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Imp By The Professor "Ready...set!" I flexed my knees as my line hunched in a determined set in front of me. Mike Valentine, my center, wrapped a large, beefy paw around the ball. I stuffed my hands under him, ready to receive the ball. I could hear the rising anticipation from the crowd, two thousand strong as they waited impatiently for the snap. "Hut one!" A defensive tackle shifted, trying to draw a bead on me in what he thought was a weakness between my left tackle and left guard. There was only a minute left in the game and we were still down by three points. We were a good fifteen yards outside Matt Baker's range. Matt was a good kicker, but his longest field goal was forty-four yards. Besides, we were down by three, so even a field goal would only tie the game. But we were on our own forty-seven with a fourth and five. All the tackle had to do was sack me and the game was over. He would be in for a big surprise, though. "Hut two!" The heat on the field was absolutely palpable, rising up from the turf on an unseasonably warm October evening - a reminder of why high school football was generally played in the evening in the Valley of the Sun. It wouldn't be enough to affect my pass though. Too much heat puts a little lift on the ball, but I had already made the mental adjustments I needed to put my pass where it needed to be. All I needed was the time to throw it. "Hut three!" The ball was thrust into my eager hands. Without even thinking, I turned the ball until my fingertips felt the laces just where they should be. I nimbly stepped aside, avoiding the big defensive tackle whose momentum carried him safely past me. Ignoring the battle going on in the trenches, I surveyed the field. My identical twin brother, Jeff, was open ten yards down the field, but there was a man on him. Besides, he was in the center of the field, and even a first down would leave him on the ground with seconds left and a very long field goal for Matt. With no time outs left, Matt might not even be able to get off the kick. Unless I found the right man open, Caliente would lose to the Scorpions of Sedona Red Rock and any chance of winning our division would be lost, since neither team seemed likely to lose another game. That just wasn't going to happen, though. Not as long as I was the quarterback. Kelly Jackson, my fullback, made a perfect block on his man just as I spotted Ryan Hendricks open along the sideline. Arcing the ball laterally across two thirds of the field, I connected with him just outside the ten yard line where his momentum carried him out of bounds. We were still alive; time for one more play. And the crowd went wild... "God damn it Jason, I was open!" Jeff barked as we formed the huddle. "I had a step on my man. I could have taken it to the house!" I didn't bother to reply. Obviously, there wasn't time, but also, I didn't want to argue with my twin. If he hadn't realized he was covered, I wasn't about to waste valuable seconds explaining it to him. Jeff had been as edgy as a starving coyote the last few days, and now wasn't the time to ask him why. "Okay," I told everyone. "R-23 on two." I could see Jeff frown at me. R-23 required him to block out a safety while my right end went for a corner of the end zone. It was a spot pass, and with only seconds to play, Caliente was sure to win if I completed the pass. But for Jeff, it meant an entire quarter without a reception. That wasn't the sort of stats he was looking for. Like several of us on the team, good stats might mean a football scholarship when we left for college next year. So Jeff was really pissed at me. Frankly, I didn't much care. The coach had put me in charge of calling the plays, and although Jeff was my twin brother and I loved him dearly, he had been a pain in the ass the last few days, accusing me of purposefully avoiding throwing the ball to him. I suppose in a way, he was right. In this game, had had only caught two passes for twelve yards. I had thrown three others his way, but he had dropped two of them and lost position on the ball to nearly allow one to get picked off. He was having an off night, but I couldn't afford to try to boost his confidence at the cost of the game. He'd have to work out his problems on the practice field. The ball was snapped to me on two and I instinctively dropped back into the protection of the pocket. The grunts and slaps of pads against pads were enough to tell me my line was doing its job. No reason to scramble; I had plenty of protection. A quick glance assured me that Greg McDowell, my right end, had a couple of steps on a very tired defender, so I launched the ball to the corner of the end zone, arcing it perfectly so that only Greg had a chance to catch it. My vision was obscured by the battle on the line in front of me, but I saw the ball pass over Greg's shoulder and heard the insane roar of the Caliente fans as Greg screeched to a stop just short of the north stands. "Shit!" a Sedona tackle muttered as we watched the official raise both arms in to the air, signaling a touchdown. I had made it through the whole game without a single injury, but I thought the heavy slaps on my back from my teammates would bring me down. I grinned at them and they all grinned back. All except Jeff. Ten minutes later, I was relaxing in the showers to the sweet music of hoots and jive talk from my teammates. Losing locker rooms are usually quiet, but the happy sounds from a winning locker room were music to my ears. "Got a date with Marla tonight?" Barry Little, my big left tackle asked as he rinsed off his huge black body next to me. "Who else?" I grinned. "Gonna score tonight?" Ryan Hendricks asked from the other side. He gave me a big aw shucks grin to let me know he was just teasing. With his red hair and fair skin, he could pull the look off. Matt Baker was standing just outside the shower, toweling off. Given his serious look and slight build, it was obvious he didn't realize Ryan was only teasing. "My sister isn't that kind of girl." "Hey! What kind of girl is she?" somebody yelled while everyone else laughed. "Chill, Matt!" Barry laughed. "Ryan was just kidding." Matt looked slightly mollified. I felt a little sorry for the guy. Kickers were usually among the smallest guys on the team, so they took enough ribbing on their own. The fact that the team's starting quarterback was dating Matt's sister made it just that much worse for him. I stepped out of the shower, toweled off, and started to get dressed. Marla would be waiting for me to take her to the after-game party and I didn't like to keep her waiting. I pulled a fresh shirt and a pair of Dockers out of my locker and got dressed in a hurry. I looked myself over in the mirror, deciding that I looked good enough to impress Marla. I combed my dark blond hair and stood as straight as my six-two frame could manage, trying to look like the college quarterback I was sure to be within a few more months. Yep, I looked good. As planned, Marla was waiting for me just outside the cheerleaders' dressing room. Part of me was sorry she had changed out of her cheerleader's outfit. The white uniform with its short, short skirt was a perfect compliment for her evenly tanned skin, and the black and gold trim looked great against her dark brown - almost black - hair. And just to top it off, the Caliente mascot - a black condor in flight - sewed on the chest of the outfit emphasized her very fine breasts. But I also had to admit she looked absolutely awesome in her tight jeans and white tank top, perched sexily on her two inch heels. Her long dark hair spilled over her shoulders dramatically, and I couldn't help but think as I smiled to her that I was one lucky guy to be her boyfriend. "Hi," she said, returning my smile. She accepted my hug and even gave me a light kiss. "Been waiting long?" "Not really," she replied, walking with me arm in arm to the parking lot. She