A Different Kind Of Prom free porn video

A Different Kind of Prom By Brian [email protected] When we were both five years old I told Brenda Anders that I loved her. She told me that she loved me too. I told her that she was pretty. She replied that I was pretty as well. I told her that I wanted to marry her. "I'm sorry," she replied, with seriousness that now seems silly in a kindergartner. "I don't want to marry a man." "Then I'll grow up to be a woman." "You can't do that, goofy." "You watch. I'll grow up to be a woman. Then we can get married." That, of course, was almost thirteen years ago, and my desire to marry Brenda hadn't decreased at all with time. She certainly was something, with her silky, raven hair, her long, slender limbs, and her delicate, flower-like face. What man wouldn't be attracted to her? When I asked her to marry me in kindergarten, it had been because she was my best friend. We were inseparable as children. Brenda and Robert, two peas in a pod. Even when her parent's business had taken off and she moved to the wealthier part of town, we had still remained close. All throughout junior high we were friends. Even when she began to blossom into a beautiful woman and I stayed a gangly, freckled twerp, she still stood by me. In high school, all that changed. Not that she started ignoring me, or we started moving in different directions. No, what happened was Brenda started dating Andy Unger. And Andy made it clear there was no longer room in her life for me. I remember that day well. We were both fifteen at the time. I had got my mother to drive me over to Brenda's house so we could watch Seinfeld, just like we did every Thursday. Brenda's parents would drive me home afterwards. It was a tradition that had lasted nearly as long as the show. When I arrived at her house, I knew something was wrong. Usually Brenda would come out of the front door and meet me on the driveway. That day, she wasn't there. Still, she hadn't canceled, so I told my mom to drop me off and that I'd see her later. Little did I know When I rang to doorbell, I was surprised to see that Brenda had company. A large, thick-necked boy wearing her high school's jacket was camped out on the living room sofa, where I had usually sat. I was a little offended that she'd invite someone else over on our traditional night together, but I knew I had nothing to complain about. She wasn't my girlfriend, and I guess a guy like me was lucky she even had time for me at all. Brenda seemed a little nervous at my arrival. "Oh, Rob. Um, I'd like you to meet Andy." I extended my hand to the big jock, but he simply grunted, not even looking in my direction. "Well, if you'll excuse me for a second " said Brenda, and disappeared into the kitchen. I took up a spot in the armchair, trying to notice that instead of Seinfeld, we were apparently going to watch basketball. Which was funny because, like me, Brenda had very little interest in professional sports. As soon as Brenda was out of earshot, Andy turned and glowered at me. "Get out," he simply stated. "What?" I stammered, hoping he was joking. "I said leave. We don't want you here." "What right do you have " He stood up and towered over me. Waving a fist under my nose, he continued. "Brenda's mine, get it? She ain't yours. Now hit the road." "Hey, Brenda's my friend, you can't tell me " "The hell I can't. I know where you go to school. I catch you around her again " he violently poked me in the ribs. I felt utterly helpless. Why was Brenda with this caveman? And yet I knew I was sunk. There was no way I could stand up to this monster. I could run crying to Brenda, I supposed, but what then? He was her boyfriend, and I was obviously someone who she no longer had room for in her life. Andy backed away just as Brenda returned with some snacks. "Um," I began awkwardly, "I need to leave." "But you just got here!" protested Brenda. But the relief in her voice was hard to mistake. "I just remembered something I have to do." I headed for the door. I was surprised when Andy said "I'll walk you out," in a falsely amiable voice. As soon as the front door closed behind us, Andy looked to make sure no one was watching and threw me roughly onto the driveway. Scraped and bruised, I hobbled to my feet. "Just a warning," he muttered, and went back inside. Back to Brenda. Back to my lovely ex-best friend. Brenda obviously was oblivious of Andy's treatment of me. But she sure hadn't protested when I left. As I began the long, long walk home, I reflected. Brenda was a lovely girl. Why would she be romantically interested in a guy like me? I was a nerd, weak, non-handsome, a wimp. She obviously wanted a powerhouse like Andy, someone who could me a real man. This I told myself over and over again. But by the time I got home I had to rush to the bathroom and turn on the water, so my mother wouldn't hear my tears. I didn't hear from Brenda for another two years. Not until we were seniors in high school. The weeks after I had been roughed up by Andy I held out a half-hearted hope that Brenda would call me up and ask me why I never came around any more. But she never did. She had written off a lifelong friendship with someone, just because he wasn't hard-boiled. It was because of Spanish class that she reentered my life. It was the day we all presented our commercial, where we each wrote and performed a commercial for an imaginary product in Spanish. Many students elected to present a group project, but I worked alone. I had few friends, and I liked things better that way. J. Jamison Johnson was presenting. I guess every school has someone like Jamie. He was crazy. Not life of the party crazy, not risk-taking Chuck Yeager crazy, but certifiable. I always expected men in white coats to come drag him off. He never blinked. Never. He complained of voices only he could hear. He'd doze off in class, and awaken with a start, screaming of spiders. On no fewer than four occasions he had to deliver urine specimens to a doctor to prove he wasn't abusing an illegal narcotic. Jamie had set up a large, garishly painted refrigerator box in front of the class. Grinning into the video camera the teacher was manning, he addressed the imaginary TV audience. "Damas y Caballeros," he began (I'll translate from now on), are you tired of your bland, wretched lives? Need a change? Tired of your ugly face and potato-sack of a body?" Yes, I thought to myself. "Then what you need is Dr. Jamie's patented Image Enhancer! Yes, thanks to the research of dozens of German scientists working out of Buenos Aires, our labs have developed the most amazing breakthrough in the subject of image enhancement since Hair in a Can! May I have a volunteer, please?" Of course, no one raised their hand. That was tragic for me, because Jamie's glance soon fell in my direction. "You sir!" he shouted like a carnival barker. "What is your name?" "Roberto," I edgily replied, giving my Spanish name. "Roberto, please step up here. Tell me, sir, are you happy with your present appearance?" Since he obviously wanted me to say no, I replied in the negative. It was the truth, anyway. "Then Roberto, please step into the Image Enhancer and let it work its magic!" Warily, I ducked into the door cut in the side of the box. Much to my surprise, I realized I was not alone in there. Tammi Jones, a pretty blonde friend of Jamie's was in there as well. I was further shocked to see she was wearing an evening gown. She held a finger up to her lips and winked at me. "And now," continued Jamie, "the Image Enhancer will work its magic. Robert, would you please come out and show the audience what wonders this great machine has worked on your ugly mug?" I was confused. What wonders was he talking about? As I made for the door, Tammi grabbed my arm to restrain me. Then she walked out in my place. "Wow, what an improvement!" shouted Jamie, and the class roared