photograph them and blackmail them, tell them I'll show their friends the tape if they didn't change their attitude.

"Mom?"

"Huh?"

"Where were you, la-la land? I asked where you got the custard."

"Oh, the store. Why?"

"It has a funny taste."

"It's called vanilla. That's the only flavour they had."

"No, I don't mean that. It's just, I dunno, just tastes funny." He had already scarfed down five spoonfuls.

"You're just not used to plain vanilla. Now, eat it up. I bought it special just for you."

"Special? For me? Why?" Stacey asked suspiciously.

"For getting angry with you earlier, in front of your friends."

"You're having a change of mind?" he asked, taking another couple of spoonfuls.

If he only knew what sort of change I was hoping for. I studied him closely. He was good-looking boy, handsome, long, thick, curly blond hair, longer than most boys wear today. He'd make a beautiful girl.

"You didn't buy one for yourself?"

"No, it's your treat. Besides, I bought something for myself. A beautiful blouse, a silk Johnny Was butterfly print. Would you like to see it?" That was something a girl would like doing with her mother.

He hesitated. "Not right now." He hesitated! Normally he and his father would have given me an incredulous look of disbelief, or wrinkled up their nose. Maybe it was working! I glanced at his chest. Was it bulging out a bit? Or was his shirt just bunched up? "Maybe later, I'm not feeling well. Sort of dizzy. I'm going to go lie down."

"Finish off the custard."

"You finish it. I think maybe it's the custard that's making me dizzy."

Pushing it across the table to me, he got up and headed to his room, leaving his dirty dishes where they were. Typical, just like his father. Cook his meal, serve it, wash the dishes and put them away. Can't even carry the dirty dishes to the sink. Can't even scrape the scraps into the garbage. I looked at the custard cup. He'd eaten over a third. There was a time when he licked the spoon and bowl clean and thanked me. Oh for those days again. I scooped up a spoonful. It did have a strange taste. I washed it down with a gulp of coffee. There was something the old hag had said about coffee. Don't recall what. Didn't matter. The stuff evidently didn't work. I took another spoonful. I was used to finishing up the scraps he and his father left. Waste not want not. Besides, at fifteen bucks a spoon I wasn't going to throw it in the garbage. I poured myself another cup of strong coffee and had another couple spoons. It wasn't so much the taste as the consistency. You'd expect at over three hundred dollars a cup it would have a smooth, creamy taste. This was grainy. Really grainy. I took another three spoonful's, dumped the last third in the garbage, and poured another coffee.

***

When I woke up, the sun was streaming in through the window. Fuck, I must have really been tired. It had to be that fucking custard Mom had bought. It had to be mid-morning. I could feel the sweat trickling down the side of my face and along my ribs and between my breasts, from the sun or because I was running a fever, I don't know. Could be that custard. I wasn't under the blankets. Wait a moment. What was that about sweat? I groggily glanced down. I'd put on my pyjamas. Don't remember doing that. I hadn't buttoned them up. I had a nice set of boobs. What the fuck? I stared at them half asleep. I squeezed them. They were real, bigger than fat Angelina's, but smooth and firm like Jeanette's, the only boobs I'd ever been able to grope, and that only for a few seconds.

"Mom! Maaawmmm!" My pj bottoms felt tight. I glanced down. The fabric was stretched taut. There were no bulges where there should be bulges. I don't recall my hips being so wide. If I had boobs … that was crazy. I slowly raised my pyjamas bottoms as best I could. "Maaaaaaa! Maaaaa!"

***

I rolled over. It was late. The sun was already shining through the window. I must have slept in. Well, yesterday had been a stressful day. I had to have been more tired than I had thought.

"Mom!!!! Maaaammmmmm!"

Now what? Breakfast wasn't on the table, poor starving boy? Heaven forbid he might get out of bed and get the cereal out of the cupboard himself. "Mom!!! Mom!" His voice sounded scared. Urgent. Panicky. And it was an octave higher than usual, higher than before he started getting what he called his man voice. I crawled out of bed and shuffled off to his room. He was sitting up in his bed. He'd changed into his pyjamas at some point last night. He hadn't buttoned them up and didn't cover himself when I came into the room, openly revealing his breasts. They were a nice size. On the large side actually, and pert and firm. I shook my head and blinked and focussed. Yes, a nice size, the breasts of a well-developed sixteen-year-old girl, very well-developed.

"Mom?"

The expression on his face was worried, frightened, and very puzzled. And his voice was definitely a higher octave than it had ever been. A female voice. If he had breasts, then … I glanced down at his crotch. He had his pj's pulled up but the bottoms were stretched tight. That slim waist and those narrow hips I had envied were gone. I looked up into his horrified eyes. That wasn't all that was gone apparently from his look of disbelief and despair.

It had worked! It had actually worked. Even better than I could have imagined or hoped. He looked exactly like a stacked teenage girl, the type of girl he and his buddies had wet dreams about. My God, what had I done? I could not take my eyes away from his. They were filled with confusion and bewilderment, and fear and angst. How could I have done this to my own child, my own son? He was speechless. So was I. He pulled open his pj top and stared at his breasts and then at me. He was a beautiful, perfect girl. A complete change.

"What the fuck has happened to me?"

Well, not completely. He was a girl in appearance and his voice had changed, but his language and attitude hadn't. His tone pissed me.

"What's the matter? Don't you like being a girl? Yesterday you thought breasts like you have now were gorgeous. Playthings." Insensitive yes, but his vulgarity and attitude were irritating, that and the fact that he was speaking to his mother didn't matter to him. He looked up at me self-righteously in disbelief that I wasn't concerned, or at least sympathetic, which made me angrier. "From your behaviour and comments yesterday this serves you right. Let's see how you like being a girl for a day. Maybe we should invite your buddies over and you can show off your new body. Let's see how you like their leers and their comments. Then maybe you'll understand why a girl considers her breasts and what is between her legs so special and precious. Will serve you right. I warned you."

"You did this?" he asked, looking at his body and spreading his arms as he looked back up at me.

The horror and realization in his eyes was delightful. He wasn't so smug now. I turned and went into the kitchen, took out the cereal and juice, began perking some coffee. I thought about his tone and comments yesterday. Yes, let him spend the day as a girl. I wondered when he'd begin menstruating. Today I hoped. Now that would make him appreciate what a woman went through! Of course, with his attitude maybe he'd have to spend more than just one day. That would be fine. He arrived in the kitchen and sat down. He hadn't been able to button the top two buttons of his shirt, and he walked as if his jeans were pinching his crotch. They probably were. He sat down glumly and stared at the bowl.

"Perk up. After you eat we'll go down town and buy you a nice blouse, and wider jeans. Maybe a nice dress…."

"This is no fucking joke!" he snapped.

I hadn't meant it as a joke. I was trying to be helpful, and positive. They'd be more comfortable. Besides, I figured maybe if he dressed the part his attitude would improve. Snapping at me wasn't helping. And I was as surprised and as puzzled as he was. "I warned you about your language, young man. Or I suppose I should start saying young woman."

Just what was he anyway? Things were not quite right. He had the body of a sixteen-year-old girl, a very physically mature sixteen-year-old girl, but his mind and attitude were still of a vulgar fourteen-year-old boy. A girl did not speak and act like he was. What had the old hag said about the male mind? Not as easily changed as the male body. He evidently needed a few more spoons of custard for that. I should have left some for today, but who really believed it would work? "If you aren't going to have breakfast you might as well go back to your room and think about what has happened to your body, and what I said about respecting women and understanding why they think their bodies are precious, now that you have the body of one. You're grounded for the day anyway, remember? For the weekend actually."

