Vicky's Tale free porn video

Vicky's Story We first met Vicky when she and four soon-to-be transformed guys sneaked into Bikini Beach for a late night swim. This is the story who Vicky is, who she _truly_ is, how she came to be there that night, and what's been happening to her since. (Note: Vicky first appeared in BB: Midnight Swim, and has been a continuing character in BB: Nerds - Holiday Queen and BB: Nerds - Date Rape Avenger.) ********************************************************************** Vicky's Story Rob sat in the hamburger shop, waiting. Anya had made him promise to be here at four. He glanced at his watch, and saw that it was precisely 3:59:02. Rob grinned. GPS synchronized watches were pretty cool - to a nerd. And Rob was a self- admitted nerd. The bell tinkled on the door, announcing a new arrival. Rob turned, and saw Vicky walking in. She looked very nervous, and she glanced as if looking for someone. When she saw Rob, her expression didn't lighten. If anything, she looked even more worried. Still, she came slowly to his booth. "May I?" she asked softly. Rob smiled. "Please," he answered. "Did Anya send you?" At the mention of her boss (technically, Anya wasn't the boss, but everyone knew that her words carried a lot of weight), Vicky blanched. "Uh huh," she nodded, unsure of herself. She slid into the seat, pausing to make sure her skirt was down. "Did she say anything?" Rob shook his head, then a slight frown crossed his features. "What's going on here, Vicky?" he asked, concern echoing in his words. "Is something wrong? Are you ...?" Vicky shook her head, emphatically denying that anything was wrong. "No, nothing's wrong," she answered quickly. Too quickly. There was something in her voice .... Rob cocked his head, puzzled. "So what is it, then? Anya didn't give any clues." Vicky looked at Rob, then she looked down. After composing herself for a moment or two, she looked back at Rob. "I know how you feel about me," she started hesitantly. "You don't make any secret about it, you know." Rob blushed, but only slightly. "Well, I can't help it," he said, defending himself. "You're a pretty special girl ..." Vicky shook her head, cutting him off. A tear started to roll down her cheek. "No," she said, and the strain in her voice was plain to Rob. "No, you're far too nice a guy for me," she protested weakly. "But ..." Vicky shook her head, silencing Rob again. "I have to tell you something," she said. Anguish dripped from every word. She wanted, more than anything, to avoid having to tell Rob her story. At the same time, she knew that she had to. Anya had helped her understand. And now, Vicky was on the hot seat. "I'm listening," Rob said softly. Every fiber of his being was focused on Vicky, on the words she felt were important for him to hear. Vicky wiped a tear. "I wasn't always like this - the 'nice girl' you think I am." ********** Vic Martin paused outside the main doors, waiting. The buses were long-since gone, and the noise of teenagers at Kennedy High had faded for the day. Only Vic and a few others were left, and only because they'd just been released from the prison of detention. Within seconds, his partner in crime skipped down the steps, laughing all the way. "Well, Vic?" Jim Hayes asked gleefully, "Was it worth it?" Vic grinned broadly. "Yeah, but that was after only one day. We've got nine more days of this." Jim and Vic started walking to Jim's car. "Man, I wish I could have seen the face of the poor girl that turned on the water." Vic laughed aloud. They'd found a simple chemical mixture that produced dense white smoke when it got wet. How to use it properly was Jim's inspiration. One afternoon, once classes were done and the building was empty, they slipped back into the school. With Jim watching, Vic had carefully removed the traps from three sinks in the Home Economics room. While Home Ec was considered a passe course these days, a lot of girls, and a few boys, took the "Life Skills" class, which dealt with things like how to apply for a job, sticking to a budget, cooking, and how to keep a place for yourself. Vic carefully dried out the traps and the sinks, then he put a handful of the magic powder in each sink trap and reassembled the drains. After that, it was just a matter of waiting for some poor girl to turn on the sink. It happened second period, when Jim and Vic were in English. The fire alarm sounded insistently, and as they joined the flight from the building, they could see the choking white smoke pouring into the hallways. The duo laughed until they hurt as they stood outside waiting for the fire trucks and the all clear. They hadn't laughed so heartily when they were summoned to Principal Nelson's office. He'd seen their amusement at the spectacle, and obviously suspected them; after all, they had both been involved in a great many prior pranks. They got the full riot act. Endangering students by faking a fire. Unauthorized use of chemicals from the lab. Breaking and entering. As they walked away, Vic had a pang of remorse; this one had crossed the line, he realized. If anyone had been hurt in the rush to escape, it would have been his and Jim's faults. They were lucky to escape with only 2 weeks detention, and only because they couldn't _conclusively_ prove that Vic and Jim had done it. Jim, however, felt no regrets; to him, it was still a big joke. He laughed all the way home. ********** A week after their detention was over, Jim approached Vic in the cafeteria. "What's new, buddy?" Jim asked simply. Vic knew that Jim was up to something. Rarely did he have the broad grin without also having a caper. "I don't know," Vic answered coolly. "What's the plan?" Jim laughed. "You got me figured out," he said with a grin. "Okay, you know what happens in two weeks?" Vic's eyes narrowed. "Spring pageant," he answered quickly. Everybody knew the spring pageant was coming up. The winner at that contest would go on to the city pageant, and from there to state, and finally to Miss Teen USA. It was considered very important to the 'beautiful' girls. "So what's the plan? Blower up their skirts like last year?" Jim laughed at the memories. "Nah, it's been done." The fact that he and Vic had done it made him proud. "I was thinking about doing something a little different this year." Vic's eyes narrowed. "Itching powder in their bras? Blackening soap in the makeup? Whoopee cushions on the stools?" Jim grinned and shook his head. "No, no, and no." He reached across and patted Vic on the cheek. "Victor, my boy, you're thinking small potatoes here. This is the pageant. It's time to pull out all the stops!" Vic bristled at Jim's put-down. "So what's the plan, hotshot?" Jim grinned, then he leaned closer. "What would you say if we got a couple of guys entered in the contest?" Vic snorted. "Guys in drag? Come on, this is a big pageant!" Jim's grin widened, to the point it looked like it would split his face. "I learned a few tricks in theater this year. With the right makeup, and some good costuming tricks, we'd look like girls right up until we pulled off our wigs!" Vic started to listen, then his eyes widened. "Whoa," he interjected. "What do you mean, 'we?'" Jim smiled. "I mean 'we'. Look, we're seniors, right? And this is our chance to go out with a bang, right?" Vic nodded slowly. He still didn't like the idea, but Jim was persuasive. Vic nodded grudgingly. "Okay, so how does this work? How do we get entered?" Jim grinned. "Already done," he announced softly. "I entered us this morning." Vic stopped mid-stride and turned toward Jim. "Wait a sec. What do you mean, you entered us? What makes you think I'm going to go along?" Jim raised his hands, palms facing Vic. "Whoa, Vic. Calm down a bit." Vic's reaction was