The Prom Queen A Story About a Lovely Boy Part 6
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The Prom Queen: A story about a lovely boy
Copyright 2004, K-G Communications
By Katherine Anne Day
Except for 3rd hour gym class, Corey loved his first year in high school.
He was a slender boy, and loved to dress himself in sharp clothes, and he
stood out amidst the kids in their oversized, baggy jeans and sweats.
In his dress, he emphasized clothes that accentuated his manliness, his
height and width of his shoulders. And, he felt, he was attractive, with
his long flowing blonde hair, well-groomed and sparklingly clean.
But it was in gym class where he had to disrobe completely and shower
before other boys that the truth became apparent. His body was slender
and smooth, and when unclothed his shoulders appeared narrow and gave way
to thin arms, undefined by muscle.
On the gym floor, Corey seemed to be last in everything; he couldn't do
the rope climb, his arms to weak to pull his body up the rope, even with
a little rough push from Mr. Mathias, a muscular man, who loved to show
off his biceps and great chest.
"Come on girl," he'd say quietly to those boys like Corey who had trouble
doing the exercises.
Obviously, Mr. Mathias had great disdain for such "girlie" boys, but he
was smart enough not to say those terms so loud that others could hear
them. Yet, Corey was embarrassed by the comments.
He knew he was weaker than a boy should be, but in spite of some home
exercising, he could not seem to build up his muscles.
A temporary wall divided the high school gym during gym classes, with the
girls' classes on one side and the boys on the other. Corey could
sometimes see the girls going through their exercising, watching their
growing bodies in the blue shorts and white tops.
Corey wished he could join them, since he could probably do their
exercises and sports. At least he wouldn't be the bottom athletic
achiever of that group. And, he thought he'd look particularly cute in
the girls' gym outfits, his slender legs prettily extending from beneath
the pleated blue shorts. But, he was a boy, and it wasn't right to think
such thoughts.
It was Mark Lundstrom, a fair-haired, muscular boy who helped to soothe
Corey's pain after the incident with Mr. Mathias. In Corey's mind, Mark
was the perfect boy, a blond "All American" type that would win the class
prom queen and throw the winning pass for the Conference football title.
Corey and Mark had grown up together, having played together since pre-
kindergarten days. They lived only several doors apart on Iron Foundry
Road, along the small city's industrial district in a row of onetime
company houses.
"Don't mind Mr. Mathias, Corey," Mark said as the two left together from
the gym's locker room. "He's a Neanderthal."
"Ahhh, what?" Corey said, startled that Mark had addressed him.
"He's ignorant," Mark explained. "I heard what he said to you: that's
cruel."
Corey didn't know what to say. He was embarrassed that someone else had
heard the remark; he was so ashamed of his weak arms and body that he
tried so mightily to hide that truth, and particularly from a "jock" like
Mark Lundstrom.
As they walked along, a cluster of boys gathered in the first floor
hallway; they parted as Mark and Corey passed, but there was a hushed
chuckle and a remark that seemed to rise above the hallway's between-
class din, that said: "What's Mark doing with the fag?"
Mark certainly heard the remark, but he didn't say anything at first;
finally, he stopped, grabbing Corey's arm, and spinning around said: "Hey
pinheads. Corey's a friend of mine. And, you all better know it. So shut
up!"
"Ah, we didn't mean no harm, Mark," responded Jimmy Helfer, and pimply
faced, scruffy boy. "Just havin' fun."
Mark didn't respond and pulled Corey away, muttering, "Bunch o' jerks."
Corey was red-faced with humiliation. Even to himself, Corey had to
admit: I am indeed a "wuss", and maybe even a "fag", and here was the
school's No. 1 hero defending him.
"Mark, I'm so sorry to cause you trouble," Corey said. "You don't need to
show you're my friend, even though we grew up together."
"It's not right," Mark said. "You're a good guy and they got no right to
treat you that way."
In school, Mark and Corey did not really see much of each other; except
for gym, they shared no classes together, and Mark -- because he was on
the football team -- was usually exempt from taking gym classes during
the season. The season had ended in November with the conference
championship won for the second straight year and with Mark Lundstrom as
the conference player of the year, according to the Big City newspapers.