was in one of her pensive moods, I realized. Something had been bothering her from the start of the football season, but whatever it was, she didn't want to talk about it. I didn't press her. I remembered she had always been a little moody. Marla's family had moved to Caliente about the same time mine had -just as we were starting middle school. The suburb had been new then, with only a couple of hundred houses finished. It was just one more bedroom community along I-17 north of Phoenix, and one of the first of the new planned communities north of the 101. Matt Baker and I had become friends almost immediately, and his sister Marla, just a year younger than us, was just a kid to me. But by the time she joined us in high school a few years later, she had become a real beauty, a product of her father's athletic grace and her mother's Spanish beauty. I fell for her at once and the feelings were reciprocated. Lately though, she had been a little distant. While we had never had sex, other than the rather innocent hugging and kissing which many of our contemporaries didn't even consider worthy of being called sex, we were recognized as a couple. No one would be surprised when I asked her to marry me next spring. But I was beginning to think everyone might be surprised if Marla refused me, and lately she had been acting almost as if she was thinking of breaking up with me. It wasn't exactly anything she had said to me. It was more how her body seemed to stiffen a little when I touched her, or how her return of my kisses had seemed less than enthusiastic. I tried to put all of this down to a passing mood. Maybe she was worried about school, or something in her home life that she didn't want to talk to me about. Whatever the reason, I was starting to become concerned, for it seemed as if there was no end to this mood of hers. "Great game," she said softly to me as we drove to the Civic Center where the after game party was always held. She didn't say it with much enthusiasm. As I said, she was in one of her pensive moods. "Thanks," I returned, pulling into the Civic Center parking lot. I had been pretty quiet on the way over, too. Her silence was bothering me more than usual - probably because I had been so excited about the win and her mood was such a contrast. As I turned off the engine, I asked, "Look, Marla, what's wrong?" She looked uncomfortable, caught in my gaze. "Wrong? Nothing's wrong, Jason. I... I'm just..." What happened next was the last thing in the world I expected to happen. She turned to me and pulled my face toward hers, covering my mouth with hers and throwing her arms around me. I got into the spirit of things as quickly as I could overcome my surprise, wrapping my arms around her waist. I could feel her breasts pressed up against my chest, and if we hadn't been sitting in the car, she would have felt my cock hardening like steel. In a few minutes, we both came up for air. In all the time I had dated Marla, I had never had her come onto me quite like that. "We'd better go in," she suggested with reluctance in her voice. I just nodded in agreement. Something told me I was going to get laid that night. My stiffy was just about done as we walked into the party. I got a few cheers and a few more pats on the back as we made our way over to the refreshments table. Ms Raymond, one of the English teachers, was pouring the punch. She had her long, dark hair pulled back into a long ponytail, and looked young enough and pretty enough to be one of my classmates. She smiled at me and handed me a glass, saying, "Great game, Jason." Ms Henry, the girls' coach, handed me another glass for Marla. "Have you decided where you're going to play your college ball yet?" "Well," I drawled, "I'm really interested in Stanford." "Great school!" Ms Raymond told me as I handed a glass of punch to Marla. "I wish I had gone to school there." I nodded, wondering if she wished she had gone there for scholastic reasons or social reasons. The Bay Area was notoriously sympathetic to gays, and Ms Raymond was a lesbian. Or at least we all thought she was. She and Ms Henry were housemates, and while they kept a low profile in our fairly conservative suburb, no one had ever seen either of them dating a man. Well, to each his or her own, I thought as Marla and I turned back to talk to some of our classmates. Linda Darren bounced over to meet us, towing Matt behind her. She had a proud grin on her face, her long dark hair bouncing around her beautiful face. "Hey Jason, how about my Mattie's kicking game?" Matt looked a little embarrassed. He had been perfect on his extra points but had missed one of two field goals. "Everybody looked great tonight," I replied diplomatically. Matt looked relieved and Linda grinned as if I had just told her Matt was NFL material. Who knows? He was a good kicker, and Arizona and ASU were said to be interested in him. After college, the pros were a possibility. Kickers often developed later in school. Linda had a reputation for being interested in athletes who were prospects for bigger things - especially the possibility of an eventual NFL paycheck. As they scurried away, Marla commented in a low tone, "Poor Matt. Did you see how Linda was hanging onto him? If she was half as energetic as a cheerleader, we'd have taken State last year." "Linda's okay," I replied, putting my arm around Marla as a good slow number came up. I didn't particularly like to dance, but the slow songs gave me an excuse to hold Marla tightly. Marla rested her head on my chest. "You don't know her, Jason. She's always nice to guys, but with the girls, she can be a real bitch. I think Matt's even getting a little tired of her." "Speaking of bitches..." I began, turning her so she could see Kim Wallace dragging Ryan out onto the dance floor. "Kim's not so bad any more," she told me. Then she added cryptically, "At least things have worked out." Oops. I suddenly remembered that Kim and Marla were now getting along pretty well. That was something new. Until a month or so ago, Marla had shot daggers at Kim every time she saw her. I figured Kim must have thought Marla was interested in Ryan or something. Kim had always been a jealous girl. Her freshman year, she had thought Becky Myers was interested in the guy she was dating at the time. She cussed out Becky so badly in the cafeteria that she was suspended for three days. The funny thing was it wasn't Becky's fault. Kim's boyfriend was the one making all the moves. She had been dating Ryan for over a year now, so maybe she had settled down. According to Ryan's innuendos, he was probably planking her regularly. The funny thing was I knew Ryan wasn't all that loyal to her, but Kim's reactions to Ryan's little peccadilloes had been remarkably subdued given her past history. I couldn't help but wonder what had happened to her to dampen her jealousy. "Well, Ryan's welcome to her," I mumbled. Marla tensed in my arms for just a moment, and I fearfully wondered if once more she was slipping into one of her moods. The party went along pretty well. Everyone was in a good mood. But all that changed when the poster went up. It was Kelly Jackson who came up with the idea. The big fullback had a brother who ran a poster shop in Tempe. "Let's hear it for Jason Burnett!" Kelly yelled as a spotlight was aimed at a life-sized poster of me in uniform throwing the ball. The legend in white at the top of the poster read: "Jason Burnett for High School Athlete of the Year!" That award wouldn't be announced until spring, but it was obvious where my team's sympathies lay. I got a sincere round of applause, and Marla stood back while all of my teammates rushed over to vow their support for me - all except one. My brother Jeff hung back until the crowd around me had thinned. Then he stepped forward to rain on my parade. "You may have all of them fooled," he began nodding toward my teammates who were still within earshot, "but you can't fool me." "What