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Slow Justice by Ellie Dauber "Mr. Foreman, have you reached a verdict?" The jury foreman rose. He was an older man in a plaid work shirt and jeans. He looked nervously about the court room, his eyes never resting on Jenny or her parents sitting nervously behind the District Attorney's desk. Jenny Benton was a slender seventeen year old, her blonde hair done in a pony tail that hung down well below her shoulders. She wore a pale blue blouse with matching skirt and belt, light blue sneakers with matching socks, rather than hose and heels. The outfit was intended to make her look even younger and more vulnerable than she was. Jenny was attractive enough, if a little too thin. (She was a late bloomer whose body hadn't yet caught up with those of many of her classmates.) Now her eyes were filling with tears behind her silvered glasses. "We have, Your Honor. In the matter of the State versus Russ Walsh, we find the defendant 'Not Guilty'." There was pandemonium in the court room. A few people, mostly women, looked shocked, but most of those present cheered. A few men broke into the "Ellwood City High Fight Song". The Judge pounded his gavel for silence. After a moment or two, most of the noise stopped. The Judge faced the jury box. "Thank you." he said sourly. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you are dismissed with the Court's thanks. Case dismissed." The judge banged his gavel for emphasis. Then he rose and left the court room, a look of disgust on his face. Jenny was sobbing, holding her face in her hands. She heard her mother get up to talk to somebody. Then she heard an "Ahem", and looked through her fingers. It was Russ, an insincere smile on his face. He was about six-two and looked like he had just stepped out of a Norman Rockwell painting. His chestnut hair was cut short and fashionably styled; his tanned and muscular body dressed in a sport brown sports jacket and slacks, a "sincere" tie in the Ellwood City High school colors over an off-white shirt, and dark brown loafers. His dark gray eyes seemed cold and empty of any emotion. "I -- my lawyer -- um -- thought I should come over and tell you that I'm not mad at you." "Not mad at her," Jenny wanted to scream. As it was, she trembled, hardly able to speak. Now Russ bent low, patting her hand as if trying to console her. "Next time, be more cooperative. I'm the big football hero. Who'll take the word of a bimbo like you over mine." He had raped her! Then, when she had gotten the courage to go to the police, he'd not only denied it, he'd gotten two other members of the team to lie for him. He admitted taking her out, but he said that he'd left her off at the McDonald's about 9 PM. He claimed that she had demanded that he go steady with her, threatening to cause trouble if he didn't. Nobody had heard their conversation, but Max Snyder and Billy Jackson said that they'd run into him at the arcade. The three claimed to have spent the rest of the evening playing video games. And he'd gotten away with it. The jury had taken the word of the boy who had just lead his school's team to the state football championship over a mousy little girl who seldom dated. He'd even had the nerve to say that he'd liked her. He said that he had been attracted to a shy girl who didn't go after him like so many of the girls in the school. He'd been shocked when she tried to blackmail him, and he hoped that she could get counseling for whatever was bothering her. The bile rose in Jenny's stomach. She grabbed for her purse and ran for the court room doors without a word. She was still crying ten minutes later in the Lawyers' Lounge when she heard someone calling her name. She looked up, her brown eyes filled with tears. Someone handed her a lacy handkerchief. It was one of the Weaver sisters. Three woman who'd lived in a large house at the edge of town for nobody knew how long. They never seemed to age, always appearing in their late thirty or early forties. On the few occasions that anybody asked, they claimed it was a combination of good genes, clean living, and enough money to afford a really good cosmetologist. Jenny recognized the woman as Chloe Weaver. Chloe had been a leader for Jenny's old Brownie troop. She was a dark blonde, about 5 ft., 5, with a still trim figure, her hair trimmed into a short wave of tight curls. She looked like a well-to-do business woman, attractively dressed in a navy business dress, pale hose, and matching navy heels. Her jewelry consisted of a broach that looked like a stylized silver spindle, a couple of matching bracelets, and pearl earrings. Now she stood over the young girl smiling encouragingly. "I know, Dear. He wronged you, and the Law let him get away with it." "Why? Why did they do it, Ms. Weaver." "People can be very foolish, Dear. They want to believe the people that they admire. Even when they should know better." "And now he'll get away with it." A thought suddenly occurred to her. "Oh, Ms. Weaver, now that he got away with raping me, he'll be even worse, and nobody will ever believe me again. Not about anything." "Jenny, I've known you since you were eight years old. I believed you in the court room, and I'll always believe you -- and believe in you." "Thank you, Ms. Weaver. I know my parents feel the same, but to the rest of the town, I'm a fool -- or a tramp -- or both." "Nonsense. Time heals everything. Threads may break, but the healthy one will come back, stronger then ever. It's Friday afternoon. You go home, and I promise that things will be better on Monday." She sat down next to Jenny and hugged her. Jenny was surprised at how comforting it felt. "Now, I hear your mother and father out in the hall, calling you. You go home with them, have a good rest, and see if I'm not right." Jenny rose and handed back the handkerchief. "I'm not sure I believe you, but thanks for making me feel better." She walked out, leaving Chloe Weaver alone in the Lounge. "Nice promise," said Leslie Weaver suddenly appearing beside her. "How do you intend to keep it?" As always, she carried the knitting bag that was almost a town joke. She was no taller than her sister, but with a more lush figure and long brunette hair that draped halfway down her back. She wore a pale pink knit dress, dark hose, and low heeled sandals. "There's always my way," said Andrea Weaver, also materializing. She held a small gilt nail scissors in her hand. Andrea was taller and slimmer than her sisters with jet black hair done in a tight bun, a few loose curls framing her round face, and dark eyes. She wore a white blouse with a black cameo at the throat, a knee-length black skirt with matching hose and shoes. "No," said Chloe. "I think a re-weaving is called for. I'll get started on him Sunday night. I have something special in mind." "I think I know what you're planning," said Leslie. It's a bit of a drastic change in the pattern, but I think it's only fair." "Are we agreed then," asked Chloe. "It should be more interesting than just a simple cut," said Andrea. "Cut 'it' off, rather than cut him off." She snipped the scissors dramatically, a strange smile on her face. Laughing, the three women disappeared from the Lounge. **** Late Sunday afternoon, Russ, Max, and Billy were tossing a frisbee in Highmore Park. It was a warm day for late Fall, and the three boys were dressed in nothing warmer than sweat shirts and jeans. "So what are you doing now, Russ?" Billy asked. "About what?" "About that bitch, Jenny. She could've cost you that scholarship to State, if anybody'd believed her story." "Hell, man," Max said, "Who's gonna believe the word of that little mouse against the great Russ Miller, boy hero and football star?" All three laughed. "Well, my lawyer said not to go anywhere near her. I figure to wait a little while -- you know -- keep mum. Then I'll make like I'm sorry