Petey Sou Got Magicked free porn video

Petey Sou got Magicked! By Albedo In a dimly-lit room in a not-very-upmarket nursing home on the outskirts of town, an old lady lay dying. She didn't mind dying, really. Early-onset Alzheimer's meant she didn't fully understand her body was letting go of life. She was warm, rested, being taken care of. It was like being a kid again. She was happy, like a kid. She lived in her memories a lot these days, and she remembered believing things her older, more rational self had discarded. Now, in her second childhood, she believed again. Today, she believed in fairies, and because she believed, she truly believed... Esmeralda materialised a foot off the floor, and descended with a thump to the threadbare carpet. "Damn, missed again." The dishevelled figure sprawled on the floor rolled over to begin the laborious process of standing up. She did not let go of the bottle of cheap sherry clutched in one hand, though, and this made the normally simple manoeuvre more awkward and time- consuming. When she was once again nominally upright, she brushed her hand ineffectually over her tattered clothing in a vain attempt to appear a little more presentable. She waited until the room had stopped swimming before lurching over to the bed to look down on the old lady's face, surrounded by a halo of white hair spread out on the pillow. Drunk as she was, Esmeralda's powers extended to more than the simple magics, and she could feel the aura of grubby neglect that permeated the nursing home. This old dear was well looked after though. She was clean, and her hair had been brushed. Someone, somewhere, cared. Esmeralda smiled. The old lady could see the figure hovering over her only dimly. She smiled back. "So." said Esmeralda, rather thickly. "You're a Believer." She caught sight of the bottle grafted onto her right hand and stared at it like she had never seen it before. "You know, kid, some days even I don't believe in fairies." She took a swig from the bottle, and belched. "Pink elephants, well, they're another matter. Damn things leave piles of... well, it don't matter what they leave, but it's good for the roses, 's all I can say." The old lady continued to smile. She didn't comprehend anything the dim figure was saying, but it didn't matter. She was somewhere else, and the medications meant the pain had gone away, and the world was memories, and memories were good. Well, mostly good. There was that time when she was sixteen, when Billy Watson had hurt her, really hurt her. Her face twisted, and she almost cried, at the memory, the hateful, horrible memory. Esmeralda's senses told her what was happening behind the old lady's tear-filled eyes, and she whispered, "There, there. Don't cry. I'll make it all better." and added a word of Power so that it would be all better. The old lady's smile returned, and Esmeralda took another swig from the bottle. She looked around and found a cheap armchair in the corner of the room to slump into, finding staying vertical a bit of a challenge for the moment. "O". She squinted at the figure on the bed. "Kay". She took another gulp from the ever-full bottle before concentrating on the problem at hand. Old lady, a Believer. Right. Because she's a Believer, she gets what she wants, her heart's desire. Right. She's got Esmeralda on her case. Right. So, what does she want? She squinted at the bed again. What she wanted, right now, more than anything else, was for Billy Watson not to hurt her. Right. "Oh boy. Temporal, is it? This is going to be a tough one." She remembered the last time she had attempted a time travel spell. The Boss had invented a new language just to find enough words to describe how thoroughly she had screwed up. It had taken the clean-up crews thousands of years to bury all those dead dinosaurs. She shuddered at the memory of the budget over-runs. Wish upon a falling star, my ass...teroid. One lousy misplaced nine-mile-long space-rock, and another black mark in a career that had started out so promisingly, with that girl, what was her name, ah yes, Cinders. That one was a classic, one they still talked about in Wishgifting 101. Those were the days, before she discovered the lure of the sauce... She drifted off into an alcohol-fogged sleep, bottle still firmly grasped in her hand, her dutiful subconscious churning away at the problem. When the duty nurse looked in on Mrs. Allinson, she was still smiling but there was nothing left behind the smile. She sighed, and then pulled the sheet up to cover the old lady's face. "Petey will be so disappointed when I tell him." she said no one in particular as she drew the curtains closed, and left to report the death of Maude Allinson, Room 167, next-of-kin... She totally forgot to notice the rumpled figure asleep in the armchair in the corner of the room. Indeed, Esmeralda's rasping snores totally failed to make any impression on her ears. Then again, the nurse was a practical woman who didn't believe in fairies. They didn't exist for her, and so, for her, Esmeralda didn't exist. Peter Sou took the news more calmly than the nurse expected. He was a rather fatalistic young man, and Maude had been in the process of dying for several months. Petey, as custodian for the first floor rooms, had gotten into the habit of chatting with the old lady during her more lucid moments, early on in her stay. When the conversations became more one-sided, as time passed, he still spent time with her. He had received permission from the senior nurse on the floor to spend ten minutes each day brushing the old lady's hair, something which always brought a smile to her face. He knew, of course, she was never going to get better. She wasn't even ever going to be lucid again. Still, he cared. Some of the other staffers on the floor believed him to be a little crazy, and the others reckoned he had too much empathy to stay in this kind of a job for too long. The dark-suited gentlemen from the funeral home visited the rear of the building in their dark-panelled van, and left again with their burden. They were intensely practical men, like the nurse, and like her they failed to notice the odour of cheap alcohol and unwashed clothing emanating from the armchair in the corner of room 167, as they went about their necessary business. In said corner of the room, a subconscious process was working its way through a tricky problem, and nudging the unconscious mind that was going to have to carry out the solution it came up with. The unconscious mind in question was having none of it for the moment as it tried to deal with a stupefying amount of alcohol. Petey pushed his janitor's cart into Maude's room, and started stripping the bed. The senior nurse had already removed all of Maude's personal possessions, such as they were, and the room was needed for another patient as soon as possible. He noticed there was something about the room that was different. There was a, a, presence of some kind. He shrugged it off. Maude had died in here, and he had become rather attached to her. His own mother had died when he was a baby, and a succession of foster-parents had not made much impression on him as he grew up, disconnected from the world as if a thick pane of glass hung between him and Reality. At the age of twenty, a high-school dropout, unsociable, he was happy enough to work here until his feet told him it was time to move on. Maybe, now that Maude had died, it was that time. He reached over the bed to stretch the fresh sheets nice and tight, the way the senior nurse liked them. Later, Esmeralda rationalised it to herself. It was early evening, and the curtains were drawn when she woke up with a start. The only light in the room was a dim shaded lamp mounted over the bed. There was a white head (Petey wore a white janitor's cap) on the pillow (he was reaching over the bed). There were thoughts of leaving, and Esmeralda's subconscious shouted "Hurry!" and thrust the Solution at her