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The Legacy By The Professor The day all my dreams came crashing down, I didn't even know it - not right away, anyhow. It was just one of those things that went from bad to worse to... Well, let's just say there was no way I could have ever guessed where things would lead. We were playing the Bellevue West Thunderbirds - we being the Westside Warriors. Both teams were undefeated, and the Omaha World Herald had us both listed in the top five teams in the state. Somebody had to win and somebody had to lose. This was our Super Bowl, and as the starting quarterback for the Warriors, it was my job to lead the team to victory. Things went well for most of the game. At the end of the third quarter we were up by a touchdown and driving for another score. It looked as if all my dreams were coming true. With any luck, I'd be the touted as the hottest high school quarterback in the state by the end of the year, and that meant the Cornhusker scouts in the stands that night would be singing my praises in Lincoln. A full-ride football scholarship appeared to be most definitely in my future, after I completed this and the next season. But that's when the wheels came off. It was a simple pattern. It was just a drop back pass to the right end. The ball would sail fifteen yards in the air, and if the right end caught it, he'd have just one man to beat to the end zone. The Thunderbirds were all up on the line, anticipating a running play on third and short - or so we thought. Anticipating the snap count, the Thunderbirds blitzed, drilling two holes right through our line, as nearly as I could tell. I still thought I had time to get the pass off. The problem was that three - not two - defenders had breached our line, and the third was right behind me. The shock of impact threw me to the ground, and the ball trickled out of my hand. In the ensuing melee, the pains in my back were suddenly replaced by an even worse pain in my right hand as one of the defenders accidentally stomped a cleated foot right on my throwing hand. That's when I passed out. To make a long story short, that was the end of my quarterbacking career. We still managed to win the game, and I was one of the heroes of the game, but I was out for the rest of the season with a broken hand. I had to sit in civvies on the sidelines, while my teammates muddled through the rest of the season with an untested quarterback. The team rose to the challenge, though, and we finished the year undefeated. As for me, I spent the off season in therapy trying to get my throwing hand back in shape. No such luck, though. My hand remained stiff and my passes both short and inaccurate. On top of that, after half a dozen passes or so, I could barely stand the intense pain in my fingers. I vowed to continue trying through the spring off-season, though, hoping that my hand would be completely healed by the beginning of the next season. All in all, my junior year was shaping up to be the crappiest year of my life. I supposed the best thing to come out of that school year was that in the spring of my junior year I lost my virginity. I didn't even have to work at it very hard. An eighteen year old senior from Papillion La Vista High School (the school where they filmed the movie Election, by the way) latched on to me at a party. After teasing me all evening, she dragged me off to an empty bedroom at midnight and had her wanton way with me, as they say in the old novels. She told me afterwards she was celebrating her birthday right at midnight, to start the special day out with a bang, so to speak. Anyhow, being initiated to sex with an attractive girl, certainly perked up my weekend. To be honest, having sex with an unattractive girl would have perked up my weekend, but not quite as much. Liz Allison, the girl I bonked, was certainly attractive too, in a blonde sort of way. I always had a thing for redheads - or at least brunettes with a reddish cast to their hair. Don't get me wrong; I wasn't complaining. It's just that Liz wasn't exactly my perfect girl. Liz's hair was light blonde and her skin so fair it looked as if she never went outdoors. That Nordic look had never done much for me. I preferred the blue-eyed brunette, with fair but not alabaster skin, a few well-placed freckles, and a sort of innocent look. Liz was none of those things - including innocent. Of course she did have a very nice body - particularly when she stripped off all her clothes for me. Nice full breasts, long, slim legs, and a very curvy body were points in her favor I certainly didn't complain about what I saw. I had hoped to see more of her over the summer, so imagine my disappointment when one of her classmates told me that she and her family had moved back to California, where they had lived for all of Liz's life before coming to Nebraska for a couple of years. It was probably for the best, I realized. She had just been a one-night stand for me, or considering that having sex had been her idea, I suppose I was a one-night stand for her. Whatever. I started spring football practice that Monday, and from the high of losing my virginity to the low of losing my football position - and all hopes of a scholarship at NU - all happened within forty-eight hours. "I'm sorry, Ryan," the coach told me after practice. "Your hand's just not healing right." I had been expecting him to say just that. In spite of therapy all winter the injury to my hand had left me with less fine motor skills in the fingers. I had hoped the coach would give me the summer to recover, but no such luck. Besides, my passes had been all over the place at that afternoon practice. "I just need to get back into rhythm," I told the coach, but he didn't believe me. Come to think of it, I really didn't believe it myself. Whatever had been done to my hand would affect my passing from there on. I stayed on the team as a safety and did pretty well - but not well enough to don the red and white of the Nebraska Cornhuskers after high school. Arch "The Archer" Corbin, my backup quarterback, came into his own senior year and got the opportunity to move on to NU. As for me? At least I got a football scholarship, but it was playing NCAA Division II ball for the Nebraska State University Plainsmen instead of Division I at NU. I wasn't a quarterback, of course - I was just a defensive back. Quarterbacks who wash out often become defensive backs, since they have a deep understanding of the passing game - even if they can't throw well. And instead of living in Lincoln, I was in the small community of River Falls, Nebraska, where Nebraska State was located. Bummer. On the other hand, it wasn't all bad. I knew my grandmother had gone to NSU when she was my age. According to my mother, that where she met my grandfather. They had many pleasant memories of the school, or so they always told me. Maybe I'd have a good time there too, I told myself. Maybe I'd even meet a wonderful girl just like when my grandfather met my grandmother. Of course it