I considered fishing the used container out of the garbage, or going down to the shop and buying a second cup of custard and finishing the job, but he'd never willingly eat another spoonful either way, and there was no way I could disguise it, mix it with his mashed potatoes or whatever. It did have a distinct taste. Anyway, seeing what it had done to his body, I was a little frightened what more it might do to his mind. Besides, my initial idea had been that if he experienced what it was like to have a girl's body that would be enough to change his attitude. I'd best give that a chance first. We avoided each other for the rest of the day.

The next morning his period started. He had no idea what was going on and it scared the hell out of him. He thought maybe he had done something and accidentally caused the bleeding. I had the good sense not to ask what he had been doing to make him think that. He was having a particularly difficult period. We sat and talked, about menstruation, maidenheads, ovaries and uteri, and birth control. I showed him a tampon and explained how to use it and gave him a pack of mine and promised I would buy him a supply of his own tomorrow. It was a long mother-daughter talk. I gave him an extra strength Tylenol. I asked if what he had between his legs was so special now. I could not help it. He slammed his fist on the table and stormed off to his room.

I began supper. As I thought about the situation I realized we were going to have a problem. He was going to have difficulty hiding his condition at school Monday, and he couldn't very well attend gym class. His friends called that night but he wouldn't take their calls. They were going to be another problem. The next morning Stacey came downstairs meekly and said he was sorry for his behaviour and would do anything to turn the clock back. He apologized for his language, said he had a new respect for girls, begged me to reverse what I had done.

His mind was still a boy's, but his attitude had changed, and that was what I had wanted all along. We couldn't very well go through the rest of our lives with him as a girl. Actually I had not thought my punishment through, and was beginning to feel guilty. I headed for the shop during my lunch hour the next day. It was not there, and the clerks in the neighbouring stores claimed it never was. The clerk in the flower shop that had taken its place said the flower shop had been there at least ten years. I fretted the whole drive home. Stace was waiting for me.

"Well?"

"The store's gone. It's not there."

"What the fuck do you mean it's not there?"

"I mean it is not where it was. Everyone I talked to claims it never existed."

"That's impossible! You've fucking forgotten the address!"

"Hardly," I replied sharply. He was beginning to get me angry again. I was on the edge of panic myself.

"You didn't even fucking look! You don't fucking care. You — ."

"Stacey, enough! I've warned you about your language! Calm down. For the last — ."

"Fuck my fucking language. This is serious." He–she spread her arms and looked at me plaintively. I opened my mouth to reply but he angrily spun around and stomped back to this room. He did not come down for supper, and in a way, I was glad.

I searched for the shop or one like it on the internet the rest of the evening and long into the night. The number of shops advertising sex toys is unbelievable. I took the day off the next day and contacted the mall management, who claimed the store Pleasure Chest never existed. I even walked the streets where you would find such a store, filthy streets filled with garbage and filthy people, drug addicts, whores, pimps, pushers, johns, perverts. Received several propositions. Sick, filthy, frightening. Nothing. I phoned the school and told them Stacey was sick, very sick. Told his buddies the same. Stacey pleaded with me to reverse his condition, said he was sorry, begged, swore he had changed his attitude toward females, swore he would never swear again. I believed he was sincere. His period passed. So did the week.

We were on edge, our nerves frayed and raw, our patience gone. We were desperate, angry, and frightened, both of us. As the days passed Stacey became more and more defiant and bitter, saying he hated me, asking if I hated men, that it was no wonder his dad had left me for a younger woman, one who wasn't an old, dried up prude. He forgot his promise not to use cuss words. I reminded him it was his fault in the first place, that it was his comments and attitude that had gotten him in this fix, and I said maybe I should tell his friends to come over and when he saw the way they looked at his body and the lust in their eyes he'd finally realize what I meant about treating women with respect and dignity. He retorted women were bimbos who had only one purpose and it was because I had forgotten that purpose that his father had left, and that respect worked both ways. His words hurt.

Friday Hunter Hawkins, his best buddy, phoned at the wrong time, and for the hundredth time. I told him Stacey was his old self again and to drop by tomorrow with his friends and see for himself. When I told Stacey he screamed a string of obscenities at me and stormed up to his room and slammed the door. I poured myself a cup of coffee and thought what I might do when Saturday arrived. I considered listening in on their conversation, or maybe taping his friends ogling him and showing their parents. His friends needed punishing for their attitude too. I had no idea how Stacey was going to handle this tomorrow and frankly I did not care. Respect works both ways indeed. Stacey had no idea what the word meant, just like his father. What was that about the apple not falling far from the tree? Midnight and I was fuming.

****

I tossed my bra across the room. I hated wearing the stupid fucking thing. Hooking the hooks behind my back was fucking frustrating. You'd think by now they'd have made bras easier for women to wear. They were probably designed by a woman to make it harder for men to take off. Tomorrow I should go without one to make it easier for the guys. My nipples itched as my shirt brushed against them. They wouldn't with a bra on. Even when I wore a blouse instead of a shirt they itched without a bra, like having two little dick heads on my chest. Fuck I missed my dick. I reached down inside the girl trousers and panties mum had bought me. Girl trousers didn't have a fly and were wider across the hips, much more comfortable. Panties were more comfortable too and I sure the fuck didn't need a fly anymore. I ran my fingers over my vulva–that's what mum called them — and my cunt lips–my labia — began to swell As my fingers brushed against my clit a shock of pleasure shot up my–fuck, my cunt. To hell with all the other fucking words. I touched it on purpose and my hips jerked. Fuck, I deserved some pleasure. I touched it again. I didn't have a maidenhead. Mom had figured I never had one, or it had broken in the transformation or something. Maybe I broke the fucking thing fingering myself.

Fucking transformation. I could not believe it had actually happened. I could not believe my bitch of a mother had done this to me, the fucking cunt. And now she's invited Hunter and the guys over. What the fuck was I going to do? I couldn't very well tell them my mum had turned me into a girl! What would they say? What would they think? What could I say? I know if I were them and I saw a girl who looked like me what I'd be thinking, what I'd be feeling, if I didn't know it was my best buddy I was looking at. What the fuck was I going to say knowing what they were thinking, what they were wanting! Thinking about the guys and their dinks made my labia swell and become firm. My cunt felt empty, like it needed to be stretched, from the inside. Was that how girls felt? I had no idea but I doubted it. If girls felt like that thinking about guys and their dicks they'd be putting out without even being asked. That had to be guy thoughts. How did a girl feel when she got horny? Did girls get horny? I'll have to ask my smart ass mother. She wanted me to be a girl, to know how a girl thought and felt. Fuck.

I twisted and turned most of the night worrying what was going to happen the next day. Surely my mother wasn't going to let the guys see me like this. You wouldn't think so, but she was pissed and when my mother got angry, she got even.

Just look what she'd done to me. So what was I going to do? Home school? Become a hermit? I could not hide forever. Morning came. I was exhausted, too exhausted to go downstairs. So I lay–lie?–whom the fuck cares — in my bed half asleep and tried to think of a solution. First thing I'll have to decide will be what to wear. Fuck, now I was thinking like a girl. That would be the first thing a girl would fuss about. I never gave a fuck what I wore as a guy. Well, a shirt. The largest and bulkiest I owned. Maybe I could hide my breasts and they wouldn't notice. My girl jeans of course. My guy jeans were too tight. Guys wouldn't notice the difference. And panties. My briefs were too uncomfortable.

The doorbell rang. Fuck, already? Where had the morning gone? I heard Hunter's voice. And Bernie and Chuck. I dived under the blankets. I've been sick after all.

"Hey Stace, what are you doing under the blankets?"

"Aren't you hot under there?"

"I've been sick."

"Man, we missed you."

"What the hell did you have?"

"Your mother said you were better."

"What sort of fucking game is this you're playing?"

"You hiding?"

"You break out in zits or something?"

"Stace?"

Hunter yanked off the blanket. The guys stood there gaping at me, their mouths wide open, their eyes bulging like they were stomped on frogs. I lay there on my back staring up at them.