forebrain. Reflexively, she took the algorithm, ran it through a syntax-checker, compiled it and aimed it at the white head on the bed. The bottle disappeared, replaced by a magic wand that lit up the room as her hand came up like a gunslinger's, and the spell leapt towards its target. The figure at the bed looked up reflexively at the sudden rainbow brightness, and Esmeralda gulped as she realised the colossal mistake that was about to happen. She tried to grab at the spell, to call it back but it was well on its way, and not for turning. All she could do in the instant left to her was to pull a prefabricated generic Fount-Of-Knowledge spell down from the rack, dust it off, and punch it after the original. She couldn't stop Petey from going on a journey to a final destination he was going to be hard-pushed to understand, but at least when he got there, he'd have something that would help. And boy, was he going to need all the help he could get. *** In later times, Peter Sou's recollection of what happened to him was always confused. Sometimes he remembered it as a long echoing tunnel through which he was blown like a leaf towards a bright light. Sometimes it was as if he was being pushed backwards, reliving his life in reverse, except that at some point he switched railway lines. Sometimes it just seemed as if a switch was flipped, and he wasn't working as a custodian at a run-down nursing home, but he was suddenly somewhere else, and somewhen else. And, more importantly, somebody else. That was always the end result, though. He wasn't Peter Sou any more. There was no Peter Sou. There wouldn't even be the possibility of a Peter Sou for another twenty years, as it was now 1956. His name was now Allinson. Maude Allinson. Sixteen-year-old Maude Allinson. He stared at the mirror in front of him, and gulped. The girl in the mirror gulped in synchronisation. In fact, everything Petey did, the girl mimicked. It was very unsettling, even more than the confusing journey he had just experienced. It was just that he was used to seeing Peter Sou in a mirror, not Maude Allinson, sixteen-year-old Maude Allinson, so for a time his mind kept telling him she was somebody else, standing there in brown casual loafers, white knee-high socks, a puffed-out dusty-pink skirt with a poodle applique and a well-filled tight white sweater. The face in the mirror was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, and the hair was a chestnut red colour, rather than a thin grey-white, but it was the same face, minus forty-odd years of wear and tear. Somehow, he *knew* exactly where and when, and most importantly *who* he was. " I think we're back in Kansas, Toto." he murmured, in Maude's voice. Maude had originally come from Kansas, he remembered. What else did he know? He asked himself questions, to see if he had the answers. How do I get back? No answer. How did I get here? ***Magic*** Hold on a second, magic? Who said that? No answer. Why? ***A... mistake, an error, somebody screwed up, something went wrong*** Who? No names, just an occupation. ***Fairy Godmother*** "A what?" said Peter, explosively. There was no answer. He realised he knew things he didn't know before, but he had to ask the right questions to get at the information. He also had a premonition this database was going to be rather incomplete. He looked around, to get an idea of where he was. He was in a girl's bedroom. Pink predominated. There was lots of pink. There was a bed, with a pink coverlet, and an old cloth doll placed carefully up by the pillow (pink again). There were books scattered on a dresser, and a family photograph in a silver frame on the wall (a black and white photograph, naturally). He looked at the group of people, posed on the lawn in front of an old-style house (well, it looked old-fashioned, but hell, it was 1956. Maybe it was the latest thing. How would he know?). The middle-aged adults were Mom and Pop, obviously. The old white-haired geezer at the back was Grandpaw, and Maude, slightly younger than her appearance in the mirror, was sitting on the grass beside a dark-haired young boy, brother perhaps? ***Brother*** said the internal voice. Name? he asked experimentally. ***Walter*** Her kid brother's name was Walter. He hated being called Wally, so that's what Maude called him. Of course. He moved, for the first time since Getting Here, and the differences threatened to overwhelm him. He was shorter now, and he hadn't been particularly tall before. What he was wearing well, he had never worn anything like it before. It felt like a carnival costume, a fancy-dress outfit, but his rational streak told himself firmly that this was normal, for Maude Allinson, for 1956. The skirt, the slippery petticoats that buoyed out the skirt's hem and rustled around his knees, the tight straps wrapped around the chest under the sweater which had to be a brassiere. Totally run-of-the-mill daywear, if you were a girl, in Kansas, in 1956. For the foreseeable future, Peter Sou was Miss 1956, and he would have to get used to it. Well, as much as he could. His hands were a girl's hands, the wristwatch on his slim wrist a girl's watch, his waist a girl's waist. Narrow girlish shoulders. He lifted his chin at the girl in the mirror. No Adam's Apple. Her hair, *his* hair, was shaped and cut to frame his almond-shaped face and fell to his shoulders, with a fringe at the forehead. A ribbon, a pink ribbon, pulled the rest of his hair back from his eyes. He brushed one side back with his hand, and noted his ears weren't pierced. He didn't know if that was normal or not for this milieu. What he knew of 1956 came from a few books and films, and some desultory study in History class when he could be bothered to attend. Who was President, for crying out loud? That little voice he was coming to hate came back ***Eisenhower*** He shrugged, and other physical changes were brought to his attention. Oh, those. Well, he thought as he looked down at the swelling lumps in the sweater. This *is* an interesting point of view, isn't it? He raised his hands to touch them, then hesitated, suddenly awkward. Won't Maude mind? The voice in his head stayed silent. It seemed it was not going to play the part of a conscience, however knowledgeable it was about factual matters. He shrugged again. Well, if I see her again, I'll apologise. What surprised him the most was the armour-like fabric his breasts were encased in. They were forced into long conical funnels of stiff fabric. From the little experience he had had of the fairer sex (until Getting Here, that is) their underwear tended to be quite light and soft, not bullet-proof like this. Fashions, it seemed, had changed since Maude's day. He rested his hands on his hips, then pressed them to his crotch. He couldn't feel anything, not that he expected to, but there was too much fabric in the way. Petticoats and such, he reasoned. He twisted left and right, watching the skirt flare out around his knees as the petticoats rustled. The Twist. Had that dance craze happened yet, or was it still in the future? ***The future*** came the voice. OK, what do I do now? No answer. He felt frustrated, and tried another tack. Why am I here? ***A mistake*** Yes, yes. I know. All right then, why is Maude here? ***Maude has always been here*** Wrong question. Let's try again. Why was Maude-future being sent back to here, to be Maude-now? ***To right a wrong*** Aha! Getting somewhere. What wrong? Silence. Don't you know, or is it you can't tell me? Silence. "Damn." he said. The Voice either had serious gaps in its knowledge, or It wasn't going to be forthcoming about some subjects. There was a sudden noise behind him, and he turned, to see brother Wally's face peering around the door. "Whatcha cussing for, Sis?" he grinned, the evil grin of a younger brother bent on mischief to perpetrate on an older sister. "Jes' wait till ah tell Mom you were swearing." Oh shit, thought Petey, followed by a fervent wish that he hadn't