are you talking about, Jeff?" I asked as Marla stepped up to try to pull me away. "You know what I'm talking about," Jeff growled. The dwindling crowd around me became smaller as most of them found something else to do. "I'm afraid I don't," I replied as calmly as I could. But I did know what he was talking about. For the past couple of weeks, Jeff had been on my case about anything and everything. Like most twins, we would stand together against any outside threats, but we had an intense sibling rivalry that only twins can truly understand. I was used to Jeff's envy. I always seemed to be the brother who did just a little bit better and it often galled him. Unfortunately normal sibling rivalry had turned into something worse with Jeff. Our competition had always been pretty good-natured. We would rag each other fairly often, but deep down, we had always shared a bond so close that we could almost read each other's thoughts. That wasn't the case for the last few weeks, though. Every time I bested Jeff - either in reality or just in his mind - his rancor had become absolutely venomous, as if we were the worst of enemies. That wasn't to say Jeff was a slouch. He might have had a bad night on the football field, but he was a very good player. In all honesty though, he wasn't quite as good as me. Also, his grades were excellent, but mine were just a little better. I even had more luck with girls than he did, although he was never hurting for a date. In short, and all modesty aside, Jeff did great and I did just a little bit better. "Well then know this," Jeff said tersely, "I wish you weren't my brother." Marla gasped. As I looked at her, I could see her face had become ghostly white. I couldn't understand what was upsetting her so. Either Jeff or I had made similar wishes since we were old enough to talk. What little boy or girl hadn't at one time or another wished to be an only child? Brothers and sisters could be a real pain. That isn't to say I wasn't upset with Jeff. He had just brought our family feud out into a public forum. He turned and stormed away before I could respond. If he had stayed, I would have told him how childish he was being. He had made a nasty scene in the midst of a joyful celebration - all because he was pissed at me. "Jason, you have to make up with your brother," Marla pleaded, clutching my arm. "Why?" I asked blandly. "He started it." Okay, it wasn't a terribly adult statement. In retrospect, I sounded like a spoiled five year old. But from my point of view, I had done absolutely nothing to deserve the treatment Jeff had given me. Our parents had always instilled in us the urge to do our best, whether it was about scholastics, sports, or in any other facet of life. To my way of thinking, both of us had done just that. I hadn't bested Jeff just to watch him turn green with envy; I had done it because my best was just a tad better than his best. That was life. Too bad. Marla looked around, as if to make sure we were not still the center of attention. We weren't. Just about everyone knew better than to get into the middle of a squabble between the Burnett twins. Like many identical twins, we could argue for hours, but let someone else try to participate in our argument and it would be Jeff and I against them. In spite of our privacy, Marla pulled me aside. Her voice was scarcely above a whisper. "Jason, I know this sounds weird, but if you don't make up with your brother, something very, very bad is going to happen." "You make it sound as if I should be apologizing to him," I scoffed. I was more than a little surprised when her expression brightened. "That's it!" she said, hugging me. "Apologize to him. That should take care of it." I pushed her back gently but firmly, staring into her eyes as I held her at arm's length. "I was joking, Marla. Why the hell should I apologize to him? I haven't done anything wrong." "Please, Jason... for me?" she pleaded. How could I possibly deny anyone with such big, beautiful brown eyes anything? "All right," I hedged, not really agreeing to apologize. "I'll talk to him when I get home." Unfortunately Jeff's blowup ruined any chance of my getting lucky that night. Marla was visibly upset, and any attempt I made to find out why she was so perturbed at the blowup between Jeff and me was met with a nervous shake of her head. "Don't forget to talk to Jeff," she reminded me as we embraced on her doorstep. "I told you I would," I sighed. "Now do I get a goodnight kiss?" In reply, she squeezed me more tightly than I could have imagined her capable of doing. She mashed her lips against mine, forcing her tongue into my mouth before I knew what was happening. I reciprocated, and the kiss went on for a long, long time. "Wow!" I exclaimed when our lips parted. She smiled a sweet smile. "Get things straightened out with Jeff and there'll be a lot more where that came from." Her eyes glistened in the porch light, almost as if she was holding back tears. I made up my mind on the spot that I'd get things straightened out with Jeff if that was what it took to please my lady. It would be worth it. As I backed away from her retreating form, seeking just one more glimpse of her as she closed the door, I nearly bumped into her brother. "Matt!" I gasped. "I didn't know you were there." "Don't worry, big guy," Matt laughed. "I didn't see anything you and my sister did. I was just taking a walk and got back just a moment ago." "A walk - at midnight?" Even in the pale moonlight, I could see Matt flush. "Yeah, I was just trying to work off a..." He nodded down at his crotch. There was a noticeable bulge there. "Linda didn't take care of that?" I smirked. It was pretty common knowledge that once Linda zeroed in on a guy, she'd give him whatever he wanted. But I was about to find out that with Linda's favors came serious obligations. "We were out at the Point," he began. I nodded. The Point was formally Prospector's Point, an overlook a few miles out of town. The road had originally led to an old mine, but now it was used for making out since it afforded a dynamite view of Phoenix and the whole Valley of the Sun. "Anyhow, she was coming on pretty strong - you know, rubbing and cozying up real close." "Yeah?" I prompted, getting just a little bit aroused myself. "Then she drops the bombshell," he groaned. "She wants to go look at engagement rings." "Engagement rings? Dude, you're only seventeen. You won't even be eighteen until next month. You're going on to college," I pointed out. Of course I didn't bother to mention to him that I was seriously considering marrying his sister before we went off to college. I'd save that little tidbit for another time. He stared at me in mock disgust. "You think I don't know that? For that matter, you think she doesn't know that? Linda's not too good in the intelligence department, you know. She's looking for somebody who goes on to college and maybe gets a shot to play some NFL ball." I nodded. We all gave Matt serious shit, but he was one outstanding kicker. As I mentioned before, both Arizona and ASU were said to be interested, and the Republic in Phoenix had profiled him on its sports page a couple of weeks earlier. Odd were good he would get a shot at the pros if he did well as a college kicker. "She made it pretty clear to me that she'd put out if I'd ask her to marry her." "Harsh, man," I commented, shaking my head. Of course from what I had heard, she would put out even if he didn't offer to marry her. Maybe she was getting smarter about that and holding back this time until she got the big prize. "But there's better and faster ways to get rid of your problem than walking around at midnight." I made a whacking-off motion with my right hand in front of my crotch. "You'd know," he grinned. "After all, you're dating my sister." I just returned his grin. If I had told him how close I was getting to bedding his sister, he would have probably forgotten I was bigger than he was and