she felt so desperate to be popular that she tried to trap me into dating her. Maybe one of you can say something nasty about her, and I'll defend her. Nobody's gonna want to have anything to do with her. She be alone and confused. I'll bide my time. Cozy up to her. Take her out again and -- finish what I started." He made a fist and thrust it forward in a short jab to illustrate his point. "Russ Miller," somebody -- a woman -- called. "May I see you for a moment? The three boys looked around. Chloe Weaver was standing near them under an oak tree, though they hadn't seen her approach through the mostly opened space of the park. The three boys stared at her appreciatively. She wore a brown blouse and slacks outfit that, while not overly tight, did nothing to hide her attractive figure and long shapely legs. With her tight mass of blonde curls, she looked like a slightly older Meg Ryan. Russ strutted over, a big dopey grin on his face. He'd heard stories about older women being sexually interested in high school jocks. He'd also seen Ms. Weaver around town. For an old broad, she looked pretty hot. Even if she wanted him for some other, simple errand, he'd do his best to try and wind up in bed with her. And if he didn't, well, he could always claim that he had. "You wanted me for something, Ms. Weaver?" "Yes, Russ. I wanted to give you one last chance to admit what you did to Jenny. " "How did -- what do you mean, what I did? I didn't do anything to her. The jury said so." "We both know that the jury was wrong. You raped her, then you and your friends lied about it. Admit it now, and I'll see that your punishment is minor. Deny it again and --- " "Admit it! Admit what? Lady, if you had any real proof, you'd have shown up in court with it." Russ was mad now and didn't care that he was admitting the truth to this meddlesome bitch. "I thought you might be interested in a little fun, but I don't think you even know how." "'A little fun!' Why you impudent child. You've been strutting around thinking with your prick for years. Well, threads can be rewound with a different warp, my lad. You just threw away your last chance, and now you won't have your little 'Johnson' to think with for much longer." She made a sudden gesture with her arms and grabbed him suddenly at the shoulders. He felt what seemed like a mild electric shock go through his body, and he grimaced, closing his eyes. When he opened them, Chloe had disappeared. Russ shook his head trying to figure out what had happened. Then he walked back to his two friends. "What you go over to the tree for, man," Max asked. "What you mean? 'Old lady Weaver' called me over for something." "Old lady -- oh, one of those Weaver broads. They're no older than my Mom," Billy said. "They're a hellava lot better looking, though." "That's for sure," Max said, "but I haven't seen any of them since we got here. You sure you're okay." "Yeah," Russ said, running his fingers through his hair. His skin still tingled from whatever that Weaver woman had done to him, but the sensation was fading. "I guess I'm still a little stressed out from the trial." "Hey, man," Billy laughed. "What stress? You won, didn't you? Now, think fast." He tossed the frisbee towards Russ, and the game began again. **** That night, Russ had a strange dream. He was standing in a room that looked like a temple from HERCULES or XENA. The Weaver sisters were up on some kind of platform wearing flowing white robes. He tried to move or to say something, but he was unable to do either. It wasn't that he was paralyzed, he just didn't seem to want to badly enough. Chloe Weaver stepped down from the platform and walked over to him. She was carrying some sort of a top hanging down from a mass of loose wool, spinning slowly and twisting it into a thread. She stopped the top and set it spinning in the opposite direction. "Behold your life, Russ Walsh. The thread unwinds to take a new shape. Poor Jenny's trial lasted five days, so your life will take that long to find its new way. You will know what you were, what you might have been. But no one else will." Now Leslie Weaver came down from the platform to stand beside her sister. "And as the thread of your life takes its new shape, the pattern of your life will itself reshape to match that new form. The changes will happen as you sleep. You will know that it has happened, but, to your friends and your family, everything will have always been as you find them anew each morning." Russ's body began to tingle again as it had that afternoon. He felt himself changing beneath his clothes, but he couldn't tell into what. Then he saw his pajama top moving as something grew on his chest. He pulled open the top to see two shapely breasts, areolas big as half dollars, growing larger even as he watched. He heard the Weavers laughing as he changed. He screamed and woke up. It was almost 7:30 by his bedside clock, and the room was half lit by the rising sun. It looked different somehow. It took Russ a few moments to realize that his framed sports trophies from a childhood of Little League and Pee-Wee Football championships were missing from the walls, replaced by posters of a couple of rock stars he'd never much cared for. "What the hell," he said jumping out of bed. Then came the second surprise, the room was bigger. No, he was smaller. A good three or four inches shorter than his former six-two. And when he looked in the mirror over his dresser, he realized that he was no longer the muscular "hunk" of the day before. He was still in fairly good shape, but there was no real evidence of the years of daily work-outs that he'd used to get and keep his body in shape. His chestnut hair was a bit longer, hanging down over his ears a little. Even his face looked a little different. The bump on his nose, the result of a bad play in a school yard football game when he was twelve, was gone. The really strange part was that his pajamas fit him as if he'd always been this size. Opening a dresser drawer, he had the feeling that the rest of his clothes would be the same. Russ got another shock when he stripped off his pajamas. His body was not only as slender as he had thought, but it was also almost completely hairless. All that was left of a mass of body hair that got him the nickname "Kong" was a thin patch on his chest and a few sparse hairs on his arms. He dropped his pants to check out his legs, but never looked down that far. His penis looked smaller. He'd never actually measured it, but it did seem to have shrunken some. Maybe -- he grabbed a Penthouse from where it was hidden in the middle of a pile of sports magazines and opened it to the centerfold. As he stared at the picture and -- to quote the old joke -- "took things well in hand", he could feel himself getting stiff. He continued stroking, bringing himself near to climax. Then he looked down again. He was definitely smaller, even when fully erect. Especially when fully erect. What had happened to him? He vaguely remembered some sort of dream; him and the Weaver sisters. People always said that they were some kind of witches. They must of done it. He'd been in some crazy room. One of them -- no, a couple of them had said or done something, but he couldn't really remember what. And the more he tried, the vaguer the memory got. Finally, all he could remember was that there had been a dream, and that the Weaver sisters were in it. His mother knocked at the door. "Russ, you had better hurry. The bus comes in thirty minutes. The bus? Russ usually rode to school with Billy and Max. Then a new memory popped into his head. No, he didn't. Billy and Max were jocks, the stars of the football team, and he was just a third rate scrub. Wasn't he? He remembered being the quarterback, winning the championship. But he also remembered having to work hard just to get on the team and barely hanging on as third string