Several days later, Mark and Corey bumped into each other as they were
leaving school and Mark said, "You going home?"
"Why yes."
"Ok if I come along, Corey?"
"Why sure! Aren't you walking Nicole home?"
Mark just walked for a moment and the responded to Corey's curiosity,
"That bitch."
Corey was stunned. Mark and Nicole had been an "item" since 9th grade,
always together, making the perfect All American couple. Her dark-haired
good looks were obvious and, with his blonde masculinity, they were
indeed the school's No. 1 couple.
"What happened?"
"Seems she's doesn't think I'm fancy enough for her. We live in Foundry
town, you'll remember and she lives in Warrington Hills and her daddy
thinks she can do better for herself."
"You're kidding!"
Mark explained that she told him during lunch that she's going to choose
Joshua Harrington as her prom date if she wins the election as prom
queen; her daddy thought it would look better, she told Mark.
Mark explained further that Nicole had often been embarrassed when Mark
would drive up to their huge home in Warrington Hills with his father's
14-year-old Ford Escort to pick her up for a date. Invariably she'd say
something like, "Can't your dad get a better car?" or "Josh has his own
Explorer, you know."
Both Mark and Corey knew that even keeping a 14-year-old Escort running
was a burden on the Lundstrom household; the foundry had closed, leaving
Mark's dad to hustle for $7 an hour jobs and his mother to work parttime
at the nursing home.
Thanks to his football skills and his top grades, Mark was headed to
State College on a scholarship, unless he blew out a leg or something.
"Those rich bastards in the Hills," Mark said.
"I'm so sorry for you, Mark," Corey said. "Damn, she's a beautiful girl,
and to throw you over for Josh!"
"Ah, forget her, she's stupid anyway. She is, you know; her grades are
awful and she's full of herself."
"But she's so pretty, Mark."
"Aw she ain't so pretty. Besides, beauty is only skin-deep," Mark said
philosophically.
As the two walked down the bluff, into the industrial area where they
lived, Corey said, "But she'll be elected prom queen; she's the prettiest
girl in school."
"We'll see about that," Mark said. "I think I got a plan."
Mark refused to tell Corey about his plan, only to say Corey would be the
first to know once he thought his plan through.
Even though they lived only a few houses from each other in the factory
district, Corey saw little of Mark during the holiday period. Mark had
basketball practice most days and Corey was involved with his family --
his single mother and younger sisters -- in holiday preparations and
family gatherings.
"I wished you could have more friends, Corey," his mother had said
several days before Christmas as Corey helped with the housework and
caring for the younger girls. "But I need your help so much."
She kissed him lightly on the forehead that day when she got home from
her County job in the welfare office. The stress of that job and the
raising of three children by herself was a strain that was only relieved
by Corey's help. Routinely, he prepared supper and watched over his
sisters before his mother got home at 5:30 p.m. It's a task he had been
doing since he was about ten.
"I'm robbing you of your fun," she said. "I'm so sorry."
"Oh ma! Don't worry. I'll have time for fun."
"But you never had time for sports or anything like that. Always had to
watch Rachel and Ronette."
"Besides," Corey volunteered. "I'm learning to be a good cook and baker.
Maybe I'll be chef or something."
In fact, Corey had become a good cook and had taken a real interest in
baking. That day, he was completing another batch of Christmas cookies,
with Rachel and Ronette, hanging around helping a bit in the process. The
kitchen was warm with the sweet smells of the holiday season.
Corey kissed his mother warmly.
"Remember, when we were little," Mark said to Corey on the second day of
school following the holidays. The two teens were again walking home
together from school.
"Yes, we played a lot together, particularly before my dad left."
"Well, we used to play 'house' a lot at your place, since you had to be
home baby-sitting," Mark said.
"That was fun ... being the 'mom' and 'dad'."
Mark said, "Your mom's stuff fit you so well, since she's kinda small."
"Yeah, so what?"
"Well," Mark stammered. "I .... ah ... well ... you looked so nice in
your mom's clothes."
Corey didn't know how to respond at first, and then he nervously laughed,
"But my dad's clothes were way too big for you."
Mark laughed, too, and didn't say anything for a moment. Corey felt he
was on the verge of asking something.