"Those aren't zits."

Damn. The shirt I'd chosen was big, and the top buttons had unbuttoned. "Com'on. You've seen breasts before."

"They're beautiful."

"Beautiful and big."

"What the fuck happened?" Hunter asked my boobs.

"You get mumps or something?" Chuck asked them.

"It isn't a guy's chest that mumps cause to swell," Bernie observed.

Their eyes dropped, all three pair, simultaneously. At least my jeans hadn't slipped down though you could see the tops of my panties. Fuck! Why had I put on the pair with violets? They were staring. Oh fuck! "Guys. My head is up here."

They slowly looked up, their eyelids flickering as their eyes paused and then passed over my breasts.

"Stace?"

My face hadn't changed. "Yeah, that's my name, Stace," I said sarcastically.

"But, but," Hunter's eyes dropped again, as did the others.

"Up here, Hunter. The thing is … I'm not me. Him that is. I'm not him. He's my cousin. Yeah, that's it. I'm my cousin. Each other's cousin," I rambled thinking fast.

"Where's Stace?"

"He's visiting my aunt. Our aunt."

"Your aunt?"

"My mother's sister. And his mother's sister." Damn it is hard to keep things straight when you're making things up as you go along. "Our mothers are sisters and our aunt is their sister. That's it, they're three sisters."

"You're in his bed."

"Ah, yeah. While he's visiting our aunt I decided to come here for a visit and since he's gone my moth–his mother suggested I stay in his room."

"Oh. When we came over your mom–Stace's mom–said you, Stace that is, was in his room." Hunter was having as difficult a time figuring this out as I was making it up.

"Yeah. Well, we have the same name. She probably said Stace is in Stace's room or something like that."

"Ah, yeah," Hunter agreed, addressing my boobs. Oh fuck, I hadn't buttoned up. A real girl would have. It was distracting him from concentrating on what I was saying though, and that was a good thing. I think. Hunter was getting a very definite boner. I was getting horny knowing I was getting him horny. I had no idea if how I was feeling was how girls felt when they knew they were turning boys on, or if I was getting turned on because really I was a guy inside. That couldn't be! That meant I, a guy, was getting turned on because I was turning on another guy. I wasn't that sort of guy! This was fucking confusing. All the girls I know got pissed off when a guy started to get turned on by their body and started making moves. I wasn't pissed off at all. And I was getting horny too. Well, in a way. I couldn't pop a boner so it wasn't the same, but there were other things, other signs, like the way my tits were feeling. I casually let my shirt slip off my shoulders. I don't know why but I did. Bernie had said all women are cockteasers, and I was a woman. Looked like one at least. Anyway that caused a reaction! I knew how I'd be feeling and what I'd be thinking if I was a guy and a girl did that, and from the look on Hunter's face that was exactly how he was feeling and thinking! He hadn't made a move yet, but he would be.

That gave me a rush of power, being able to do that to a guy. Now that thought and feeling was definitely a girl thing. The type of guy that got a rush turning another guy on wasn't the type of guy I was. Or isn't now. Fucking for sure. That rush of power had to be why girls thought their bodies were so special. Their bodies were, being able to do that sort of thing. And that explained why girls are cockteasers. I inhaled deeply and the guys' eyes almost popped out. So that was how a girl felt being ogled. Yes, power. It was satisfying in a way, the power. There was a saying, girls having a guy wrapped around their little finger. Except it wasn't their finger that had the power. My vagina got that feeling again, like it was empty, like it needed to be stuffed, stretched. If that's how just being looked at made a girl feel, then how would a girl feel if ….

"Go ahead." There was only one way to find out.

"Huh?"

"Feel them."

"Feel them?" Hunter choked.

"You want to. You've seen them so you might as well find out how they feel." And I might as well find out how it felt for a girl when a guy did that. It would be useful information to have when I was a guy again. "Berne, keep an eye and an ear out for my mo–mother's sister."

"Your aunt went out for a while. She said to tell you. That she was going out, and would be gone awhile," Berne told my breasts, both of them. He and the guys were too distracted to realize I had called him by name. Fuck, I had to watch that.

So my mother had abandoned ship. Leaving me to handle the mess she'd gotten me in. Fucking typical. Well, she wanted me to find out how a girl felt and what she thought about being a sex object. Well, the fucking bitch was about to get her fucking wish. Why the fuck not? I'd never get another chance like this. And like I said, it would be valuable information for when I was a guy again. Inside information, you could say. Hunter sat beside me on the bed like I was a tarantula or a tiger or something. That was a hoot! He slowly reached out and cupped my right breast. That felt sort of exciting, intriguing, but no big deal. Leave it to girls to make a big fuss about nothing. He rubbed them gently, awkwardly. That was more intriguing. His hand brushed against my nipple sending a shock through it and my breast and causing me to jerk! Now we were on to something!

"Sorry. Did that hurt?

"No, not really. When you touched it, it tingled and burned like a dick–ens." I smiled at him. He leaned forward. Fuck no! Before I could stop him or dodge our lips met. Gross! My best friend had just kissed me. He kissed me again, more firmly, more urgently. I didn't like it, not one bit. As he leaned forward a third time I got that feeling of power and control again. I was really turning him on. That feeling had to be a girl thing. Power and control were the last thing on a guy's mind when he is kissing a girl. The whole point of kissing was to get a girl hot so a guy could move on to the pair of lips he really wanted. I knew exactly what was on Hunter's mind. I was really a guy after all. He wasn't a great kisser. He needed practice. He squeezed my tits and kissed me again. Well, I let him. To be honest I needed the practice too, and I'd never get this much practice once I was a guy again. I tried returning the kiss. It wasn't anything great but knowing Hunter was thinking of my other lips was hot. And that I was getting Hunter hot was even hotter. I was really turning him on!

It really wasn't that enjoyable though and when he stopped and kissed my cheek instead I didn't mind. Then my neck. That felt weird, tickled. Was that a girl reaction or just a natural one? Then he kissed my breast, one and then the other. I got that empty feeling between my legs again. If that was my girl body reacting or my boy mind or how a girl felt getting her tits kissed I had no idea. Hunter's lips moved on to my right nipple. He kissed it, once, twice, and then fastened his lips about it and sucked! Holy fucking shit! Having my swollen nipple touched had made my vagina ache. Having it sucked! My heart was pounding and I could feel my blood racing, throbbing between my legs. So that's what it felt like for a girl! That had to be a girl feeling. A guy couldn't feel that way. That I had to remember. Screw the lips, go straight for the nipple!

My hand dropped in Hunter's lap. Accident, or a girl response? It certainly was not a guy response! Not a normal guy. Hunter was rock hard and you could feel the heat pulsating through his jeans. That had to be hurting. That was a guy thought. I knew how he was feeling from experience. A girl couldn't know that sort of thing. I undid the clasp of his jeans and pulled down his fly. I began to slip my hands under the elastic band of his boxers to push them down when he eased his hips forward. I had his stiff dick in my hand. I wrapped my fingers about it. I hadn't planned that. It just all happened. Hunter and I had jerked off together a couple times, ourselves, not each other, never. We weren't those types of guys. I'd wondered then what it might feel like stroking another guy's dick. Wondering, curious, that was all. I didn't lust for it. I wasn't that sort of guy, and Hunter certainly wasn't. His pecker was hard and throbbing.

"Does it hurt when it is swollen like that?" Of course it did. I knew that. Why had I asked? Was that my girl mind? A girl would wonder that. I think. But I knew. So why had I asked? My body was a girl's. Was my mind becoming one? Fuck!

"Oh yeah," Hunter sighed. "Squeeze it."