vocalised *that*. "Me? Cussing?" He made shooing motions at Wally. "I don't think so. Girls don't cuss, do they?" Wally's expression grew calculating. "Gimme a quarter an' ah won't say nuttin'." A grubby hand came around the door, palm open. Petey had dealt with junior Chamber of Commerce extortionists before at the succession of juvenile homes he had lived in between fostering sessions. He had learned quickly that giving in the first time was just saving up trouble for later. "Oh no, you don't shake me down that easily. Out you go, you little pirate." Wally dodged back out into the corridor as Petey advanced like a galleon in full sail. He closed the door firmly before going to sit down on the bed among a flurry of lace and froth. He was a sneaker-and-jeans kind of a guy, not too particular about his clothing, as long as it was clean and kept the world from knowing his secrets. It seemed Maude was more of a clothes-horse. Perhaps he'd feel better wearing some kind of pants or slacks. He stood up and went over to the wardrobe in the corner and opened the door. It turned out the door catch wasn't there just to hold the door closed - it was there to keep the wardrobe's contents restrained. Boy, was she a clothes horse. He fumbled his way through layers of lace and brightly coloured fabric, and totally failed to locate anything even remotely masculine in style. There were no sneakers, even. When do trainers come into fashion? he asked the Voice, as he struggled to close the door after his fruitless search. ***Late 70's*** came the reply. ***Peaked in the early 90's. Resurgence*** Enough, already. A search of the dresser turned up socks, some more of those rigid brassieres, and practical cotton panties, with little flower patterns. Right at the back of one drawer, though, was a large tissue-wrapped bundle. He hauled it out and unrolled it on the bed. Well, it turned out Maude wasn't all Puritan, after all. The corset was made from alternating panels of dark-red satin and black silk. Its breast cups were as rigid as the other brassieres, but much more low-cut, and practically non-existent in the middle. There were three attached garter straps on each side, each strap looking capable of restraining a wild horse all by itself. There were matching panties, semi-translucent and cut high at the sides, and strictly not cotton jersey. A soft black bundle turned out to be two pairs of smoky nylon stockings, with a knife-thin black seam down the back running from a wide garter top into a shaped heel. I wonder who the lucky boy this little Mardi Gras parade is for? ***Billy Watson***, came the Voice. Billy Watson. The name brought a boy's face to mind. Billy was handsome in an unfinished adolescent way, with crewcut dark blond hair. There was a hint of freckles around the eyes. Petey's first panicked thought was Have Maude and Billy gone all the way? The answer, ***No***, was a relief which was abruptly washed away by the Voice's additional ***Not Yet***. This time he did voice his feelings, but luckily Wally was not around to benefit financially from the indiscretion. He threw himself backwards on the bed and stared blankly at the ceiling, hands behind his head, fingers buried in Maude's hair. The posture exerted some odd strains on his upper chest area and its elasticated support structure, but he studiously ignored the distraction. Distractions. It was time to get some real answers from Mister Mystery Voice. Right. Just what did you mean by Not Yet? ***Not Yet*** He put some English into his subvocalisations. Not Yet. That means Maude and Billy are going to tango sometime. Soon? There was a pause, then ***Soon*** He grunted. Look, don't make me come in there and pound it out of you. I'm beginning to get a handle on the Rules - you will agree there are Rules, and you have to abide by them don't you? ***Yes*** There was a hint of relief in the Voice's tone. Right. Let me summarise my understanding, and you stop me if I'm going off track. Pause. Nothing. Maude and Billy are a unit? Silence. I'm back here to put something right, something that went wrong. Silence. Between Maude and Billy? Silence. And you can't simply tell me what to do, can you? Silence again. He brought his thoughts back to the Voice's alarming pronouncement. OK, this is 1956, in small-town Kansas. Maude is a Good Girl, the secret Rocky Horror costume notwithstanding. She's in love with freckle-faced hormone-riddled Billy-next-door ***Other side of town*** Petey sighed. Anyhow, I've been where teenager Billy is now - the woodies, the dreams, the URGE. Is that Not Yet you socked me with a while back the reason I'm here? The delay was longer this time, but the answer was ***Yes***. That was all he could get out of the Voice, though. Demands for timetables and details went unanswered. It looked like the Voice had stretched its limits giving him even this most basic amount of information. He was still sprawled out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, when Wally's voice came chanting from the doorway. "I see Paris, I see France. I see" Petey sat upright hurriedly, pushing the bouffant skirt down between his knees. Damn that little pest! Wally's face was split with the gap-toothed grin Petey was beginning to actively detest. "What do you want, you little beast?" Petey said, blushing slightly. "Mom said to tell ya dinner'll be ready soon, an' yer to get cleaned up an' come down an' help set 't table." Wally ducked away out of sight, but his off-key voice could still be heard chanting "I see Paris, I see France, I see" Petey figured he'd better try and fit in with the Allinsons, for as long as he was going to be here. He got off the bed and headed for the door, the swishing friction of the lacy underskirts on his bare legs still an unnerving distraction. Somehow, he knew the bathroom was on the left, at the far end of the corridor. He got inside and closed the door, then looked around. There was an old-fashioned cast-iron bath, with a gas water heater on the wall. Of course, this was 1956, and Kansas, so maybe in this reality the fitments were ultra-modern. He was a city boy born and bred, but he had heard horror stories about country shacks with wooden huts in the yard, and holes in the ground The toilet had a wooden seat, and a cistern mounted high on the wall behind it and a long chain hanging down. The sight of the gleaming porcelain brought a familiar/ unfamiliar abdominal discomfort to the forefront of Petey's mind, and he sighed. Another new discovery to be made. He had vague recollections of How Girls Did It, from his younger days in the foster homes, but how they coped with so much clothing was a new conundrum. He fumbled around inexpertly until he finally managed to locate his panties in the clouds of net and lace under the pink skirt, and hooked his thumbs into the waistband. A steady pull down to his knees, and then he hobbled cautiously backwards in the direction of the pedestal, arms full of nylon petticoats. The wooden seat caught him on the back of his knees, and he collapsed untidily onto the doughnut. A few necessary adjustments to ensure there was no fabric in the way, and then... And then... And... Damn and blast! He knew what he had to do. It was just that this was the first time with his new equipment, and he hadn't read the manual or attended the lectures or done any of the homework, and now Professor Nature had sprung this Biology pop quiz on him. He squirmed, trying to convince whatever was closed to let go, but it was different. He had a sudden manic thought. Different. I'm really getting my money's worth out of that word today. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Calm. Quiet. Loose There was a feeling of release, and a tinkling sound as fluid cascaded into the bowl from somewhere he preferred not to think about too closely. The pressure eased, and the noise became intermittent, then stopped. He went to stand up, then remembered he couldn't just give his old one-eyed trouser snake a quick shake dry and tuck it back in. What now? Ah, toilet paper. There was a roll beside the pedestal, but it was almost shiny, and smelled of disinfectant. He scrunched up a handful and gingerly reached under the pink tent and up between his legs. Well, that was certainly another novel experience, he thought to himself, as he dropped the slightly dampened bundle of paper into the bowl. Scratchy, too. I'll bet it'll be a woman who will invent soft toilet paper. A quick readjustment of his underwear and a quick washing of Maude's slim hands in the basin (and her face in the mirror was less of a shock than it had been) then he headed for the top of the stairs. Stairs. He looked downwards. He could see quite clearly to the landing. What he couldn't see was the next step down. He pushed his skirts to one side with one hand to improve his sightlines, and stepped down one step, then another, then another. His progress reminded him of some of the old folk he had assisted on the stairs at the rest home. He reached the landing without incident, and saw Mrs. Allinson, his mother, in the kitchen at the foot of the stairs. She turned to greet her daughter. She was just like the Mom in the picture, but in colour. If Maude was to take after her, she was going to be a handsome woman when she was thirty-five. "Hi honey. Your Poppa'll be home soon." There was a smell of potatoes baking in the oven, and saucepans bubbling on the top of the old-fashioned stove. "Lay the table, please?" Mom (think of her as Mom, it'll be easier) turned back to the stove. Petey tried completing the rest of the stairs without the aid of a safety-net, and only stumbled once before he reached the haven of the level floor. God help me if I ever have to do that in heels, he thought, as he headed without conscious thought to the large pine dresser against the kitchen wall and started pulling plates and cutlery out of their accustomed places in the cupboards and drawers. Well, he thought as he moved around the wooden table, it looks like Maude knows what to do even if I don't. Plates and cutlery were arranged neatly on the table mats in front of the four chairs. A jug of milk from the pantry (no refrigerator, how quaint) went in the middle of the table, along with salt and pepper and a bottle of ketchup. You're awful quiet today, honey." Said Mrs. Allinson. Gwen, Mom's first name was Gwendolyn, came a stray thought. "Huh?" Mom smiled. "Big night ahead. Your first Prom. You'll have so much fun." She made waltzing motions, arms outstretched. "You'll dance your feet off." She started to hum a waltz tune. "Mom!" Petey wasn't sure what she was on about, but he could guess. "You'll knock everything off the stove." "OK, honey." She turned back to the stove and started stirring again. "Go get your brother and get him cleaned up ready for supper." It took a bit of searching, but Walter was finally located ten feet up a medium-sized tree in the back yard. Petey looked up at the little figure, who seemed rather happily ensconced on a branch, back against the trunk. "Mom says you're to come in and get cleaned up for dinner." Wally's reaction was to extrude his tongue and make a rude noise. "Come on. Pop'll be home soon." "Come up 'n get me." was Wally's challenge. Petey looked down at his outfit. It was not suitable for climbing trees in. Not at all. He had a sudden vision of what he would look like, from behind, struggling up the tree dressed as he was. No, climbing the tree was out of the question. "Come on down." Maybe he could appeal to Wally's self-interest. "It's apple pie for dessert tonight." Wally considered this for a moment, then another rude noise erupted. "Please?" As soon as he said it, he knew it was a mistake. Wally settled in more comfortably with a smirk on his face. He looked like he could happily stay up in the tree until it started snowing. Damn, thought Petey, it's such a *good* tree. In his past, or was that future, life he'd have been up there with Wally in an instant. Now, his new gender and its concomitant mode of dress precluded such delightful entertainments. He cast around the yard in the faint hope inspiration would strike, and then his eyes lit upon Wally stood in the yard, dripping wet and sniffling "'Snot fair!" as Petey wound the garden hose back on its reel. "Mom told me to get you cleaned up for dinner. I got you cleaned up. Mission accomplished." He suddenly felt sorry for Wall Walter. He got some towels and boy-sized clothes from the washing line, and dried and changed Walter before marching him into the house. "My oh my. What happened to you, son?" asked the big figure of Arnold W. Allinson. Pop was home. "Maudey squirted me!" He wasn't sure whether to cry or not, and his lip quivered. Pop raised an eyebrow at his daughter. "He was up the tree in the yard, and not coming down. Mom said to clean him up and get him in for dinner, so" Petey shrugged. Pop considered this for a second, laughed once and then stopped as he saw tears in Walter's eyes. He reached down and lifted the boy into the air. "So she got you good, did she? Huh? Huh?" He swung the boy from side to side above his head, and Walter started laughing along with his big strong father, his humiliation at Petey's hands forgotten. Pop winked at Petey as he put Walter back on his feet. "Let's eat, kids." He took Petey's hand as he led them into the kitchen. Petey felt strangely comforted by the grasp of the big man's hand. Mom was putting out bowls of steaming vegetables and a plate of hot sliced beef as they reached the table. Pop sat down opposite Mom, and Wally ran around to a taller chair on the other side, leaving Petey with a no-brainer choice before sitting down himself. He tucked the recalcitrant skirt under his suddenly steatopygenous butt as nonchalantly as he could (I do this all the time, see?) but if he was behaving oddly, the others showed no awareness of the changeling in their midst. Petey almost reached for a serving spoon before noticing nobody else was in a hurry, and then bowed his head and closed his eyes like the others. "Dear Father, we thank thee for the bounty You have laid before us this day" Petey resisted the temptation, born of many a hungry stay in foster-homes, of pigging out on the abundant food. Mrs. Allinson, Mom, was a cook to contend with. He did succumb to a second helping of apple pie, however. Mr. Allinson sat back, and sighed, replete. "Keep on feeding me like that, darlin', and you'll have to cart me to work in a wheelbarrow." He dug into his pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes. Mom slid a big box of kitchen matches across the table at him, along with an ashtray. "Try not to get ash on the tablecloth, dear." She caught Petey's eye. "Help me clear up, Maude?" Maude's job was to wipe and dry, apparently. This didn't faze Petey, an old hand at kitchen duties, but he noticed Wally was outside whooping and hollering, playing some kind of Red Injun game in the yard. Of course, in 1956, washing up was woman's work, so he donned an apron and bellied up to the draining board, as Mr. Allinson made his way into the front room, the newspaper and his big armchair. Mom washed and rinsed, glancing at her daughter occasionally. Petey kept quiet, not wanting to get drawn into a conversation where his ignorance of Maude's life would cause unwelcome interest. Finally, the last pot was washed and laid up on the wooden draining board beside the sink, and Mom broke her silence. "Something worrying you, Maudey?" She didn't know just how much, he thought, as he took off the apron. "Just" he tried to leave his answer noncommittal. "Tonight's big event, huh?" Mrs. Allinson smiled. "You're nervous, of course, but you know your dress is the prettiest in town. You'll knock 'em all dead at the dance." Her face suddenly tightened, then she led Maude back over to the dining table and ushered her into one of the wooden chairs, before sitting down herself before her