lineman. Russ resolved to figure things out later and dressed for school. Breakfast was waiting downstairs, cereal, milk, and juice instead of the protein drink he normally had drunk. "Mom, where's my proto-mash?" "His mother looked up from her coffee. "Did you want to try one of those weird supplements, dear? I don't think I know it." "It's a training table drink," he said in surprise. He'd been using it for two years instead of eating a regular breakfast, and now his mother had never heard of it. "Are you thinking about going out for the basketball team again this year?" His father asked. "I think I've read about that stuff, but I'm not sure how much good it'll do." "Try out?" He made it sound like that would be a problem. He was a three letter man, football, basketball, and track. "No," said a new memory that suddenly popped into his mind. He had played JV basketball his freshman year, but hadn't really been good enough for the varsity squad. After half a season on the bench, he'd been dropped. He had been on that year's football team, but now he was third stringer who had only played in four games. And without him -- or who he used to be -- the team hadn't gotten past the district play-offs. Things were getting really strange. He still had all his old memories, but they were beginning to feel like they were about somebody else. Whenever something came up, a new one popped into his head, and they seemed as real -- no, more real -- than the old ones. He was still trying to resolve the two sets of memories, when his mother looked at the clock near the stove. "7:45, dear, The bus will be coming by in five minutes. You'd best get ready." Russ took one last drink of milk and stood up to get his books. He was waiting at the curb when the bus came. The bus was about two-thirds full when Russ climbed on board, and he was walking back slowly, looking for an empty seat. Suddenly he froze. Jenny Benton was sitting two rows down from where he stood, calmly chatting with Irene Roth. He'd expected her to skip a few days after the trial, but she was just sitting there talking as if she didn't seem to have a care in the world. There was a seat in the row behind them on the opposite side, and he went to it. Jenny and Irene hardly noticed him. as he walked by. Once he sat down, he caught himself staring at them. Irene noticed. Embarrassed, he turned away and watched the houses roll by, "I think Russ Walsh has a crush on you," Irene said. She was trying to keep her voice low, but Russ heard. He continued to look out the window but listened closely. "He's a nice enough boy, but I'm more interested in jocks. I've known him since we were little, so I guess I might go out with him." "Might," Irene said. "Jenny, you're so shy; you hardly ever date. It took me a week to talk you into going double with me and Tom to the dance." The two girls giggled, and the conversation turned to a discussion of the upcoming school dance that Friday night. Russ was astounded. "Nice boy?" "Might go out with him?" She damned well _had_ gone out with him. Then she wouldn't cooperate, and things had gotten way out of hand. Didn't she remember? No, he suddenly realized. She didn't. There was nothing even close to what he knew had happened among his new memories. In this crazy world he'd woken up in, Jenny had never been raped. That, at least, was the first good thing to come out of this weirdness. If it had never happened, then she wasn't a threat to him any more. And, if she "might go out with him", then there was a chance of nailing her again. Maybe even getting her to cooperate this time. Russ decided that maybe he'd just play along with whatever was happening. He was smiling one of "old Russ's" smile when he got off the bus. The smile disappeared when he noticed that there was no "1998 State Football Champions" banner over the entrance door. No trophy in the case near his locker, either. Russ' confidence was shaken, but he decided to ride things out. He didn't have much of a choice anyway, but he was still cocky enough to think that he could get his own life back. There weren't many surprises the rest of the day. Fortunately, he was taking the same classes as before. Doing better in history and English, too, it seemed. And his new memories included that extra knowledge, so he could keep up in those classes. He still had the same friends, too, though the relationships had changed. Max and Billy, for instance, had gone from being his best friends to more casual acquaintances. They'd still all grown up together, but they were still successful athletes and hung out with the other jocks in the school. Since, in his new history, he had just managed to make the team he was tolerated by them, but hardly a part of their clique. On the other hand, he had been accepted by what the jocks had called "the straights", the regular kids who made up the majority of the students at Ellwood City High. He'd grown up with most of them, too, but he'd always preferred to hang out with the other jocks. At Lunch Period, a group of "straights" had called him over to join them. Again, a new memory popped into his mind. These were the friends he normally ate with: Al Sachs, Steve Porter, Rick Klein, and Ted Grossman. Russ slid into the booth, unloading his tray and putting down it in with the others in a stack at the far end of the table. In a few minutes, he was joining in the conversation, joking about the upcoming dance. "You taking anybody?" Steve asked. In his old life, Russ had pretty much had his choice of any girl at the school. He'd even suggested picking one and asking her to be his "steady" to help his case at the trial. His lawyer had said no, that it was too obvious a move. For the same reason, he hadn't asked anyone to go to the dance. He'd planned to ask someone by today. He just hadn't gotten around to asking, when this -- whatever it was -- happened. He wasn't "King Jock" any more, but he was still Russ Walsh. He must have asked somebody. He waited for a new memory of who the lucky girl was in _this_ version of his life. None came. "I don't think so," he said, shrugging his shoulders. He decided to change the subject, more unsure now of what he had become. "How about you guys?" Ted was going with Ellen Weiss, and Steve had asked Becky Landers. The others were going stag, and Rick suggested that they meet at Al's and ride over together. "Gee, I don't know," Al said. "If I get lucky, I don't want to have to get a ride home with you losers." "As if," Rick said. They all laughed, and the three boys agreed to the idea. That settled, they started arguing over who would be the wild card teams in the upcoming NFL play-offs. When the bell ending the period rang, they went to their separate classes, promising to meet later. Nothing too much out of the ordinary happened to Russ the rest of the day. He spent an hour or so after school looking for the Weaver sisters. He still remembered a little about the dream, and he was sure that they were responsible for whatever had happened to him. He was equally sure that he could get them to give him his old life back. But, no matter how hard he looked, there was no sign of them. Still, somehow, he had a felling that they were nearby. They were hiding from him somehow, watching him. And laughing. Still, he went to bed that night thinking that the surprises were pretty much over. **** ~ He was wrong. An alarm clock woke him the next morning at 6:45. An alarm clock? He hadn't used one in years, relying on his natural body clock most mornings. The surprise came when he reached out to shut the damned thing off. His arm looked thinner than he ever remembered it. Now he was wide awake. He jumped out of bed and stared at his reflection in his dresser mirror. He was another three inches shorter and skinny as a rail with straight lusterless brown hair now hanging down past his shoulders.. He pulled off his