would have taken a punch at me. Instead we just said goodnight to each other and I headed home. I had fully intended to burry the hatchet with Jeff as soon as I got home, but as I eased my father's Beemer into the garage, I saw the little blue Ford Focus that Jeff and I usually shared nestled safely in the far space beyond my mother's SUV. That had been another bone of contention, I thought with a grimace. Dad's Beemer was his pride and joy, and he had given it to me for the evening, explaining to a very jealous Jeff that I had a date with Marla while he was going stag to the dance after the game. That was another point I had over Jeff. Not the car; I mean the ability to attract girls. Obviously it wasn't a matter of looks. After all, we were identical twins, as much alike in appearance as two twin brothers could be. The problem was that Jeff was a little on the shy side. I suppose that was somewhat due to me as well. Since I topped him in almost every conceivable category, he had a little bit of a self esteem problem when it came to girls. That's not to say he didn't date - he usually had a date, but nothing serious like the relationship I had with Marla. A couple of weeks earlier, I had suggested he ask Stacy Alvarez out. I had dated Stacy a few times, and while we were still friends, nothing seemed to really click between us. Still, I liked Stacy and thought Jeff and she would make a good couple. Jeff's response to me at the time was that he didn't want to nose around in my garbage. The remark was overheard by someone else who repeated it to Stacy, and needless to say, Stacy was pissed. Since Stacy was a popular girl with popular friends, Jeff's stock with the female population at our school fell even further. I sighed as I got out of the car. Unless Jeff was still up, my attempt at reaching a detente would have to wait until the next morning. It would be Saturday, and in spite of our differences, we usually staked out the couch in the family room early to catch the first college football game of the day. Maybe that would be a better time to talk to him than barging in on him that night, I reasoned. When I got in the house, I realized that even if I wanted to talk to him now, I couldn't. Every light in the house was out. Mom and dad had probably called it a night shortly after getting home from our game. I guessed that since Jeff didn't have a date, he had decided to turn in early too. That was good. Maybe after a full night's sleep, he would be more open to my overtures. A note was taped to my door. It was a plain white sheet of paper with dad's handwriting: "Great Game Jason!" was written on it. I looked over at Jeff's door to see if he had left a similar note for him. I didn't see one, but maybe Jeff had yanked this note down and set it in his room. Just in case, I took my note down, just so Jeff wouldn't see it there in the morning - assuming he hadn't already seen it. I hoped he hadn't; it would just piss him off that much more. As I got ready for bed, choosing to just strip down to my boxers as usual, I tried to search back to the time when Jeff had decided I was the enemy. Was there something I had said or done that had set him off so badly? I couldn't think of anything. In spite of that, every day for the past two weeks, our relationship had gotten progressively worse. Marla was right, I thought as I drifted off to sleep. I had to reach some sort of understanding with Jeff before this run of animosity ruined senior year for both of us. When I woke up, I thought it must be nearly dawn. A blue/gray light outlined my window, but strangely enough, none of the outside light seemed to be spilling into the room. In spite of that, I could see my bed, my dresser, and my desk, but it was as if they were bathed in a strong light. Nothing else - walls, floor, doorway, or curtains were not visible, hidden in darkness. It's just a dream, I told myself. I'm not really awake. If I close my dream eyes, this dream will fade away. I closed my eyes. Coupled with the unearthly stillness, I was shut off from the dream world. The problem was that I couldn't get out of the dream. When I opened my eyes, the surreal scene was still there. Time to try again. I closed my eyes. Then I noticed that I felt the covers over my bare chest. The thin sheet felt rough, irritating my nipples. It felt as if there was a gunny sack over them, rubbing them raw. You couldn't feel anything in a dream, could you? I didn't think so, but now that I thought about it, every inch of my skin seemed suddenly sensitive. Reluctantly I opened my eyes again. Nothing had changed. I could stand the suspense no longer. I slid out of my bed and stood up. My carpet was there, but try as I might, I couldn't see it. Yet I could see my body all the way down to my feet, just as I was able to see my furniture. Carefully, I made my way to the window and looked out. I suddenly wished that I hadn't. There was nothing outside my window. No, I don't mean that there was nothing moving about in the yard; I mean there was absolutely nothing outside my window - except that even blue/gray glow. Again I tried to remind myself that it was only a dream, but while it exhibited some dreamlike qualities, it just really didn't feel like a dream. The operative word is "feel." Maybe not everyone has dreams like me, but in my dreams, I can run a marathon and never feel a thing. That wasn't the case with this "dream", though. I could feel my feet on the carpet. I could feel the coolness of the air against my face and chest. I could feel the hard wood of my desk when I rested my hand on it. I could feel - "Hello, Jason." I spun and found myself facing Jeff. How had he gotten in my room? I hadn't heard him enter. And like me and my furniture, I could see him clearly, as if we were being illuminated by some overhead light source. While everything around me was blue/gray, Jeff was bathed in golden light. "What the hell is going on, Jeff?" He chuckled, but the sound of his voice held no humor. In fact, it didn't seem quite like Jeff's voice. It was as if he was talking from inside a barrel; a slight echo surrounded his words. "You're not in charge here, Jason," he told me, his voice even but somehow intense. "This isn't the football field or the classroom or one of your Student Government meetings. I'm in charge now." The air - if there really was any air - began to crackle around me. I could feel tiny but very real pinpricks across every inch of my skin. The unpleasant sensitivity of my skin increased still more. "Jeff," I managed to say, trying desperately to remain calm in the face of what was probably a dangerous situation, "we need to talk." "The time for talking is over," he snapped as the prickling sensation became a little more intense. "But we're brothers..." I argued. His eyes seemed to glow. Instead of the blue eyes we both shared, his were bright orange, staring intently at me. "Weren't you listening to me earlier?" he laughed, cocking his head at an odd - almost unnatural - angle. "I wished you weren't my brother. Where we are right now, wishes can come true." The prickling changed to full-fledged pain, but just for a moment. Whatever was happening, I couldn't move. My body was frozen in place, locked in my brother's intense stare. The glare on his face was changing into a smile, but it wasn't a smile that made me feel any better, for as the pain subsided, I felt a sensation unlike any I had ever felt before. It was as if my body had suddenly become a liquid encased in a flexible bag. Parts of me flowed and rippled like tides ebbing and flowing. "Feeling a little different?" Jeff asked with obvious sarcasm. "What... what's happening to me?" I managed to say, but my voice sounded as if it was warbling, rising and falling in pitch from moment to moment. I got my answer as I looked down at myself. In alarm, I could see two lumps of flesh bulging from my chest - a chest which had somehow become completely hairless. "I'm