daughter. She gave a conspiratorial glance around, before reaching forward and grasping Petey's slim hands. "Look, my dear, there are some things, well, you're grown up, almost, and there's things you need to know, about boys and girls, and feelings you'll experience real soon" Her voice was quiet and low, but her eyes blazed with emotion as she gave her daughter the five-minute Facts of Life lecture. Her face flushed when she tried to describe the physical aspects of the dirty deed, and her voice fell even further, causing Petey to lean forward even more to catch her hesitant descriptions of biological processes Petey had learned about in a foster-home at the age of eight, in the more enlightened (and depraved) future. Petey didn't have to work too hard to keep the stunned expression on his face, although laughing out loud was the only alternative, and he didn't think this would be appropriate. Mom was trying her best by her daughter, and although some of her facts were, to say the least, inaccurate, she fought her way through her feelings of embarrassment to deliver her message. "So, anyway, that's why you must be careful tonight. Boys will be boys, and us girls have to take account of that." Had the Pill been invented yet? Shit. Rubbers, of course, but would a seventeen-year old boy have any? Would they use them even if they had? Petey suddenly had intimations of motherhood, and the urge to laugh vanished. "Remember, boys don't respect a girl who's too, too easy." She shook her daughter's hands, her own fingers clammy with sweat. "Now, go upstairs and have a good soak in the tub, and then I'll help you get ready. Billy will be here in an hour or so to pick you up." "Yes Mom." He headed for the stairs, but turned as Mom spoke again. "Remember what I said, dear." She hesitated. "I love you." "I love you too, Mom." She smiled, and made shooing gestures at him. Now why had he said that? He puzzled over his outburst as he headed up the stairs to his room. Maybe because it was true, Maude loved her parents, her Mom and Pop. Petey had never had a family to love - he had always held himself at an emotional distance from the fosterers, waiting for his mother (she wasn't really dead, not really) and his father (an unknown figure, a prince maybe) to come and sweep him up in their arms and take him off to a fairytale castle where they all would live happily ever after. This had been easier for a kid to believe in than the raw truth of a dead mother and a father who didn't care, or worse didn't even know he had a son. Now, today, in 1956, Peter Sou had a family. OK, it wasn't his real family. He was a cuckoo in their nest, displacing their daughter, only pretending to be her, but the love and caring that bound them together (even Wally the Brat) was something he had never before experienced. It was reassuring and unnerving at the same time. He didn't know whether to run away or just stand still and let it wash over him He found a bathrobe in his room, and started to undress, then stopped and locked the door, precaution against a mischievous younger brother. More Terra Incognita to be discovered, he thought as he peeled the sweater off over his head, with hesitations as he persuaded the tight fabric over his unfamiliar twin prominences. His skirt was next. He fumbled behind his back, feeling for the catch or the zipper at his waist without success, before faint alien memories told him to grip the waistbelt and swivel the entire assembly around his hips to the front. There, it was easier to figure out, and he dropped the bulky cone of fabric to the floor and stepped carefully out of it. The chill evening air caused goosebumps on his skin, and he reflexively rubbed them before turning to the mirror again. She was sixteen, and slim, wearing old-fashioned underwear. The bra looked like something from a Madonna concert, the cotton underpants coming up almost to her navel. Sexy she wasn't, and yet, there was a promise of Things To Come. He imagined her wearing her proto-Victoria's Secret outfit, and suddenly Little Miss Muffet didn't seem as innocent and virginal as Mom and Pop would like to believe. Maybe. He was tempted to get the corset and its accoutrements from the dresser and see if his imagination matched up with the reality, but he didn't have the time. Billy would be here soon. He reached for his panties, but froze as he caught sight of Wally! At the window! The little brat had climbed that damn tree, and had gotten onto the porch roof outside Maude's room. He leered and gibbered at his semi-naked sister as she grabbed up the bathrobe in a belated attempt to conceal herself, before she rushed to the sash window and flung it up. "You, you, you" Petey swiped at Wally, trying to grab him, but he backed away adroitly, before disappearing along the roof and around the corner. The chant "I see Paris, I see France" echoed mockingly as he pulled the window closed, followed by the blind, followed by the thick curtains. That bratty little It took a minute or two for his heart to stop racing. He wasn't particularly modest, himself, but it seemed Maude's body had its own ideas about what was proper and what was not proper, when it came to skin and little brothers. The idea of skinning little brothers, on the other hand Back to business. He slid the panties down hairless thighs, and stepped out of them, and turned to the mirror again. So. That was it, was it? That was what all the teenage boyhood angst, all the wet dreams, all the fevered imagination was all about. Nothing, literally. He was used to seeing his old equipment where now only a triangle of curly chestnut hair lay. Somehow he didn't miss it. He rationalised to himself as he stared at the Holy of Holies. He was looking at Maude's crotch, not his own. Having a dick there would have looked odd, to say the least, so not seeing a dick there was normal. Of course, today's events were anything other than normal, and so the missing Bundle of Fun was only a minor part of the weirdness going on. Besides, from what he had heard, girls had their own Fun Bundle. His hand crept down towards the triangle, before he stopped himself. Nope, things to do. Later maybe, he promised himself. The bra took more fumbling, but he used the same technique as on the skirt, hitching the shoulder straps down and swivelling it around his upper body. The wide elastic strap separated, and he tossed the surprisingly heavy garment onto the bed. He gazed down at his breasts critically. Not much, really, compared to the udders on show in the porno stores downtown (his future downtown, that is. He doubted whether Ernie's Erotic Extravaganza had an equivalent in Kansas anywhere in 1956). Maybe Maude had some more growing to do, he thought, and maybe these are enough. The aurolae were certainly large, even if the nips didn't stand out too much. This time he let his hands heft the soft flesh, thumbs rubbing the darker protrusions. It felt *good*, but again he postponed the exploration for another time. There might be some compensations The socks and shoes followed, and Petey donned the bathrobe, pulling the towelling belt snugly around his astonishingly slim waist before unlocking the bedroom door and heading for the bathroom. Once there, he carefully locked the door and pulled the curtain across the window, Wally-proofing the room, before dropping the robe and turning the hot water tap on the bath. The gas geyser whomped into life, and steam started to rise from the bathtub as it slowly filled. Petey looked along the shelf of bottles and jars (glass and porcelain, not plastic, he noted) to one side of the bath. One wide-mouthed jar held flowery-smelling crystals, which he tentatively tipped into the hot stream under the tap. The steam acquired a fragrance he didn't recognise but seemed somehow appropriate. He tipped more crystals in, and swished the water with one hand. Ouch. He turned the cold water on to compensate, and waited until the bathwater reached