didn't turn out quite like that... "O'Meara!" I groaned. One of the other pledges looked up at me and grinned. I supposed it took his mind off the task all of us pledges were involved in - scrubbing the sidewalk in front of the fraternity house with toothbrushes and concrete cleaner. "Sounds like somebody's in deep shit," he commented, obviously glad it was me and not him. "Shut up and scrub that walk, Packard!" the active - I think his name was Randy - barked at my fellow pledge. "Come on, O'Meara. On your feet." I got stiffly to my feet. Football practice on that Saturday morning, followed by a Spic-n-Span session as the actives called them, back at the Theta house had taken its toll on me. At least whatever Randy wanted would keep me from irritating my right hand. All that scrubbing with a toothbrush had caused it to start aching again. I towered over Randy - it was my six-three to his five-ten. "What do you want?" Randy frowned. "What do you want, SIR! Got that, pledge?" "What do you want, SIR?" I asked calmly. All this pledge shit was a waste of time, but since a good number of the campus jocks were members of Theta Zeta Xi, it was the natural place for me to be. I had to keep reminding myself that getting asked to pledge TZX was a honor, if a dubious one. At least classes would start Monday, and between that and football practice the brothers wouldn't have much of a chance to harass me. But unfortunately for the rest of the weekend, my ass was theirs. As Randy walked me to the Pledge Trainer's room, I knew whatever they had cooked up for me wouldn't be pleasant. But as I saw Spike Norris and Don Morton braced at attention outside Sam's door, I felt a little relief that whatever crap they had in mind for me would be shared by two of my pledge brothers. Misery really does crave company. "Get in here!" Sam Dietrich, our Pledge Trainer, demanded. The three of us piled into his room where we relaxed. As in most fraternities, the Pledge Trainer was the one active we could act normal around. "What's up, Sam?" Spike asked as Sam closed the door. Spike was president of the pledge class. Like me, he was on the football team, and with his rugged good looks, lineman's physique, and closely-cropped blonde hair, he looked like a Nazi recruiting poster. Don was a jock, too, although basketball was his sport, so he was tall and wiry. All three of us towered over Sam, who at six feet was not exactly a dwarf himself. I had heard some of the other actives chuckling that Sam was a little sensitive about his less than jock physique. "I got a special duty for you three," he said nonchalantly. We three pledges looked at each other with resignation. Whenever an active talked about "special duty", we knew it meant shit detail. Sam ignored our discomfort. "I want all three of you to report to the Omicron Pi house this afternoon to help them with some heavy lifting." That was both good news and bad news. Omicron Pi was a sorority that had some of the hottest girls on campus. That, of course, was the good news. The bad news was that they had the reputation of being pretty stand- offish when it came to having anything to do with most of the fraternities. There were even campus rumors that they were all lesbians, although in the few days I had been around campus, I knew that some guys grumbled about that only because they hadn't been able to make any headway with any of the sisters. "How long's this gonna take, Sam?" Spike wanted to know. "Why?" Sam asked drolly. "You got a big date tonight?" Spike grinned. "The biggest. I'm gonna be screwing Misty Capshaw tonight." "Cool, man!" Don commented. I just rolled my eyes. Cindy Capshaw was a sophomore cheerleader who had a thing for screwing football players. Everybody on the team knew it, and it was becoming something of a tradition for her to make her way through the whole squad. I had gone to high school with her, where she had a similar proclivity. I had passed on doing her in high school. And to answer the question before it's asked, yes, I had the opportunity to screw her too, but I had passed. I considered myself a red-blooded American boy who liked girls just fine, but Cindy just wasn't my type. Vacuous blondes who spent most of their dates on their backs just didn't do it for me. Besides, knowing the background of some of my teammates who had screwed her, I had decided to pass, knowing where that snatch had been. And as I've already said, I sort of liked the "girl next door" types. I had too much respect for girls to waste my time with the sluts. "Don't worry," Sam assured Spike. "It won't be a problem." And it wasn't either, but not the way any of us thought just then. "This won't be so bad," Don thought out loud. "I wonder if that little bitch Sandra Holland will be there." "She's not interested in you, man!" Spike laughed. "I bet she only likes girls. She's a muff diver if I ever saw one." Don replied laconically, "That's all gonna change when she meets Big Don." Just in case we missed his point, he pretended to squeeze his package. Sam wasn't impressed. "Don't even think about that," he cautioned. "You're going over there to work. Believe me, you don't want to piss them off." I looked closely at Sam. The way he'd said that was downright ominous. From the serious look on his face he meant it that way too. I didn't question him about it, and I doubt if he would have told me the truth then. I guess I'll never know, though. We started out for the Opie house (as everyone called the Omicron Pi's on campus) in Spike's "Babemobile" - a two year old Chevy Malibu which he claimed had a big enough back seat to accommodate his sexual gymnastics. I was surprised he didn't have notches on the upholstery to commemorate his conquests. Don wasn't such a bad guy, but Spike was an asshole. The only reason he got to be president of our pledge class was that he was the only one who really wanted it. He'd often tell us that the reason he wanted it was because his dad had been president of the TZX pledge class when he was at NSU. I had checked though, and found out that was the last office he ever held in the house. I guess he was as big an asshole as Spike. Actually that was probably the main reason an asshole like him had been pledged - he was a "legacy", which in fraternity parlance meant the house had to pledge him because a close relative had been in the fraternity. I supposed I'm not being entirely fair. Spike would have been pledged even if he hadn't been a legacy, since the TZX house was a jock house. No matter what I thought about Spike personally, I knew he had been one hell of a football player in high school. He'd probably be first string by his sophomore year, I thought. "Hey. Let's have a little contest," Spike said suddenly as we pulled into the Opie parking lot. "What kind of a contest?" I asked warily. "We each chip in twenty bucks," Spike proposed confidently. "Then the first one of us who screws one of these Opies gets all the money." "I'm in," Don called out enthusiastically from the back seat. "How