familiar, and Jim knew how to handle this. "I just thought you'd like to be in on the greatest gag of the school year. I thought you'd like the moment of glory." Vic started to reply, then stopped. He turned and started walking again. Something was nagging at him, hinting some feeling of danger. Still, this would be a great gag .... "Okay, so what do we do?" Jim grinned and fell in beside Vic. "I'll figure out what we need. Then we get it and show up at the pageant. Simple." ********** 'Simple' turned out to be not so simple. They needed suitable dresses. For Jim, with six sisters, that part was relatively easy. But Vic had only his younger sister, five years his junior, and he was a bit larger than Jim, so they couldn't just 'borrow' a dress from Jim's sister. A week and a half passed, and they still hadn't found a dress for Vic. The second major problem came when Jim went to 'borrow' some props and makeup from the theater department. Due to the numerous pranks, many of which involved Jim, some departments had tightened their policies, which meant that Jim didn't have unrestricted access to the makeup and props. They'd even tried subterfuge, with Vic trying to distract the manager while Jim pilfered the supplies. Perhaps the manager suspected something, or perhaps she was just following the new policy; she locked up the cabinet before she left Jim alone. "Okay, hotshot, now what?" Vic asked sullenly as they walked out of the school. "The pageant's this weekend, and we're still nowhere near ready." Jim frowned. "I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe we can go to a costume shop or something." Vic shook his head. "I don't know," he said slowly. "Most of those places sell pretty cheesy costumes, and they're kind of pricey, too." Their failure to pull off this gag would be a first, and despite his misgivings, Vic didn't want that failure hanging on him. Jim nodded his agreement. "Maybe we can find something in the mall," he said, trying unsuccessfully to interject some hope. Vic merely shrugged. "Okay, it's worth a try." ********** Vic shook his head sadly as they exited the food court. "Nada," he said. "Zero. Zip. I guess we're not going to make this one." Jim opened his mouth to reply, but then he stopped. "I guess you're right," he finally agreed. "Let's go to the arcade and play some games. Maybe we'll get an idea there." As they turned the corner to the arcade, it was Vic who noticed the shop. It was a curious little store, with a full storefront and a weathered door. Over the door hung a weathered wooden sign which read 'Spells-R-Us'. "Hey, what about that store?" he asked Jim. His hopes had suddenly rebounded, based on a cursory examination of the articles in the display window. Jim followed Vic's gaze, and soon his eyes lit up with hope as well. The shop seemed to be a catch-all curiosity shop. A few costumes, a few old books, a weathered steamer trunk, some mystical-looking jewelry, and even a couple of games and videos filled the display case. "Maybe," Jim said with a grin. He changed course abruptly, setting a new course for the curious little shop. The sound of a bell tinkling as the door opened was as foreign to the mall as the door itself. Vic stepped inside, not really looking where he was going, his eyes and head turning and craning to examine the strange little shop. A rack of costumes filled one corner. A large case displayed more jewelry, while a shelf held some curious, and probably very old, little crystal vials and jars. Games, including computer games, were stacked haphazardly on a table, while books spilled from a bookcase onto the floor. A bearskin rug hung on one wall. A shelf full of weird science-fiction props nearly blocked view of another shelf with convenience items such as aspirin and sunscreen. "What a weird store!" Jim exclaimed in hushed tones. All the place needed were cobwebs and a thin layer of dust, and it would seem to have come straight from an old horror movie set. "Why, thank you, Jim," a voice called from behind the boys, startling them. "I think." They spun and spotted a curious little man, whose appearance fit this store perfectly. He wore an old robe, which appeared to be more a costume than a bathrobe, and his beard and mustache reminded Vic of Merlin from the Disney cartoon 'The Sword in the Stone.' It seemed that he'd appeared out of nowhere. "Uh," Vic stuttered, still trying to regain his composure after the startling appearance. "We, uh ..." The old man chuckled. "No, Vic, I'm not Merlin. He's much taller, and he's got a really poor sense of humor." Vic's jaw dropped. This old man had known his name - and what he'd been thinking. "Did you just ...?" Vic started to ask. The old man laughed, an amused chuckle. "Yes, Vic, I did just read your mind. I'm a wizard, you know, and we do that sort of thing." His eyes twinkled, and he winked at Vic. "What a refreshing change. It beats having to answer that inane 'How did you do that' question all day!" He laughed again. "Like Jim was about to ask me!" Vic glanced at Jim, his eyes betraying his nervousness. This was eerie, and Vic was none too comfortable. Jim, too, was unnerved, but he braced his shoulders and put on a brave front. "So how can I help you today?" the old man asked. His eyes seemed ever sparkling, as if he were enjoying a perpetual joke. Vic frowned. "Aren't you going to tell us what we're looking for?" he asked slyly. "Touche," the old man roared. "You just want to look around a bit, right?" He stepped behind his counter, behind an antique-looking cash register which sat next to an electronic credit card system. The contrast was humorous. Vic smiled. This old man was okay, he started to think. "And after we look around a bit, you'll tell us what we really wanted, right?" He watched the old man smile in acknowledgement. "How about we save a bit of time?" He gave Jim a nudge; Jim had been looking at a computer game. "We're looking for some costumes, and some theatrical makeup. Girl's costumes," he added as his cheeks flushed red. "Uh ... for a costume party." The old man smiled knowingly. "A party? If you say so." He walked from behind his counter to the rack of costumes, with the boys following. He rifled through the rack, and pulled down a formal gown. After giving it a quick once-over, he held it up to Vic. "Hmm. I think this will work for you." Vic's eyes widened. The gown was very nice, but there was no way it would work for him. He started to protest, but the old man cut him off. "Oh, yes, I know the waist is too narrow, and it does seem a bit low-cut, and it is kind of tight, which would, uh, give away the show, so to speak?" He was referring, of course, to the fact that Vic's equipment would cause an unsightly bulge in the garment. "Trifling details," he muttered. "We can take care of that." He set the dress aside, then crossed to a large display of underwear. After a bit of rummaging, he pulled out a couple of ladies' undergarments: a bustier, which to Vic looked like a combination of a strapless bra and a corset; and what looked to be a very tight and sturdy pair of panties, albeit with a padded posterior. While they were far from sexy, they did look quite restraining. "Ah, I think these will do the trick," he muttered. Again, he held up the garment to Vic. "Yes, that will do nicely." Vic frowned. "You expect me to wear those ... those ... things?" "Whenever you build a house, you've got to get the foundation right, you know," he clucked. "You wear these, and they hold your stomach in, making it look like you have a narrow waist. The same thing for the crotch. Oh, sure, they may be a bit tight, but the effect is, ah, shall we say magical?" His eyes glimmered as if he were laughing at his own joke. He tossed the garments on