a suitable temperature before climbing in. The hot water immediately reached places he didn't know he had until then, and he sucked in a breath at the unfamiliar stimulus. He could recall a similar effect in times past, in different tissue though. He looked down, past Maude's flesh-rich chest, at the water-distorted triangle between his legs. The sensitive point seemed to be at the top of the slit that peeked coyly through the curls. Clitoris, that was it. So you're touchy, are you? He reached down and stroked the nub between thumb and forefinger, then stopped. OK, *very* touchy. He shook his head, then remembered to be careful not to get his hair wet. His old low-maintenance crewcut took thirty seconds to dry with a towel when he showered after work at the nursing home. This mass of hair would take an age to get dry, and he still had to get dressed for the Big Event. The Big Event He grabbed the soap and a washcloth and started rubbing automatically, but he was concentrating on other things. Hey, you! He felt the Presence come awake again inside his head. Is it tonight? There was no verbal answer, but he had a handle on Mr. Unresponsive's attitude now. Is Billy going to score a touchdown tonight? Is Maude going to lose her cherry at the Prom? The voice hesitated again. Come on, you unhelpful bastard. Work with me on this. Maude's got a problem, and I've been sent here to sort it out. Right? Acquiescence. Billy's the problem? Yes no maybe. But it is tonight? Yes, grudgingly, but yes it was. "Riiiight." He breathed. "Finally." What happens? The Voice said nothing, but his imagination filled in the blanks, then he had to recast what could happen with where and when (and who) he was. He recalled Mom's breathless lecture. In 1956, a girl who went All the Way was a tramp, even if the boy talked her into it against her will. Uptime, it wasn't such a big deal. Here and now, in middle-class middle-century middle America, it was social death for the girl. If she was really unlucky, there was pregnancy to look forward to, with no abortion or convenient morning-after pill. He had visions of a hard-faced Pop Allinson standing at the front door, pointing off into the distance as Maude, weeping, with a bundle in her arm and a suitcase by her side, walked slowly down the path into an uncertain, degrading future No, Pop Allinson wouldn't throw her out, but he'd be so disappointed, and somehow Petey didn't want the big man to be ashamed of his daughter. Well, it was up to him to make sure Pop wouldn't need to be ashamed. He finished rinsing off before he stepped out of the bath and attacked Maude's soft sweet-scented flesh vigorously with towels. He slipped into the bathrobe again before unlocking the door and stepping out of the bathroom. Mom Allinson stuck her head out of a bedroom door further along the corridor. "That you, honey? All ready?" She made come-hither motions, and Petey entered the bedroom. There was a treadle-driven sewing machine in the corner, but his gaze was immediately grabbed by The Dress which stood on a tailor's dummy in the middle of the floor. The top section (it's called the bodice, he thought) was shiny dark green, snug and low-cut. The skirt was a lighter green, falling in folds to knee length, with petticoats pushing it out in a graceful bell-shape. A fine dark net covered one side, with a dark net scarf running diagonally from the waist up to the opposite shoulder strap, where it terminated in a dark-red fabric rose. He must have let out a gasp, because Mom beamed. "I finished it this afternoon. Looks great, huh?" She pivoted the dressmaker's dummy around on its stand, causing the light shiny fabric of the skirt to flare out with a rustling sound. "Can I cook, or can I cook, kid?" Petey smiled. "It's beautiful, Mom." He rushed over and threw his arms around the older woman and hugged her, head resting against her breast, as naturally as Maude would have done. Mom wrapped her arms around her daughter's shoulders, and returned the hug. "Come on, honey. We've got work to do, and time's awasting. We can't keep Billy waiting too long." Petey pulled back, with a mischievous smile. "But we'll keep him waiting some, won't we?" Mom laughed. "Just long enough to appreciate what he's getting. You're learning, hon." She turned to the door, and locked it. Petey smiled. It looked like Mom knew about Wally's predilections. A tissue-wrapped bundle on the bed was opened to reveal a pink rubber-smelling contrivance that Petey was hard-pressed to identify for a moment. "Your first girdle." said Mom, holding it up before his amazed eyes. I'm supposed to wear that thing? thought Petey, but he had to go along with Mom's plans, and so he shucked the bathrobe and prepared to get assimilated by the alien garment. After a certain amount of rolling, heaving, tugging and a liberal application of talcum powder, the torture device was persuaded into position around Maude's hips, where it made its presence felt by squeezing his waist like toothpaste. Panties were next. These were silk, Mom explained, as Petey pulled them up under the pink rubber armour. They were much briefer than the workaday cotton panties he had been wearing earlier, and he realised this was for practical purposes, rather than pure vanity. If he had to heed the call of nature at the Prom, the brief green silk undergarment could be slipped more easily from under the pink spawn of Torquemada that held his hips in thrall. A bra followed. It was a cream colour, but less restrictive than the bra he had been wearing earlier, with open-topped cups, although there seemed to be enough steel wire underneath to hold up the Brooklyn Bridge, and for the same structural reasons, apparently. Luckily for Petey, Mom did the honours at the back, hooking the wide band together before adjusting the shoulder straps for her daughter. Petey poked and prodded his bulging flesh into position in the cups, amazed at the instant cleavage the garment had created. "That OK, dear?" she enquired, cocking her head quizzically at the half-dressed figure before her. Petey shrugged experimentally. Things dug into soft skin in various places, but his shape seemed right. He was starting to appreciate the feminine art of body-shaping required a certain level of discomfort, especially in prehistoric 1956. Spandex? he thought, and the Voice replied 1970's. Ah well. Mom got him to sit down on the bed before helping him roll flesh-coloured stockings up his legs to where garter straps attached to the bottom hem of the girdle waited. He stood back up again as Mom fussed around his hips, snapping and unsnapping the wire garter clips on the wide stocking tops. "Got to get your seams straight, dear." Finally she stood up. "Have a look." Petey turned before the dressing mirror in the opposite corner, checking the line of the thin dark seams up the back of his legs. Yup, looks OK. Mom had tucked the garter straps under the panties. If Petey had to use the restroom during the Prom, he could just slip the panties down over his stockinged thighs without having to undo and redo the garter straps. Petey helped Mom to take the dress off the dummy, and then stepped into it from the back as she held it down low on the floor. As she pulled it up, Petey thrust his slim arms through the shoulder straps and shrugged the bodice into place over his outthrust bosom. Mom busied herself buttoning up the back, and Petey watched in the mirror as the fabric moulded itself more and more to Maude's slender body. He realised suddenly that without that abominable girdle, he would never have fitted into the dress. Mom knew what she was doing, it seemed. Mom flicked at some non-existent lint on the skirt, and then turned to look in the mirror alongside her daughter, who stood, transfixed at the vision in green that looked back at her from the silvered surface. Petey was astounded. Even from the inside, with the flesh-constraining straps and manifold discomforts of the subsurface