about you, O'Meara?" Spike pressed. "Guys, we're just here to help the girls move some heavy crap," I reminded them. "I don't think the actives will be very happy if we piss these girls off. Sam even warned us." "Jeez, O'Meara," Spike muttered. "You're such a pussy." "Then it's just you and me," Don said. Spike scowled at me. "Right. We'll let Pussy Boy here take care of moving crap for the girls, while we take care of the 'heavy lifting'." If it had just been Spike and me, I might have hauled off and let him have it. He had size on me, but I knew from football practice that I was considerable faster than he was. I bet to myself that I could lay him out before he knew what hit him. But it wasn't just Spike and me. It was the three of us, and we were there to help the girls and get right back to the TZX house. But there'd be another time, I thought darkly to myself, when it would be just Spike and me. "Hey, babe!" Spike threw out to the first girl he saw in the lobby of the Opie house. "Who's in charge around here?" The girl he was addressing was obviously pissed at being called a babe, but she held her emotions in well. She really was a babe, with her long blonde hair and flashing brown eyes. She folded her arms over her ample breasts, causing her Omicron Pi t-shirt to ride up just a little, leaving a small gap of skin between the shirt and her jean shorts. "You must be the guys from TZX." "That's right, babe," Spike confirmed with a smug grin. "Follow me and I'll take you to our chapter room." She turned without waiting to see if we were following and started toward the down staircase. As we followed our guide, Don, Spike and I were practically speechless watching the girls working throughout the house. They were mostly attired like our guide - t-shirts and shorts - and several of them had been working hard enough that they were sweaty with those same t-shirts damp and clinging tightly to their skin. It was sort of like watching something late at night on Cinemax. I could feel myself getting slightly hard and noticed that Spike and Don were walking a little funny, as if they too were getting hard. The fantasy was interrupted when we reached the chapter room. There three girls were busy repainting the walls. One of them turned and addressed out guide. "Are these the three, Felicia?" she asked. Our guide - Felicia - nodded. "Yeah." The girl gave us a long, hard look. She would have been attractive with her dark blonde hair and curvaceous body wrapped in spandex shorts and a sports bra, if her eyes hadn't betrayed her complete disdain for the three of us. I was surprised. Usually Spike had to open his mouth before people took a disliking to him, but apparently there was something about all three of us she just didn't like. I started to wonder if the campus rumor about the Opies being man-hating lesbians didn't have some credence. "Okay, get them moving those boxes upstairs down to the basement storage room," she ordered, addressing Felicia as if we weren't even there. "And make sure they're done by five. No men will be allowed upstairs after that." Good, that meant we'd be done in plenty of time for me to mosey over to College Town just off campus and scrounge up a date for the evening, I thought. The work wasn't too hard for three big guys like us. Mostly we just had to gather up empty suitcases and packing boxes the girls had finished with after moving in. I was surprised they hadn't just used their houseboy. All of the sororities had some guy from school on the payroll to take care of the heavy lifting. Having the three of us toting luggage and a few packing boxes was really overkill. Don and Spike were doing their best to make time with some of the girls, but for the most part they were getting blown off. Again I began to wonder about the girls' sexual orientation. To make matters tougher for the guys, we seemed to have "minders" - a girl assigned to each of us to see that we kept working instead of fooling around with the girls. My minder was apparently Felicia, but her job was a little easier than the jobs for the other two girls. I pretty much kept working without stopping to impress the girls. It wasn't that there weren't some very attractive girls in the Opie house, but I got the idea everyone had been warned to stay away from us from the minute we entered the house. Of course I did try to warm up my minder. Felicia was, frankly, probably the most attractive girl in the Omicron Pi house. Although as cold to us as the rest of the girls, she seemed to be looking at me a little curiously. It was time for the direct approach. "Is something wrong?" I asked her calmly when we were alone in the storage room where I had just stored two oversized suitcases. She was startled by my question. "No... uh, what makes you say that?" I leaned up against a stack of packing boxes. "I don't know. It's just that all of you girls have been looking at us as if we were something you found stuck to the bottom of your shoes. Is there something about us you don't like?" She looked toward the door to make sure no one overheard her. "I guess maybe you're okay," she allowed. "But those other two... they're animals." It was an apt description of Don and Spike - especially Spike. "So you think I may be human?" She shrugged. "Maybe. But maybe you're just a little smoother than they are," she added with a note of suspicion. "I like to think so," I laughed. "I'm Ryan O'Meara, by the way." I offered my hand but she didn't take it. "Felicia," she said at last. "Felicia Kennedy." I smiled. "Nice to meet you." She seemed about to say something, but we were suddenly interrupted by the girl who had given us our assignments. By keeping my ears open, I had learned that her name was Andrea something-or-other and she was the chapter president. She gave us a pointed look of disapproval, then said, "We're ready in the chapter room, Felicia." Felicia faced the other girl and began, "Andrea, I think we need to talk first..." Andrea looked at me as if I was the reason for Felicia's little rebellion. Maybe I was, I thought, because Felicia was looking pensively at me. "There's no time now, Felicia." "But - " "Everyone else is waiting," Andrea hissed. I of course had no idea what this was all about. If I had, I would probably have run out of the room and up the stairs to freedom as fast as I could. But I probably wouldn't have made it that far, in retrospect. There were probably guards at all the exits just in case we decided to bolt. None of us had even worked up a sweat, I noticed, as we were led into the chapter room. Still we flopped down on the couches placed around the sides of the room and gratefully accepted glasses of lemonade. Then about half a dozen girls grouped around Andrea just outside the door of the chapter room and began to whisper among themselves, taking occasional glances at the three of us sitting on the couch with our drinks. "Shame we didn't bring along something to put in the lemonade," Don groused in a low tone, taking another gulp. "Yeah!" Spike