top of the dress. He stroked his beard. "Hmm. What else?" he mumbled to himself. After a few seconds of staring in the general direction of the ceiling, he held up a finger. "Of course." He took off at a fast pace across the store. Jim and Vic exchanged a puzzled look, then they followed him. The old man was rummaging through a bin of shoes. "Er, you're a size 9 1/2, aren't you?" he asked as if he already knew the answer. He fished a bit longer, then pulled out a pair of high- heeled pumps. He looked at them, then across the store at the dress, then back at the shoes. "Yes, I think these will do." Jim peeked around Vic. "Look, don't you just have a costume ...?" He got no further with his question. The old man wheeled on him, his eyes narrowed. "Listen, sonny," he began, his voice low and insistent, "when you do a gag, you can either do it half-assed, and get half-assed results, or you can do it right. Now do you two want to do this half-assed, or do you want to do it right?" Jim cringed from the verbal lashing. He was behind Vic, and he moved ever so slightly, decreasing how much of him was visible to the strange old man. Vic, who'd been asking himself the same question, slowly nodded. "We do it right," he agreed. The old man smiled. "Okay." He put the pumps on the counter, then he thought. "Now where did I put those?" he asked himself, stroking his chin. After a second, his eyes lit up. "Oh, yes." He turned and ducked behind a curtain; above the door was a sign reading 'Employees only'. Vic and Jim, spying the sign, decided it would be better to wait. Within moments, the old man reappeared. He was carrying a strange beige item, which he promptly flopped on the counter, and an old wooden case. And as soon as it hit, it unfolded. Jim suppressed a giggle, while Vic flushed. "Uh, what are those for?" he asked. The old man smiled. "Hollywood prosthetics. Breast forms. They're to make sure you have," he held his hands out from his chest, "cleavage. To fill out the dress, you know." "But they don't look ... real," Vic protested. The old man smiled, then he plunked the wooden case on the counter. He flipped the brass latch, and unfolded it. As the lid folded up, inner trays lifted, folding up and open. Inside the lid was a mirror, and the trays held various makeup items. "Got this from Greta Garbo," the old man said. "Did wonders for her career." His mouth dropped as he saw the boys mouthing the name, not a vestige of comprehension on their faces. "Greta Garbo? The actress?" He shook his head. "No cultural background," he mumbled in disgust. "Okay, so that's stage makeup, right?" Jim asked, recognizing some of the items in the case. He continued to gaze into the case. "It looks like there's more, too. Fake nails and stuff?" The old man nodded toward Jim. "Very good. I see all that time in drama wasn't a total waste." Vic looked over the contents of the counter, then he frowned. "I think I'll need a wig, too." The old man smiled, then he strode to the costume rack. He glanced around a shelf, then he retrieved a wig. It was moderately long, mostly straight, and had a slight inward curl at the bottom. The front was in straight bangs. All in all, it was simple and cute. Blonde, but not a 'bimbo blonde.' "I think this is just right." As the old man walked back to the counter, Jim elbowed Vic aside. "Er," he interrupted, "can you put together the same kind of thing for me?" The old man stopped and turned. A smile slowly formed, spreading into a grin that made Vic shudder. "Why, yes. Yes I can." His eyes twinkled. "I was waiting for you to ask." Vic had a brief feeling of dread at the old man's entire demeanor, but it quickly passed, replaced by anticipation of their gag. A few minutes later, Jim's costume was ready. While Vic's gown exposed some cleavage from its scoop neckline, Jim's was very daring. The sleeves hung off the shoulders, and the neckline not only required a strapless bra, but was going to reveal some serious cleavage. In contrast to Vic's soft blue gown, Jim's was daring ruby in color, and his shoes matched perfectly, albeit with even higher heels than Vic's. Jim's wig was honey blonde, long, and curly. And where the prosthesis for Vic was maybe a C-cup, Jim had insisted on something a bit larger. The old man smiled as he produced a double-D cup. Jim's leering grin let the old man know that he was pleased. "Okay," the old man said as he surveyed the two piles. "You'll need a few accessories, like nail polish and pantyhose. But you can pick those up cheap at a department store. And if you want earrings or necklaces, you can probably borrow them from your mom or sisters. Now did you boys want to rent or buy this?" Vic's head snapped toward Jim, who had glanced Vic's way. The heads turned back as one. "Rent," they said in harmony. The old man smiled and nodded. "Okay, that will be thirty-five dollars each, plus a fifty-dollar deposit for the makeup kit." He started to place the kits into a bag for each boy. He rang up the purchases, then took their money. "I appreciate the business," he said with a smile. "I hope you guys are the hit of the pageant." Jim gave Vic a sly grin. "I'm sure we will be," he answered. Neither boy noticed the subtly wicked grin nor the way he spoke as if he already knew the outcome. As Vic grasped the door handle, the old man called out after the boys. "Oh, yes, I almost forgot. There are directions with each item. Be sure to read and follow the directions." Jim nodded without really hearing. "Sure, sure," he called. His mind was already on the pageant. ********** Vic peered out of the men's locker room, then gave the door lock a twist. Even though they were going to reveal themselves to the entire school in a few hours, he didn't relish the thought of being caught getting into the girl's clothing. He saw Jim starting to strip, and he did a double-take. "Did you shave? You know, your legs and stuff?" Jim scowled, trying to hide the way his cheeks were flushing. "Well, that dress kind of shows them off, you know," he said defensively. Vic grinned. "Yeah, I know." He pulled up his pants, showing off his smooth legs. "Me too." Both boys stripped to their shorts, then they laboriously applied the breast prostheses. They'd taken the precaution of practicing once, and consequently, they knew how long the process was going to take. It was mid-afternoon, and the pageant didn't start for almost four hours. Jim applied the spirit gum to Vic's form, then waited until it was just right. He pressed the form onto Vic's chest, wrapping it to the side of his ribcage and up near his collar bones, carefully smoothing out the edges and making sure it was firmly adhered. When he was sure it was stuck, the two traded places. Next came the makeup on the prostheses. Jim smoothed liquid latex over the seam, molding it until the seam was nearly invisible. As soon as the latex was dried, he began to apply the base. Next, he selected a tone of cake makeup which most closely matched Vic's skin and liberally applied it to the entire form and most of Vic's upper torso. When he was done, he stepped back and whistled. "What?" Vic demanded, frowning. He really didn't like being whistled at like that. "See for yourself," Jim said with a grin. Vic strode into the bathroom, and gasped when he looked in the mirror. "Wow!" he exclaimed. "They look almost real!" Jim nodded. "Yeah. Now do me." Vic repeated the process, under Jim's constant verbal direction. And when Vic was done, the effect was no less realistic. "This stuff is like magic," Jim said in awe as he considered the realistic and bounteous cleavage on his chest. Vic felt a tremor of unease at Jim's words, like some kind of warning he couldn't quite catch. The feeling passed quickly. He glanced at his