with laughter. It wasn't hard to figure out why. Tammi was supposed to be me, after I had my image 'enhanced.' "Roberto, would you agree that you are now much better looking that when you entered this machine?" "Yes!" said Tammi, enthusiastically. Through a crack in the box I could see her twirl and then wink at the audience. "I'm a doll!" "Another satisfied customer! Thank you Roberto." "Please," tittered Tammi, "call me Roberta!" I had a hard time not laughing myself. It was pretty funny, even from my point of view. Too bad Jamie couldn't really invent something like that. Not a sex changer, but something that would make me handsome. For the rest of the day, I put up with good-natured jibes from fellow classmates. "Aw, he changed back. Too bad, he was cute before." "Hey Robert, they certainly did a number on you. How did you fit in that dress?" "Hey, if you see Roberta around, tell her that about three guys want to ask her out." I didn't think much of the incident after that. I had practically forgotten about it when I got the call next week. I had been sitting at home after school when the phone rang. When I picked it up and said hello, I nearly fell out of my seat. "Hello yourself," came a familiar voice. "Brenda?" I nearly jumped out of my seat with joy. "Of course it's me. Sorry to call out of the blue like this, but I was wondering if you'd like to get together some time." Would I? What a question! "Yes, of course. How about tomorrow?" "Sounds great." We named a place and hung up. The next day, as I sat in a booth of the fast food place we had decided on, I wondered what had brought on Brenda's desire to give me a call. Was she having regrets about cutting off our friendship like that? Did she want to be buddies again? Was she having some sort of problem that she wanted to talk about? Whatever the reason, I was glad she would be back in my life again. When she walked in I nearly jumped out of my seat. When I had last seen Brenda, she had been a pretty fifteen-year-old girl. Now, she was a gorgeous, seventeen-year-old young woman. Her long black tresses hung down her back in a simple ponytail. Her long, slender legs peeped out from under her stylish skirt. Her body had continued to fill out, she was now more buxom and curvaceous than I remembered her. Her perfect face broke into a smile when she saw me and I thought my heart would melt. "Robert!" she called joyfully. She caught my face in her hands and kissed my cheek. "It's been a long time," I babbled, awkwardly. "Too long," murmured Brenda, as she sat down across from me. "Robert, I guess I need to apologize " "For what?" I asked, though I knew. "For ditching you and never calling you again. That was horrible of me." "No, you just had your life to live " "But it wasn't like that. Listen, Robert, I need someone to talk to. I hate to unload on you after all this time, but " "Please, I'm glad I could be of service." Brenda smiled her lovely smile again. "Well, I've been dating Andy for about two years now. At first, I thought it would be fun, me a cheerleader, him a football player. But after a few months, I realized that there was something wrong. He's selfish, Robert. Selfish, egotistical, and rude. He never remembers my birthday, never compliments me, never does any nice little things for me. Finally, last month, I told him to shove off. I deserve better." "Good for you. How did he take it?" "He was pissed. He said I'd regret it, but I sure don't. I feel freer than I have in a long time." I smiled inwardly. Tough luck, you SOB. "At any rate," she continued, "last week, in Spanish class, my teacher brought in a tape from your high school. I was pretty surprised to see the face of my old best friend up there. That is until you got changed into a woman!" I groaned. No contact for two years, and now she sees me get a video sex change. "So I got to thinking. You always remembered my birthday. You'd always notice when I felt sad. You'd do little things for me that made me feel good all day. That's when I got to wondering why I ever stopped being friends with you." She reached over and took my hand. "Robert, I didn't realize it until then how much I missed you. Do you think do you think we could be pals again? Just like old times?" "Brenda, I've missed you too! Of course we can be friends again." Brenda smiled and got up. "I have to go now. But listen, why don't you come over this weekend? Seinfeld's off the air, but we've got a lot of catching up to do." I was practically dancing on the ceiling by the time Mom came home that night. Why shouldn't I have been? Brenda was back! We would be buddies again. And maybe no, it was silly to think this, but maybe, after two years with a jerk, she'd be looking for someone who treated her right. Someone like me. It was stupid, but I couldn't help wondering. I'd play it cool though, the worst thing that could happen would be that we remained good friends. "So why are you in such a good mood?" my mom asked me over dinner. "Brenda and I got together today. It was good to see her." "That's nice. You ought to bring her over here some time." That was my mom. Every time I mentioned any woman, Mom wanted to meet her. I could tell she hoped Brenda and I would get together. I think ever since Dad left, she was afraid I would end up with nobody. I had Mom drop me off at the appointed time. She wanted to come in and say hi, but I wouldn't let her. I was afraid she'd get into a conversation with Brenda's parents and we'd never get any time alone. I walked up Brenda's long driveway. Even after a couple of years it was exactly how I remembered it: the three story house, the well-manicured lawn, the four or five cars parked in the garage and out front. I was never quite sure what Brenda's parents did for a living, but they were obviously quite successful at it. Before I could reach the door, there was Brenda, just like old times. She gave me a big hug, and waved to my mother, who honked back at her as she was pulling out. Taking me by the hand, Brenda led me inside. "Robert," she gushed, "I have to admit, I've really been looking forward to this. Andy really didn't like it when I hung out with my friends, so it's been a while that I've been able to relax with anyone. Can I get you something to drink?" Soon we were sitting on the couch, chatting as if we did it every day. "So where are your parents?" I asked. "Oh, they're at work. It's for the best, that gives us more time to get reacquainted." Soon, much to my chagrin, the subject of the Spanish video came up. "You looked pretty cute in that video," she teased. "Spare me." She pinched my cheek. "So what did they use? Makeup?" "Ha, ha. You know that wasn't really me." "Of course not. But I bet with a little padding, you'd be even prettier than that girl in the video." "That's almost insulting, Brenda. Of course I wouldn't be." "Bet you would." "No. I wouldn't." I was almost angry. Why was she so insistent upon the subject? Brenda took me by the hand and pulled me into her bedroom. She then closed the door. "You know, Robert, I bet you'd fit into some of my things. Why don't you try some on?" "Are you out of your mind? Why?" "I want to see what you'd look like." She smiled prettily and played with her hair. "Nothing doing!" "Please, Robert? Just a dress, and maybe some makeup." "Maybe I should go." I was getting a little freaked out here. Why did she want me to dress like a girl? "Please stay. I'll make you a deal. Let me give you a make-over. If you don't think you look like a pretty girl, then I'll hamm." "You'll what?" "I'll give you a kiss." She grinned. I half-smiled. She had just said about the only thing that would have made me even consider such a plan. "Promise no one will know?" She crossed her heart and made the Boy Scout salute. "What do I have to do?" "First, take off your clothes." I guess she saw my shocked expression. "Don't worry, I'll leave