agreed, also barely above a whisper, so as not to be heard by the girls. "We could really party then. I think that babe who's president - what's her name? - oh yeah, Andrea. I think Andrea's hot for me. I think I'll see if she's free tonight." "I thought you had a date tonight with Misty Capshaw," I pointed out, taking a drink of my lemonade. It was pretty good, but a little tart for my taste. "Misty Capshaw!" Spike snorted. "She's a skank. I can blow her off tonight and she'll still be hot for me tomorrow - maybe hotter!" "Yeah," Don agreed, "but speaking of blowing, she gives fantastic blow jobs. That's what it's all about." "Yeah," Spike countered, "but her tits are too small." "Guys," I cautioned, nodding toward the girls who were hopefully not overhearing our conversation. "Maybe we ought to tone that down a little. Remember Sam told us not to piss these girls off, and talk like that could do just that." To be honest, I wasn't very comfortable with that kind of talk anyhow. I had been brought up to respect women, but these two guys acted as if women were there just for them to have something, crassly, to stick their dicks into. Of course I didn't come right out and say I was offended by their remarks; that would have labeled me as a real pussy. Besides I had been around football locker rooms for enough years to have heard it all before without getting too upset. But there was something about Spike and Don that was just, to put it mildly, over the top. "What could piss us off?" a voice came from the doorway. I turned to see Andrea and Felicia standing there, inside the room now. I wondered how long they had been standing there and hoped that they had only heard my remarks. Mine might have been of some concern, but Spike and Don's comments would have been damning. Of course leave it to Spike to fuck things up. "We were just talking about tits," Spike mouthed off, watching the girls for their reaction. To their credit, neither girl batted an eyelash. "And what about them?" Andrea asked calmly, but I could detect a coldness in her tone. "Well," Spike continued to get himself in deeper, "Don here thinks that skills are more important than size, if you know what I mean." The girls said nothing, but I could see that they got the idea. "But I think big tits are more important, don't you? After all, a girl with big tits can learn to do better blow jobs, but a great BJ artist can't just grow bigger tits, can she?" Sam was going to kill us, I thought bleakly, wishing I could just disappear rather than be associated with an idiot like Spike. Of course Don, with his stupid grin, wasn't acting very smart either. At least Don had the sense to keep his mouth shut - not that it was going to do him any good. To my surprise Andrea played along. "Oh yes, Spike, I agree. When it comes to breasts, the bigger the better, right?" Then she smiled a very predatory smile, completely unfazed by Spike's gross behavior. "Yeah...right," Spike returned slowly. At first I thought he was just speaking slowly because he was surprised at Andrea's answer, but then I noticed he was squeezing his eyes open and shut, as if trying to stay awake. Come to think of it, I realized I was a little tired myself. I tried to lift my hand to rub my own eyes, but it just didn't want to obey my commands. Slowly I turned my head just in time to see Don slide off the couch and lie still on the carpeted floor. "What's...wr...wr...wrong?" Spike stammered before he joined Don on the floor. "You...drugged...us..." I managed before I too fell to the floor. The last thing I heard before passing out completely was Andrea saying, "Get the rest of the council. They're ready..." I still shudder when my fragmented memories of the next few hours rise to the surface of my mind. Fortunately those memories rarely come now, and when they do, they are almost dreamlike, almost as if they were happening to someone else. The first incident I remember from that time, I was lying on... what? I couldn't feel the floor or anything else behind me, but I was lying in a prone position, my arms and legs stretched out away from my body. It was as if I was floating in the air, and perhaps I was. It was not really uncomfortable - at first. There were voices all around me, chanting something unintelligible. I tried to turn my head to see who it was, but there was little light in the room, and what there was cast a deep bluish glow which barely illuminated my surroundings. I could make out another human shape to my right, and although I couldn't turn my head back to the left, I heard a deep groan, as if there was another body lying prone there. Around us were several shapes walking about. I couldn't tell how many there were. It was as if they were dancing some graceful but arcane step which only they understood. They were gesturing with their hands in seemingly- meaningless patterns. Then their voices rose as one. I felt a shudder up and down my back -not unpleasant at first, but as their voices rose, the shivering sensation turned suddenly to pain. I heard screams from either side of me, but they were soon drowned out my own shrieks of pain. My backbone felt as if it were being compressed, and the feeling quickly spread all throughout my body. Not a nerve in my body seemed to be unaffected, and as my frightened screams reached an hysterical crescendo, I passed out. Even out cold, I was not completely relieved of the pain. My chest hurt, as if my upper torso was being pulled away from my ribcage, and I thought I felt my hipbones crack and push outward. Inside my guts were on fire, shooting shards of pain from my back to my groin. Even my hands and feet hurt, as if they were being compressed. I whimpered, although I'm not certain if it was just in my dream or real. I don't know how long all of this went on, but it seemed as if it would never stop. When I finally awoke again, I still felt pain, but not as intensely or as pervasively as before. The dull pain seemed centered on my chest and between my legs, where the worst of the pain had come from, while the rest of my body tingled as if the sensation of a limb being asleep had spread throughout my body. I groaned... no, it wasn't a groan; rather, it was a whimper, and it sounded somehow... wrong - higher in pitch perhaps. The chanting continued, but its tempo had changed. Before it had been intense and demanding, but now it was hypnotically slow and subdued. I tried to move, but it was if I had been immersed in glue. I shook my head from side to side, causing a tickling about my ears and around my forehead. I tried to take a deep breath, but it felt as if something heavy was resting on my chest. I fought to stay awake, but I couldn't keep my eyes open for more than a few moments, and when I did, all I could see was those damned dark shapes moving in the deep blue light, as if they were some sort of marine life drifting about in a dark, mysterious sea. My eyelids fluttered and began to close. The last thought I had before the darkness reclaimed me was: "Why are my