afraid you won't be my brother anymore," he crooned maliciously. "I'll get my wish, you see. You won't be the big brother. I'll be the football star. I'll have the best grades. I'll be on Student Council instead of you." "This can't be happening," I cried hysterically, trying desperately to move but to no avail. "Can't it?" he mocked, reaching behind my head. I yelped in pain as he pulled on hair that had become substantially longer. The yelp was at least an octave higher than my normal voice. "Can't it?" he repeated, pushing against my bare chest with the palms of his hands, shooting pain through my nipples. I cried in pain. "Can't it?" he demanded for a third time, reaching between my legs to find - I awoke with a gasp. Sunlight was streaming in my window. I guessed it to be about eight from the length of the shadows. That was the usual time I awakened on a Saturday. I sighed with relief as I struggled to wake up completely. It had been a dream! But it had seemed so real. So real... I've always been one of those guys who awakens slowly, becoming aware of my body part by part. I suppose it came from playing football. I would awaken and feel a small pain in my shoulder from throwing a particularly long pass, or a twinge in my knee from when I had scrambled to avoid a charging lineman. But still, as I normally awoke, things would feel generally right. Not this particular morning, though. That morning, nothing felt right. Where to start? I had no pain, but every sensation my body experienced seemed... different. Something was tickling my neck and shoulders - something that shouldn't be there. Then I became aware of something else that didn't feel right. I was lying on my back, and my chest felt odd. My usually firm pectorals felt larger and softer, almost as if something had pooled on my chest. Without looking, I moved my hands which were still under the covers up to my chest... Oh God! I closed my eyes, squeezing them tightly shut. I'm still asleep, I told myself, trying to fight down a rising wave of panic. Either that or the dream was so vivid that my mind is playing tricks on me after awakening. And what was that covering my chest? I hadn't worn anything but boxers to bed, but there was something strangely smooth covering my chest now. Eyes still closed, I felt further down with my hands, reaching the hem of whatever had been placed on my chest. I could not feel my boxers. Instead something smooth and silky covered my crotch, but just barely. I pushed my hand under the elastic barrier at the top of my leg. I should probably mention that I knew immediately what I was touching. I was no virgin. I had lost my virginity over the summer with a girl from Globe who I met at a cousin's party in Phoenix. It had been the typical fumbling, sweaty teen sex in the back seat of my dad's car, but I knew enough from the experience to know what a pussy felt like. It felt exactly like what was now between my legs. Did I scream? No, I didn't. I was too pissed to scream. Besides, girls screamed - not guys - and while I might be girl physically, I was still Jason Lee Burnett inside my head and I wasn't about to scream. I was, however, going to kill my twin brother. Anger overcoming my panic, I jumped out of bed, realizing with embarrassment that jumping out of bed in my present state was not a very good idea. I found I was wearing one of those dainty little shorty nightgowns - white with a little pink bow right in front of the cleavage. I had rolled out of bed as I always had done, but I had never had breasts before. The movement of my breasts caused one very ample one to fly out of the top of the flimsy little nightgown, resting on top of it. Feeling my face redden, I stuffed it back in place, trying unsuccessfully to ignore its feel. It was then that I noticed my room had changed. Gone were the Arizona Cardinals and Diamondback posters, replaced by framed pictures of Indian women weaving baskets and making pottery. The room didn't look overly girly, but it was obviously not the room I remembered. Everything was neat except for a little pile of makeup and a makeup mirror on my desk. There was a full-length mirror on the back of my door which hadn't been there before either. Like an onlooker drawn to a grisly accident, I walked toward the mirror. I could feel myself breathing heavily, and watched with dismay as I observed the cute blonde girl in her short little white nightgown with pink trim, her breasts heaving and her hips swaying as she approached the mirror. When I looked at my face, I could see traces of my old self there. My eyes were still the same color blue, but they were shaped a little differently, and my eyelashes were much fuller while my eyebrows were slimmer. My skin was the same evenly tanned skin, but it looked softer and smoother. My nose was noticeably smaller and, well, cute. My entire face was shaped differently though, accenting my lips a bit more - lips which were obviously more full and a little more pronounced in color. The new face was framed with blonde hair, but while my hair had been a dull yellow almost bordering on brown, my disheveled hair was now the color of rich honey, flowing down over my ears and shoulders in a soft wave. I fearfully looked down at the rest of my body reflected in the mirror. I was attractive; there was no doubt of that. I hesitated to think of myself as beautiful, and being as objective as I could be, I realized that I was probably more on the cute side than the gorgeous side, but I was a girl that boys would be drawn to without question. My breasts were round and firm; my waist was trim, spreading out into attractively wide hips. Below my hips were two smooth, tanned legs, slim and supple, ending in well-turned ankles and small feet. I couldn't help but notice my toenails were painted in pink. Raising my hands, I wasn't surprised to find my fingernails painted the very same shade. "Jeff, you bastard!" I growled in my new soprano voice. I was consumed with rage. Oh sure, I was also embarrassed, confused, heartsick and frightened, but above all else, I was angry. I stormed into Jeff's room, trying to ignore the fact that I looked a little like a model in a Playboy spread. I threw open Jeff's door, ignoring the loud "sprong" that sounded when it hit the door stop at full speed. "Jeff!" I demanded of the sleeping figure through my gritted teeth. "What the fuck have you done to me?" "Huh?" He rolled over, the sheets wrapped carelessly around him as if he had been tossing and turning. He pried his eyes open, squinting at me, trying to figure out who was snapping at him. Then his eyes opened - wider and wider until I thought they would pop out of their sockets. "Who are - Jason?" I slammed the door shut behind me. "Who else do you think it would be, asshole? Now what did you do to change me like this?" "I... I don't know," he stammered, starting to get out of bed. At the last second, he seemed to realize that he was dressed only in his boxers in front of a pretty girl. He sat back down, covering his groin with a sheet. "It was just a dream, wasn't it? I didn't do this..." "The hell you didn't!" I yelled. "You were there. I thought it was just some stupid dream, but you were really there. You did this to me!" He shrank back. To an outsider observer, it would have seemed odd, a tall athletic looking guy shrinking away from a girl a good six inches shorter than he was. "Yeah... I was there," he admitted. "I remember what happened, but it wasn't me!" He looked so frightened that I softened my glare. Come to think of it, the Jeff in my "dream" had been vindictive and malevolent. The young man cowering in front of me looked almost as stricken as I had been moments before. "What do you mean it wasn't you?" I asked, a little less aggressively. "You know what it's like in dreams," Jeff began to explain. "You're there, but you're not always in control of your actions. It's sort of like watching a movie from inside one of