the room." She was gone before I could tell her I wouldn't have minded had she stayed. Watching myself in the floor length mirror on her door, I disrobed. I regarded my slim, freckled body. No muscles, no body hair, no manly stature. Just freckles and orange hair. I wondered if I'd ever need to shave or if I could hope to grow any taller. "Now what?" I called through the door. "On top of my dresser there's a pair of panties. Put them on." They were colorful cotton briefs, clearly made for a woman. I pulled them on. They were soft and silky against my skin. Obviously, they couldn't contain all of me, I clearly bulged in the front. Luckily, the cold room prevented me from 'expanding' in that direction. "Got them on?" asked Brenda. When I answered yes, I was shocked when Brenda casually walked in. I tried to cover myself. "What are you doing?" She winked at me. "Oh, stop being so modest. I need to help you with everything else." Soon she was rummaging through her bureau. "Ah, this will be perfect." She displayed for me a white, lacy bra. hamm "You don't honestly expect me to wear that?" I balked. "Why not? I do." She then hiked up her shirt, revealing an identical bra, along with her ample cleavage and flat stomach. I went to put on the bra. "Let me help you," said Brenda, pulling down her shirt. She stood behind me and helped me pull the feminine garment around my arms. Then she hooked it in the back. I felt like I was throttling on the elastic straps. I wanted to look at my reflection, but she blocked my view. "Not yet." Brenda then showed me a couple of washcloths, which she began wadding up. "Now I need to give you some breasts! That's a C-cup you're wearing there, you know." She stood behind me and gently filled in my brassiere cups with the hand towels. A funny thing happened while she was padding me. It didn't realize it at first, but I began to get aroused. It was understandable; I mean, there I was, almost naked, with Brenda moving her hands all over my body. By the time I worked out what was going on, it was too late to start thinking about baseball. Mercifully, Brenda didn't seem to notice how I was filling out her panties. She kept adjusting and readjusting the padding in my bra, until she felt the cups were more or less the right shape. "That'll do for now," she said. "Now let's get you some clothes." As she turned to go through her closet, I quickly moved behind her bed and placed a pillow in front of my hips. I didn't want her to know how much her touch excited me, and I certainly didn't want her to think I found being dressed in women's underwear arousing. Brenda returned with a light-green skirt. "I think this will look good on you. Redheads like you always look nice in green." "What does it matter? No one else will see me. Why are you taking this so seriously?" "Oh, I dunno. I guess I just don't want to do a slipshod job. Now put this on." Grudgingly, I stepped into the skirt. It was a little too small, but I managed to zip it up in the back. Brenda then came at me with a tight little sweater. I pulled my way into it. "Are you quite finished yet?" For two years I had fantasized about being with Brenda again. Now my dreams were coming true, and the first thing she wants to do it doll me up in her clothes. "Not finished yet, honey." "What do you mean, not finished? What more could I put on?" "For starters, there's makeup." "Makeup?" I looked in horror at the mascara brush in her hand. "No way. That wasn't part of the deal." Brenda looked sad. "C'mon, Robert. No one will ever find out. Just let me make up that pretty face of yours." "Nothing doing. I have my pride." Brenda looked me in the eye. Then she slid her arms around my waist. "I understand. It's just that I've never met a guy who cared about me enough to let me make him pretty." She leaned her head on my shoulder. "Are you sure you won't think about it?" At the moment I was incapable of thinking about anything; there was too much blood gone from my head. All I could do was nod. Brenda sat me down in front of her makeup table. She would not let me look in the mirror. Instead, she stood in front of me and began applying the makeup. "It's a good thing you don't have a beard," she said as she sharpened an eyeliner pencil. "Otherwise, you'd never look right." I blushed. A lot of guys my age were already shaving, and yet I couldn't pretend to even need to trim a couple of hairs. Brenda started rubbing foundation into my cheeks. "I've always thought your freckles were cute," she said, "so I won't cover them up too much." The foundation felt cold and goopy and I began to wish that I hadn't agreed to this. It was just that when Brenda had touched me, I felt like there was nothing I wouldn't do for her. Brenda then moved on to my eyes. The eyeliner felt painful and the mascara was gross feeling. I wanted to wipe it all off, but Brenda stayed my hand. "I'm almost done now. You can wash it all off in a few minutes." Lastly came the lipstick. Brenda applied and wiped off several colors until she said she found a shade that looked good on me. And that was that. "Can I look yet?" I whined. In spite of myself, I had begun to wonder just how silly I looked in this getup. Probably pretty damn stupid. But then again, I was the one here with Brenda, not that jerk Andy. "Not just yet," replied Brenda. "Robert, honey, you're such a sweetheart for agreeing to this. I'll make this up to you." I smiled inwardly, wondering how. Brenda walked to her closet and returned with a blonde wig. "This was part of my Halloween costume last year. Here, let me put it on you." She draped the long hair over my head. Then she sat behind me and began brushing it. I have to admit that it was a pleasant sensation, just sitting back with Brenda stroking my hair, so near me. "One more thing." Brenda clipped two black plastic earrings to my ears. "There. All done. Would you like to look?" I grimaced and turned to the mirror. I don't know what I was expecting, I guess I figured I'd look like a circus clown or something. That's why it took me a few minutes to fully comprehend what I was looking at. She was uncomfortable, that was for sure. Terrified, even. Her hair was messy and there was something about her makeup that wasn't quite right. But she was a girl. She had curves and breasts, and girl's clothes. I smiled and she smiled back. I leaned forward to examine this girl in the mirror some more. She did likewise. Her hair was obviously a wig, but it was hard to tell. She had freckles that make her look both cute and innocent at the same time. I stood up and turned around. Could you tell that she wasn't really a girl? It would be hard. There was no sign of any masculine characteristics. No beard, no towering height or prominent jaw. Was she pretty? It was hard to say. Certainly nowhere near as lovely as Brenda, but from the point of view of a teenage boy I didn't want to think about that any longer. "So what do you think?" asked Brenda, clearly excited. "Great," I said flatly. "Now can I change back?" "So soon? I just finished." She began to pout. "Brenda, what has gotten into you? This is humiliating for me! I'm putting on my own clothes now." I moved to remove my earrings. "Wait!" she shouted, almost as if she were terrified that I'd put on boy clothes again. "What?" "What do you think of yourself?" "I look like an idiot." "No you don't. You look very pretty." "That's crap. I look like a guy in a skirt." "No, you look like a lovely young woman." That did it. "Good-bye, Brenda. I'm changing then, I'm leaving here." I valued her friendship, but not that much. Brenda grabbed me by the arm. "I'm sorry, Robert. That was rude of me. After I saw that video I got to wondering if I was good enough with makeup to make a guy pretty. I guess this is pretty uncomfortable for you. Why don't you wash off your makeup, and I'll make some popcorn." Her voice was