I did. He inhaled and sighed louder. I knew it felt good. I had been a guy once. It felt good knowing I was making him feel good too. Now that had to be a girl feeling. Squeezing a guy's dick didn't make a guy feel good, not unless you were that sort of guy, and I sure the fuck wasn't! It was sort of a caring feeling, a mothering thing, not an 'I want sex thing'. Except no mother ever squeezed a fourteen-year-old boy's dick, soft or stiff. My mother had probably never squeezed her ex-husband's dick, soft or hard either. It was no wonder he had left her. It gave you a feeling of power too, holding a guy's dick, feeling its power and knowing you had power over it, knowing it was up to you to decide what was next.

Hunter began to push my jeans and panties down. Well, why not? I was holding his dick. He was my best buddy. Give him a thrill. That's what buddies did for each other. He slid down. I had spread my legs and he was kneeling between them. His dick was laying between my labia, like a wiener in a bun. My labia were wet, slippery wet. When had that happened? Hunter slid forward but he was too high to do what he was intending. His dickhead slipped along my slit and hit my clit, sending a shock up my vagina and I quickly drew back. He was still pushing forward, and his knob slipped in.

I was about to find out what a girl thought and how she felt getting fucked. Well, mom wanted me to know what being a girl was like, and how a girl felt. I was apprehensive. Who wouldn't be? A girl or a guy who had become a girl. Knowing what a girl thought and how she felt getting fucked would certainly help me be a better fucker when I was a guy again though. And I was doing a friend a favour. Hunter was not getting any, and wouldn't from our experience with girls. This would be his chance. He would be losing his virginity. To me. His buddy. That was wicked. Wicked hot. That was the girl me thinking that. I hope.

It was weird, feeling his cock inside me, feeling it moving up my vagina and having no control over its movement. Like someone sticking their finger up your nose. Except that was no finger. And it was not my nose. It was also stretching me, from the inside, satisfying that need I had felt earlier. Now that was a girl thought and feeling. That was something no guy could feel or think. Mostly though my main thought was the realization, I was fucking. Sure, I was on my back and not my knees, but all the same, I was fucking. Being fucked. For the first time ever. I was losing my virginity. To my best buddy. That was really wicked hot. I knew now exactly how a girl felt being fucked, having a guy's pecker pumping in and out of her, and what she was feeling, and thinking. Well, sort of. I was thinking guy thoughts too.

Hunter was thrusting his dick in and out of me fast. I had an idea why, and what he was thinking, and feeling. I know what I would be thinking and feeling at the moment if I was a guy. At least I figured I knew. I'd never done it before. My legs were cramped and uncomfortable being spread apart like that and I wished he'd get it done and over with, but I also wished he would slow down so I could enjoy the throbbing and burning between my legs more. Those had to be girl thoughts. Both of them. No guy could think things like that. Or feel like I was feeling. My labia were swollen and sticky wet, burning like my dickhead when it was rubbed. I felt tense, and was feeling tenser, like a guitar string being wound tighter and tighter.

And then Hunter was snorting and grunting and I realized he was filling me with his stuff. I could feel his pecker squirting his semen deep up my vagina. Definitely a girl feeling. I was disappointed. I had been getting hot but I was nowhere near how I felt when I was a guy having a climax. The reality was I was not having a climax too. That was a let-down, Hunter enjoying one and me not. Those had to be girl feelings and thoughts I was having. Knowing what it was like being a guy, I felt unfinished, incomplete, not having reached an orgasm myself. That was a guy thought, I think.

Then Berne was kneeling down between my legs. I hadn't noticed Hunter pulling out and getting up, or Bernie stepping forward to take his place. I was still trying to figure out if it was the girl Stacey who was disappointed or the guy Stacey. This was fucking confusing. I didn't even know what a girl orgasm felt like or what a girl was thinking when she had one. Well, I was getting a second chance to find to find out. And why the fuck shouldn't I? I didn't ask to be a girl, but since I was one, here was a chance to find out what it would be like.

Berne would be able to continue where Hunter had left off and bring me the pleasure Hunter had left me wanting. Me the girl. Eager for us to continue before I lost the level of pleasure Hunter had gotten me to, I reached down and wrapped my hand about Bernie's cock. It was shorter and more slender than Hunter's. I squirmed into position, guiding him into me and then he was pumping his hips to and fro and his pecker was sliding in and out of me. I squeezed my cunt about his dick, wanting it, wanting it desperately as I felt the pleasure level Hunter had brought me to returning. I squeezed my cunt tighter still, the pressure intensifying the pleasure of having Berne's cock rubbing between my labia. Was that what a girl would think while she was being fucked?

I concentrated on the pleasure. It continued to build, past the level I had felt with Hunter. I now felt an urgency to reach my climax before Berne finished though I had no idea what that might be like or even how to know if I was approaching one. I sort of had the feeling you have when you have a full bladder and are about to piss. For all I knew maybe I just had to piss. I had no idea what it would be like to have an orgasm as a woman, but I wanted it. I wanted it bad. The guitar wire was getting tighter and tighter, about to snap. And then it snapped, and I found out. It was sudden and like what I figured it would be like being jolted by an electric current between the legs, like one of those electric cow prods. It was like having your clit stroked with a wire brush. Those were girl thoughts. Or had I read that in a porn story online?

I bucked my hips like I was a bucking bronco, giving Berne the ride of his life. I gasped for breath and cried out with the stimulation, with the pleasure. My cunt was throbbing, hot and dripping, sticky wet, and then Berne was throbbing and squirting and I quivered with the weird sensation of a hot stream of semen spurting up my vagina. Fuck, it was awesome to be a woman. Was that a girl thought or a boy thought? Was there a difference? Fucking was awesome.

I was still in a mind-numbing daze when Chuck mounted me. He was wide and stretched my legs farther apart, uncomfortably wide. He was big too, his pecker that is, and I really discovered what it felt like having your cunt being stuffed and stretched. And he was fast. He no sooner had it in than he was squirting. I didn't mind. Well, not that much, though a second time would have been nice.

***

"Stace, I'm home!"

I had been gone four hours. The boys' bikes were still on the front lawn. Well, they'd had a lot to talk about. I'd considered slipping upstairs and listening in on their conversation but decided against it. Stace deserved his privacy. Besides, I was frightened what I might overhear. The three boys came clomping down moments later.

"Hi Mrs. Webber. Bye Mrs. Webber."

"Bye Stacey. See you tomorrow."

"Had a great time!"

"Yeah, really great!"

Tomorrow? Great time? They showed no surprise, no shock, no concern, no fear, nothing. How had Stace explained his breasts? What had been the boys' response? Their demeanour was not at all what I had expected. I heard the water running in the upstairs bathroom. I began supper. Stacey came down twenty minutes later. He was wearing a thicker, larger shirt, a guy's shirt, not one of the blouses I had bought him. He was wearing his new jeans, wider girl's jeans. He had combed his hair and washed his face. That was not typical behaviour. He was wearing perfume, a bit much. He was a beautiful girl. He sat at the table, saying nothing.

"How did it go?" I finally asked.

He shrugged.

"Is that what you wore to meet them?"

"Yeah."

"You put on perfume before they arrived?"

"Christ no!"

He was still the surly fourteen-year-old boy I had left this morning.

"They notice your breasts?"

"What do you think?" he asked, leaning back in the chair and spreading his arms as he stuck out his chest. Same attitude also.

"And?"

"I told them I wasn't me."

"What?"

"Told them I was my cousin Stacey, visiting while the guy Stacey they knew was visiting his aunt."

"Smart thinking." It was. I never considered doing that.

"So I found out what it was like being ogled. And how it felt as a girl."

"And how was it?"

"Uncomfortable. Embarrassing. Annoying. Had to keep reminding the goons my head was above my neck, not below it. They couldn't keep their eyes off my breasts and couldn't think of anything else. That was irritating." He paused.

I wanted to hear more but I said nothing. This had be to be awkward for him. The afternoon had to have been awkward.