the characters..." "Go on," I urged, squeezing my tiny hands into fists. I nearly punctured my palms with my unexpectedly long fingernails. "I just saw you standing there in your room in that weird light," he went on. "All I could think about was how it seemed as if everything I did, you did one better. I was... well, I was jealous. I wanted you to know what I go through, being good but not as good as you." "So you changed me into a girl? How?" "I already told you; I don't know!" he practically exploded. I could see tears of frustration in his eyes. "I didn't do this to you on purpose. Shit! I don't even know how I did it... or if I did it." I was still angry, but watching Jeff sitting there on his bed in tears had reduced my rage to a manageable level. From what I had seen of him in the dream, I had expected him to be gloating - not reduced to remorse. I sat next to him. "If you didn't do it," I asked softly, "who did?" Before he could answer, the door to his room swung open. I looked around and saw my mother standing there. Oh God, what was she going to think? She had no idea who I was. Was she going to think I was just some girl my brother had picked up and taken back to his bedroom? How was I going to make her believe who I was? To my shock, she showed no alarm. "Come on, guys, breakfast is ready. Your dad's already at the table. Slip on a robe and get downstairs." Before Jeff and I could do anything more than look at each other in amazement, she turned back to the hall. "Oh, and Jenny?" Jenny? "Stop going into your brother's room dressed like that. It's not very ladylike." After she had gone, Jeff and I stared dumbfounded at each other. "She... she thinks you're a girl," Jeff gasped. Well, I could see why she would think that. I had the basic breasts, the typical long hair, and the curvy body. "Yeah, and she thinks I'm your sister," I added forlornly. "What the fuck is going on?" "We'd better get downstairs," my brother advised. "We can figure out what to do later." My embarrassment level climbed about fifty percent as we walked into the kitchen. Our dad would be there, and I didn't want him to see me like this. I was pretty sure that like mom, he would see nothing unusual, but feeling my hips swivel and breasts bounce in my skimpy little nightie and short, thin matching robe made me feel like an escapee from some late night cable sex show. "Good morning, sweetie," dad greeted me, looking up nonchalantly from the morning copy of the Republic. Sweetie. Oh shit, shit, shit! "Good morning, Jeff," he added. "You played a great game last night." "Uh... thanks, dad." "It's just a shame Sanchez threw that last minute interception," he continued wistfully. "Otherwise, you might have won." SCORPIONS STING CONDORS the headline read on the sports page in front of dad. Eric Sanchez had been my backup at quarterback. I didn't have to read the article to guess what had happened. There had been no Jason Burnett to connect with Greg McDowell in the end zone the night before. Instead, a helpless Jennifer Burnett must have been watching from the sidelines as Eric threw a mistimed or poorly aimed ball to end the game in disaster for Caliente. It was bad enough that we had lost the game, but what really concerned me was that no one except my brother and I seemed to realize that there had ever been a Jason Burnett. "What's wrong, honey?" mom asked, noting my stricken look. "Nothing," I lied, sitting down at the table. I looked over at Jeff across from me. I guess mom hadn't noticed that he looked pretty upset as well. "You cheerleaders are just going to have to boost everyone's morale at next week's game," dad sighed. Cheerleaders? I was a cheerleader? This was getting worse by the minute. What would be next? Would I suddenly learn that I was Ryan Hendricks' girlfriend or something? I shot Jeff another withering glance. Killing was too good for my twin brother. Maybe he didn't do this to me on purpose, but that didn't mean he wasn't at fault. Come to think of it, were we still twins? I suddenly wondered. Maybe I was just his younger or older sister now, because we certainly couldn't be identical twins anymore. That was biologically impossible. No, I thought, but we could be fraternal twins and probably were. We still appeared the same age - just different sexes. Yeah, just... "Since when do you like bacon?" dad asked as I piled four lean slices on top of my eggs. "You won't fit in your cheerleader uniform if you eat that," mom cautioned. So like half the girls I knew, I was apparently expected to be watching my weight. Great. I had no idea how I was supposed to act as a girl, but I was starting to realize that everyone except Jeff would be expect me to be one-hundred percent girly from now on. I wasn't going to be able to handle this. "I...uh...was just serving them up for Jeff," I stammered. "Thanks, sis," he jumped in, snatching the plate from me. I could see from the look on his face that he was just trying to play along with my lie, but if he called me "sis" again, I'd kick his stupid ass. I managed to get through breakfast without anymore obvious gaffes by acting as I thought my female self was expected to act. I took a slice of honeydew melon and joined my mother in drinking a glass of skim milk. As if the watery skim milk wasn't bad enough, I had to watch my father and brother chowing down on bacon, eggs, toast with jelly and, of course, whole milk. I did decide to live dangerously and grabbed a slice of toast, but under my mother's watchful eye, I abstained from butter and jelly. Strangely enough, the small meal seemed to satisfy my hunger. I supposed as a girl, I no longer needed the large intake of calories my athletic male frame had required. However, while I was pleasantly full, the bland taste of the melon, skim milk, and dry toast hardly satisfied my taste buds. Would I now be eating bland salads (with dressing on the side, of course) for lunch and tiny portions of baked chicken for dinner? I would have to find some way of recovering my masculinity before I starved to death. Jeff slipped away from the table before I could. Or I should say dad slipped him away, with instructions for him to get dressed right away so they could go to Pep Boys to pick up some parts for the '68 Mustang dad was restoring in the garage. Jeff seemed happy to get out from under my surreptitiously angry stares. I shot him an additional one since the original plan had been for both of us to go to Pep Boys with dad. That, of course, had been when I was still Jason. Apparently attractive young cheerleaders simply didn't dirty their dainty hands working on Mustangs. After all, I might break a nail or some such shit. As I tried to make my escape, mom said, "Not so fast, young lady. After we finish with the dishes, we have laundry to do." Now I don't want to give the impression that ours was one of those households where the women (or woman before my change) did all the housework and the men lounged around. But usually, mom cut Jeff and me some slack, at least on Saturday mornings and after a big game. We'd watch an early football game on the tube and maybe help dad with the Mustang, but apparently Jennifer didn't rate the same slack that Jason had. Once we had gotten the dishes done and a load of laundry started, I trudged off to my room, anxious to get out of the feminine frou-frou I still was wearing. Also, I needed a shower. I had gotten a little sweaty just lifting the baskets of laundry. They seemed far heavier than I remembered them being, but I realized suddenly that I no longer had the strength I had enjoyed as Jason. The bathroom Jeff and I had shared now appeared to be mine alone. Jeff, I suspected, now used what had been the guest bathroom. Score one for my side, I thought grimly. At least I got to keep my own bathroom. But, of course, the bathroom had changed radically. The counter was now covered in a dozen new bottles and tubes, most of which I had no inkling of