pajama top and stared at his new body. It was bad enough being skinny -- and hairless, he noticed -- but there wasn't any muscle tone either. Just a mass of pale, pink flab. Oh, Lord! He was a geek! He looked around the room. It was pretty much the same as yesterday, just a couple more rock posters on the wall. He must have been a real fan. There were three or four t-shirts for the same groups in his drawer. He put one on, plus a pair of black jeans. He still looked pretty much like a "straight", no earrings or tattoos, hair long rather than razor cut into strange designs. But now he was definitely leaning towards "rocker", rather than jock. He closed his eyes and tried to search through his new memories. He had a feeling that they had changed the same time that his body had, and he wanted to see if he could catch any more revisions. But he still remembered agreeing to go to the dance stag with Al and Rick. He felt a little more in control, knowing somehow that, if his memories hadn't changed, then what he remembered was still true. He decided to try and make the best of it and went down to breakfast. Things went pretty much the same as the day before. He was still in the same set of classes, still had lunch with the same bunch of friends. Then came seventh period. Gym. The old Russ loved gym. He was the star athlete, the coach's pet, and it gave him a chance to show off in front of the rest of the class. But that was his old life. The new Russ Walsh was a short, out of condition geek. He could barely keep up, when they went through the warm up drills. He panted and puffed like a train and had to stop a couple of times. It got worse when they counted off sides for a game of volleyball. He still remembered all his old moves, but his new body just wouldn't do what he told it to. The score was tied, 20-20, no thanks to him. Max Snyder was on the other team. He hit the ball towards Russ, a high arching shot that seemed to take forever to get to him. Russ tried to return it low,. He did hit it, but the ball headed right for the net. At the last instant, Billy Jackson jumped in front of it. Billy hit it straight up, then spiked it over the net for the winning point. As most of the team gathered around Billy to congratulate him, he looked at Russ and mouthed the word, "Asshole!" Russ felt like one, too, and he turned away unwilling to meet Billy's glare. He was still thinking about the shot as the boys dressed for their next class. Damn it, this wasn't fair. He should have been the hero, not the goat. And why did it have to have been Billy who'd saved his ass and won the game. He heard his name and suddenly realized that he'd been staring at Billy who was getting dressed about four lockers away. Billy had caught him at it. "What're you looking at, faggot? You want to start something?" Billy made a fist and waved it in his direction. "Or maybe you just want to come over and blow me?" The old Russ knew he could take Billy in a fight. He'd proved that last summer, when the two had fought over a girl both wanted. It took some effort, but Russ had won. And he'd celebrated his victory with the girl that night in an old cabin near the lake. But now a new memory came into Russ' mind. There had been a fight last summer, but it was when Russ' bike had fallen over and scratched Billy's car. Billy had won easily, leaving Russ with a black eye and a number of bruises. Russ actually found himself shaking. "Um, no, Billy. I -- I was feeling pretty stupid for messing up that shot and wishing that I was half as good an athlete as you are." Russ still knew how to get to one of Billy's weak spots, his ego. "That's all?" he asked Russ. "Yeah. Just -- just wanting to be like you, man." "Well, I don't see any chance of that happening, but even a geek like you has a right to dream." A few of the other boys had heard the exchange and were waiting for the excitement of a fight. Most laughed with Billy -- and at Russ -- and went back to getting dressed. Russ took a few seconds to calm himself and did the same. The rest of the school day was petty much the same as always. After school, Russ went looking for one of the Weaver sisters, but he was as unsuccessful as the day before. And just as sure that they were around and watching him. ***** He felt different somehow when he woke up the next morning. He took a quick look around the room. It was pretty much the same as the day before. The main difference seemed to be that, for some reason, his pajamas had changed from dark brown to a pale yellow. But the feeling persisted, so he got out of bed to look at himself in the mirror. He was still a skinny runt, about 5 foot 6, now, with hair down to -- no, this morning it was past his shoulders. And it looked thicker, too, and chestnut again, rather than a dull brown. Or maybe it was his face. His face was thinner, with higher cheek bones. His eyebrows looked thinner, too, almost as if he plucked them. His arms seemed smoother, less bony, as if there was some more fat under the skin. His hands were smaller, but his fingers seemed longer although more slender. Russ began to wonder just how far the changes went. He had trouble unbuttoning his pajama top. He was so nervous that he didn't realize that the buttons were now on the other side. He slid off the shirt and stared at his chest. His nipples, they were bigger now and on dark brown aureoles that were as big as half dollars! And those were centered on -- no, it couldn't be. It just couldn't be. He had tits! Little ones, barely A-cup, but tits! And his waist was narrower. It was as if -- Frantically, Russ reached down into his pants. _It_ had to be there! He felt around for his penis, his testicles, but they were nowhere to be found. His fingers moved slowly through his pubic hairs, stopping at a pair of lips on either side of a narrow opening. He gently pushed in a single finger. He knew only too well, from the experiences of his old life, what he was feeling: labia, a vagina, a clitoris. No, _his_ clitoris. He was a girl. Wide awake now, Russ looked around the room. There was a full length mirror on the bathroom door that hadn't been there the day before. He -- no, she -- ran over to it and dropped her pants. The girl staring back at her from the mirror was slender, almost too slender, with small tits, narrow waist and hips. Her legs were pretty good, though, and the face was kind of cute. If she'd seen her in the right outfit and with a little make-up, the old Russ would definitely have given her a second look. Maybe even try to get her into bed. But the new Russ -- hell, this girl _was_ the new Russ. Now she looked around the room, knowing that there had to be other changes. There was a white quilt embroidered with red roses on her bed, and she noticed that her dresser and end table, which were too low to have seen while she was lying in bed, were painted white as well. There was a knock on the door, and her mother called, "Rose, honey, are you up?" "Yes, Mom," she said, startled at her new alto voice. "'Rose'? well," she thought, "it was close enough to her real name that she'd be able to answer to it." Then she looked down and realized that she was going to have to get dressed. As a girl. She walked over to the dresser. There was some make-up on a small tray on top. The underwear drawer was half full of panties, mostly plain cotton or trimmed with just a little lace. There were only a couple of bras. She didn't really need one with her small breasts. Instead there were some girl's undershirts with narrow lacy straps. Russ pulled out a pale blue undershirt and slid it down onto her body. She could feel the cotton brush against her nipples and tried to ignore how pleasant it was. She stepped into a pair of matching panties and pulled them up to her waist. The material was cool against her skin. The sensation of the cloth flat against her groin reminding her again of