eyelashes brushing against my eyelids?" I awoke once more disoriented and confused. I felt no pain at all this time, but what I did feel was almost as disturbing. I felt...wrong. I suspect that most people aren't exactly aware of their bodies. Particularly when they awaken from a stupor. However, if someone were to awaken and find, say, his arms missing, he would probably be aware of that on some level. That was what happened to me. No, I don't mean my arms were missing, but something certainly was. My legs were still spread apart, but earlier I had been very aware of my male equipment that hung between them. At first, before the pain started, the tug of gravity gently pulled my testicles downward, while my penis had hung limply over them. Then the intense pain had engulfed them, making them feel as if they were being burned away in a white-hot fire. Now though... Now there seemed to be nothing there at all. I tried to speak, to tell one of the chanting shapes in the bluish light that there was something terribly, terribly wrong, but I was unable to move my lips - or anything else for that matter. My muddled mind tried to calm me, to tell me that there was really nothing wrong, that my body was whole and I was just imagining things. Maybe the pain I had felt earlier between my legs had dulled my feeling there. Maybe it was like awakening to find my arm asleep, unfeeling, as if it had been removed during the night. Yes, that must be it, my mind insisted. There's nothing really wrong, I tried to assure myself in my stupor, as I floated back into a troubled sleep. I dreamed then. But the dreams were unlike any I had ever experienced in my life. I dreamed of my family, of growing up. The dreams were memories of my childhood, but they were memories subtly altered in ways I couldn't quite grasp. I remember seeing my grandparents, before they had died tragically in a car crash two years ago. In the dream my grandmother was smiling at me, and I could sense that we were sitting together on the big, comfortable couch in their home, right in front of the TV. I remembered doing just that many times in the years before their deaths. The strange thing though, was that my grandmother was talking to me about knitting. Why would she talk to me about knitting? As if to answer my question, I seemed to hear her say, "It calms the mind, dear, and organizes it. You'll see... here, try it..." The dream faded out, to be replaced by other fleeting images: playing with our old dog, Laddie, before he was put down, going on vacation with my parents to Disney World, elementary school, then junior high and high school. My old friends from school paraded past me in my mind, saying the oddest things that I couldn't quite comprehend. They were treating me... differently, but I couldn't put my finger on exactly how. I don't know how long I dreamed. It may have been only a few minutes or several hours. I might have continued dreaming - if it hadn't been for the scream. The sound was muffled, seeming to come from another room, but it was piercing - high in tone and frantic in inflexion. Even given the wall, it was loud enough to bring me up out of my deep sleep. In fact I sat up so quickly it took me just a moment to realize that something had swept about my shoulders and another something bounced uncomfortably up and down on my chest. Come to think of it, nothing felt right at all. "What the hell...?" I yelled as I looked down my chest at two incredibly large and perfect breasts. Reflexively I grabbed at them, assuming someone had played a practical joke on me by cementing two falsies to my chest. That forlorn hope faded quickly as I yanked on the breasts, pinching the nipples as I was rewarded with a sharp pain. "Ouch!" I hadn't noticed the first time I spoke, but this time I realized my voice was substantially higher. Like a... "Oh shit!" There was that high voice again, almost drowned out by another scream next door. I threw off the sheet that covered me and looked with shock and fear below the two perfect breasts at my crotch. The only hair I still seemed to have on my lower body was gathered at the junction of my legs. My stomach and legs were as hairless as a newborn baby. Even the pubic hair that remained was lighter in shade and appeared softer and trimmed into an even vee. Maybe it's just hiding, I tried to convince myself, but I knew better even before I dropped a slender hand into the thatch, finding only an unpretentious slit. My hand jerked back in panic, as if I had expected it to be trapped between the delicate folds of skin I had encountered. Instead of a protrusion that should be there, there was an entrance to my body - an entrance that led to... what? Were there fallopian tubes and ovaries crammed up there? Is that what had happened to my balls? Had they migrated inside and reformed into things only a woman should have? Was I a woman? This wasn't possible. Things like this just didn't happen. Sure, I had heard of sex change surgery, but it didn't take an expert on the subject to realize that no one had operated on me during the night, or even over several successive nights since I had no idea how long I had been asleep. There were no incision marks, no signs that any medical procedure had been performed on me, and the breasts I had yanked on moments before certainly seemed soft and natural with no telltale signs of implants. No, this was impossible, but that didn't mean it hadn't happened. So what exactly had happened? I asked myself as calmly as I could. Maybe this was just hypnosis; maybe someone had hypnotized me into thinking I was a girl. Was that possible? Could a top-notch hypnotist do such a thing? I thought of the stories of hypnotists who deluded unwary volunteers into scratching around the stage, flapping nonexistent wings as they buck-buck-bucked in a poor imitation of a chicken. Maybe that was what had happened. Maybe I was only imagining that I had long hair, breasts, and... and... Or maybe, I thought fearfully, I had always been a girl and had just dreamed I was a guy. I tried to imagine that I was really a girl and always had been, but that didn't seem right either. I remembered my male life very well, thank you, and I had no memories of being a girl - at least not yet. The screams next door had turned to sobs, and I could hear two voices - female voices - talking frantically back and forth. Hmmm, two frantic females. There had been three of us guys at the Opie house, and I distinctly remembered passing out in the chapter room. Spike and Don had been there, too, and I remembered them starting to pass out as well. It didn't take a team of detectives to come to the conclusion that what had happened to me had probably happened to them as well, and from the frightened screams and mournful sobbing next door, it didn't take much to figure out who was on the other side of that wall. There was a pink terrycloth robe lying on a nearby chair. Why did it have to be pink? I thought to myself. But it was the only clothing in sight. I managed to