"You were right. I see now how being looked at like just a piece of tail can irritate a girl. They only had one thing in mind." He paused. "But it was–what's the word–empowering realizing the power and control a girl has over a boy when he's horny."

There was that too. I avoided smiling. I hadn't considered the latter but at least I had achieved what I had wanted to, shown him how demeaning it was to be ogled.

"Found out how a girl feels and what she thinks when what happens next too." I looked at Stacey. "You know, when a guy gets horny and a girl and guy smooch." He/she smiled. Smug. Suggestive.

"You and one of the guys kissed?" I asked in surprise.

"Sure. I wanted to know how a girl felt and what she thought when a guy kissed her, you know, for later when I'm a guy again. And Hunter had no idea he wasn't kissing a real girl. You wanted me to know what a girl thought and felt."

"And?"

"It was okay but nothing great. Hunter's not that great a kisser. But what a couple does after that was better."

"After that?" He was dragging this out, teasing me, tormenting me.

"You know," he said with a smirk, "petting."

"You didn't!"

"Of course I did. We did. You wanted me to be a woman, to experience what she feels, what she thinks, so I took the opportunity. You know what Gramma always said, when life gives you lemons. 'Cept you gave me milk jugs."

"Stacey! Don't be coarse!"

"When do these things start making milk anyway? I bet it must feel great getting the milk sucked out of them. Did Dad ever — ?"

"No! And I wouldn't have let him even if he'd wanted to."

Stacey shrugged. "You must have petted though. How was it for you?"

"You tell me," I retorted, my temper rising. This was not how it was supposed to play out.

"Turned me on," he said with a smirk. "Got me hot, and wet," he added. "And it really turned Hunter on. His dick was hard as a rock. It felt like I was holding a crow bar, but thicker."

"You didn't …?"

"Sure I did. It's not like I'd never held a stiff dick in my hand. Or played with one. Just this time it wasn't my own. And Hunter really liked it, me holding it and stroking it, and me letting him play with me down — ."

"Stacey!"

He leered. He was enjoying this immensely. "I found out exactly how a girl felt and what she thought when a guy did that." He paused, waiting for a reaction. "Found out how a girl felt and what she thought when a girl and guy go further too."

"How much further?" I dared to ask.

"All the way," he said smugly.

"How could you!"

"It was easy. Really easy. All a girl has to do is lie there and spread her legs. It's the guy who has to do the work. Or is that lay there?"

"You … you … you and Hunter … you?"

"Did it? Yeah. And then me and Berne and me and Chucky. So you wanna know how I felt? What I was thinking while each of them was ramming — ."

"Stacey!"

"Wanna compare notes? You tell me how you felt and what you were thinking when Dad screwed you, and I'll tell you how I felt. You know, we can have a real girl-girl chat." He smiled. Getting even with me for what I had done to him. "Don't worry by the way. I took the pill yesterday just in case."

The look on the boys' faces and their behaviour supported what he was claiming. How could he? If he was really a girl he'd never have done it. "And they're coming back tomorrow?"

"Oh yeah. They're looking forward to it. And so am I." That grin again.

"They can't! You can't!"

"They can. I can. We've already done it, so it's no big deal. You wanted me to be a woman. Well, I was, all the way, all woman. And I will be tomorrow — "

"I'll phone their mothers. Tell them you're sick again."

"That won't matter. I'm not here remember? The guys think I'm my cousin."

"Then I'll tell them Cousin Stacey is sick. And you are. Very sick."

"You going to tell their mothers that their sons fucked me yesterday?"

"Stace! Don't be vulgar."

"Go ahead. Phone. It won't stop them from coming over. And you can't stop them when they get here either. Is supper about ready? I'm starving. Funny how laying on your back all afternoon works up an appetite. Didn't know fucking made a girl feel like that."

"Supper? You want supper? You want to be a woman. Make your own damn supper. And do the dishes when you are done. And tomorrow you can discover how a girl feels and what she thinks when she is doing the laundry. Then maybe later you can go shop for groceries. If you can take time away from spreading your legs for your buddies that is!"

I stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs and slammed the door of my bedroom. The nerve of the little shit. Make him supper. Just like his father. Satisfy his balls and his stomach and his ego. In that order. And make a joke about what he'd done on top of that. I threw myself on the bed. I didn't know whether to curse or cry. This was not how things were supposed to have gone. This was not what I had intended! Everything had gone wrong. The more I thought about it, the madder I got, at Stacey, at my ex, at me, at the crazy old woman at Pleasure Chest, the world. I heard Stacey's door close and I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Two hours had gone by. I wondered if he had finished cooking supper. Who cared? I laid back and stared at the ceiling, taking deep breaths, trying to calm down.

With hindsight, I realized I shouldn't have left Stacey to face the boys alone. I had just thought being confronted with their crude behaviour would make him see my point. I certainly should not have left him alone with them. That was a big mistake. But I never thought for a moment they'd do anything physical. Sure, Stace had the body of a teenage girl, but he was still a fourteen-year-old boy. Actually I hadn't really thought how Stace was going to explain his change. I just thought the shock of the change would knock some sense into them, all of them. The possibility of them getting aroused had certainly not crossed my mind or I would have never left. His solution, pretending to be a female cousin was brilliant actually. He was not stupid. Another hour ticked by. I wondered if he had shut off the stove. He'd likely burn the house down next. I reluctantly got up and went downstairs.

The stove was off. The dishes were cleared away and the dishwasher had ended its cycle. I didn't know he even knew how to operate it. There was a note: "Mom. Really sorry. Didn't mean to upset you. Its been a tough day. A weird day. Supper's in the frig. Stace." It was but I wasn't hungry. I dumped some ice in the ice bucket, took a bottle of Blanc de Pinot Noir out of the cabinet, and went back upstairs. I tried to read the novel I was reading but obviously couldn't focus. I took out the box of Andy Anand's Cherry Cordials I had bought for myself as a treat for a special day. This was a special day. The wine was chilled. It tasted good. Liquor and candy. I thought of the boys' vulgar comments. Damn them. I drained the glass and poured another. Maybe I had gone about it wrong. Instead of looking for a magic shop maybe I should have focussed on sex shops, places that sold aphrodisiacs and such. Tomorrow I'll try again.

I slept in the next morning. I yawned and stretched. The bed seemed larger somehow. Too much wine last night. I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The floor was farther away than usual. I looked down at my feet. They were smaller than yesterday. And my legs thinner. I looked up in the dresser mirror. A young boy looked back at me, about nine years of age. He was wearing a nightie just like mine. He had flowing, long, blond curls and looked very effeminate. The nightie was much too large on him. My eyes opened wider. So did his. I opened my mouth. So did he. I felt my cheek. So did he. I looked down. So did he.

My nightie had stretched during the night and hung low on my shoulders. It didn't stick out in front. My panties had stretched also and had slipped down low on my hips as I'd twisted and turned in the night. I felt my chest. My breasts were gone. I felt more thoroughly. I pushed my panties the rest of the way down. My curly hairs had gone also. I had gained a few new appendages during the night. I reached down. They felt real. The two balls were very sensitive. I had heard they were but didn't realize just how vulnerable they were.

I had to urinate. No surprise. I had consumed half a bottle of wine. Stepping out of my panties I headed to the half-bath and was about to sit down when I realized I didn't have to. I raised the seat and slowly raised my new appendage. We'd see if this thing actually worked. It felt weird as I felt the flow start, deep in my groin and then continue up my little nozzle. Urine splashed against the raised seat and lid. I had underestimated the distance of my target, and the pressure of half a bottle of wine. I lowered my aim. This is going to take practice. When I was finally done I stepped back and turned to head back to my bedroom. Warm piss sprinkled my thighs and the floor. This gadget boys had wasn't as convenient as advertised.