the loss of her manhood. She pulled a pair of socks from another drawer and sat down on the bed to put them on. There was no way she was going to try to put on the panty hose or, worse, stockings. There were no other clothes in sight. Whatever else she was in this new life, Russ decided that, at least, she was neater than she had been. She pulled a "rocker" t-shirt from the dresser and walked over and opened the closet door. She wasn't ready to wear any of the dresses or skirts that she found there. She knew that she would have to eventually, if she couldn't get her old life back, but she was willing to wait. Instead, she chose a pair of jeans, and she grabbed two light blue sneakers from a shoe rack on the door. She was ready in a moment. Just as she was about to go down for breakfast, a new memory rushed into her head. Make-up. She'd forgotten to put any on. She didn't want to, but she didn't want to answer a lot of questions about why she hadn't. Fortunately, the memory included the knowledge of how to use the stuff and of what was the minimum she could get by with. He pursed her lips and applied the gloss, as if she'd been doing it for years. A little blusher on each check, and she was ready. No, her hair needed a quick comb. That done, she inspected her work. She had been right. She did look cute. She shook her head in disbelief and went to breakfast. Twenty minutes later, Russ was waiting outside when the bus came. As she climbed on, she heard her new name. "Rose," Becky Landers called. "Over here." Russ had known Becky since second grade, even dated her for a while when they were both freshman. But it turned out that she didn't really like jocks. "Her loss," he'd figured at the time. Now, it seemed, they were best friends. Russ said "Hi" and sat down besides her. "Are you going to the dance," Becky asked. "The dance," Russ thought and shuddered. Earlier in the week, she hadn't had a date. Did she have one now, or, worse, did she have a steady? she waited for a name to come into her head, but all that came was the memory of not dating much. "Thank heavens," she thought. Aloud she said, "nobody's asked me." "I'm going with Steve, of course," Becky said, "but I know that a lot of girls are going without dates. Why don't you?" "I don't know." "C'mon, it'll be fun. Besides, if the boys see you there, especially if you put a little work into how you look, they'll start asking you out. You really are too cute to not date, you know." "I'm -- I'm just not interested in boys," Russ said truthfully. "Oooh, maybe I should be nervous sitting here next to a butch girl like you," Becky said. Then she giggled. "I'm sorry, Rose. I shouldn't be teasing. I know you're not gay. Just shy." Russ was beginning to feel really embarrassed. "Can we drop the whole subject, if I promise to think about going to the dance?" "Okay -- did you see those dresses on the MTV fashion show the other night?" Russ spent the rest of the ride dodging questions about the show. Once in a while, the answer to something Becky said came into her mind, but she was seriously handicapped by the fact that most of what she knew about female clothing was ways to coax the female out of them. As before, Russ discovered that she was still taking much the same set of classes. The exception was fourth period, just before lunch. Without thinking she walked into her Auto Shop class. Mr. Slavin looked up from his desk. "May I help you, young lady." "Young lady." The thought suddenly came into Russ's mind that she had Home Ec this hour. She stood for a moment, trying to figure a way out. "Look, young lady, whatever you might want to say to your boyfriend -- whoever he is -- will have to wait. You have to get to your class, and I'm about to start teaching mine." "I -- I'm sorry," Russ said, feeling her face flush with embarrassment. She turned and ran from the class. Home Ec was about half way down the corridor, and Russ entered the room just as the bell rang. Ms. DeWitt had already begun. "So nice of you to join us, Ms. Walsh. Please take your seat." There was a single empty seat in the room, thankfully not very far from where Russ was standing. She took it quickly, as Ms. DeWitt handed out papers. "Today, I want to review the results of Monday's pop quiz. Most of you did well, I'm happy to say, but there's always room for improvement." She went on for most of the hour, going through the quiz question by question, pointing out problem areas, making suggestions, even telling an occasional joke to make a point. She was so good that Russ paid attention and actually found herself learning something. Becky was in the class with her. She came over after the bell had rung to end the period. "So, how did you do?" Russ realized that she hadn't noticed. She looked quickly at the paper. "Eighty seven," she said. "I missed a couple of those questions in part 2." "They were tough. Hey, c'mon, we only have twenty-five minutes for lunch." Becky grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the cafeteria. Irene Roth was saving a table for them with, of all people, Jenny Benton. Russ wasn't sure how to react. Jenny just smiled at what, in this new reality, were two of her oldest female friends. "Go with the flow," Russ thought and sat down. Lunch was general girl talk, a lot of it about the dance. Who was going with whom, and what everybody was wearing. Becky tried to draw Russ (Rose) into the conversation but wasn't very successful. "That girl is just too damn shy for her own good," she thought to herself. Russ had kept still more because she hadn't known what to say than because she was too shy to say it. To Russ's amazement, Chloe Weaver was waiting for her after school. She wore a knee length knit beige dress with dark brown open-toed shoes with a two inch heel. A gold pin in the shape of a spindle with small matching earrings were her only jewelry. "I understand that you've been looking for me, dear," she said with a smile. "I thought you might want to discuss some of the things that have been happening in your life lately." "You're damned right I do," Russ all but shouted. "Please, not here." Russ tried to argue, but she found herself unable to speak. Chloe lead her over to a bench near the side entrance to the school. she wanted to stay where she was standing, but found herself compelled to obey. Chloe looked her up and down, then sat on the bench motioning for her to join her. "The thread is rewinding nicely, you're becoming quite a pretty young lady." "Why are you doing this to me?" "Because you deserve it for what you did." "I never did anything to you." "Not directly, but I do resent you." "What?" "First of all, Jenny is my friend, and I resent what you did to her. More to the point, I resent that you used your good looks and your status as a football hero to escape from what would have been a just punishment. Most of all, I resent that you were totally unrepentant about it." "So you changed me into this." Russ's hands gestured at her slender female body. "Oh, you haven't finished changing yet. You don't remember your dream from Sunday night, do you?" "Dream?" Suddenly the memory of the dream flooded back into her mind. She remembered the room, the Weaver sisters being there and looking so strange, and, worst of all, she remembered what Chloe had said. "Five days. You mean it's going to get worse. I'm -- I'm only half done?" Chloe smiled. "I waited until today to talk to you. Waited until the rewinding had truly started. You are a female now, but barely so. By Friday, you will have become as female, in mind as well as in body, as you were a male." "In mind? You mean that I'll forget who I was?" "Oh, you'll remember, although no one else will. No one else does now, as you may have noticed." "Then what? You don't mean that I'm going to start liking boys?" "Of course I do, but that's not all that I mean. Think back on how you