get up out of the bed I had found myself in and, with a little effort, found my balance. After all my body was configured very differently now with its wide hips, narrow waist, and substantial breasts. I slipped into the robe, muttering as I had to stop to get all my long hair out from under the collar. To make matters worse, I had longer fingernails as well, and they seemed to get snagged in the long tresses. Finally I gave up and opened the door to face the world as a girl. I looked both ways in the hallway before venturing out of the room. I suddenly realized I was staring out into the hallway of one the university's dormitories. I didn't know which one, but it had to be one of the girls' dorms. I ducked back into the room, half expecting coeds to start popping out of their rooms, laughing and pointing at the new girl. Eventually I realized I would probably have to be less concerned about anyone seeing me, but for the moment, I wanted to slip over to the next door room without being noticed. I quickly ran to the next door, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the strange feeling of my breasts bouncing and my hips swaying as I did so. The door was locked, so I rapped on it, trying to be noticed over the morose whimpering inside the room. I looked around to see if anyone else had heard the knocking and looked out to see where it was coming from, but the hallway remained deserted except for me. After a moment I heard a high, sweet voice call out nervously, "Who is it?" If the voice didn't belong to Spike or Don, I was going to have some explaining to do, but I was pretty sure they were the residents of the room. "It's Ryan!" I called back, suddenly taken aback by the sweet sound of my own voice. "R...Ryan?" The door cracked open. Peering out at me was someone out of a porn flick. She was blonde with a pair of breasts that would have stopped traffic if bared in public. Those spectacular breasts were partially hidden by a short pink robe that appeared to be several sizes too small and way too short to hide anything except the top of her legs. At least it sort of covered the more provocative attributes. Her hair was bottle blonde - so light that it was unlikely to have appeared in nature. As for the rest of her body, she was perfection itself - if your idea of perfection pole danced for a living. But the most unsettling thing about her was her eyes. They were dazzlingly blue, but the whites were red, and was that mascara running from the edges and down her cheeks? "Who are you?" I asked her. "Are you Spike or Don?" Her face turned brilliant red. "I... I'm Spike." "Are you going to let me in?" She said nothing, but the door slowly opened. Timidly she stepped back, so as not to be seen from the hallway. The room I entered looked like something out of a masculine nightmare. Everything in the room seemed to be either white, pink, frilly or some combination of them. Little furry white rugs were cast over the institutional gray carpet, and on the eggshell walls posters of sexy men were everywhere. Once Spike stepped back, I saw the other occupant of the room, sitting naked on one of the beds sobbing softly, her deep brown eyes glistening with tears. Her dark Latin skin and coal black hair were in deep contrast with the pink satin bedspread, but it didn't take much imagination to picture her spread out on the bed with her long dark hair fanned out behind her. She sat as modestly as she could, long smooth legs pushed tightly together to protect what had to lie between her thighs. "Don?" I asked, already knowing the answer. The Latino girl nodded, wiping away a tear with a feminine hand tipped with long fingernails that had been painted a deep red. "Ryan?" I nodded, wondering what I looked like after seeing these two voluptuous women who only a short time before had been my pledge brothers. Then I noticed a full-length mirror on the side wall. Well, I had to know what I had become sometime, I thought grimly and made my way to stand in front of the mirror. I had expected to find myself looking like a slightly different version of Spike or Don. The only thing I knew about myself already was that I was female and had a very large pair of breasts. Given that my skin was fair, I suspected I was probably a sexy redhead with sparkling green eyes and a permanent come-hither expression. I steeled myself as my eyes focused on the image in the mirror. What I saw wasn't quite what I expected. Oh, I was attractive enough, that was certain. But I was attractive in a more subtle way than my two pledge brothers. My hair was mostly brown, with auburn highlights that seemed to be natural rather than dyed. I had a cute, girl next door sort of face, sort of like Jewel Staite. My eyes were blue, framed by long lashes, and my figure, I saw as I opened the robe, was sexy and feminine, but not as exaggerated as either Spike's or Don's. To my relief, I reassessed my breasts and found them not quite as large as I had first expected. I guess when you look down for the first time and see breasts on your chest, they appear to be larger than they really are. Still I'd probably be a strong finisher in a wet t-shirt contest - not that I had any plans to enter one - but I doubted if I was endowed sufficiently to win. "Wh...what happened to us?" Don asked, and for the first time, I noticed he - she - had a faint Hispanic accent. "We're fucking girls!" Spike muttered, sitting down on her own frilly bedspread and pounding her tiny fists fruitlessly into the satiny material. "But how?" Don whimpered, tears starting to flow once again. The answer to her question was as obvious as it was outlandish. Still I was the one who said it. "Magic," I answered simply. Both girls looked at me as if I had just said something in Chinese. Finally Spike said, "What are you talking about? There's no such thing as magic." I motioned to my own body. "Then explain this. Explain what's happened to all of us." Spike frowned. "Well, there's surgery... you know, they can make a guy look like a girl." "Yeah," I agreed, "but that would take months to do, and we wouldn't look like this if we had been operated on. How tall were we? You and I, Spike, we were each about six-three. Don there was maybe six-four. Haven't you noticed we're a lot lower to the ground now? If I had to guess, there isn't a one of us who would top five-seven. And we were all pretty well-muscled. Where did all that weight go?" "But there's no such thing as magic," Spike repeated lamely, but the look she was giving her own substantial breasts said differently. "Yesterday I would have agreed with you," I said softly. "But not now." "What are we going to do?" Don wailed plaintively. "I'll tell you what we're gonna do," Spike told her. "Okay, so let's say it's magic. Those bitches over at the Opie house did this to us. That's the only explanation. We're going to go over there and demand that they turn us back." I had watched Spike on the football practice field. He had a penchant for charging into the strength of the opposition