I sat down on the edge of the bed. The old woman's words came back to me. It had happened like she'd said. But why now? Why not the same time as Stacey experienced his change? And why was I still thinking like me and not a nine-year-old boy? I did feel different, more uncertain, less confident, more … childish. I looked in the mirror. The face looking back was no longer puzzled. It was worried, scared. I couldn't continue my life like this! I began to cry. A woman's response or a child's response? I could not tell. Stace came in. He was confused at first, and then surprised, and then overwhelmed as he slowly realized what had happened and the ramifications.

"So you went back to the shop and bought another cup and ate it?"

"No. I told you. I couldn't find the shop. This," I said, spreading my arms, "is the result from eating the first cup."

"You ate the first cup?"

"Some of. Well, most of it. Another third. Out of habit, finishing off the leftovers. You were right. It had a funny taste. I didn't finish it."

"Then why did it happen now? Why not change when I did? It's been a week."

"I don't know. Something about male and female minds being different, and about being strong-willed or something. She rambled a lot."

"Well, you definitely got the body of a guy." I'd been too shocked to think about covering up. "You thinking or feeling like a guy?"

"I don't know. I feel, I don't know, childish. Vulnerable, and, well, more emotional, like a child."

"But why did your age change? Mine didn't."

"Something about coffee. I can't think straight right now."

"You can't think straight? Mom! You fucking have to! What the fuck do we do now?"

"There's no need to be vulgar."

"Yeah, still thinking like a female," Stacey observed bitterly with a sarcastic twist of his lip. I had no reply.

"I'll have to go back and look for the store again. I got an idea where to look last night before … before this happened."

"Well, I guess first off we better find you some guy clothes, unless you plan on going out in a dress and panties."

I had to sit on the edge of the car seat and stretch my legs to reach the pedals, and the view just above the steering wheel was different, but I managed. I still knew how to drive. I still had all my memories, just not the physical coordination I once had. I was convinced looking for a magic shop had to have been the wrong approach. An adult shop was more likely to find what I was looking for, and there were several of them listed in the phone book that I had not checked out. The idea was great in theory, not in practice.

In my excitement and hope, I hadn't considered my new apparent age. Explaining I was really a thirty-nine-year-old woman and not a nine-year-old boy wasn't going to work, even when I explained exactly what I was looking for. I was shown the door in the first two stores with amused smiles and assured there was no such custard. In the third shop the two clerks exchanged leers and raised eyebrows over a nine-year-old boy wanting to change into a woman, causing me to turn beet red before being tossed out.

Searching the more disreputable streets of the city had been frightening and repulsive as an adult woman. It was even more so as a child but I kept trying, going deeper and deeper into the bowels of the city. I had to. I was desperate. The day was coming to a close and I was tired and filthy with sweat and frustrated, and I had blisters from my oversized shoes. I did what any nine-year-old boy, or thirty-nine-year-old woman would do, after the last shop I sat down on the curb and cried.

"There something wrong son?" It was a man. Mid-forties. Shabby looking but not as shabby as most of the people in the neighbourhood I was in.

"Everything," I blubbered.

"Can I help?" He sat down on the curb beside me. "Tell me what's wrong."

He was nice, caring. Most of the people in the area were addicts and pushers, people who were loners or thought only of themselves. I blubbered out my story, the part about my search for a magic/sex shop that sold a custard that changed men to look like and feel like women, and women into men, and that I had been in it once before. That I had bought a custard and changed my fourteen-year-old son into a teenage slut and myself into a nine-year-old boy I omitted, figuring that was too much information.

"It's called the Pleasure Chest?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Describe the person who you talked to."

"She was old, really, really old, looked like a witch." His eyes flickered. I shouldn't have said the last part. That sounded foolish. A childish fantasy. I'd blown it. I was a dumb little kid who believed in magic and witches.

"All wrinkled and ugly and stooped over."

I nodded as I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. He hadn't laughed or smirked or anything, but that didn't mean anything. He was humouring the child. I knew. I'd done the same myself.

"I know the place."

"You do?" I asked in surprise. That I had not expected.

"Certainly. There's not many stores or proprietors like that around. It's on the next block over," he gestured. "I'll take you there."

The next block! Unable to believe my ears, I leaped to my feet and skipped along beside him. It was no wonder I had missed it. I couldn't see any stores on the next block. A run-down garage with beaten-up old wrecks, a mechanic or welding shop or something, several large dilapidated warehouses. It was the last street and ran beside the freight yards.

"I don't see it," I said disappointedly.

"It's behind that building," he pointed, indicating one of the warehouses. I could see a chain link fence separating the warehouse and the railway tracks, some boxcars. We cut across the littered, uneven lot. Weeds had grown up through the cracks. This couldn't right. I was right. There was nothing behind the building. Dumpsters, tumbled down sheds, trash.

"This isn't — ."

He grabbed me and pushed me up against the building. "Got no custard for you boy. But I got us a magic wand." Pinning me against the building with one hand, he pulled down his fly and pulled out his penis with the other. "You want to be a woman. Well, this will make you a woman. Make you squeal just like one anyway. You want to see what it feels like to be a woman. This will do the trick. But first you got to suck it to get it hard." It was already swelling.

"A sweet-faced boy like you will be able to get it hard in no time." He had his right hand in my baggy, loose pants, Stace's pants actually, fiddling with my penis. "Yeah, you can change my wand from a little tiddler like yours into a stick of dynamite, like magic." He grabbed me by the back of the neck and forced me to my knees. He raised his penis with his other hand and forced my face toward it. "After you get my wand good and hard you can bend over and it'll turn you into a woman. You'll see." I struggled but it was no use. He laughed as he pushed his crotch in my face. I could smell his dick.

"Let the boy go."

There was suddenly another man beside us. Bigger and rougher looking than the first. He was wearing coveralls and had a lunch bucket slung over his shoulder on a long chain. I hadn't heard him approach. Nor had my attacker.

"You want him? You're welcome to him when I'm done. Or better yet, come join us. He can give you head while I fuck his ass."

"I said let go of him," he responded, grabbing the man by the shoulder and yanking him away from me.

"Hey, I saw him first. If you want him you can wait your turn," the first man snarled.

"Get the hell out of here pervert."

"I think not," the first man said, pulling a knife and waving it in front of the other man. "Now bugger off and mind your own business."

The second man picked up a pipe lying on the ground. The first scowled and cursed but he pocketed the knife and backed off. Muttering, he turned and stomped away. I stood there shaking like a leaf and sobbing. I was never so frightened in my life. The second man stepped toward me and I backed away. Assuring me he meant me no harm, he approached me slowly and put his arm around me.

"Let's get out of here."

We walked back to where the first man had found me.

"What are you doing around here?"

"Lookin' for a place."

"There's no place around here for a boy your age. How did you get here?"

"I drove."

"Drove?" I nodded. "Where are you parked?" I led him to the car. "Get in and I'll take you to your parents."

My parents, Stacey's grandparents, were in Montana. I could not very well tell him that. "I don't have a dad. He bugg- left me-my mom a year ago. My mom's gone too."

"You have no parents at home?"

I nodded. He studied me. I knew what he was thinking. "My cousin is staying with me." I didn't tell him my supposed cousin was only fourteen.

"I can drive home."

"No way. Not only would it be illegal, it would be dangerous. It's a miracle you didn't have an accident getting here. I can't let you get behind the wheel. Now get in and I'll take you to your house."

"Where's your car?"

"I use public transit. I work for the railway," he said, gesturing to the freight yards. "Wouldn't leave a car in this district for all the money in the world. Not even in the CB & Q parking lot. Away too many days. Now get in."