acted today. Was the old Russ ever as shy, as easily embarrassed, as you were today?" "' Not all you mean'," Russ thought. "It's damn well enough." Then she thought about how she had acted. She had been shy. In fact, a lot of her reactions had been decidedly feminine, back to the way she'd so easily convinced herself to wear make-up. "I see you begin to realize your fate." "Please, I'll do anything you want. I'll apologize to Jenny, admit what I did to her." "But, Rose, what have _you_ done to Jenny that do you have to apologize for?" Chloe stressed the name. "No, you'll take your punishment. Just as your friends will be punished." "My friends? Who? Why?" "Max Snyder and Billy Jackson were willing to help ruin Jenny's life out of friendship to you." "Are they going to become girls, too?" "No, as my sister says, lesser crimes weave a lesser pattern. A pattern you are responsible for. With no Russ Walsh, there was no championship game. No scouts saw the three of you play, so no scouts offered any of you college scholarships." "Then what happens to the guys." "According to my sister, Max was going to be a fairly successful business man, and Billy was going to go into semi-pro ball, eventually becoming a successful college coach, and then a well-known TV sports commentator. Now, Max will be a salesman at Sears. Billy gets to drive a delivery truck, though he does also coach Little League." "They'll hate me." "They'll never know what happened, what they would have been, if you hadn't done what you did. And they hadn't helped you get away with it." "It's horrible. I never meant to ruin their lives." Russ found herself about to cry. "But you had no qualms about ruining Jenny's." She noticed the look on Russ's face. She pulled a small silk handkerchief from her purse and handed it to her. "Want to cry? Good ahead, dear. It's only natural for a girl to cry when she's upset." Russ was stunned at the enormity of what had happened, what was going to happen. She took the handkerchief from Chloe and sat quietly dabbing at her eyes. Gradually she gave into emotions that had been bottled up since the first changes on Monday. Her sobs grew louder. The tears flowed. In a few moments, she was crying openly on Chloe's shoulder. She felt the woman's arm wrap around her, patting her on the back. "There, there, dear," Chloe said rocking her gently like a small child. It felt good, Russ thought. Too good. "No," Russ said, squirming free. "I'm not a girl, and you can't make me act like one!" Chloe smiled. "Not a girl? Look at yourself, my dear." She gestured at Russ's body. "And I'm not making you do anything, but look at how you're acting right now? Your emotions are becoming as female as the rest of your body. Your reactions a moment ago, indeed, your reactions right now, are hardly those of a boy." "Go away. Leave me alone." "Very well, my dear." Chloe stood up. "You won't be seeing me until the thread has completely rewound. Enjoy the next two days." Russ looked up. "What? What's going to happen?" But Chloe was completely gone. Vanished without a trace, leaving Russ alone on the bench. ***** Russ had a hard time getting to sleep that night. She knew that something would be changed by morning, and she was afraid to guess what that change would be. She found out quickly enough the next morning. When she sat up in bed to look around the room, she felt a weight on her chest. Looking down, she saw that the yellow pajamas she had put on the night before had changed into a yellow nightgown. Two breasts, much larger than the day before, pushed out the front of the gown. Her nails seemed a bit longer, too, and they were covered with a pink polish. Curious to get a better look, she got out of bed and walked to the mirror on her bathroom door. The nightgown hung down almost to the floor hiding her figure. She pulled it off over her head, noticing as she did that her chestnut hair seemed even thicker and longer. Yes, her hair was definitely longer, hanging down almost to her breasts. She pushed the hair back with an automatic -- and very feminine gesture. Her breasts were bigger: a B-, maybe even a C-cup. Her waist was higher and a bit smaller. Her hips were wider, and her butt rounded and firm. "Pretty cute," she thought to herself, looking back over her shoulder into the mirror. She stripped off her panties. They weren't the plain cotton ones of the day before. They were still pale blue, but now they were a silky nylon, cut higher and trimmed with white lace. She stepped into the shower, being careful to tie a long cloth that was hanging near the tub around her hair to hold it together and help keep it dry. Picking up a bar of herb scented soap, she began to lather her new curves. Her body was much softer now, firm but somehow yielding. The sensations when she began to rub her breasts were amazing. Russ had to force herself to stop and move on down her body. She bypassed her crotch for a moment, lifting each leg in turn to the edge of the tub to apply the soap. Her breasts were still tingling a little when she finished her legs and finally got to her crotch. When her fingers, covered with the gentle lather, began to rub against her vaginal lips, they began to tingle as well. It felt so good! Russ became curious as to what it would feel like to really go at it. She rinsed the lather off her hand and slipped a finger inside. Russ had been fairly experienced. He had known how use his hands to make a girl feel good, and now the transformed Russ used that knowledge on her own body. The finger inside her found her clitoris and began to caress it, while her other hand reached up and began to play at her breast. She arched her head back and began rolling her hips in time to the motion of the finger. Jolts of electric pleasure shot through her body. She began to moan. Russ closed her eyes. She tried to pretend that she was still male. That the female body she was touching belonged to somebody else, a beautiful girl who was lovingly touching her own, still male body. Russ imagined that it was Jenny she was feeling up. A picture can into her mind. But the naked girl was herself as she'd been in the mirror a few minutes before. And the boy was Billy Jackson, naked as she remembered seeing him in the boys' gym on Tuesday. They were alone on a bed. He was doing those wonderful things to her body, and she was reaching down to fondle Billy's prick. She smiled as it grew firmer and longer in her hand. No! Terrified at the thought, Russ pulled his hands away from his body. He reached down and shut off the hot water. The shower turned cold, washing away much of what she had been feeling. Still, as she stepped from the shower, there was a feeling of incompleteness, almost a hunger, down in her crotch. Patting herself dry with a fluffy towel didn't help her with the feeling. She'd never imagined that taking a shower could be such a sensual act. She picked up a duster of bath powder from tray that hadn't been there on the counter by her sink the day before. The powder was cool on her body with a lovely floral scent. She dusted herself all over, trying very hard not to notice the jolts of pleasure when she rubbed it across her nipples or down at her groin. Finishing in the bathroom, she went back into her bedroom to get dressed. The room had changed as well. The curtain on the window were now white with lacy frills. A make-up table was tucked in the corner next to the dresser, which now had an assortment of small stuffed animals and dolls on its top. There were still posters on the walls, but they were of different groups. Russ caught herself staring at the drummer of one group. Yesterday, Irene Roth had been talking incessantly about him at lunch. Now Russ felt her nipples beginning to tingle. "Great," she thought, "now I'm acting like some lovesick little chick." Russ opened the dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of