desperate, I think she was afraid she had offended me. I calmed down. "Thanks Brenda. I didn't mean to get angry." "It's OK. Oh " Brenda put her hands on my shoulders. "I guess I loose the bet." "What bet?" "If you didn't think you looked like a pretty girl, then I'd give you a kiss. And since you obviously don't " Without warning, Brenda leaned over and kissed me. For a long time. I'd never been kissed before, and all of a sudden the prettiest girl I knew was pressing her lips to mine. And a lot harder than the bet required. Eventually she pulled away. She winked and left. I sat on her bed, numb. She had lipstick smeared on her mouth. My lipstick. I sat there numb for a few minutes. She had kissed me! A real kiss! I didn't believe that garbage about the bet, all she had to do was give me a peck on the cheek. Or refuse flat out. But she hadn't. What did it mean? Were we dating now? Or just friends? I had to play it cool. One thing was for sure, though. I couldn't stay dressed like this any more. I found Brenda in the kitchen, popping some corn. "Hey Robert," she smiled. "I figured you'd have gotten out of those close ASAP." "I will, believe me. I was just wondering the best way to remove this makeup." "With cream. Hang on a minute, I'll give you a hand." "Thanks hey, watch the corn!" "Huh? Oh!" The popcorn was popping over the top of the pot. Quickly, Brenda grabbed the pot by its handle, without thinking that it wasn't insulated. She screamed in pain and dropped everything on the floor. Forgetting everything but the fact that Brenda had just been burned, I took her by the arm and lead her to the sink. After I had run her hand under some cold water I inspected the wound. "How bad is it?" she asked, not looking. "It think you'll be OK. Go put some Bactine on it, I'll take care of this." After Brenda disappeared into the bathroom I turned off the stove and began cleaning up the spilt popcorn. I guess it wall all the commotion that prevented me from hearing the car drive up. When I heard the kitchen door open, I froze. 'It can't be.' I thought. 'It simply can't be.' But it was. When I turned, I was standing face to face with Brenda's parents. And I was still wearing her clothes. Brenda's parents looked slightly puzzled. As I tried to think of some sort of plausible excuse as to why I was wearing their daughter's skirt, sweater, and makeup, Brenda walked in. "Hey, Mom, Dad. Didn't expect you home so soon." I wanted to cry. Why wasn't Brenda leaping to my defense, explaining that I didn't normally dress like a woman? "Got off early," replied her father. "I don't believe we've met your friend." "Oh, this is um Roberta. She came over to watch movies with me." Her mother started to say something, but then noticed the washcloth Brenda was holding around her injured hand. When Brenda had explained her injury, her parents nearly bowled her over in an effort to examine her. It was only with an effort that she convinced them that she didn't need to go to the emergency room. I stood there uncomfortably, wringing my hands and wishing that Brenda had never called me. How dare she introduce me as 'Roberta'? Did she think it was funny to humiliate me in front of her family? I'm sure they'd all have a great laugh about it when I was gone. Finally, I managed to get Brenda alone in her room. "How dare you!" I barked. "Excuse me?" "Calling me Roberta! I guess you think making me look like a fag in front of your parents is a pretty funny joke, huh?" "Robert, what are you talking about?" "You probably knew they were coming home, but wanted me to make an ass of myself!" Without warning, Brenda doubled over laughing. "Oh, Robert, Robert. Forget your male pride. Did my parents seem surprised or upset?" "Well, no." "Of course not. Robert, honey, they thought you were a girl! I had to introduce you as Roberta, otherwise you really would have been embarrassed!" "Embarrassed? What could me more embarrassing that being taken for a woman?" "Well, being taken for a cross dresser, for one. I'm so sorry, I honestly didn't expect them home for another couple of hours." "Well I'm going to tell the truth!" "Why?" "Why! Um because I'm not a woman!" "So what logical reason will you give them for being dressed like that? I know it's my fault, but you'll be the one who looks weird." I hadn't thought of that. "Look, just sit tight," continued Brenda. "No one has to know anything. Our secret." "Have you forgotten," I seethed "that I live across town? Either Mom has to come and get me or your parents have to drive me home. And I can't very well expect my mom not to comment on the way I'm dressed!" Brenda's face went gray. "I hadn't thought of that." "This was all your idea. I can either be humiliated in front of my mom or your parents. I choose your parents. Thanks for nothing." I yanked off my wig and made for the door. "Wait!" screamed Brenda. "What?" "You could you could spend the night." "Spend the night?" My anger faded, just a little. "I'll tell my parents that you're going to sleep over. You call your mom and tell her you met up with a male friend and are going over to watch movies or something. If I remember her, she'll trust you enough to take that at face value. After my folks leave for work tomorrow you can change back and have your mom take you home." "But I'd have to act like a girl all night!" "Mom and Dad won't force themselves on us. Just try to talk in a higher register and remember not to scratch your balls." She could tell I wasn't excited about this. "Not a lot of guys would do this for a woman," she said touching my cheek. "But I know you're man enough to do me a favor. Will you do it, honey?" That was like the third or forth time she had called me 'honey' that night. It was getting harder and harder to tell myself she didn't think of me in a romantic way at all. "OK," I sighed. "But I'm only doing this for you." She smiled, and kissed me again. Not as long as last time, but another kiss nonetheless. Later that night, we both sat in her room talking. It was nearly three. We had watched some movies and had some snacks. Mom hadn't suspected a think when I called her (that's the one good thing about being dull. No one expects you to lie, even when you are). After Brenda had made it clear she didn't want her parents hanging around us, we were left mercifully alone. I still affected a more feminine voice and tried to sit up straight, with my legs crossed. But now it was bedtime. It had been so nice just to sit in her room and talk, catching up on old times. While I hadn't had a lot to relate, Brenda caught me up on all she had been doing. What interested me most, however, were her stories about Andy. While previously I had thought he was just a jerk, I began to understand he was worse than that. Brenda implied, though never flat-out said, that Andy had come close to being violent towards her on more than one occasion. My selfish motives aside, I was happy that Brenda had escaped that moron. "Well," said Brenda with a lazy stretch, "I think we ought to turn in." "OK. I'll ." I stopped short. Brenda had begun disrobing right in front of me. Off went her shirt. Off came her pants. She was standing there, in nothing but her skivvies. Was this it? Were we about to do it? Oh God, what a night! Brenda began to unhitch her bra, when she happened to turn and see me. I guess the fact that my jaw was scraping the floor didn't help things. "Whoops!" She smiled. "I've been thinking of you as Roberta a bit too long, I guess." Damn! Oh well. Brenda pulled on a nightgown, then removed her bra from underneath. She playfully threw it at me. I gulped. "So, um what should I sleep in?" She giggled. "Here you go." She handed me a lacy nightgown. "Don't you have any sweat pants or anything?" She ignored that. "You'll look cute," was all she would say. I removed my skirt and sweater. Brenda refused to allow me to remove my bra, saying