watch. "Wow! That took a long time." Nails came next - the artificial nails from the makeup kit that they glued in place. After a bit, the adhesive dried, and they carefully painted them. Jim had selected long nails with rusty red enamel to match the lipstick he'd selected, while Vic went with less daring nails and clear enamel. It seemed much less feminine; while Vic would never admit it, he was starting to get nervous at just how far the transformation was going. Jim had laughed off his worries the last time they practiced; it was just a gag. Vic checked his watch again. "Think we'll make it?" he asked, worried about the time. Jim nodded. "I'm going to pee now, before I start getting in the rest of that stuff. I'd suggest you do the same." He saw Vic's puzzled look. "After we get all made up, are you going to use the ladies' room, or the men's room?" Vic got the point. Next came the bustiers, the tight garments that helped mold their waists. As the old man promised, while they were a bit uncomfortable, they were also very effective at making their bodies look more feminine. Vic sucked in his stomach, and it still took all of Jim's strength to fasten the bustier. Vic felt like a vice was squeezing his waist, and it was quite uncomfortable. The nice thing about the garments was that the tops perfectly matched their artificial bustlines and reduced the pull and tug of the artificial weight on their chest and shoulder muscles. Then came the panties. Again, they squeezed and constrained their bodies; Vic tucked his willy between his legs as he pulled the garment on. With these precautions, the garment left him with a very smooth crotch, and the padding gave him a rounded tush, like a girl. Vic felt a tremble when he saw himself - this was looking just a little too realistic. Next came the pantyhose; Vic had bought a pair, suffering the humiliation of the checkout lane, because it just didn't seem right to use his mother's pantyhose. But Jim had just 'liberated' a pair from his sister. Finally, they got to their dresses. Vic started to put on his shoes, but Jim stopped him. "You don't want to walk in those things any longer than you have to, do you?" Vic understood. In their practicing, they'd tried to walk. While they did gain some skill, their feet really hurt from the effort. "You do my makeup, and I'll do yours." Vic sat Jim on the bench, then began to apply the makeup. More than Jim, he'd been terrified of putting on makeup. He had no experience, unlike Jim's drama-club enhanced skill. He was deathly afraid of looking like a zombie or mutant freak. So the boys practiced a couple of times, and by now, Vic was comfortable, if not good. The makeup went on quickly; first the base, then some shading and highlights to make Jim's cheeks look higher. The same trick, applied to his nose, gave the illusion of a smaller, more feminine nose. A little eyeliner and eye shadow emphasized Jim's eyes, giving them a softer, more feminine look, and some carefully applied lipstick and liner created the illusion of sexy pouty lips. Vic stepped back to admire his work, and he was totally shocked. The effect couldn't have been more perfect; if not for his close-cropped hair, Jim looked like a very sexy girl! And even Vic's hair could easily have been mistaken for the 'short sassy' style some girls seemed to love! Jim was much faster at doing Vic's makeup. Again, to their mutual surprise, the effects of the makeup were fantastic. They were nearly done, Vic noted with relief. So far, they'd spent over three hours. Finally, they put on their jewelry, Jim and Vic made one final stop at the head, then they slipped on their shoes. They teetered a bit as they walked around to familiarize themselves with the shoes, especially Jim in the higher heels. But again, they boys had practiced a bit in the preceding nights, so they weren't going to make total fools of themselves or break their ankles. Still, it took a bit of getting used to. Last, with fifteen minutes to spare, Jim pulled on his wig. It fit well, and with the remainder of the package, Vic gasped. "Wow, man! You look ... hot!" Jim smiled, not the silly grin of a high-school prankster, but a demure smile of a girl who just got a compliment. "Thanks," Jim said, his voice shifting up a bit as he worked to mimic a girl's voice. He tottered into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. "Wow!" he echoed softly, a breathy and sexy sound. "I think I could even win!" He came back out in time to see Vic pull his wig out. "Hey," Jim said, keeping his voice sounding as feminine as he could, "I thought you were going to be a blonde." Vic shook his head, holding the long brunette wig. "Nah. I tried it the other night, and blonde just didn't work for me." He, too, was working on his voice, and the effect was not bad. "I _borrowed_ this from my cousin's salon when I got the nail polish and that other stuff." He slipped the wig on, taking care to tuck his hair under the cap. A little minor adjustment, and he flipped the long tresses off his shoulders and down his back. With his fingers, he parted the hair draping into his face and walked to a mirror. He took his comb and worked on the hair, ending up with a reasonably straight part as he swept the hair back behind his ears. As Jim giggled, Vic struggled with a pair of barrettes in his hair, securing the long locks. Finally, he put on a pair of earrings and a faux pearl necklace. He turned and smiled at Jim. "Well, how does it look?" Jim's eyes widened. "Wow! This is so cool! We look really really good!" He giggled, a very girly sounding laugh. "We might even win!" They gathered their supplies and slipped out to Jim's car, stashing everything in the back seat. They got back to the gym just in time to start checking in for the pageant. Most of the contestants had been using the girls' locker room and the drama makeup room to primp; no one had seen Jim or Vic getting ready. As Jim leaned over to sign in, Vic saw one of the girls glaring at him. Vic had to suppress a giggle - the real girl considered Jim to be a serious competitor. And then Vic saw Jim's reaction, and he had to do a double take. When Jim noticed the girl frowning at him, he smiled pleasantly, then straightened and thrust his chest out, emphasizing his bust line. With a slight lifting of his chin, Jim turned from the registration table and sauntered off. Vic had to marvel at the way he walked in his shoes - his stride was perfect, as if he'd always worn heels, and even including a sexy wiggle in his butt. Vic turned his attention back to the table to finish his registration. As he signed in, he heard the girl. "I bet they aren't even real," she hissed to her friend. Vic hid his smile; the comment was more true than the girl could possibly imagine. He straightened, avoiding Jim's haughty chest display, and thanked the girls. Vic and Jim had little time to interact during the evening. They were busy with the pageant - modeling their gowns and making their little 'save the world' speeches. An hour and a half passed quickly, and then the first round ended. The judges debated, and then pared the forty-six contestants to twelve. Vic was not surprised to be eliminated; the competition was stiff. But to his shock, he found himself a little disappointed, and even jealous, when he was cut out but Jim made the semi-finals. He felt the bustier and girdle constraining him, but it seemed that he was getting used to them; they weren't bothering him quite so much. The pageant got very boring for Vic, since he was no longer competing. He sat with the other 'eliminated' contestants, watching the remainder of the contest. He was happy for Jim when Jim actually made the final five contestants, and then he was shocked at his own