and pushing them back as far as he could. It was an admirable trait for a tackle like Spike, but his plan sounded futile and downright dangerous. Besides all of us had been large enough and strong enough to be intimidating to almost everyone we met. There was nothing intimidating about us now, and I had to make Spike realize it. "Wait, Spike," I cautioned. "If they're able to change us into girls so easily, we might be walking into something worse if we go barging into their house demanding to be changed back." "Worse?" Her exclamation was meant to sound menacing, but it came out as a feminine shriek. "What the hell could be worse than having tits and a cunt? Look at these!" She thrust out her chest, hands propping up each breast. "If you had melons like these, you'd be leading the charge on those bitches!" I pointed at my own breasts. "Oh yeah? And what do you call these?" Taken aback just a little, she said, "Yeah...but they're not as big as mine." She sounded almost as if she was pouting. Oddly there was even a thread of misplaced pride in her response. I guess given the type of girls Spike seemed to go after, her large breasts were something of a point of pride. I certainly didn't envy her endowments, though. "Then what should we do?" Don asked timidly. Okay, what should we do? I looked around, spotting a white purse on one of the desks. "I think they've changed more than just our appearance," I told them, thinking about how feminine the room was. "Let's see if there are any ID's in that purse. They may tell us how complete these changes are." "So you think they've set us up with girl lives and everything?" Spike asked, grabbing the purse. She pulled out a white women's wallet and rifled through the cards it contained. After a moment, she nodded. "You're right. Look at this." She handed me about a half dozen cards - driver's license, student ID, and some credit cards. All were made out to a Stacey Norris - female, eighteen, and a couple of them had Spike's new feminine visage imprinted on them. Don had found a black purse and produced a similar display, identifying her as Donna Maria Morton. "I must be adopted," she guessed. "I'm too... Latin to be my parents' daughter." I had to agree. With her dark coloring and noticeable accent, she looked nothing like the fair-skinned, light-haired guy I had known. "So who are you now?" Spike demanded. "I'll tell you later," I promised, realizing there was undoubtedly a purse waiting for me back in my room. "Right now we have to figure out what to do. I say we don't go over to the Opie house; that's too dangerous. But we can call that president of theirs - Andrea something- or-other - and try to negotiate with her before showing up on their doorstep. Maybe we can get her to listen to reason." Both of the other girls nodded slowly. I breathed a little sigh of relief. Maybe I could talk some sense into Andrea and convince her to change us back. At least I thought I could be more diplomatic about it than the other two new girls. Don - or Donna now - would probably get hysterical on the phone, and Spike would probably threaten her futilely. Neither result would be good. The "girls" followed me into my room so I could get my cell phone. Sure, I could have used one of theirs, but I think all of us just wanted to get out of that room and its lacy pink-ness. My room was feminine too, I suppose, but at least it didn't look like Reese Witherspoon's room in Legally Blonde. I had been in girls' rooms before which were far more feminine than mine had become. Waiting for someone to pick up the phone at the Opie house seemed like the longest wait of my life. There was no doubt in any of our minds that the Opies were behind all of this, and I don't think any of us had any illusions about how eager they would be to change us back. Still we had to try. I had decided to take my father's advice with Andrea. He had always told me that when a woman is mad at you, just say that you're sorry, even if you have no idea what you're apologizing for. I had planned to do exactly that. "Hi there," a sexy girl's voice answered, and I realized they must have caller ID and realized who was calling. I could almost imagine the girl's devilish grin. She knew exactly who I was and what had been done to me. That meant she also knew why I was calling, but she wasn't about to make it easy on me. She must have been waiting for my call. "Could you put Andrea on, please?" I asked nervously, trying to keep my already-feminine voice from going still higher. "Which Andrea would that be?" she asked innocently. I sighed, thankful once more that I had made the call instead of Spike or Don. I doubt if they would have been able to stay cool. As it was, it was damned hard for me. "I'd like to speak with your president," I rephrased. "That Andrea." "Just a moment," came the singsong reply. I was pretty sure Andrea was already there, probably giggling with the girl who had answered the phone. They were determined to make me sweat - and they were succeeding. Let's face it - if they decided to leave us like this, there wasn't a whole lot we could do - especially if, as I suspected, the new ID's were a foretaste of something even more all- encompassing. Unless I missed my guess, they had changed reality around us, and to the world, we were exactly who our new ID's declared us to be as far as anyone knew. Could I live my life as a girl if I had to? Yeah, I realized half the world did just fine being female, but I didn't know the first thing about being a girl. And I wasn't particularly anxious to learn, either. If there was any chance at all of changing back, I'd do just about anything to have it. Suddenly I was off hold, and a familiar voice greeted me. "Hello, Ryan. Or I guess it's Rebecca now." Well, at least I knew what name was on my IDs. "I think I'll call you Becky though, since that's the name everyone knows you by." Then I was right. When I saw the girls' ID's, I suspected that what had been done to us had somehow manifested itself in the world around us. Apparently, I was correct. "Look, Andrea," I began, trying to keep the anger I felt out of my tone, "whatever it is we did to offend you, we're sorry. What do we need to do to get our lives back to normal? Just say it and we'll do it." To my despair, she laughed. "But your lives are normal. You're all normal girls. Everyone knows that - your friends, your families..." "Please, Andrea," I begged. "There must be something we can do to make up for... for..." "For years of boorish behavior?" she shot back. "For all the things you did to wrong the young women in your lives? Well, you're doing all of that right now. All those girls you and your friends wronged have a new chance now, since they never met the crappy guys you once were. Reality's changed. None of the girls you used even remember the guys you used to be." What girls? What was she talking about? I couldn't speak for Spike or Don, but what had I done to deserve this? I had only had one steady girlfriend in my life, and she had