silky pink panties, girl's boxers trimmed with a lacy froth on each leg. She stepped into them and pulled them up around her hips. The soft cloth felt incredible against her skin. She found a matching bra -- no undershirt would be suitable for her new, bigger breasts -- and stared at it for a moment, uncertain how to put it on. Then another memory surfaced. She put her arms through the straps and leaned forward, nesting her breasts in the cups. Her arms reached behind her, and she fastened the hooks as if she had been doing it for years. Panty hose or socks? Russ knew that, if she chose hose, the memory of how to wear them would pop into her head. But she'd also heard girls describe wearing them as a sensuous experience. And after the assault of female sensuality that she'd had to suffer through this morning, the last thing that she wanted was more, especially all day long. She chose a pair of pale green socks and slipped them on her feet. As she walked to the closet, another reason for socks occurred to her. Panty hose meant heels. Even if her trick memory told her how to wear them, she just wasn't ready for anything that overtly feminine. But what was she ready for? Yesterday, the closet had held mostly jeans and girl's slacks. Today, it was crammed full of skirts and dresses. Russ looked at them, wondering how she'd look in this or that one. In a few cases, she found herself remembering. how well she looked. That pink mini, for instance, the boys had really liked -- no! "None of that," Russ thought, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. She chose a green blouse and brown plaid slacks. She dressed quickly. Except for the buttons being on the other side, these weren't much different from what Russ had always worn. She had to smile when she looked in the mirror, though. The slacks showed off her narrow waist and wide hips. It did need something. No girl ever seemed to come to school without some jewelry. There was some jewelry in a glass case among the dolls on the dresser. She put a wide gold bracelet on her left wrist. A gold chain hung down from her neck and rested between her breasts. Unfortunately, they always wore make-up, too. Russ sat down at the make-up table and turned on the lights around the mirror. New memories told her what each item was and how to use it. She sighed. If she had to, she had to. A little mascara on her eyes, some blusher for the cheeks, and a pale pink shade of lipstick, and she was ready. Like the day before, Becky Landers called Russ over as she boarded the bus. Becky was excited about the dance Friday night, joking and giggling about her date with Steve Porter. Her excitement was catching, and by the time the bus got to the school, Russ was giggling along with her. From what Becky said while they rode to school, Russ got the impression that she had a date for the dance, too. She tried to remember who it was, but nothing came. That worried Russ. She'd gotten to depend on those crazy new memories to help her blend in. Then it occurred to her that the new memories only came when she needed the information for some reason. "I guess I don't need to know that yet," Russ thought. She found out why when the bus parked, and kids began to get off to go in to class. Al Sachs was standing near the parking space. When Russ climbed off, Al called her over. He took her by the hand and gave her a little peck on the check. "How are you this morning, babe?" Russ wasn't sure how to react. "Um, okay, I guess." "What's the matter? Hey, you're not mad about last night?" Al sensed that something was wrong, though he could hardly know how wrong Russ thought things had become. "What about last night?" Russ waited for a memory to tell him, but nothing came. "Look, I'm sorry. I wanted to come over, but my dad needed my help at the store. It was help him or not get the car tomorrow night." He put his arm around Russ' waist, pulling her close. "You _do_ want to have the privacy of a car tomorrow night, don't you?" Russ felt her nipples tingling. "Oh, shit," he thought. But the feelings running through his body felt so good. "I guess, so," she said aloud. The five minute bell rang. Al gave her another peck on the cheek. "Gotta go, Babe. See you later." He dropped his arm and ran off. "You and Russ planning something for the dance," Becky said nudging Russ with an elbow. "Or maybe for after the dance?" Russ felt her cheeks flush. Embarrassed, she looked down towards the ground. "I guess so." "M.m., he's cute. I won't ask now, but I'll expect a full report on Saturday." "We'll see," Russ said, still blushing. Then, desperate to change the subject, she said, "right now, we'd better get to class." The two girls ran into the building. The day went by in a blur. She was still in the same classes, so the schedule wasn't much of a problem. Even having to take Home Ec instead of auto shop wasn't so bad. Ms. DeWitt was a pretty good teacher, even if the class was one she really had no interest in. Then came seventh period and with it, gym class. Russ was walking towards the Boys' Gym, when Becky called her. "Aren't you going in the wrong door, Rose? I know that I've thought about peeking in from time to time, but I never thought that you'd have the nerve to try." She giggled. "We'd better hurry. Coach Vorhees hates it when girls are late." "Girls," Russ thought. "I'm going to get into girls' gym. Cool, first good thing since this craziness started." But it wasn't cool. It was just gym. Russ was surrounded by some of the prettiest girls in the school. They were taking off their clothes, baring their lovely bodies to her. And it was no more exciting than when the old Russ had been in the boys' locker room. He stared at Kelly Jackson, Billy's cousin, for a couple of minutes. Kelly had what a lot of boys considered the sexiest body in the school. Narrow waist, long shapely legs, and a set of tits that a lot of guys thought had to be half plastic. She'd dated college boys since her sophomore year, so even the old Russ hadn't had a chance with her. Now Russ was standing next to her. He watched her free those glorious breasts from a skimpy black bra that was so sheer it was almost transparent. They looked real now, but she found that she had no interest in touching them. Kelly noticed her staring. "What's the matter, Rose? Never seen what a real girl looks like." "No. I mean, I was just admiring your bra and panties. They look so sexy, I was wondering where you got them." Russ blurted out what she thought was just a line. Then she realized that it was true. She had wondered where Kelly had gotten the matched set. More scary, she was wondering how she'd look in something like that, and what -- oh, no -- what Al would think if he saw her in something like that. "Victoria's Secret, but you've got to have the figure to wear them." Russ actually felt the sting of the insult. "I think I look pretty good," she thought." "If you two have quite finished discussing your lingerie," Becky said. "Ms. Vorhees is expecting us on court." Russ already had on her sports bra and gym shorts. She threw on a t-shirt from her locker and slipped into her sneakers. The old Russ tied his shoes loosely, so he could slip into them like loafers in a hurry. Evidently, the new Russ was the same. Russ was on the gym floor just as Ms. Vorhees blew her whistle to start class. She had the satisfaction of seeing Kelly come out a couple minutes later. Ms. Vorhees was as tough as any of the male gym teachers. Standard punishment was 12 push-ups per minute late. Girl push-ups, maybe, but Kelly still had to do 24 of them, while the rest of the class watched. Russ had a feeling that Kelly would be gunning for her, looking to revenge herself for the embarrassment of the push-up. Nothing happened, except once, when she glanced over and saw Kelly glare back at her. Girls' basketball was just starting at Ellwood