how to use and no interest in learning about. The shower caddy wasn't much better, the solitary bottle of shampoo now joined by conditioners and highlighters and a spongy thing I later learned was called a loofah. The scene was just too much for me. I began to cry. Me - Jason Lee Burnett - broke down into girly tears at the sight of a few strange bottles. I tried to wipe the tears away from my eyes, nearly poking one of them with a long nail. Girl or no girl, I vowed to cut those claws after my shower. My shower. Taking a shower, I realized sadly, would mean taking off my skimpy clothing, standing naked with breasts and... all that other stuff exposed. I couldn't bring myself to do it. The tears began to flow harder. Still, I had to get out of my nightie, so I stripped it off, snuffling as I did so. "Ja... Jenny?" a girl's voice called from outside my door. Oh shit! I gasped, the tears stopping as a new indignity had just been heaped upon me. My girlfriend was just outside the bathroom door, and she had nearly called me Jason, correcting herself in time to call me Jenny. She knew! Oh dear God, she knew! "Go away!" I cried. "No," came the soft reply. I was silent, reaching to open the door, then stopping at the last second. I couldn't let her see me like this. I slowly backed away from the door. "Jason," Marla pressed softly from the other side of the door, "I know what's happened to you. I can help you, but you have to open this door." She could help? Hesitantly, I approached to door once more, opening it before I lost my nerve. My eyes met Marla's for just a moment before I lowered mine in complete embarrassment, realizing suddenly that I was standing completely nude in a girl's body in front of my girlfriend. "Oh, Jason!" Marla sighed, throwing her arms around me. Weakly I put my arms around her, feeling the softness of her sweater against my bare breasts. In the comfort of her arms, I burst into tears once again. "You poor thing," Marla consoled, leading me over to my bed and draping my skimpy little robe over my quaking shoulders. She sat there beside me, holding me as I blubbered all over her sweater. I had never been so embarrassed in my life, but I realized as I sat there sobbing that my embarrassment was bound to get worse the longer I wore this strange body. "Better now?" she asked as the tears abated. I nodded meekly, pulling away from her and hanging my head in disgust. "Look," Marla began, "there's no easy way to say this, so I'll just blurt it all out. I know what Jeff did to you. I even know a little bit about how he did it." "Jeff said he didn't do this," I managed in a quavering voice. "He can deny it all he wants," she replied sternly, "but he's responsible for what happened, even if he didn't mean for you to become a girl." I looked up at her in surprise, a little shocked at her vehemence. "Look at it this way," she continued. "Suppose you and your brother found a gun when you were little kids and Jeff pointed it at you. If it went off and you got shot, it would probably be ruled an accident, but Jeff would have to live with the fact that he shot you. So make no bones about it, missy, your brother is responsible for your being a girl." She was probably right, I realized. I looked up at her. "But how do you know about... this?" Her smile was on the grim side. "Because you're not the only one this has happened to." I shook my head. "But how would you know, unless..." She nodded. "That's right. I used to be male, too." No! It just couldn't be. I had known Marla for years. I had watched her grow up from being Matt's scrawny kid sister to the beauty who had captured my heart. There was no way she could have ever been male. I would have known; somehow, I would have known. "Don't look so shocked," she said, patting my hand. "Most people think I've always been Marla Baker - just as most people will think you've always been Jennifer Burnett. That's the way it works." "It?" "I need to take you to someone who can tell it better than I can," she replied. "Right now, we need to get you presentable and out of here. There's a lot you need to know, and if you don't learn it quickly, you'll look like a fool. Then you'll just be paying into its hands." Marla ordered me to go take my shower while she found something for me to wear. Reluctantly, I obeyed, trusting that she wasn't going to find a tight top and a short skirt for me. The fact that she had been wearing a cotton sweater and jeans gave me hope that she'd find an equally unisex outfit for me. The shower actually felt good - once I got past the shock of seeing myself naked. I was used to seeing a well-muscled figure in the shower, complete with a flat chest and a prominent set of male equipment between my legs. I still had muscles, but they were much smaller and smoother, giving definition to slender arms and legs. My breasts were now the most prominent feature on my body, and while they weren't what I would have called major hooters a day before, they were eye catching in their symmetry and sufficient in size to be placed in the above average category. As for what was between my legs - or more accurately, what was not between my legs - it was akin to losing a limb. I just couldn't imagine life without my male organs. I was young - scarcely inducted into the mysteries of sexual activity, and what I had experienced, I had enjoyed immensely. Whether through masturbation or thrusting happily into a girl, the experience of climaxing had been extremely satisfying. Now that experience was denied to me. Oh, I knew women enjoyed sex as well. "Getting off" as a woman couldn't be all that difficult. But it would involve sticking something up inside my body, through the slit I had acquired when my rightful organs had been taken from me. The thought of sticking something in there was repugnant to me. Yet I knew I'd never know another climax until something - finger, vibrator, or (shudder) penis - entered me there. I vowed that any of those items would be banned from my body for a long time to come. To my chagrin, I found that unlike a male body, a girl's body can be turned on in a number of different places. Soaping up my breasts produced a little tingle in my nipples, and even washing my inner thighs started sending tiny messages to my new sexual organs. How the hell did girls take showers without getting turned on? I finally realized they didn't get turned on in the shower because they were used to the sensations. It was pretty much the same for guys. I had been perfectly capable of washing my male equipment without getting all turned on. As a girl, I'd have to learn how to do that or face a lifetime of stimulation at inappropriate times, like the bimbos in some of the sex films on late night TV. Unfortunately my preoccupation with my new body made me careless with my hair. I had intended to avoid getting it wet, since I had heard dozens of girls complain about how hard it was to take care of long hair. But while examining one of my new breasts, I had accidentally backed into the water stream, wetting my hair. "Shit!" I muttered. "What's wrong?" Marla called out. "I just got my hair wet," I complained. "Now I don't know what to do." "I'll help," she replied, barging in before I could stop her. I tried to cover myself, since the glass door offered little in the way of modesty. She looked at me for a moment and giggled, "You don't have to cover yourself. Did you cover yourself in the locker room after a game?" "Of course not! But now, I'm... I'm..." "A girl? So am I in case you forgot. Besides, I've already seen you naked once this morning, remember?" Before I could reply, she grabbed a bottle of shampoo and tossed it over the glass door. I managed to catch it. "Just lather up like you would before." "This isn't my shampoo," I protested, looking at the bottle of pink liquid with matching flowers on the front. "It is now," she replied. "Now get busy." She walked me through the use of the shampoo and