feelings. He should have been laughing his head off. Vic imagined it was just his ability to carry off a gag that kept him from blowing their cover. And something else bothered him. When Jim - Tanya, as he was calling himself - had been announced as a finalist, he reacted just like a girl, letting out a shriek of surprise and delight, and clasping her hands over her mouth. Just like the other girls. Vic knew - he absolutely knew - that Jim was acting, and he was doing a hell of a job. It was getting late. The pageant had started at eight, and because of the number of contestants, it was nearly ten when the finalists were announced. Vic glanced at his wrist, and cursed under his breath. He'd left his watch with his other things, since it was a very masculine watch. This was taking too long. Jim gave a very convincing 'I love the world, and want to help save it' contestant speech, sounding very sultry and sincere at the same time. Vic suppressed a laugh, and got an elbow from the contestant sitting beside him. Vic grinned at that - the girl was going to be so surprised when he unmasked. They announced the fourth runner up, and it wasn't Jim. They announced the third runner up, and it still wasn't Jim. Vic was thoroughly enjoying this - Jim was in the final three, and this was truly going to be their best gag. Nor was Jim the second runner up. It was down to Jim and another girl, a blonde with hooters nearly as big as Jim's fake ones. And then they announced the winner, and Vic was stunned. Jim had won. Against all possible odds, Jim won. He had been so convincing as a girl that he'd beat some very pretty girls in the pageant. Vic laughed to himself. Just getting in was a good gag, but this? This was going to be talked about for generations to come. Sure, Jim was going to be known as the prankster of the century and Vic's role would be soon forgotten, but this was worth it. Vic frowned as he watched Jim's reaction to the victory. He clasped his hands over his mouth, just like a girl, as he cried and shrieked with surprised joy. He actually gave the runner up a very feminine kiss on the cheek as he hugged her. Then they put the tiara on Jim's head and handed him the huge bouquet. He made a ceremonial stroll down the runway, waving in a most feminine way and smiling, even making the occasional wipe of his eye as he faked tears of happiness. Vic was impressed - Jim was playing this one to the hilt. There followed a dizzying swirl of activity. Photographers took picture after picture of the new queen, her court, and all the contestants. While this was going on, the traditional spring dance began in the adjoining ballroom. Jim, as the winner, had the obligation of a lot of dances. The principal, the homecoming king, the captains of the football and basketball teams. It seemed she had a long dance card, all obligated by custom. And Vic was busy, but for a different reason. Guys he knew were asking him to dance, and he had to invent reasons not to dance. For one thing, he didn't want to dance with a guy. It would just be too weird. The second thing was more for self-preservation; Vic was afraid that he'd break his ankle dancing in the heels, even though he was getting around in them better than even he realized. At one break, Vic glanced at the clock, then got a cup of punch for himself and one for Jim. He sauntered over to Jim and handed him the punch. "Well," Vic whispered to his pal, "when do we unmask?" Jim smiled demurely at a guy, then answered in a low whisper. "I've got another dance or two. Then we'll both go to center floor and reveal ourselves." Vic sighed with relief. "I was starting to think you weren't going to remember that part. Remember the instructions the old man gave us. We need to get out of this by midnight." Jim grinned. "Yeah, just like Cinderella," he scoffed. "Don't worry. I haven't forgotten." He smiled at yet another enamored guy. "This is going to be one for the record books." The music started, and Jim's next dance partner interrupted Vic. "Got to go. See you in a few minutes." Vic walked back to the punch bowl, glancing with concern at the clock. It was twenty minutes to midnight, and despite Jim's bluster, he didn't really want to ignore the warnings. The old man had seemed just a little too much like a wizard. A guy eased up to Vic. "Hi. You looked great in the pageant tonight." "Thanks," Vic said without enthusiasm. "Would you like to dance?" Vic glanced at the guy, then shook his head. "Sorry, but I have a sore ankle. I sprained it a couple of weeks ago, and the doctor told me I have to take it easy." He smiled, trying to look apologetic. The guy shrugged. "Well, if it means anything, I think you should have won." Vic suppressed his gag reflex. How many times had he heard this line tonight? All from guys who wanted to get to know his new female self better. "Thanks. I'd love to talk some more, but I promised my mom I'd be home by midnight." The guy glanced at his watch. "Oh? You're late, you know." Vic's mouth dropped. He glanced at the clock again. It clearly said eleven forty-five. The guy followed his gaze. Then he pulled up his watch for Vic to see. "That clock is about twenty minutes slow. Always has been, you know." Vic felt a surge of panic. The old man had said midnight! And he was late! Then Vic fought off the feeling. Surely his nervousness was just superstition. Still .... Vic caught Jim as he left the dance floor. "Jim, it's after midnight! Remember the old man's directions?" Tanya looked at Vic with a blank stare. "What are you talking about, Vicky?" she asked, her voice even softer and more sultry. "Why did you call me Jim?" She wrinkled her brow, pausing to brush some of the stray blonde locks from her face. "Are you feeling okay?" Vic felt his head spin. He saw the look in Jim's eyes. There was no recognition of his words. And his voice! Vic realized that Jim's voice sounded even more feminine than he'd been faking. Vic gazed at Jim. "Uh ... I guess I'm not feeling too well," he stammered. He turned, walking slowly from the dance floor. As he walked, certain sensory inputs found their way through his mental fog. His voice. He recalled when he'd just talked to Jim. His voice was a nice alto, just like he'd been doing all night. Only he hadn't been trying just now. It had come out that way. Vic felt his stomach turn, and felt like he was going to be ill. He started toward the men's room, then he got confused. He couldn't waltz into the men's room. On the other hand, could he really use the ladies' room? He finally stumbled blindly to the ladies' room. Vic felt himself stagger, and he caught himself on a sink. He looked up, and found himself staring at himself in the mirror. It was, and yet it wasn't Vic's face that stared back. Vic tried to convince himself that it was because he wasn't feeling well, but he thought his nose looked smaller, his cheeks higher, and his face softer. He staggered into a stall, closing the door behind him. For a long minute, Vic wasn't sure if he was going to throw up or not. Finally, the urge passed. Vic stood, trembling, trying to take in all the confusion swirling around him. His feet - he wasn't feeling the discomfort of the heels as acutely, as if he were used to wearing them. Vic searched his senses to feel the constricting bustier; his eyes widened and his concern turned to panic as he realized that he didn't feel it clamping vice-like around his waist. It was still there, true, and he could feel it, but it seemed far less tight than it had. Likewise, the girdle was far less noticeable. Vic's heart rose to his throat; the panic was turning to sheer terror. Vic glanced around, his face pale with fright, then he slipped into a stall and closed the door. He lifted his dress, then