City High, and Ms. Vorhees was still recruiting for the team. She split her girls into two teams, so she could see what talent there might be. Russ had learned to play the game by age seven, and she'd lettered in it in her old life. But she discovered that, while her mind still remembered the moves, her body just didn't want to cooperate. She managed to get the ball at one point and was moving down court with it. Kelly ran by, trying to guard her. She made a couple of quick moves and reached for the ball. Russ moved to keep control, and Kelly's leg shot out around her own. They both fell to the gym floor, and the ball rolled towards the bleachers. Russ was up in a moment. "You tripped me, bitch!" she shouted. "You fell over your own two left feet, you cow." Ms. Vorhees blew her whistle. "I don't know what this is about, but I won't tolerate it. The two of you get dressed now, and we'll talk about it later." She paused for a beat, then blew the whistle again. "All right, the rest of you. There's still ten minutes of class left. Let's see if any of the rest of you are any good." The two girls went back to the locker room. They stripped and headed for the showers without saying a word to one another. Russ watched Kelly soaping her body, rubbing the lather across her breasts, down her legs, in her groin. This was an image that she'd fantasized about -- hell, that half the boys in the school had probably masturbated to. And now, nothing. She felt some arousal, but it was triggered by the feelings she got rubbing the soap across her own female form. Russ was tempted to do a repeat performance of her morning activities in the shower, but Kelly was in there with her. The rest of the class would be coming back into the locker room in a minute. She felt a shyness welling up in her, killing any thought of self pleasure. She left Kelly in the shower, dried off, and dressed. Ms. Vorhees was waiting for her near the door to the gym. "Becky Landers told me what happened. You shouldn't be arguing about something as silly which of you has the better body. I'm sure there are enough boys in this school doing that, anyway. For me, the important thing is that you stopped and got to class on time. Kelly was late. It was her own fault, but she seems to have blamed you. You can go to class, now." "What about Kelly," Russ asked. "She can consider the error of her ways while she's doing laps this afternoon." "Thank you, Ms. Vorhees," Russ said, smiling. "Wipe that smile off your face, or you'll be out running with her." Russ nodded in obedience and headed for her next class. She had the sense to wait until she was around the corner from Ms. Vorhees before breaking back into a smile The old Russ had a bunch of chores around the house. Now it seemed that washing the dinner dishes was added to the list. She was just finishing, when her mother came into the kitchen. "You have company, dear." "Who?" Russ looked up from the plate she was rinsing. Al Sachs walked into the kitchen. "I came over to study with you, like we talked about at school" he said. "I'm sorry if I got here early." "That's all right, Al -- is it?" Russ's mother said. "I can finish for her this once. In the future, though, Al, please don't come to see Rose before, say, 7:15 to give her time to finish." She put on an apron and moved to Russ' place at the sink. Russ took off her own apron and dried her hands. "Let's go upstairs," she said. "Let's not," said her mother. There's plenty of room at the dining room table for the pair of you." Russ realized what her mother had thought the two teens might do in her room, especially with the door shut -- or even locked. She blushed at the notion, even as she felt her nipples tighten and a warmth spread through her stomach. Her body seemed to have the same idea, and it liked the idea. The pair didn't get a chance to go upstairs together, but they were left alone at the table for the most part. They sat close, hips touching and holding hands. Once or twice, Al leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. One time, he even took a chance and kissed her on the lips. It was a short kiss, but full of feeling. Russ felt her nipples pushing against the material of her bra. There was a warm moistness in her crotch and an empty feeling there as well. Al went home about ten, kissing her again at the door before he left. Russ went upstairs and changed for bed. The emptiness, the need Al had aroused in her remained. Lying in bed she remembered how he looked, the touch of his hand on hers. He had such a wonderful smile. She felt her hand on her breast and pretended that it was his. The part of her that was still the old, male Russ was screaming "No!", but she barely heard it. Her other hand went down to her crotch, pulling her night gown up around her hips. She began rubbing her clitoris. The sensations got better and better. She began to pump her hips to the motion of her finger, as jolts of pleasure shot between her breasts and her pussy. Then they radiated out through her entire body like a bolt of lightening. Russ realized that she had experienced her first female orgasm. But not her last. She kept caressing her body, lifted higher and higher by the pleasure. She finally stopped when she heard her parents going to bed. She lay there quietly, afraid to start again and have them hear. After a while, she simply drifted off to sleep. Still smiling. ***** Russ was awakened the next morning by music, one of those easy listening stations that girls liked. She rolled over to find that her alarm clock had been replaced by a small clock radio. That couldn't be the only change. She decided that she might as well get the worse over with and climbed out of bed to view herself in the mirror on the bathroom door. As she walked over, yawning and scratching her head, she noticed that her hair seemed even thicker. Longer, too, she thought, considering the extra pull she felt on her scalp. She leaned in close to the mirror to get a look at her face and hair. She could hardly believe what she saw in the mirror. Her hair was a mass of chestnut curls that framed her now heart shaped face and hung down almost to her waist. Her eyebrows were shaped to narrow lines, and her eyelashes seemed much longer. Her complexion was peaches and cream perfect. Her lips seemed fuller, and her expression felt into a natural, but very sexy pout. She stepped back to get a look at her figure. The pale yellow night gown of the night before was now a baby doll nightie that barely reached down to her hips. Her hips seemed wider, too, and her waist narrower. The nightie was cut low and barely contained her larger breasts. She posed this way and that in front of the mirror, marveling at her new figure. She felt feminine and sexy, and a growing part of her loved the feeling. "Fun as it might be," Russ thought, "this isn't getting me ready for school. She walked over to the dresser, shucking off her nightie. The panty was almost a thong, barely covering her crotch and held on by narrow strings tied across her hips. She untied the strings and let the panty fall to the floor. The underwear in the drawer looked a lot more sexy than the day before. Russ pulled out a pair of white, French cut panties that were so sheer as to be almost transparent, except for a narrow, lace trimmed gusset at the crotch. They looked very much like the sort Kelly Jackson had worn the day before. She stepped into them and pulled them up to her waist, feeling their silky coolness against her skin. She had trouble finding the matching bra. She thought about going without. "Give the boys a thrill," she thought and giggled. Then she remembered the sort of jokes that guys made -- that she'd made -- about girls who went braless, especially girls with a rack as big as hers was now. She decided that she'd rather keep looking. She finally found the bra in the back of the drawer