"What are you thinking?" Corey finally asked, fearing he already knew the
answer.
"I don't know if I wanna tell you what I'm thinking."
"Oh c'mon. We're friends. You can say whatever."
Mark hesitated and then said: "Well I was thinking . . . about how nice
you looked in your mom's clothes, and ... oh dammit, you look pretty
enough to be a girl."
Corey felt a sudden rush of emotion, realizing that Mark had hit upon
something he had been wondering about recently, ever since his failure to
complete those gym exercises and hearing the coach's taunt, calling him,
"girl". Corey felt embarrassed, even humiliated, but realized that maybe,
just maybe, he was pretty like a girl.
"Oh, Corey," Mark hurried to say, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't say that."
"Mark, I know, but you know, I'm not a big strong guy like you. I know I
must look that way."
Corey couldn't say the words that he looked "like a girl". He was feeling
both humiliated and elated. As a boy, he should have muscles and strong
arms and be like other boys, but he knew he was soft and weak and that
embarrassed him. Nonetheless, the prospect of being a girl excited him;
he could wear clothes that would expose his soft arms and pretty legs. As
a boy, he tried not to ever take his shirt off and expose his puny body
and his soft chest that seemed to be spouting tiny soft breasts. But, as
a girl, his body would be so pretty.
"Forget I said anything, Corey. You are a good friend. I was wrong."
"No," Corey said quickly. "You're right. I could make a pretty girl.
Really I could."
And Corey's face flushed, and he felt a rush in his entire system. He
couldn't explain what was happening, but as he considered the prospect of
dressing like a girl -- perhaps having the feeling of being a girl -- his
excitement was unrestrained. He felt his penis hardening, and he grew
kind of limp and felt spacey.
"What do you thinking about, Mark? Tell me."
"Well for one thing, I think you could be prettier than Nicole," he said
quickly. "And I think you could beat her out as prom queen."
"What?" Corey shrieked. "You're crazy."
"Why not? The rules don't say nothing about whether you gotta be a girl
or a boy. Just that you gotta have good grades, perform something to show
talent, make a little speech and look pretty. And then it's up to the
kids to vote who they like."
"Oh, for chrisssakes."
"No, I'm serious. We'll show 'em. I'll nominate you and campaign for you
and I bet you'll win!"
Mark had a point. He was popular, he was a star football player and if he
decided to stick his neck out for Corey, who was Corey to say no?
"But, Mark, dressing up like a girl? I don't know how to put on makeup,
how to walk and talk."
"Easy," Mark answered. "I'll ask my sister to help you."
"Lynn? Oh, I'd be too embarrassed."
Mark's older sister was a freshman at the local community college, and
sold cosmetics at the department store. She had become a classy dresser,
besides being a real nice looking young woman.
"Really," Mark said. "I think Lynn would love working with you."
Corey still wasn't too keen about the idea, but after Mark said his
sister would be fun to work with and would not tell anyone about his
feminization process, he agreed to meet at Mark's home Saturday, when
Mark's parents would be gone.
"Corey, you're a honey to do this for Mark," was Lynn's first comments as
he entered their home on Saturday.
Lynn had indeed become a beauty; Corey had long thought of Lynn as merely
Mark's older sister, and in high school, Lynn had been an athletic girl,
already 5' 7" in height by 9th grade and a bit chunky of body. Now, Corey
saw that Lynn had stopped growing in height and was trimmed down into a
beautiful young lady.
Corey merely gave an inaudible grunt. He still wasn't too sure about this
process.
"Corey, let's just have some fun now," she said, as Mark came into the
room.
"Think it'll work, sis?" Mark said.
"Oh . . . oh, sure. Corey will dress up real pretty. And, some of my
clothes will fit him fine."
Lynn beckoned Corey to come with her to the bedroom, and Corey hung back,
reluctant to move. He couldn't imagine what he would do, how it would be
to be dressed as a girl. All of his life he had wanted to be a strong,
husky boy, and he had wished his body was more muscular. The thought of
dressing up, even before his best friend's sister, was impossible to
consider. What would his friends think? What about his mother? And his
cousins?
"No... ahhhh... no. I don't wanna do this!" he stammered.
But Lynn was firm! "Come on, Corey," she said. "Let's just have some fun.