pulled down his pantyhose. His crotch, seen through the valley of his artificial cleavage, was as flat as when he'd first put on the girdle. Only now, something seemed wrong. With a tremble of trepidation, Vic slid his fingers to the waistband and slowly, fearfully, pulled the girdle down. A cry of fear escaped Vic's mouth as he gazed upon his crotch. His willy, his symbol of manhood - it was gone. As if by magic, which by now Vic firmly believed in, his dick was nowhere to be found. Nor were his testicles present. No balls, no scrotum. No dick. Only a mound of soft pubic hair in a neat triangle. And then he felt the urge to urinate. Vic sat slowly on the toilet, his eyes wide with fright. He wondered how it was going to work, this different anatomy. He let his muscles relax, using the same controls he'd used as a guy, not six hours ago. The result was profound relief of the pressure. And then Vic fretted over how to clean up the mess. Unlike a guy peeing, he found himself all wet and messy. He dabbed the toilet paper on himself cautiously until he felt dry. Vic was shaking with fright. The clothing he'd gotten - it had changed him. His lower body was now clearly and undeniably female, and from the strange sensations he felt when he wiped - the feeling of a slit being parted by the toilet paper and that strange tickling feeling - Vic was filled with a sickening certainty that he had IT, the one critical piece that marked him as of the female sex. He strongly suspected that the magic had changed him that thoroughly, but he was afraid to confirm it. Vic sat for a long time, not having the first clue of what to do. And then a thought hit Vic. If the girdle had done that to his crotch, then .... He lifted his hands to his chest, slowly moving them to the protrubances, carefully moving them inward, inch by painful inch, fighting his instincts to not touch them for fear he'd find out they were now real. And yet, he had to know. Then came the touch, when Vic's hands made contact with the dress, with the bulges behind the fabric. And with that touch, Vic cried in anguish. He'd felt the touch - in the skin of his chest. He knew - without a doubt - that the breasts were no longer stage appliances glued on, but were now real breasts. His breasts! Just like his crotch. And ... Vic examined his hands. They seemed a bit softer and finer, and even more tellingly, he couldn't find any seams in his fingernails. The artificial nails were as real as his boobs, now a part of his body. And the makeup ... Vic pulled his girdle and pantyhose back up, then flushed the toilet. He walked nervously back to the mirror and stared long and hard at himself. Now he knew that the earlier vision hadn't been a trick of his stomach discomfort. He touched his nose, a pert little feminine nose. His eyes seemed softer, and not just because of the makeup. They appeared a bit bigger, but only because Vic's face seemed a bit smaller. It made him look more feminine and more vulnerable. His lips were a bit fuller, looking more like a girl's mouth. And the earrings - Vic tugged at them, only to feel the pain of a sharp tug on pierced ears. Vic felt a wave of nausea again, this time from his horror at the changes and of what it meant. Jim - his reaction had been that of a real girl. And he - she - hadn't seemed to know what Vic was talking about. Which meant that ... Vic reached for his hair and tugged at the wig. To Vic's enormous relief, he felt it slid on his head. It wasn't attached, hadn't become a part of him. With sickening certainty, Vic knew that Jim's wig was now a part of Jim - Tanya - and that it had somehow changed Jim's mind. And only because of a fluke, his dislike of the blonde-haired wig, had Vic been spared that. He still had his mind, but now in a fully- female body - unlike Jim, who was now as female in mind as he - she - was in body. Vic staggered out of the restroom, then, tears of unknown origin streaming down his cheeks, he stumbled toward the door. Behind him, he heard someone calling, "Vicky? Are you okay?" The brisk night air hit him as he fled the school, his heels no impediment to his half-walk, half-run. It wasn't until four blocks later that the temperature really became apparent to Vic, so distracted had he been by his awful predicament. With no sweater and a short-sleeved dress, Vic was shivering as he turned the last corner to his house. And then he froze as he started to step up to the door, to the waiting back porch and his sanctuary. Was it really his sanctuary? What were his parents going to say? How would they react to a strange girl coming in, pretending to be their son? Or had they changed too, like Jim / Tanya, altered by some powerful magic to think they'd always had a daughter? His body shivering from the combination of cold and fear, Vic opened the door and slowly crept inside. There was a faint light, probably in the living room. Vic knew that his dad would be up, probably playing solitaire or watching TV and waiting for him. Even as a boy, he'd always found his dad waiting for him. Sometimes it seemed so comforting. Now, it was terrifying. Vic paused to slip his feet out of the shoes, and he gasped as he picked them up. They were ... smaller, as were his feet! The magic had given him smaller, daintier feet, with painted toenails even! Vic wanted to cry, to scream in anguish, at the horrible changes that had been inflicted on his body. And yet, he feared doing even that, as he knew that the scream would be his new girl voice, echoing tauntingly in his ears, reminding him yet again of the changes. As Vic tiptoed up the stairs, he heard his dad. "You okay, sweetie?" he asked. Sweetie? Since when had his dad called him sweetie? Vic cringed inwardly at the name. It was so ... girlish! Another stabbing reminder. And while one fear had been calmed, his parents apparently recognized him as a girl, another was stirred. The change was incredibly far-reaching. He feared that no one would ever remember Victor, the boy he'd been born as. Crying inside, Vic answered. "Sure, dad," he said softly. Then he padded upstairs, only to be mocked by a room that wasn't his own, a room decorated with lace and frill and girl things. Vic collapsed on the pink bed, burying his face in the pillow, crying uncontrollably, until finally sleep buried his agony. And even in sleep, terrible dreams intruded, tormenting Vic, reminding him of his new status as a girl. ********** A light touch on his shoulder awakened Vic. "Honey, don't you think you ought to get up today?" Vic recognized his mom's voice, and for a moment, he wondered why his mom was in his room, let alone calling him honey. But only for a moment. It was impossible for Vic to ignore the feelings of something - somethings - pressing into his chest, between him and the bed. The hair, even if it was only a wig, swirling about his face and neck, rubbing it in a way Vic's shorter hair never had. The feeling of being confined around his waist. Vic rolled over, brushing the hair from his eyes, and slowly sat up, knowing that last night hadn't been a dream. From the sensations his body was sending to his brain, there was no mistaking that he was in a girl's body. He turned to his mom. "Glad you're awake, sunshine," she said with a smile. She looked at Vic, seeing his puffy, tired eyes. She looked over his wrinkled dress. "Are you okay?" she asked, and her voice echoed the concern of a mother for her daughter. Vic looked down at his body, then back at his mom. "Yeah," he lied, and the voice haunted him again with its soft feminine tones. Vic's mom frowned. "No, you're not," she said with certainty. "You look like you didn't sleep too well." She sat down on the bed beside Vic. "Look, Vicky, I know you didn't win last night. Tanya