structures compressing him, the girl in the mirror was beautiful, enchanting, desirable. His male ego bayed at the moon, and he had a sudden revelatory sympathy for Billy. He didn't know what he was letting himself in for. Petey knew that when Billy saw Maude for the first time tonight, he'd have a problem sitting down without breaking something important. "Shoes." said Mom, and he sat back down, trying not to crease the delicate fabric as his nylon-covered knees appeared out of the flurry of petticoats. The shoes were satin pumps, dyed a dark green to match the dress, with a low (thank the Lord!) square heel. He cockled his feet into them, the slick nylons lubricating the way into the snug narrow openings. Mom put the shoehorn away, unused. He stood up again, and stepped carefully a few paces this way and that, checking his balance. No problem. He had been dreading the possibility Mom was going to put him in towering stilettos, but it seemed that sixteen-year old girls Here and Now didn't get to twist ankles and fall over clumsily in the name of Fashion. He brushed the voluminous skirts aside to look down the line of his legs (nice legs!) to his feet and their adornments, before letting the skirts fall and dance around his knees again. "I know you wanted heels, darling, but you're going to be on your feet all night. You'll thank me in the morning." Petey nodded at Mom's sensible advice. There was the sound of a car pulling up outside the house. Mom went over to the window and peeked through the curtains. "Billy's here." Petey's heart sank. He really wasn't looking forward to this experience. "Powder and paint next." Petey was led over to a vanity, and seated before the triple mirror. Mom wrapped an apron around his neck to protect the Dress before starting work. It didn't take as long as he had expected, although he knew that if he had been left to his own devices, it would have been an inexpert drawn-out disaster. What came out the other end of Mom's labours was a sixteen-year-old girl who looked, well, sixteen, but a sophisticated sixteen. Her makeup was light, the powder pretty well invisible to the casual glance. Her eyelashes were thicker, but not much thicker. There was a hint of darkness around the eye socket, but no solid colour. Mom finished it off with a pale pink lipstick which simply enhanced Maude's natural lip colour rather than making a raucous bright-red statement of her mouth. Mom brushed her daughter's hair before tying a green silk ribbon to pull it back from her face, and plumped it around her ears. A few pieces of jewellery came next, after the apron was removed. A thin gold chain went around Petey's neck, and a slim bracelet watch on his right wrist, with a matching bracelet on the left. No rings, he noticed. He guessed that Here and Now women only wore rings when marriage was involved. He noticed Mom only had two rings, and they were both on the fourth finger of her left hand. Engagement and wedding rings, he surmised. Mom fussed a little more, then stopped, head tilted, looking at her daughter. Petey tilted his head in the same fashion, and their eyes met in the mirror, and they both laughed. "Ready, kiddo?" "No Mom, but that isn't going to stop me." He stood again, feeling the Appliance of Science readjust its death grip on his innards. How did they put up with such things? He resisted the temptation to reach under his skirts and pull the damn thing into a more comfortable position. For tonight at least, he had to behave in a ladylike fashion. "Oops, one last thing." He turned, as Mom picked up a scent bottle and shook it before removing the glass stopper. A delicate fragrance filled the air as she dabbed the scent on Petey's throat and wrists. She handed the stopper to Petey, who looked at it blankly for a second. Mom gestured to her own chest, and Petey caught on. The glass stopper was cold and moist as he stroked it up his cleavage, and his nostrils filled with the scent. He couldn't identify it, not having been through Female Basic Training like most (read: all) other girls, but he liked it somehow. He handed the stopper back, and Mom resealed it in the bottle before returning it to the vanity. She looked again at her daughter, her only daughter, sweet sixteen and never been kissed, and sighed. "Now, remember what I told you, downstairs. Billy's a nice boy, of course, but" The unspoken meaning hung between them for a few seconds. Billy's a randy seventeen-year-old male animal, on his first formal date with my precious daughter, unchaperoned (there'd be school staff at the Prom, of course, but there were so many dark corners). So much could happen, and Petey could read Mom's mind as she imagined all sorts of things, although what she was imagining was nothing compared to the reality of who and what stood in front of her, wearing her daughter's body like her daughter wore her dress. "Don't worry, Mom, I'll make sure Maude comes back in one piece." Petey said, and then realised how alien it sounded. Mom looked puzzled for a second, and then there was only time for a quick reassuring hug. They headed for the door, Mom passing Petey the dark green clutch purse from the side table, and then they were walking towards the top of the stairs. "Wait here a second, and then come down." Mom cautioned, as she hurried on ahead, heels clattering on the stairs. Petey took a deep breath, allowing all the alien sensations to encompass him, the scent, the tightness around his chest, the excruciating tension around his abdomen and hips, the slick nylons on his legs surrounded by the insubstantial swirling clouds of petticoats, the stretched garter straps pressing into the soft flesh of his upper thighs, the shoes on his feet Maude Allinson put the strangeness of the day behind her and let her own personality come to the fore. It was Prom Night, and she was dressed to kill, and the boy she loved was downstairs, ripe for the slaughter. Show Time. She stepped forward confidently, the alien clothes no longer alien, and stopped at the top of the stairs, naturally posing for the eyes she knew would be on her. Only after a second did she look down, where Billy Watson stood, mouth agape, looking up at her and only her. Mom stood to one side, drinking in the sight of her daughter's appearance, packing it away in her memory to treasure forever. Pop stood with Billy, smiling, a proud father, appreciating the sight in his own way. Even bratty Walter had his mouth open in amazement at his big sister's appearance. Maude held the spotlight for another second before gliding gracefully down the stairs, a careless hand on the rail, the shoes giving her no trouble at all as the skirts frou-froued around her scissoring legs. She stopped at the landing for a brief instant to refocus her audience's attention before taking the last three steps in a twinkling rush that brought her to within an arm's length of Billy's stunned expression. "Well, Billy, how do I look?" Maude pivoted before him. "Do you like my dress?" Billy was speechless. Not so Walter. "Gee, Sis, you look swell." came Walter's voice. She looked over at him, to give Billy a chance to recover his wits. "Why thank you, gallant sir." she said in her best Vivien Leigh Southern Belle voice as she semi-curtsied to the little boy, who was up past his usual bedtime for this special event. His grin grew wider, and he rushed forward, arms outstretched. Maude lifted him (not without a certain amount of effort, her mental passenger noted) and hugged him carefully, trying not to muss up any of Mom's elaborate confections. She put him down again, and he ran over to Mom and held her hand, gaze firmly fixed on his beautiful Big Sis. She noted with a quick flash of amusement that he wasn't quite broken of his thumb-sucking habit. Billy had recovered some of his wits, at last. "Hi Maude. This is for you." He pulled a glittery box with a bow on the lid from behind his back and presented it to her. She opened it and lifted out the