Let's see how you look ... just you and me, and if you like it, then
we'll see if we want Mark to see."
Mark said that was fine by him. He said he'd go do his homework in the
kitchen while Lynn worked on Corey.
Corey had no choice but to enter Lynn's bedroom. He felt strange going
into the young women's bedroom alone with her, but he dutifully followed
her.
Lynn's room was particularly frilly, concentrating on pinks and whites.
Fluffy curtains framed her windows, and the room was bright and cheery. A
huge white stuffed bunny, with pink ears, sat on her bed, which was made
up with a pinkish-purple coverlet. It was the room of a pretty girl, with
a picture of Sean Pean on the wall. As Corey turned around, he saw on the
inside wall, two shelves of trophies, a host of ribbons and several
pennants from Peacausey High School, a remnant of her high school
athletic days.
There was a picture of Lynn in her basketball uniform, showing a husky,
round face girl with healthy thighs and legs ... and also a picture of
her in her junior prom dress, a light purple, full length dress, with
bare boy-like shoulders, interrupted only by the thin straps of the
dress. Her tanned arms and shoulders dominated her dark-haired, round
face.
"That was me in my fat days," she said.
"Aw, no, you looked very nice, Lynn. Looks like you were quite an
athlete."
And Corey began to laugh a bit. Here he was, a boy, who had no athletic
ability with Lynn, a girl, who could probably outplay him in virtually
any sport. It was an embarrassment for him.
He stifled the chuckle before Lynn could detect it.
"Let me look at you, Corey." He stood erect before her and she looked him
up and down with an analytical eye. Her look was neutral and
nonjudgmental, like a doctor would look at a patient. She was sizing him
up for her task: that of making him into a pretty girl. And Corey began
to enjoy the way she was looking at him, with both appreciation and
without being critical.
Still he felt moved to defend his looks. "I just not very big for a boy.
And I don't get much chance to play sports, what with the babysitting I
have to do for my little sisters."
"Oh Corey, don't be critical of yourself. We're all different."
"Guess so!"
"Remember how chubby I used to be." She laughed. "'Fatty fatty two by
four, can't through the kitchen door,' you and Mark used to tease me when
you were little. I could have killed you boys."
"Come on," she changed the subject. "Let's see what we can do for you."
She went into her closet and brought out a large cardboard box, and
opened it up. It was filled with lingerie of all sorts. "This stuff
doesn't fit me any more, but I think it'll fit you."
She rummaged around and pulled out several pairs of panties, checked the
labels for size and threw three of them down on the bed. "I think any of
these will fit; pick out the one you want."
Corey look hesitantly before choosing a peach-colored panty with a lace
trim, and a little bow tied to one side. He left a bright red panty and a
cotton beige panty on the bed.
"And now, just for starters, slip this skirt on after you put the panties
on. I'll let you change in private and then yell when you're done, and
we'll finish making you up."
Lynn smiled sweetly, and that seemed to give him encouragement. For Lynn,
a very pretty girl, to accept him as he was gave him encouragement. Corey
had always been ashamed of his slender, soft body and felt that other
boys would laugh at him as a "sissy", and that girls could hardly find
him attractive. After all, didn't most girls want "hunks", not "sissies"?
Lynn seemed to pass no judgment on his body, and was intent of following
through on her efforts to dress him into being a credible girl.
After she left the room and closed the door, Corey stripped naked,
folding his clothes neatly on the bed. There was full-length mirror on
the inside of the closet door and Corey stood before it and examined his
body. It was a smooth slender body, pinkish white it appeared. He
examined the legs before him, slim in the calf and with a slight
broadening as they reached his hips. He twirled, mocking the move that a
girl model would do, and looked back , viewing his rear, seeing a tight
butt and a back unbroken with muscles.
He had to admit he had a pretty body. It was not the body of a teenage
boy, though, and he felt his penis grow hard with the realization that he
could be looking at a girl's body in the mirror. The body felt foreign to
him; and yet he felt it was a marvelous body, fit for a nice looking
teenage girl.
He put on the panty that he had chosen, and the skirt Lynn had laid out
for him and called out that he was ready. The skirt was a plaid skirt,
similar to those worn in Catholic schools by the girls. It ended just
above his knees
"Oh, Corey, you'll do fine. That skirt fits like it was made for you,"
Lynn said upon entering the bedroom.