called, and she said she'd come by to pick up your dress so she could return it. She told me how you did." She gave Vic a quick hug. "She was pretty concerned about you, you know. Tanya's a good friend, even if she is a little, you know, dingy." She wrinkled her nose at the word, making it clear that she thought Tanya was an airhead. "Mom," Vic protested, drawing out the word. He wanted his mother to leave, to let him wallow in his misery. His mom would have none of it. "Now how about you get out of that dress before Tanya gets here." She opened the closet doors, revealing a vast array of clothing - all feminine. "Your dad kept your breakfast warm." She came back to the bed, and to Vic's horror, she took the wig off Vic's head. She clucked and shook her head. "I really wish you and your friends hadn't cut your hair off," she chided. "I just can't imagine what you were thinking! So some rock singer has short hair - that doesn't mean you needed it." She ran her fingers through Vic's hair, which for a boy, was moderately long. For a girl, the hair was rather short. "I'm glad you decided to grow it out again, though. You have such pretty hair." She walked to the door, then turned one last time. "If you want, we can go to the salon today. My offer still stands." Vic looked up uneasily at her mother. "I'll think about it," he said evenly. His mother smiled, then left Vic alone in his new room. Vic agonized over his new wardrobe. First, he peeled himself out of the dress, then out of the bustier. He stared with a strange fascination at the breasts on his chest, the lovely and all-too-real orbs which hung so perfectly. From Vic's viewpoint, they seemed incredibly large, sticking out seemingly forever in front of him. He turned, looking at his profile in the mirror, unable to keep from giving his body a visual exam. Perky. That's what Vic would have called these boobs on any girl. Perky. Not too big, not too small. Nicely proportioned. Almost no sag, full and inviting, and capped with large brown nipples. Vic was entranced, and it took a few seconds for him to tear his gaze from the boobs. His eyes wandered down, to the narrowed waist. The bustier, when he'd removed it, was snug but not uncomfortable. Not like last night. His tummy was flat and trim, displaying not a hint of fat, and with the widening of his hips, his waist looked deliciously female. Vic shuddered at the thought; if he was reacting to his own body this way, he knew how other guys would react. Did react last night. His hands, seemingly out of control of his conscious mind, traced the outline of his waist and down to his hips. Again he turned a bit, and gasped as he saw the rounded shape of his derriere, a definitively feminine form. His gaze continued, down his softer, more slender legs, then back up, pausing at his flat crotch, and on up to his face. From the way he appeared in the mirror, Vic knew that he'd lost a couple of inches in height. While he'd been about five-ten as a boy, he figured he was five-seven or five-eight now, a respectable height for a girl, but far from manly stature. And there was his face. He hadn't imagined it last night. His face was softer, finer, much more female. Cute. Not beauty star, but definitely cute. Vic trembled when he realized that he'd been lusting after himself. His mind, his male thought patterns, found this girl attractive. Even his hair, in a short cut, didn't diminish the fact that he was totally, undeniably a girl. From his head to his toe, Vic was female. ********** Clad in the plainest clothes he could pick out, a pair of white shorts and a light blue knit top, wearing flats to avoid walking in heels, Vic drove his mother's car while his mother yakked away. Vic would have preferred his second-hand Camaro, purchased with hard-earned money from summer and after-school jobs, but the car, too, had been changed. In place of the sports car, Vic now owned a little Neon. And if that wasn't bad enough, the car was a kind of bright pink color. Vic had wanted to see it crushed into a tiny cube of metal when he first saw it. They drove toward the mall. Vic had let his mother convince him to go to the salon, to get his hair styled into something a bit more feminine. She said it would make him feel better. Vic didn't believe it, but he wanted desperately to get out of the house, away from the damning room that reminded him of his new state. Vic parked, and the two walked inside, his mother still chattering away. Vic shut her out; it seemed that she talked incessantly. So and so had the nerve to wear such and such to their last bridge club. Someone's daughter was pregnant - how shocking. Didn't her parents teach her any values? The church potluck supper was next weekend, and was Vicky still going to help serve? On and on it went, mindless prattle to Vic. Inside the mall, Vic wanted to go straight to the salon. But his mother had other ideas. They went to the new boutique, to look. A half hour and a new dress for Vic later, they wandered into another store, to repeat the entire process. It took almost two hours to get to the salon. By this point, Vic wanted to end the entire ordeal, so sick was he of his mother's incessant talk and her 'ritual' of shopping, which seemed to consist of looking at everything in a store at least twice, trying on at least twenty outfits, then buying one of the first outfits she'd seen. Vic stood silently by his mother, his anger at his situation rising. "Hi, Vicky," one of the stylists said cheerily. "You here for a cut, or just tagging along with your mom?" Vic started to open his mouth, but his mother cut him off. "No, Sara, Vicky wants something nice and pretty today." She glanced at her daughter. "Since she's over that 'bald' phase, she wants to look pretty again." The way she said it left Vic with no uncertainty of how her mother felt about short hair. If it had to be short, it had to be feminine. No two ways about it. The shop had just gotten a new electronic imaging system, and the girl was gushing over it to Vic's mom. Before Vic knew what was happening, they'd taken a picture with a digital camera and were starting to browse through hair styles. Vic was totally unenthusiastic about the process; his mother was focusing on styles that would make him look more like a girl, not less. Vic's mind was wandering. "How about this one, dear?" It was Vic's mom again, intruding on his daydream escape from this awful reality. "I think it's so cute," she gushed. Vic glanced a the display and cringed. It was a cute style - for a girl. In fact, Vic found it quite attractive - only not on him! The hair was layered, making the most of Vic's short hair, with gently curled bangs. Short and sassy. Feminine. Vic hated it. "Mom," he started to protest. Vic's mom cut off the protest. "That's perfect," she said to the stylist. As the stylist started toward her area, Vic's mom gave her a pat on Vic's shoulder. "I know, I know. You want something a little simpler. But you're growing up, and you need to look like the pretty girl you are." ********** Vic felt ... disgusted inside. They were walking back toward the mall entrance, and guys were staring at him. At him! His mother smiled, as if she were proud that her girl was pretty enough to attract attention. Vic cringed every time he saw a guy's head track his motion. It was too weird. As they turned a corner, Vic spotted a strange little store, an old- time storefront with display windows and an antique door. His emotions churned; on one hand, he wanted to go in and demand to be changed back. And he felt a strange urge, as if the old man were somehow beckoning him into the store, perhaps to complete his transformation - like Jim. But Vic had seen the power of the old wizard, and he was afraid. The