I needed to keep my breasts, in order to look authentic. Though who would be seeing me, she didn't say. I insisted on getting out of the wig and removing my makeup, however. Finally, Brenda turned off the light and crawled into bed. I froze. Did she expect me to join her? What if I did and she got mad? What if I didn't and she had expected me to? Fearing offending her, I lay down on the floor. Roberta turned over in bed. "Robert, does your back hurt?" "No, why?" "I was wondering why you're sleeping on the floor. Stop acting so silly and get into bed." Still in my nightgown, I crawled under the sheets with the most beautiful woman I had ever known. And I still had no idea what to do. Should I make a move or no? She had her back to me, but that didn't necessarily mean she wasn't interested. Expecting rejection, I draped my arm around her prone body. She snuggled closer to me. She wasn't offended. Gingerly, gingerly I moved my hand upwards. As my fingers made the first light contact with her silk-covered breasts, she moved away. I felt like the biggest ass in the world. She trusts me enough to let me sleep in the same bed with her, and I immediately go in for the kill. I opened my mouth to apologize, but she turned to me with a pleasant smile on her face. "Not just yet, Robert. Things are still a little fresh between Andy and I. I'm not ready. Would you mind if we put that off for a while?" Would I mind? The love of my life asks if I could wait a bit before making love to her and I'm supposed to mind? I could barely stop from doing cartwheels! That night I pictured it all in my head. I'd be the boyfriend she never had, but deserved. The great guy who was always there. The guy who knew what she liked and how she wanted to be treated. Someday, when she was ready, we'd make love. And then we'd never part. It was funny, the whole time I was thinking about what a great boyfriend I'd be, it never occurred to me I was still wearing Brenda's clothes. The next two weeks I was in heaven. Even though we lived a good distance from each other, Brenda insisted that we see each other several times a week. I called her every night. At first I was afraid that I was harassing her, but she would frequently tell me how nice it was to be remembered. Andy had rarely called unless he wanted something. It was hard to define our relationship at that time. We were friends, that was for sure. But were we more? Brenda would introduce me as Robert. She never implied that we were linked romantically, but at the same time, she never denied it. When we'd run into her friends at the movies or restaurants, it seemed to me that they would assume I was her date. We never did much physically. She'd kiss me goodnight, but would never let me go further. "I'm just not ready for that yet," she'd say, apologetically. I was patient. Brenda wasn't a tease, I knew she just had to work things out in her head before she could move on. As for me dressing in her clothes, she never mentioned it again. It was right before senior prom I decided to step up my efforts to make her my official girlfriend. I knew that prom constituted a real date, but I figured I should at least ask her. With Andy out of the picture, she just might say yes to me. I was bumbling and awkward when I asked, but I managed to blurt out that I'd like to accompany her to prom. She giggled, then kissed me. "I was wondering if you'd ever ask me. Yes, of course I'll go." I was walking on air all that night! Prom with the girl of my dreams! For once I wouldn't be a nerd! We'd walk into the prom at her school proudly. I'd be there with the prettiest girl on the dance floor. I didn't mention my achievement to anyone that night, out of fear I'd jinx things. It was a good thing, too. The next night, she called me up, in tears. "I have to talk to you, Robert. I'll come pick you up. I don't think we can go to prom." I managed to bite my lip until she had picked me up and we'd pulled out of the driveway. "What's wrong Brenda?" I asked, concerned. She didn't answer. Instead, she pulled the car over to the side of the road and began bawling. "What? What is it?" Even before she said anything, I knew somehow that Andy was to blame. She handed me a folded piece of paper. "I found it in my locker today." 'Dear Brenda,' it read. 'I heard you think your (sic) going to prom with another guy. NO WAY! I swear to God that any guy who so much as holds your hand at prom it gonna get his face smashed in. I'm gonna be there ready to pound whatever geek you take. You go with me or you don't go! Andy' I was stunned. I knew Andy had taken it badly, but this? "I'm so sorry, Robert. We can't go, he'd kill you." "We'll just go to the prom at my school." I felt sick to my stomach. I could only imagine what would happen if Andy decided he wanted to beat me up. He was twice my size! "He'd just follow me. I'm sorry, Robert, but I can't let anything happen to you. You're too special. We'll just come to my place, play Monopoly " NO! By God, no! I may be a scrawny shrimp, but I'd be damned if I was going to have Brenda sit home on prom night because I wasn't as manly as Andy. Brenda had plunged her face into my shoulder and began sobbing harder. Gently, I took her chin in my hand. "Brenda, I'm taking you to that prom." She tried to interrupt. "Don't you see? If you don't come, he'll win! Do you want that? Him controlling your life? I'm willing to stand up to him. I don't care if he is bigger, I'm not going to let you get pushed around." There. I said it. Let's see, blood type, B+, no allergies, I guess I should will everything to Mom Brenda stopped weeping. "Why would I think you'd ever abandon me, Robert? But I'm not letting you go. I'm not exaggerating when I say you'd wind up in the hospital." "I'll take the risk." Gulp. "No. He'd pick a fight with Mike Tyson if I showed up with him. There's no one he wouldn't pound, except maybe " she stopped short. Sitting up straight, she wiped her eyes and looked at me. "What?" I was afraid she'd remembered a macho friend who she could go to prom with. "Robert, you really did make a convincing girl the other day." I groaned and rubbed my eyes. "You said you weren't going to bring that up." "I'm sorry. But well, you did. It was really hard to tell you weren't a guy. And I was just thinking, Andy wouldn't hit a girl." I instantly saw where she was going with that. "No way," I stated. "Hear me out. If I made you up pretty enough to pass for Roberta, you could still be my date! I'll tell everyone at school what Andy threatened to do. Everyone will expect him to pound whatever guy I go with. Then, when I show up with a woman, he'll look like an idiot. All psyched up to beat someone up, and he won't be able to do anything!" "No way. I'm showing up in a tux, not a gown." "Then I'm not going. You've a braver man than Andy, but that won't do you any good in the ER." "You must think I'm a real sissy." I was bitter. "Jesus, do you men ever listen? You're willing to stand up to a guy twice your size, just to protect me. You're three times the man Andy was. But facts are facts and you'll get hurt. Maybe you could just put aside your pride a bit and take me to that prom." She snuggled against me. "I'll even let you lead." I didn't now weather to laugh or cry. "What will people think? You dancing with a woman, I mean." "Who cares? I could just get a female friend to go with me, but I'd rather go with you." She flipped my hair. "Promise no one will recognize me?" "You won't recognize yourself." "Then Christ, the things I do for you." She pecked my cheek. "Better you should concentrate on the things I'm going to do with you." She licked her lips and started the car. The next day I showed up and Brenda's house to go shopping for gowns. The indignity of it! A seventeen-year-old guy getting ready for prom by going to a formal dress store! Still, I was doing it for Brenda. It was