I got in. The drive here had been harrowing. I was not looking forward to the drive back. He could be a pedo taking me somewhere more private where he wouldn't be interrupted but I didn't think of that. I was exhausted and shaken up. Besides, what did I know? I was a thirty-nine-year-old housewife from the suburbs. Or an innocent nine-year-old. He talked as he drove. I listened. Turned out he was an engineer for the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy Line, returning home after a two-week run. We pulled up in front of my home. Hunter's bike was lying in the middle of the lawn.

"Your dad left you and your mom a year ago?" I nodded. "When did your mum leave?"

"Last night."

"She might be back tonight then."

I shook my head. "She's not coming back."

"I'm sure she will." He glanced at the house. "How old is this cousin of yours?"

"I … um … I'm not sure." That was the truth, sort of. He would not be about to leave me alone with a fourteen-year-old cousin. "Maybe we better phone your aunt just in case." He was no fool.

"My aunt?"

"Your cousin's mother."

"Oh." This lying was complicated. "She's … ah … not in the city. She's on vacation. That's why her daughter is visiting us." Now that was thinking on my feet! Now, why hadn't her daughter gone with her …?

"I'd better come in until we figure something out." He got out. Oh shit!

I did a quick check upstairs. Stacey's door was closed fortunately. I hoped it would stay that way until I figured something out. I said she must have gone out. Maybe looking for me. Lying gets easier once you get the knack of it. Now how to get rid of my rescuer? He had rescued me. And he was kind and genuinely cared. To lie and send him away after what he had done was unjust. I offered him a coffee. He settled for a glass of milk if we had it. I poured us each a glass. I'd rather have had a glass of Blanc de Pinot Noir.

He asked me to tell him about myself and my parents and what had happened that my father had left and now my mother would leave. Explaining the departure of my ex was easy and I hoped I hadn't come across as a bitter wife. My sudden absence was more difficult to explain but my vagueness wouldn't be unusual for an innocent nine-year-old. He asked again why I had been by the railway yard, and "looking for a place" was not going to cut it this time. I began, saying I was looking for a magic shop to change things back as they were or a potion that could change me into an adult, creating as I went along. Like I said, lying gets easier the more you do it.

Besides, I couldn't very well tell him I was really a thirty-nine-year-old mother who had gotten angry at her teenage son and had changed him into a teenage girl and had accidentally changed herself into a nine-year-old boy. That was what I had done in my anger and frustration at being a single parent, but who would believe that. It sounded like a nine-year-old's fantasy. I summed up my pack of lies with the admission that this was all my fault, which it was, and broke down crying. Whether that was my normal mid-life female reaction to the situation or the feelings and thoughts of a nine-year-old boy and what the difference was I did not know, and it did not matter.

Frank reached out, wrapped his arms about me, brushed the hair out of my eyes, and assured me it was not my fault my parents had left. That was not what I had meant of course but it was a good way out of the tangle of lies I had spun. I was not up to explaining it, even if I had an explanation anyway. He kissed away the tears, and my cheeks, and drew me close to him. My hand was in his lap totally by accident. I could feel his penis beneath the cloth. He could feel the heat of my hand and his penis began to swell. It was a natural physical reaction. At least my thirty-nine-year-old woman's mind thought it was, and my nine-year-old boy mind agreed.

He had been exceptionally kind and patient and had saved me from a situation which would have turned very nasty. I squeezed his member. A small token of gratitude. A wife's reaction, from experience. It grew firmer. I squeezed harder. I'd been in this situation, as a wife, pleasing her husband, in happier times. He kissed me again, this time on the lips. I returned the kiss. It was nice, but I was a nine-year-old boy. Flags went up! Frank suggested we had best go somewhere private. I led him to my bedroom. Not because I wanted it. Because I did not want Stacey to come walking in. The resulting scenario I'd never be able to explain to Frank. It was too complex to even think about.

If Frank found it strange I'd taken him to what had to be my parent's bedroom instead of my own he didn't mention it. With the frilly bed spread and ceramic knick-knacks and flowers it wasn't a nine-year-old boy's room.

He unbuttoned my shirt and kissed my chest, and my nipples, and they grew hard and began to itch. Memories of my feminine breast reaction or did a young boy's nipples react that way? He kissed them and then sucked one and I thought of the pleasure of having my breasts sucked, in foreplay and in breast feeding Stacey, but I didn't have any breasts anymore and probably never would. The memory and realization I would never have that pleasure again made me begin crying again and he stopped and said he was sorry he had upset me and sorry he had made me cry and that I was so beautiful he couldn't help himself and he had better leave.

I held him tighter as he tried to rise and I told him he didn't have to leave and I didn't want him to, and that what he had done was not why I was crying. That I was crying because I missed my breasts would sound insane. I squeezed his penis to reassure him, and on impulse, I pulled down his fly and slipped my fingers inside. That was not something I had ever done, not as a teenage girl dating in my teens, not when engaged, nor when I was married. That had to be a boy impulse. Boys knew how men felt and what would please them. That didn't sound right, but that had to be why I'd done it. Boys had this buddy thing. Now that was an adult mother's thought. Or a boy buddy thought. While I was trying to decide which, I found it and guided it back out. It was stiff and sticking out his fly, I wrapped my fingers about it and squeezed it tight, and he said how good that felt.

His hand slipped into my pants and fiddled with my dickey and the tip began to feel like my nipples and to my surprise it became rigid. I didn't know a nine-year-old boy's dick could do that, and that was a thirty-nine-year-old mother's thought and a nine-year-old boy's thought too. I don't know how I knew that but I did. My little dicky was throbbing and the bulge at the tip itching enticingly and that was a new thought and feeling for both of us. I realized I not only had the body of a nine-year-old boy but the thoughts and the feelings of one too, and the thoughts and feelings of a mother too. Was that what Stacey was going through?

What happened next could not have been the result of either mind. I dropped to my knees and slipped my lips about his penis. As a teenage girl, my dates had tried to convince me to give them an oral job when I refused to put out and they realized they would never change my mind. To them their alternative was logical. To me it had been vulgar and disgusting and the mere thought of putting that part of their body in my mouth made me want to vomit. My ex had tried to get me to do the same thing when I had my period, he was horny, and I found it still as revolting and refused to do it. There were limits to a wifely duty. So, to do it now was definitely not a feminine thing nor a motherly impulse. But it was certainly not a boy thing either. I know. I had two brothers and had raised a son. The suggestion they suck another boy's penis would have resulted in fisticuffs and bloody noses. So why did I do it?

Boys at the age of nine actually avoid girls and have an exaggerated sense of camaraderie with other boys. Girls have cooties and were not to be touched. Boys of their own age on the other hand were a different matter. They can be seen walking down the street with an arm about each other's neck or about each other's waist, devoid of course of any sexual context. It was just a preteen boy thing. So why was I giving Frank a blow job? That was not a preteen boy thing. Had my adult and feminine mind been perverted by nine-year-old natural hero worship and affinity for male bonding into performing this disgusting, degenerate act? My mind refused to accept that. I could not be the cause of this vile perversion. No sane, decent adult, male or female, has sex with a child, male or female.

But there I was, a thirty-nine-year-old woman in a nine-year-old boy's body on my knees and sucking a man's cock, willingly and eagerly, enjoying it, enjoying the eroticism, enjoying pleasing him and the pleasure I was feeling. I was enjoying it. In my attempt to analyse what I was doing and why, I'd ignored that basic fact. Adult woman or preteen boy, I was enjoying it! Frank began breathing heavier and grasped my shoulders. He gasped that I had best stop and when I didn't, he said that he had to pull out, but as he drew back I grasped his butt and prevented him.

And then he began squirting and I began gulping down his semen. It was thick and creamy and tasted surprisingly good. I recalled how it felt to breast feed and the pleasure I had felt and I wondered if it felt like that for a man when he squirted. That was my woman mind thinking. I swallowed his slime with delight and when he stopped squirting I resumed sucking, sucking the rest of his slime out of his swollen cock. My adult female mind knew I had just brought him to an orgasm, and my nine-year-old boy mind was glad I had brought this man, who had saved me, pleasure as his slime oozed out of the corners of my mouth and oozed around my chin to hang as a pendant. And like an infant sucking on its mother's breast, I sucked the juice out of his swollen balls.