debate raged in his head for an agonizingly long few seconds. Finally, fear won out. He'd seen what happened to Jim, now an airheaded bimbo who didn't remember anything. Vic feared such a fate, and he knew it was well within the old man's power to give him the same fate as Jim. He quickened his pace, away from the curious little store. ********** It took two months. Two months of living in denial and hope. Two months of fighting this damned body. Two months of pretending that it wasn't real, that he was going to wake up some morning and he'd be his old self again. Two months of his mother reminding him of things that should have been well-trained in a young lady. Two months of working to adjust to being a girl instead of a guy. And his friends...Tanya was as much a friend as Jim had been, but now girls he had dated -- or just casually known -- like Brittany and Nicole were his lifelong friends. The guys he really had grown up with were distant, treating him carefully, trying to impress him like ... like any other girl. His first period had scared the living hell out of Vic. The cramping wasn't too terribly painful, but when it lasted three days, it got real old, and Vic knew he'd been very hard to live with. The bleeding sucked, but having to insert tampons into himself was worse. His breasts seemed extra-sensitive, and he felt uncomfortable. When it ended, Vic was nearly ecstatic. Makeup was a pain, and it took a long time, much practice, and a lot of prodding by his mother before Vic was any good at it. He didn't hate it any less, but he could at least do a passable job. The same was true of picking his clothes. As a guy, Vic had just grabbed clothes from the dresser. His wardrobe was simple - a couple pairs of jeans, a couple pairs of Dockers, a few knit shirts, and a bunch of T-shirts, most with movie themes or logos. Shoes? Simple as well. Two pairs of tennis shoes and a pair of Rockports. Dressing couldn't have been easier. That was Vic. Vicky was far different. Underwear? Vic wore Fruit-of-the-Loom briefs. Vicky had panties in various colors and various levels of lace and frill. Pink, light blue, beige, white. Lacy, flowery, plain. G-string skimpy, bikini cut, modest. Vic hated his panties. Worse, however, were the bras. There seemed to be a bra to match every pair of panties, again ranging from daring to pushup to very concealing. Every time he put on a bra, it reminded him that his chest was visibly female, and amply so. No guy, unless he was blind, was going to miss Vic's chest. And the bras didn't do much to minimize or conceal his charms; most actually did the opposite, enhancing and uplifting to make his curves even curvier. And Vic felt like his mother was watching his every move with suspicion or doubt. Every time Vic cursed when he smudged his makeup, his mother looked worried. Each time he tried to go to school with his hair barely combed and _no_ makeup, his mother fretted. Whenever Vic sat spread-legged in the easy chair, his mother's brow furrowed. Finally, his mother couldn't take any more. Vic almost broke down when his mother confronted him, asking through teary eyes if her little girl was having problems or ... her voice had broken ... experimenting with drugs. Vic understood why his mother had been so watchful. It was as if Vic had changed drastically, and all the things Vicky _should_ have known, all the habits Vicky _should_ have had, Vic didn't have. He wasn't acting like a girl - and his mother had noticed. She was even suggesting having Vicky go to a psychologist. Vic had panicked at that suggestion. He feared that if he went to a shrink, the psychologist would eventually make him blab, and then he'd be labeled as a loony. 'Magic, indeed!' they'd all cluck as they locked him away. Vic knew he had to work harder so his mom wouldn't be so worried - or suspicious! For the first month, Vic wore shorts as often as he could. Most of the other girls wore skirts, but Vic just couldn't make himself do that. Finally, one week he didn't get his laundry done, and he was forced to wear a skirt. Vic picked the most modest skirt he could find, and when he saw himself in it, he cringed. Shorts weren't so bad; they didn't remind him with every motion that he was stuck as a girl. The skirt, however, did. Slowly, however, Vic accepted that he could wear skirts. With either skirts or shorts, Vic had to choose a top, and this was confusing as well. Not only did he have to color-coordinate the clothes, but his choice was impacted severely by his choice of underwear. Vic learned the hard way what happens when a girl wears a dark bra and panties under a light blouse. He felt humiliated and near tears when he got home from that experience. And Vic learned to watch the neckline. Some of his blouses had scoop necks, and Vic only tried one once. That was enough. He felt like walking cleavage by the time he got home. After that, the necklines were modest. By the end of the second month, as graduation neared, he had moved on and was occasionally wearing a dress. He was getting skilled in choosing outfits, and was accomplished in makeup. Vic was doing well as a girl - and hating every minute of it. And then he caught himself. ********** One Saturday morning, Vic was sitting on the sofa, watching TV. There really wasn't anything good on, but he didn't have anything better to do, and so he sat, carefully filing a snag out of one nail. And then a top-of-the-hour news summary came on. Just a typical, run-of-the-mill newscast. The lady reading the news caught Vic's eye. He stared at her, and then he snorted his disgust. 'I'd look better in that outfit than she does,' he thought to himself. 'I've got a better figure for it.' And then it hit him, like a hammer. He'd just thought of himself as a she, as a girl. Comparing clothing and figures to a lady on TV. His mouth dropped in horror as he realized what he'd been thinking, and then he saw the nail file, the carefully manicured nails he was working on, the dainty way he was sitting, with his legs crossed in a proper ladylike manner. He screamed inwardly, a desperate cry of anguish. He'd actually thought of himself as a her. She. Vicky. Vic ran upstairs, slamming the door behind him, and he flopped on his bed. He - she - cried for hours when she realized what she'd done. She wasn't thinking of herself as Vic any more. She was thinking of herself as Vicky, a girl. She'd compared her body with another girl, she'd been sitting like a girl, she'd been filing her nails like a girl. Hell, she'd even missed the sports tilt to the newscast, so distracted was she by the feminine thoughts. The change was subtle but frightening - it meant that she was starting to accept her new life. She cried all through the afternoon, helpless to prevent the gush of tears, even hating herself for crying like a girl. At five, a knock sounded at her door. When she didn't answer it, the knock sounded again. "Vicky? Are you all right?" her mother called. Vicky barely turned her head. "I'm okay," she sniffled. "Can I come in, honey?" Vicky lay, silent and crying. Without an objection, her mother took that as permission to enter. She padded to the bed and sat down, resting her hand lightly on her daughter's back. "Are you sure you're okay, sweetie?" Vicky didn't move. "No, I'm NOT okay!" she said emphatically. "I ... I'm not sure what I am." Her mother misunderstood. "I know this is a tough time for you, with finals coming up, and graduation near. I know it's tough to choose a college." She paused, waiting for some response, but she got none. "Your father and I are here to help if we can. You know we can't help worrying about our little girl." Vicky reared up, her face contorting. "I'm NOT your little girl!" she screamed. As she watched the