a chance to make her safe and to show up Andy. But I much would have rather been big enough to stand up to Andy, not small enough to fit into a dress. As usual, Brenda's parents weren't home and we'd have the whole place to ourselves. When I rang the doorbell, I was both surprised and pleased to see that she was wearing a towel over her hair, another one around her torso, and nothing else. "Hi, Robert. Sorry, I'm running a little late. C'mon in." Trying to focus on her eyes, I followed. I thought about asking to borrow her towel, a la Chevy Chase in 'Fletch', but lost my nerve. "I'll be dressed in a minute," she said as she ducked into the bathroom (don't put yourself out on my account). "In the mean time, why don't you go to my closet and pick something out to wear." "What do you mean?" "I can't very well take you to a women's clothing store as Robert, now can I?" "Hang on, I never agreed to this! Can't you just pick a prom dress out for me?" "Nope. They have to do measurements and such." "What if someone I know sees me?" "Don't worry. I'm taking you to a place that you couldn't um that I doubt you've been to." "You mean, too fancy for me to afford, right?" She stuck her head out of the bathroom, a guilty expression on her face. "Yes. Sorry." That was always a point of awkwardness between us. Brenda had a new car, nice clothes, a big house. I lived in a tiny house, wore non-name brand clothes, and didn't have a car. Ever since Dad had run out on us, Mom had struggled to make ends meet. I still had no idea how I was going to afford college. I slunk into Brenda's room and poked around in her closet, trying to find the least feminine things I could fit into. As if reading my thoughts, Brenda shouted from the bathroom "And no slacks or T-shirts. You have to look authentic, OK?" I ignored her. I was already wearing a pair of her pants and wasn't going to change again. The pants had fit, much to my shock. Though Brenda was skinnier than me, she had much wider hips, enabling me to slip inside them. I then began searching for a top. "Here, let me give you a hand." Brenda had returned, dressed in a pair of cut-off shorts and a T-shirt. Even dressed as sloppily as that, she seemed to exude femininity. I knew it would take a lot of effort to make me look half that good. Brenda handed me an athletic bra. "Just slip that on. After I stuff you, no one will suspect anything if a clerk or someone should get a glimpse of you while your changing." I gulped. If anyone ever figured out my true gender, I'd have to leave town. After Brenda had given me a nice pair of boobs (this time made up of nylon stockings stuffed with socks) she handed me a top. "Brenda, I can't wear this!" I gasped, as soon as I had it on. "It doesn't go all the way down!" My freckled belly showed, just a little, between the shirt and pants. "That's the point, silly. You're so skinny, you look cute in a midriff baring number. Like a red-headed Brittany Spears!" I blushed crimson. "Now don't get like that," said Brenda, putting her arms around my neck. "There's nothing to be ashamed of." "Nothing to be ashamed of? It's not even prom night, and already I'm looking like a girl! Maybe we should just call this off." Brenda placed her mouth very near mine. I could feel her breath on my face. "Robert, do you like being my boyfriend?" I gasped, inwardly. She had said it! We were a couple. I nodded. "I like being your girlfriend. And do you know why? Because you go the extra mile. You do things for me no other guy would. And after prom, I'm going to show you just how grateful I am." She slapped my butt. "Now no more whining. Let me do your makeup." When Brenda had made me up that first night, it was sort of a half-hearted job; she hadn't expected anyone else to see me. Today, it was different. Going to a store, even an exclusive private one, required me to look like a seventeen year-old girl. "This might take a while," said Brenda when she began. "You're coloring is much different than mine, I'm going to have to try a few things before I know what's right." "Just use a lot," I muttered, fidgeting under the towel she had placed over me. "The more you use, the less chance anyone will notice me." "That's where you're wrong," replied Brenda, beginning to apply foundation to my face. "Any real woman can go out with no makeup and no one would suspect a thing. If you use too much, people might start to wonder what you're trying to cover up. I'm only going to put just enough one so that you won't arouse suspicion." Soon, my freckles had faded under a thin layer of foundation and blush. My lips were painted scarlet and my eyelashes were coated with thick mascara. I began to tremble at how smoothly my transition between the genders went. How would I ever convince Brenda that I was man enough for her, if I made such a nice girl? When Brenda had finished she winked at me. "You look really cute, Roberta." "Why do you keep calling me that?" I asked, feeling every bit the sissy. "Because I don't want to slip up and call you Robert while we're in public. Now let me fix your wig and we'll be all set." Soon we were in Brenda's convertible, driving off to God knows where. Brenda had wanted to drive with the top down, but I insisted we keep it up. What if someone saw me? I nearly died when a carload of teenagers from my school pulled up next to us at a light. I faced the other way until the light turned green. They didn't see me. As we pulled into the parking lot of a ritzy looking department store, Brenda looked at me in an odd way. "Roberta, you know how I promised not to tell anyone about what you were doing?" I felt my guts knot up. "You didn't tell anyone, did you? Dear God, you promised!" "Calm down, honey. No, I haven't told anyone. But at the store we're going to, there's a beautician who has I guess you could call it, a special talent." "What do you mean, 'special talent'?" "She does make-overs for cross dressers oh, don't give me that look!" "I am not a cross dresser! I am only doing this for you, and I sure don't want to get made over with a bunch of drag queens! You act like this is a lifestyle of mine!" Brenda lay a hand on my knee and I stopped ranting. "Roberta, I know you don't enjoy this. I just felt we'd be taking an unnecessary risk if we went shopping without help. You never know what could happen. I can dress you up OK, but this woman can work wonders. Will her help, I guarantee we'll have no problems on prom night. No one will suspect a thing." "I don't know " "Please?" Brenda slipped her hand around my bare waist. "I promise, it won't hurt." She batted her eyes at me. "OK. But I'm only doing this for you." "I know you are honey. This is going to be a prom to remember." She grabbed me by the hand and led me inside. I had never felt so self-conscious as I did right then, walking through the crowded department store wearing a half shirt, a female wig, and makeup. I felt like everyone was watching me, snickering behind their hands at my shameful costume. "Relax, honey, you're doing just fine," Brenda whispered to me. "No one suspects a thing." "So how did you find out about this make-over lady?" I asked, in an effort to take my mind off my feminine attire. "She's a beautician. My mom uses her. She once mentioned that she occasionally did make-overs for female impersonators. So when I decided to take 'Roberta' to the prom, naturally I made an appointment for you." "You did what? You said you didn't tell anyone!" "Calm down. I didn't give your real name. Really, you need to learn to relax a bit." I placed my hand over my 'breasts' and breathed heavily. "I'm sorry. You come here dressed as a man with the world staring at you, and see how calm you are." Brenda looked mischievous. "I'll tell you what. You calm down now, or I'll yank that wig of yours off, right here in front of everyone." I was horrified. "You wouldn't!" "Wouldn't I?" I