Lynn went back into her closet, and emerged with a white sleeveless
blouse and a small collar. It was a demure blouse with an old fashioned
rounded collar. Corey stood their, standing thin and even demure, looking
at himself in the mirror, wearing a skirt, with his naked upper body, and
lower legs and feet exposed, the white skin appearing weak and fragile.
His narrow shoulders were smooth and, as he looked more closely, he swore
he saw on his chest two slightly rounded mounds of flesh, topped off by
nipples.
"My god," he mused almost aloud, "A girl!"
"You like what you see there?" Lynn asked, startling him.
"Ahhhhh... I... ah, ah... don't know."
"You have a very pretty body. Now let's put this on," she encouraged him,
handing him a bra.
Corey wondered whether Lynn wasn't going too far. To wear a bra; those
weren't big enough to need a bra. As he considered the situation has had
to admit he liked what he saw in the mirror. Looking at himself and
seeing a girl standing in reflection seemed to appear that he was seeing
another person, not himself. "Yes," he admitted to himself. "I like what
I see."
Lynn helped him on with the bra, affectionately rubbing her hands across
his body as she did so. "You're most delicious," she said with a smile,
the two of them standing together in reflection.
She helped him on the bra, and then waded up some facial tissues and put
them inside the bra, to fill them out. Seeing himself in the bra and with
his rounded face, framed by his long light brown hair and in a skirt, he
already felt transformed into Corey, the girl.
Lynn brushed his hair, fluffing it up so that it flow more freely,
developing a bob in the back, She framed it down over his forehead on
both sides. Reaching on her dresser, she looked at several lipsticks,
chose one and showed it to Corey, asking, "How's this? It's a quiet
almost natural color. After all we don't want to make you a slut, yet."
Corey agreed it was OK, and she led him to her makeup table, sitting him
down on the bench, and gave him the lipstick, which he began to apply as
he had seen his mother do it. He felt so much that he was a girl in the
mere act of putting on the lipstick, being framed there in the mirror,
with his girlish arms and soft shoulders.
He put on the blouse, and it fit perfectly, and Lynn provided him with a
set of pearls and rummaged in her drawer for more jewelry.
"Too bad you ears aren't pierced, because I only have this set which can
be screwed on." The earrings, too, were a cluster of tiny pearls, and
were almost a match for the pearls.
"Let's have final look," Lynn said, leading him back to the mirror.
"Oh, you make a beautiful girl," Lynn said.
"Really, you think so?" Corey said, striking several poses and twirling a
little, looking at himself.
And Corey thought; yes, he did look like a girl, a most feminine and
attractive one at that. He was afraid to admit it, that after all these
years of avoiding looking into mirrors because he hated to see his
miserable, weak boy's body, he was excited to see he was so beautiful,
that his body did indeed make him a very pretty teenage girl.
"Now, let's see what Mark thinks," Lynn said. "You stay here. I need to
prepare him for what he'll see."
She left the room and few minutes later yelled for him to come into the
living room to present himself before Mark.
Corey was now feeling embarrassed, and even a bit scared, to be able to
present himself before Mark. As Corey entered, with some hesitation at
first, Mark was sitting on a straight chair, covering his eyes. Lynn had
turned all the lights on in the room.
"OK, Mark, now!"
And Mark uncovered his eyes, as Corey, the girl, stood before him. Mark
just starred in awe, not speaking.
"Well," Lynn said. "What do you think of your new girl friend?"
"Corey? Is that you? Corey?" he asked in astonishment.
Corey just nodded. He didn't know whether to speak; his voice even though
it was still a high voice, was still a male voice, and he didn't feel
he'd like to spoil the spell.
"God," Mark said. "You're beautiful."
Corey blushed and twirled about before Mark, who stood up and came over,
and took Corey's hands as if he were a girl he was approaching for a
dance.
"You could be the prettiest girl in school," Mark said with admiration.
"Let me look at you!"
His eyes feasted on Corey with an eager look.
"Damn, Corey, you could be prom queen. For one thing, you'll beat out
that bitch, Nicole."
(To Be Continued)
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