conditioner, and told me how to squeeze most of the water out of my hair. Shampooing had always been so simple as a guy, but long, wet hair was very heavy and hard to control, I discovered. When I was finished and had stepped out of the shower, Marla handed me a towel. "Put this around yourself. No, not just your waist, silly. You have breasts now." I did as she told me, letting her tuck the end of the towel between my breasts to hold it in place. Then she produced a second towel, wrapping it around my head. "This will blot out some of the water while we work on other things." I cringed a little at the thought of "other things." I had sudden visions of Marla turning as nasty as Jeff had been in my dream, draping me in feminine attire while chuckling gleefully at my plight. Perverted stuff like that happens on the Internet all the time - or so I'm told. I was relieved to find "other things" did not include short skirts and high heels. Marla had laid out a pair of jeans, some low-cut sweat socks, a pair of tennis shoes, and a light sweater, burgundy in shade and although obviously a girl's sweater, it didn't look too girly. I was almost ready to smile when I notice the underwear she had laid out for me. "Thong panties and a bra?" I gasped. "First of all, the panties are French cut - not a thong," Marla informed me. "You might be interested to know they're among the most conservative panties in your drawer." I could feel the color drain from my face. "And as for the bra," she continued, "well, let's just say you don't want to leave home without it." As I stood there, dripping on the carpet with a stunned look on my face, Marla sighed and picked up the panties, thrusting them into my hand. "For Pete's sake, Jennifer, it's only a piece of cloth, and it covers what it need to cover. Stop acting like you've just been asked to pose for the cover of Transvestite Monthly. You're a girl now. I had to go through this same thing without nearly as much help and I didn't put up half the fuss you are." "You said that before - that you were a guy?" I asked, unconsciously wadding the panties in my fingers. "Yeah," she sighed. "Look, start getting dressed and I'll tell you all about it." Listening to Marla's story made me a little less self conscious about putting on girl's clothing. I even stood motionless still while she blow dried and combed my hair, so rapt in her story I had become. Besides, it was just jeans and a sweater, even if the cut did seem a little gay. And the tennis shoes hid my pink toenails. I didn't feel quite as embarrassed dressed in such an asexual manner. Marla had once been Martin Baker, Matt's younger brother. But while Matt was shy and a little hesitant around girls, his younger brother was a natural ladies' man. He lost his virginity in the tenth grade and never looked back. Martin made one conquest after another. His dark good looks coupled with confidence most guys could only wish for gave him a stellar percentage when it came to girls bedded versus girls dated. I was more than just a little envious. It seemed so weird sitting there listening to Marla speak with the memories of a guy she no longer was. If it hadn't been for her sweet alto voice, the inflections she was demonstrating would have been enough to make me believe it was a male who was speaking. "Then came Kim," Marla sighed. "Kim Wallace? You screwed Kim Wallace?" "Maybe I should say she screwed me," Marla chuckled, motioning to herself. "What happened?" "Kim and I were an item. There was one big thing she liked about me," Marla explained, "and I gave it to her just about every night." I turned, nearly causing the brush Marla was using on me to rip out several long blonde hairs. Marla was grinning and arching her eyebrows. "Kind of funny to hear your girlfriend talking about slipping the old salami to a girl, isn't it?" "If this hadn't happened to me," I replied, motioning to myself, "I never would have believed it." "Well, believe it," Marla countered. "But good old Martin got kind of tired of the same old thing every night, so he - I - dropped Kim." She was quiet for a moment. "You know the old thing about hell having no fury like a woman scorned? Well, I'm living proof of the truth of that. She made a wish - a terrible, terrible wish. She wished that I would never be able to screw another girl as long as I lived, and something heard her. "I think you can figure out the rest. I had a dream - a very vivid dream where a laughing Kim changed me into a girl. Then when I woke up, I was Marla instead of Martin." "But to me, you've always been Marla," I insisted. She nodded, sitting down on my bed as I sat beside her. "That's just how it works. Everybody remembered me as being Marla. Well, almost everybody. When I woke up the next morning, my room had changed, my family thought I was Marla, and then you showed up about noon that Saturday to take me to the movies." I thought back. About four months ago, Marla had started acting strangely. I remembered picking her up to take her to some lame chick flick she had wanted to see and she had acted very strange, almost as if she didn't really want to see that movie. Yet according to my memories, she had been pestering me for two weeks to take her to it. I had thought she was mad at me, since she treated me as if I was radioactive, pulling away as I tried to hold her hand and flinching as I put my arm around her in the theater. She had even avoided kissing me when I dropped her off. That was the first time I became concerned that she might be getting ready to break up with me. After that though, things slowly got better. She was more like her old self, but it had taken several weeks before she had gotten back to normal. Now I was finding normal wasn't so normal after all. "So you never really were my girlfriend," I surmised slowly. "Not at fist," she replied, putting her small dark hand on my small light one. "But that changed. I had always liked you - you know - as a friend. I have a lot of fond memories of you and Matt and me throwing a football around or playing basketball together. I knew you were a good guy. At first I was shocked to find out I was your girlfriend in this reality. I almost puked at the thought of having a boyfriend, but then I made up my mind to pretend to be your girlfriend since that would keep all the other guys away." She must have seen the keen disappointment on my face, for she was quick to continue, "Then once all these female hormones I have now started churning through me, I found I was becoming attracted to you for real. That's the way it works, too - the longer you're a girl, the more you start to think like one. I finally became your girlfriend in every sense of the word. Now I really miss Jason." There were tears in her eyes as she said that, and I found my own eyes getting a little moist as well. I felt as if I had somehow let her down. I suppose I had, really. I had become a girl. I was beginning to realize why she had been so vehement about my making peace with Jeff. She knew what lay ahead for me - or at least she suspected. I hadn't listened to her in time, and now I had paid the price. "I should have said something earlier - about Jeff I mean," she sniffed. I shook my head. "It wouldn't have done any good," I consoled her. "What else could you have told me? If you'd told me the truth, I never would have believed you." I was not just trying to make her feel better; I was telling her the truth. If she had come to me and told me my brother had the power to change me into a girl because something similar had happened to her, I never would have believed it. Not for a heartbeat. "Besides, maybe there's a way to reverse this," I suggested, hoping I was right. "There isn't," she said flatly. I hadn't known if there was or wasn't a way back to my old life, but she seemed certain in her denial. "How do you know?" I asked softly, hoping, of course, that she was wrong. I was already starting to worry about what