thought about it. "No, I really don't think you would." Brenda sighed, I had called her bluff. "OK, I wouldn't. But if you're this nervous on prom night people are going to think something is up. Now here's our stop." We had come to a secluded corner of the large store, a tiny glass-fronted door lead into what appeared to be a ritzy beauty salon. Brenda pulled me by the hand up to the reception desk. "I have a one o'clock with Mary Ann," she told the clerk. Soon we were joined by a smiling, middle-aged woman. "Brenda," she twittered. "It's so nice to see you. How is your mother?" They exchanged banalities for a while. "And this must be Roberta," continued Mary Ann. She squeezed my hand. "Well, shall we?" We were led to a back room of the beauty parlor. When Mary Ann shut the door behind us, we were shut off from the rest of the store, free to talk in private. I looked around. The compact room seemed to contain everything needed for a complete make-over: sink, basin, makeup table, sewing kit, swatches of material, and a changing screen. I was about to breathe a sigh of relief when someone walked from behind the screen. It was a pretty blonde girl, about my age. She was curvaceous, maybe even slightly plump, but as cute as could be. She wore a tight sweater which accentuated her ample bosom, and tight slacks through which the pleasing shape of her rear-end showed through. Her hair was in a simple ponytail, and she wore only enough makeup to accentuate her features. "Hi, Mom," she smiled when she saw Mary Ann. "Hi Crystal. You know Brenda, and this is Roberta. She needs a little help passing as a woman for prom night." Crystal winked at me. "She sure doesn't seem to be having any trouble now. But when we're through with her, she'll forget she was ever a boy." At that moment I wished Brenda had never called me. My humiliation had never been so absolute. Dressing like Roberta for Brenda was one thing, I was only doing it to help her. And Mary Anne wasn't that big of a deal, she was only there to help. But no one said anything about telling my secret to this teenage goddess! To make matters worse, Crystal clearly thought I was doing this out of enjoyment! Had anyone bothered to inform her how I had been coerced into doing this? How I was protecting Brenda? No, they just let her think I was some kind of transvestite! I began to question how much I cared about Brenda. No one seemed to notice my agony. Mary Ann was glancing me over, giving me a precursory inspection. "This is going to be easy," she smiled. "But we still have a lot of work to do. That silly wig will have to go for starters. Crystal, why don't you run over to Mr. Chad's and pick up something more Roberta's natural color?" Crystal smiled, picked up her purse and was gone. "Now," continued Mary Anne "as for her dress " "Hold it right there!" I shouted. "Brenda, take me home this instant. Find someone else to take you to prom." Brenda looked genuinely shocked. "Roberta, honey, what's wrong? I thought we'd discussed " "Discussed? No, you discussed. You had me believing that the only way I could go to your prom was as a girl! Then you drag me out here for a make-over, and tell half the world my secret!" I turned to Mary Ann. "Did you even bother to tell your daughter that I was forced into doing this? I doubt it! You must have just let her think that I'm some kind of teenage drag queen! She probably thinks I'm going to prom with a guy!" I felt like crying. Things weren't improved when both Brenda and Mary Ann started giggling. "You poor thing," grinned Brenda, caressing my cheek. "You didn't tell Roberta?" Mary Ann asked Brenda. "No, you always cautioned me not to tell anyone Crystal's secret." I was confused. "What secret? What are you two laughing about?" At that moment Crystal returned, carrying a shopping bag. Mary Ann placed her hand on Crystal's shoulder. "Crystal, dear, Roberta is a bit embarrassed that you know she's really a boy." Crystal seemed to think this was also hilarious. I wanted to run away, the sight of my girlfriend, the beautician, and the pretty blonde girl all laughing at me was just too much. Crystal sat down beside me. "Roberta, I'm sorry if that freaked you out. I assumed you knew something about me, but I guess you don't." "What? What don't I know?" "That my real name is Christopher. I'm no more of a girl than you are." I thought she was joking and rolled my eyes at her. But she just smiled and nodded. I looked her over a second time. Those breasts, could they just be padding? That adorable face, was it nothing more than makeup? That feminine giggle, the result of careful practice? Did those tight jeans hide a maleness much like mine? "How? Why?" I stammered. Crystal winked at her mom. "Why don't you tell her?" "OK," Mary Ann sat down next to her 'daughter.' While Crystal touched up her makeup, I listened to Mary Ann's story of Crystal's creation. "About two years ago, when Crystal was fifteen (and known as Christopher), my husband was killed in an accident. He was the breadwinner in the house, and when he died, I didn't know what to do. I mean, I was forty years old, no skills, and a teenage son to support. I figured that maybe I could make a little money as a beautician. Unfortunately, I couldn't afford to go to beauty school. So I practiced at home. "I couldn't practice on myself, and I only had so many friends I could impose on to let me do make-overs on them for hours at a time. I only had one alternative." Crystal smiled and waved her fingers at me. "Obviously, Christopher refused at first. I mean, what kind of fifteen-year-old kid wants his mother to practice feminine beauty techniques on him?" Crystal giggled. "At any rate, he finally agreed. I don't think there was anything he wouldn't have done to help out the family." Mary Ann gave Crystal a one- armed hug. "Every night, I'd spend about three hours turning my son Christopher into my daughter, Crystal. That may seem like a lot of time, but keep in mind I was trying to break into an industry I knew nothing about, with no training at all. I waitressed during the day, worked nights at a factory, and in my free time I tried to learn all the beauty secrets I could. Christopher was a real trooper, being willing to become a girl every evening, just to help me out. "Finally, I began applying for jobs. I never realized how hopeless my dreams had been. No one was interested in a middle- aged woman with no experience. What's more, in this line of work you have to have a huge portfolio of make-overs you have done. All I had was Crystal, and I wasn't about to display photos of her. "Eventually things got so bad that Christopher agreed to allow me to show off photos of Crystal. That, at least got me some interviews. But things didn't help much. Crystal looked beautiful, but she was just one facial type. I had to prove I could make-over women no matter what they looked like. "I think I would have given up my dreams had my car not broken down and I had to have Christopher borrow a friend's car to pick me up." Crystal giggled, and began to recite the story where Mary Ann left off. "So there I was, sitting in this office, listening to some gay beauty parlor owner tell Mom why he couldn't hire her. He holds up a picture of me as Crystal, then pauses. He looks over at me, then back at the photo, then at me again. His eyes get huge. Mom and I are terrified, obviously he figured out where Mom got her model. I was so relieved when he didn't mention it. "But a week later, Mom gets a call from a friend of the hairdresser. Seems he has always wanted to look like a woman, but was too afraid to go to a beauty parlor. The guy Mom interviewed with told him about Mom's talent for beautifying men, and so he had called her. The guy paid five hundred bucks just for one make-over and photo session. "After that, our phone never stopped ringing. People were calling from all