Frank sighed how great it had been and kept saying he was sorry and asking if I was alright, and I kept reassuring him I was and telling him I had wanted it and how kind and helpful he had been and how I hoped that I had pleased him. He said I had and he wiped my cheeks and my chin with his handkerchief and we kissed, on the lips, my sweet, soft boy lips and his forty-five-year-old man lips, the upper with a day's growth of stubble, and we held each other tight and caressed each other. He said I was the perfect boy, the type of boy he had dreamed of spending his life with, and that he wished I could remain that way forever. I thought how he was going to be surprised when he found he could actually get that wish. He said he was single and had never felt a sexual attraction toward women, which was just as well as his job took him away for days, even weeks at a time. He confessed he had a fondness for young boys, but stressed that he would never force a boy or trick him or bribe him into having sex with him, and said I was not his first and he had found many boys were curious about sex and willing to participate, in the many cities he passed through.

So, what I had done was a natural boy thing, and what I had thought and felt were natural boy thoughts and feelings, not some perversion brought about by my unnatural transformation. If I were to believe Frank, and I did. That it was the result of a pure chance meeting of myself, needing loving, tenderness and support, with a man who needed the same was a relief. We embraced and kissed and caressed, needing each other, and slowly his penis began to swell again. He undid his belt and lowered his pants and underwear and stepped out of them and then undid my belt, one of Stacey's with extra holes punched in it to fit my narrow waist, and pushed down my baggy oversized jeans currently in fashion and my extra-large briefs and I stepped out of them. Why I was wearing briefs that were a size for a fourteen-year-old boy he did not ask.

He cupped and rolled my tiny nuts in their loose sack, a new, strange, and erotic feeling for me, the woman me and the boy child me, and slipped his thumb and next two fingers about my penis and gently pulled back the skin and then pushed it back over the bulge. The burning, tingling feeling about the rim of my knob was new to the adult woman me, but would not be to a nine-year-old boy. It felt great, and enticing. That was a nine-year-old boy thought and feeling. My dickie slowly began to swell. That was a totally new experience and feeling, for both my boy mind and adult woman's mind. And then it was stiff, which neither of my minds knew was possible for a nine-year-old boy, and it itched to be squeezed and stroked, another mutually new and enticing feeling. I reached out and wrapped my fingers about his swelling cock and I was delighted and excited as I felt it grow hard in my hand. My boy mind and female mind were in agreement on that.

He said we could get intimate again, but only if I wanted to. That was the word he used, intimate. I said I did. He said there was another way we could diddle, if I wanted to try it. I had no idea what diddle meant but you didn't have to be a wizard to know he wanted to do whatever that was. I said I did. I trusted him. He said it would be best if we had some kind of lubricant. I walked over to the nightstand and took out my tube of Sensual Silk. How I knew it was there, this obviously being my supposed parent's room, and how I knew what it was for, he did not ask.

He generously lubricated his erection and then had me turn around and bend over and he lubricated my anus and slipped a finger up my rectum. Nervous, excited, and uncertain, both my boy and adult mind realized what diddle meant and wanted to scream 'stop'. But I also wanted to please and I was curious and he was gentle and tender. I got down on my knees and elbows on the bed and spread my legs. Woman or boy, I was still spreading my legs for a man my adult mind thought. He stood beside the edge of the bed behind me. As I was considering changing my mind, he grasped my hips and pushed forward.

Being penetrated up the ass was not much different from having my vagina penetrated I decided. That was a thought no boy could ever have. He was gentle, very gentle compared to my ex when he was in rut. His penis entered me slowly, penetrating deeper and deeper. My asshole was burning and itching, felt stretched, and my rectum was throbbing and felt stuffed. Pressing forward until his hairs were pressing against my butt, he grasped my hips, slowly withdrew, and then penetrated me again. It was pleasant and sent ripples of pleasure circling my anus and up my asshole. Very different from having my cunt fucked. He reached around and wrapped his fingers about my stiff little dink and he began stroking it as he was fucking me, sending ripples of pleasure circling about my swollen knob and up my swollen penis. That was vaguely how my cunt felt when it was being fucked, but it was different, new, and pleasant, and exciting.

Frank began to speed up and to pump irregularly and I knew from my experience with my ex what that signalled. The burning feeling circling the bulb of my stiff little penis was growing more intense and the tension in the pit of my groin was rapidly increasing. That taut guitar string feeling again. I knew now what that signified. I tensed, eager with anticipation, hoping Frank would not reach that point first and stop. Both of my minds were in agreement. I wanted it so bad my body was aching. I curled my toes. I hadn't done that for years! My ex rarely got me to that point in the latter years of our marriage.

And then I was trembling with an orgasm again, a dry nine-year-old boy orgasm, and Frank was panting and grunting and then spurting his stuff up my ass, another new experience. I could feel it squirting up my rectum and I trembled even more violently and with even more pleasure. His cock and my rectum throbbed as one and, as he filled my ass with his seed, I felt loved and wanted more than I ever had before, and delighted and happy I had pleased him. My anus and dickie burned and tingled with a curious itching pleasure, painful but so desired, and I knew the feelings and thoughts had to be boy thoughts.

"What the fuck?"

"Holy crap!"

The first voice was Stacey's voice. His new girl voice. He was standing there in the doorway in his panties and with his shirt half unbuttoned revealing his boobs. The second voice was Hunter's and Hunter was staring at us, his eyes bulging like a stomped on toad. He was standing beside Stace in only his boxers and I knew Hunter had just finished diddling my son.

***

That was two years ago. Frank is forty-seven now. Stacey and I haven't aged a day. Stacey's pregnant. Not enough to show yet. Frank offered to arrange for an abortion. Her response as she looked directly at me was, "No fucking way. This is gonna be the fucking ultimate experience, finding out how a girl feels and thinks popping a fucking kid." Her vulgar fourteen-year-old boy mind hasn't changed a bit either. The kid was probably Hunter's. The doorbell rang. It had to be for me. Frank is away on a freight run to Burlington for two weeks. Stacey is entertaining in her bedroom, Kenwood High School Broncos' star quarterback today, a handsome, strapping, recently turned eighteen-year-old senior, the fourth member of the team to kneel between her legs and his third visit. Word gets around about a stacked, willing fourteen-year-old, and Stacey has had no shortage of callers from the city's junior and senior high schools, not with well over two hundred schools packed with horny teenage boys. My son has become a real bitch whore, and is totally into it as he puts it. He's thanking me for making it possible for a guy to get all the fucking he could ever want.

The doorbell rang a third time by the time I got to the door. The caller was eager. As I had suspected, it was Hakeem, Saint Joe's Catholic High School Chargers' point guard. He said he'd come straight over after his basketball practice. Dark V's stained the front and sides of his orange tank top. His long, silky pit hair was still wet and his muscular thighs and forearms were glistening, giving his beautiful dark black skin a sheen. His crotch was bulging and unnaturally round. He was still wearing his cup, as he'd promised he would. The last time we'd done it, he'd put it over my face and I had breathed in the fragrance of his nigger sweat as he fucked me. It had been totally awesome. As we headed back upstairs, I popped a boner just thinking about the spicy fragrance of his black balls and feeling his big, black sausage up my ass. Word gets around about a cute, willing blond boy child too, and I had no shortage of callers to fill in the days when Frank was away. He didn't mind it as long as I was careful. He knew he would always be my first and only love. Hakeem? Well, he was just super horny and preferred young boys, and could come all night. A nine-year-old boy's pedo-loving delight.

The End