orchid inside. She inhaled its scent before handing it to him. "Will you pin it on for me, please, Billy?" She turned, offering her left shoulder strap to him. He fumbled it into place and finally managed to secure the pin though the fabric. (If he cops a feel, I'll came her passenger's voice) but Maude smiled brightly, unworried. Pop moved forward and rested one large hand on each of their shoulders, before turning to his wife. "Gwen, could you freshen up Billy's lemonade for him? I'd like to talk to Maude for a moment." Mom ushered Billy and Walter into the kitchen, while Dad led Maude into the parlour and sat her down on the stool before his big armchair. Maude curled her legs under her voluminous skirts as her Dad lit one of his pipes, making a slow ritual of the process. Once he had a good head of steam going, he looked at Maude again. "Today, Maude, you are a woman." He gestured with his pipe. "And frankly, it scares the hell out of me, pardon my French." Maude started. "It's difficult for you to understand, perhaps, but being a man, a father, makes you worry so much about those you care for." Petey smiled, but it never reached Maude's lips. If only he knew "There are some things in this world I can protect you against, but there are some things out there you'll have to face without me. Tonight might be one of those times." He went on to give the Father version of Mom's birds-and-bees speech. He was less technical than Mom, less biological, but more detailed on the boy's side of things. He used the word "urges" a lot. The pipe had gone out by the time he wound up his ill-rehearsed speech, obviously embarrassed. He stood up and offered his hand to his silent daughter, who took it willingly as he assisted her to her feet. "Remember, today you are a woman, but you are, you will always be, my daughter, whatever happens, and I will always love you. Understand?" "I understand, Dad." She reached up and kissed him on his stubbly cheek. "And I will always love you." He touched the spot with his fingers, then turned his head so that she would not see the moisture in his eyes as they walked, side by side, back out into the hallway. Billy's eyes were fixed on the doorway, alerted by the click-clack of Petey's low heels on the polished wood floor. He was holding the orchid box low over his groin, trying to be nonchalant, and Petey guessed he was in some pain at the moment. Been there, done that, got the woody, he thought. Those dress pants looked a little tight-fitting "You ready, Maude?" he asked, a thin gleam of sweat on his forehead. "Yes I am, Billy." Petey said. Mom slid a shiny grey silk jacket over her daughter's shoulders; Maude's memories informed Petey it was Gwen Allinson's best. Maude stood on tippy-toes and kissed her Mother softly on the cheek, and turned to take Billy's proffered arm. "Hey, don't I rate one of those too?" came the gruff voice of her father. "Of course you do, Pop." She went to him, and she saw him resist the temptation to pick his little girl up in his arms as he had done so often before. She knew why, and as he bent to accept her offered lips, she murmured in his ear "I'll always be your little girl, Pop. Always." She turned again towards Billy at the door, certain her father's eyes were again moist. "Hey, wha' 'bout me?" came Wally's raucous voice. Maude turned again, and bent down gracefully, nyloned legs folding into the voluminous skirts to accept Wally's rush into her arms. She kissed him on the forehead, careful to avoid smudging her lipstick. "You'll look after Mom and Pop tonight, won't you?" she asked the little boy standing before her. He nodded, his face serious. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow. OK?" "OK." he answered. "But you gotta tell me ev'rthin' tha' happens. Right?" "Right." She stood up again, a little less gracefully than she had intended due to the girdle's influences on her abdominal musculature. Billy's hand was on her wrist to assist her, and she turned and smiled in thanks for his gallantry. His face was growing redder by the second, and after Pop had admonished Billy to return his daughter safely back to the family home by eleven thirty at the latest, they went outside to where the Watson family car, Billy's for the night, was waiting to take them to the Prom. Billy, playing the gallant to the hilt, opened the passenger door and handed Maude into the car. The front seat was the old-fashioned bench style, Petey noted, and then corrected himself. This car was only a year or two old, he guessed. The styling was modern and up-to-date, with modest tail-fins and large chrome bumpers. It even had a radio, although it took a couple of minutes for the valves to warm up after it was switched on. Petey evaluated the bench seat as a prime necking site. Parked up somewhere, Billy could slide over to Maude's side of the car, and the canoodling could start. He imagined a hand sliding around his bare shoulders, another hand heading for his cleavage, another hand resting oh so innocently on his knee before moving up his nylon-clad thigh towards bare flesh and Maude giggled. Where did that third hand come from? Billy gave her a strange look, but put the giggle down to the excitement his girl felt when she was in his manly presence. Petey schooled the expression on Maude's face into a more sober form, and fussed with his skirts to keep them under control on the slick surface of the seat. Billy started the engine, and the car lurched forward as he drove somewhat inexpertly out of the Allinson's driveway. Petey turned automatically to pull the seatbelt from its mounting point behind his right shoulder, and was puzzled for a second to find it not there. Another revelation - in this time, car seatbelts were, at best, an optional extra. Petey looked at the all-metal dashboard in front of him, and thought of what the hard surfaces would do to Maude's face if they were involved in an accident. Maude's presence concurred, and when testosterone-fuelled bravado caused the speedometer to climb past fifty on the badly-lit potholed road, a light touch on Billy's arm and a few quiet words led to the needle dropping to a much more comfortable thirty. The Prom was held in the almost-familiar high school gym. Petey "remembered" helping the other kids of Maude's senior class to decorate it with bunting and artificial flowers. As they entered, tickets in hand, the faces already gathered turned towards them. The girls were evaluating Maude's dress, and Petey felt her presence rating the other dresses on show. Her mother's creation came comfortably on top of the hit parade, and Petey let Maude's smile of triumph reach her lips. Another glance took in the boys, whose eyes were going a little further, a little deeper than the girls, not stopping at the surface clothing. Petey clocked their reactions, and passed his male-mediated analysis back to Maude's shadowy presence. This time he kept her bright red blush from reaching her face. He glanced at Billy, whose chest was puffed out with pride. He had the belle of the Ball on his arm, and the envious looks he was getting from the other boys told him he was the gold medal winner in the hormonal Olympics. The couple separated as a group of giggling girls pulled Petey away from Billy's side. "See you later, Billy!" he called as the girls (***that's Jonie, and Sue, and Mary Simpson, and that's my best friend Marsha, and Mary Lee Potter in the pink dress with the ruffles***) Petey backed out and let Maude take over again, overwhelmed by the complex net of relationships his host had woven around herself. Besides, he didn't think he could keep up with the multiplex streams of chatter the cluster of girls were saturating the surroundings with. Dancing backward was sort of fun. Maude was driving again, as Petey's experience of dancing in a man's (or a boy's) arms was, understandably, nil. Billy had left the pack of boys clustered in a corner (well away from the teachers on chaperone duty,