over, begging to be made into women. It was pretty hysterical. Mom busts her rear learning the secrets of feminine beauty, and most of her customers are men!" "But you!" I asked impatiently. "How come you are still dressing like that?" "Well, when Mom started doing this full time, it was obvious that she needed an assistant. And since she couldn't afford to hire one, I worked for her. But we soon realized that something had to change. Men coming for female make-overs didn't feel comfortable with a teenage guy watching them; it made them ashamed. So before I knew it, I was going to work as Crystal." Mary Ann resumed the story. "Crystal was an expensive investment. I had to pay for all kinds of makeup, cosmetics, and of course clothes. You never realize how expensive a teenage daughter can be until you've had to buy all her dresses in one week! Still, once Crystal was my assistant, all my clients felt at ease. And if they ever wanted proof of my talents, Crystal could simply take off her wig." My head was spinning. "So how often are you dressed like that?" I asked the boy who was prettier than most girls I knew. "Well, I haven't stopped dressing like this for over a year now. At first, I only did it evenings and weekends. But it was such a pain constantly changing from one identity to another. Soon I was Crystal non-stop, from Friday afternoon until Monday morning. I began to make friends as Crystal. I found myself almost thinking of myself as a girl. Finally, Mom began to worry that puberty would make it impossible for us to continue the ruse. I mean, if I grew a beard, I couldn't very well be her model, could I? "We decided that the best course of action would for me to begin taking doses of estrogen. We figured that I could postpone the onset of male characteristics until I left for college. I was dressing like a girl so much by that time, it wasn't really a big sacrifice. We only made one mistake: we bought the hormones illegally, without consulting a doctor. And I ended up taking a just a bit too much." "What happened?" I breathlessly asked. "Well, I did end up going through puberty. Just as the wrong gender." Crystal began giggling so hard she couldn't go on. His mother continued. "About half a year after Crystal began the hormones, I began to notice how it was gradually getting easier and easier to make him over. At first I chalked it up to experience, but soon I realized that wasn't the case. My son really was changing. "His skin got softer. His hair grew silkier. I noticed him starting to fill out, the way a young woman would. I'll never forget the day I bought him his first bra. Obviously, he had to change schools, there was only so much you could cover with heavy clothes." I was dumbfounded and scared. I hoped that my innocent foray into the other side of life would never go this far. "So what are your plans now?" Crystal toyed with his blonde locks. I realized that his hair, unlike mine, was natural. "I'm not sure," he mused. "I really want to go to college next year, but I guess I should go back to being Christopher before then. I guess this summer I'll stop the estrogen, start taking some male hormones, and get on with my life." "So," piped in Brenda, "now that you realize you are among friends, can we please get started?" That was the last thing the three of them said to me the whole rest of the afternoon. I might as well have been a mannequin, for all the attention my opinions were given. After I was told to disrobe, I simply sat there shivering in my underwear, while the ladies decided how to do to me what had been done to Christopher. The first thing Mary Ann said she must do was to give me a feminine figure. This was accomplished by squeezing me into a girdle so tight that I could barely breathe. "God, could you loosen that a little?" I begged. No such luck. "We have to pour you into a tight little prom dress," Mary Ann tittered. "Now," she said, turning to her 'daughter,' "what should be done about her chest?" "Well," said Crystal, staring at my bare chest, "since there's no chest hair, why don't we use the glue-on kind?" Glue on kind? I soon found out what that meant. Mary Ann slathered my chest with a goopy, yellow fluid. "It's a sort of epoxy," she explained. "It's powerful, but it comes right off with a little alcohol." "But what exactly " I began. Then I saw Crystal coming towards me with a big grin. In each hand she held what appeared to be a woman's breast. Obviously fake, but they certainly jiggled and moved like the real thing (at least as the Playboy Channel would have me believe). "They're made of silicone and painted like the real things," said Crystal. "They won't pass close inspection, but under clothes they look very convincing." She pressed them to my chest and instructed me to lay back while the glue set. "Are you sure they won't slip or anything?" I babbled. "Oh yes. I used them myself until the hormones gave me my own." I glanced at Crystal's chest out of the corner of my eye. Though not huge, Crystal's boobs were certainly beauties. I couldn't believe they were growing on a guy. "As long as she's laying down, why don't we get started on her makeup," suggested Mary Ann. "Why do you keep calling me 'her'?" I complained. "You act like I'm really a girl." "I apologize," smiled Mary Ann. "So many of my clients think of themselves as women that I always use feminine pronouns. Don't let it bother you." I glanced at Brenda across the room. I expected to see her smirking, giggling at my discomfort. To my shock, she was smiling at me sweetly. She caught me looking at her and she winked at me. This made me relax a bit. Her approval meant a lot to me. Mary Ann and Crystal spent the better part of an hour practicing the art of the make-over on me. As my boobs were still drying I couldn't sit up to see what they were doing. Lipstick, mascara brush, sponge, cotton balls, and eyeliner pencil flew before my dazed eyes. I even stoically submitted when they shaved my legs and armpits with electric clippers. Finally, it ended. "Let me see," I begged, trying to look in a mirror. "Not just yet, dear. Let's get you dressed first so you can see the finished product. Now sit up and see if your chest holds." I climbed to a vertical position. My chest felt heavy; small wonder with my new appendages. While you could still see where they were attached, they looked eerily realistic. If I squinted, I could almost imagine I had grown them myself. I had to touch one to make sure it really wasn't mine. "There you go," said Crystal. "Try not to look at them too much when you go out. It's tempting to glance at them, but you'll only draw suspicion to yourself. They'll be enough guys staring at them anyway." I grimaced. "Anything else?" "Be careful of them. Those are C cups, so you stick out more than you used to. Nothing's more embarrassing than knocking over your drink with your chest. Now lets get you dressed." Brenda squealed with delight when she saw the gowns they had picked out. "Oh, Roberta, these are to die for! Oh, I wish I could dress you up like this all the time! Too bad you can only choose one." "Yeah. Too bad." "Now none of that, Ms. Pouty," chastised Crystal. "Try to enjoy yourself." I looked the gowns over. "All of these show too much skin!" I whined. "You have such a graceful back and shoulders," said Brenda. "You should really show them off." I burned with humiliation. Graceful? That had nothing to do with clothes or padding. Obviously she thought I had a natural feminine quality about me. She'd have never said that to her thuggish ex. Obviously I wasn't the man he was. And so, my back still to the mirrors, I tried on dresses. And accessories. Strapless dresses. Dresses with spaghetti straps. Off the shoulder, backless dresses. Dresses with ruffles and bows. Dresses that swept the floor, dresses that only came down to my knees. Dresses with full sleeves, dresses wi