moved away to Chicago just before our junior year. We had parted friends. "Andrea, can we at least come by and talk about this?" "Is that what you told your victims?" she growled. "Did you just tell them you wanted to 'talk about this' before you... you..." What the hell was she talking about? "Andrea..." "Listen to me, Becky..." There was pure hatred in her voice when she spoke my new name. "You and your friends are who you will be for the rest of your lives. Don't even think of coming by our house, or we'll think of something even worse for you." She didn't say what she meant by worse, but it still sent a chill up my spine. At least I had been right to not go barging into the lions' den - or rather the lionesses' den. "Just get used to what you are," she continued. "At least we've given you a chance - which is more than you three have given to other girls." With that she slammed down the phone. As I turned off my phone, Don - or I guessed now it would always be Donna - looked at me with false hope. "Well?" "She said no, didn't she?" Stacey asked. I nodded. "Well, I'm going over there and show that bitch what's what," she growled, starting for the door. I grabbed her arm. "Don't," I cautioned, and explained the gist of our short conversation. "Then... then we're stuck like this?" Donna whimpered, tears forming in her pretty brown eyes as she dropped down to sit on the edge of my bed. Stacey slowly sat next to her, saying nothing, but her face a portrait of hopelessness. I knew how she felt. Until Andrea had hung up on me, I had thought there was a small chance that we could say or do something to get her to change us back. And what did she mean by implying that we had all mistreated women in the past? I couldn't speak for my pledge brothers, but I could think of nothing I had ever done to deserve the punishment. The full impact of what had been done to me hit me just then. I was a girl. I had all the girl parts: Breasts, smooth legs, a vagina... And not just a vagina. Inside my body were ovaries, filled with eggs that would cause me to bleed on a monthly timetable. My God, I could even get pregnant. The thought of anything male being shoved into my slit seemed absolutely repulsive, and I was sure I would never allow it to happen voluntarily. But that didn't mean it couldn't happen without my consent. As a young athletic man, very few people could overpower me, but now, as a young woman, I would be vulnerable and would have to be on guard, or face potentially frightening consequences. I even got the idea that if something like that happened, Andrea would be just fine with it. I shuddered involuntarily. At last Stacey rose with a deep sigh and headed for the door. "Wh...where are you going?" Donna asked fearfully. "Back to our room," she murmured. "If I'm stuck like this, I want to find something a little more appropriate to wear. I can't take another minute of this... this pink!" "Wait for me!" Donna called, padding along behind her, her own skimpy robe flapping provocatively. Suddenly I was alone. I was actually a little relieved, to be honest. Stacey's bottled-up aggressiveness and Donna's whining were getting to me. I wanted some me time to try to come to grips with all of this, and I didn't want distracting company. The first step was to take a look in my own purse, a brown one with a shoulder strap, and find out everything I could about my new self. My full name, it turned out, was Rebecca Lynn O'Meara. Not a bad name as girl's names went, I reasoned. I could have been named Hortense or Esmeralda or something equally unappealing. I supposed I would take to calling myself Becky when it came down to it, since others remembered it as my nickname. I wasn't very tall - only about five-five, but I supposed that was not too far off an average height for a girl of my build. It was certainly a comedown, though - almost a full foot. Once more I couldn't help but think that the world appeared more menacing from my diminished height. There was a picture of me - the new me - with my parents. I remembered when the picture had been taken, right after my high school graduation, but I certainly didn't remember wearing a periwinkle dress and matching heels at the time. Since it was just a photo of me and my parents, I assumed I was still an only child. I felt sorry for my father at that moment. He had always seen me as a son who could follow in his footsteps - playing football, watching sports, and fathering a family. Now I was probably his "little princess" or something equally depressing. Instead of bonding with him by going to University of Nebraska football games, my parents probably remembered me bonding instead with my mother on shopping excursions to Westroads Mall. The IDs didn't tell me a whole lot more. About the only other factoid I derived from them was that my birthday was the same as before - I was still seventeen, turning eighteen a week from Monday. I methodically went through everything else I could find that might tell me anything about myself. There wasn't a lot to see, though. My class schedule still showed me in the same classes as before, so I was still listed as "undeclared" for a major. Of course all of the paperwork pertaining to football was gone. That also meant my athletic scholarship was gone as well. I hoped my parents didn't gulp when they saw the tuition bill. All my fraternity paperwork was gone too, naturally. I couldn't exactly pass the Theta Zeta Xi physical now - except for the honorary Theta Girl club, which meant I'd have to be pinned to a Theta. No chance of that, though. I would never be some guy's girlfriend. Or so I thought at the time. I wished I had never heard of the Thetas. If I hadn't pledged the house, I never would have been sent over to the Opie house on a work detail and none of this would have ever happened to me. Wait a minute; hold that thought. Our Pledge Trainer, Sam Dietrich, had sent me over to the Opies along with Spike and Don. He had called for the three of us specifically. It wasn't as if he had walked through the house looking over all of the pledges and picking three at random to send to the Opies. He had been in his room and called for the three of us specifically. Why? Did Sam know what was going to happen to us? He had warned us not to piss off any of the Opies. Did that mean he thought something even worse might be done to us if we did? If Angela wouldn't answer any of our questions, maybe Sam would. I picked up my phone and prepared to call Sam, but before I entered the last digit of the number, I clicked off. Angela had not been very forthcoming, and I had a hunch that if I called Sam, he wouldn't be either, probably denying that he knew anything at all. If I was going to confront him, it would have to be in person. Then he wouldn't be able to weasel out on me so easily. But that meant leaving my room and walking across campus to the Theta house - as a girl. I was not exactly enamored with that prospect. It took me ten minutes of intense pacing back and forth, looking out the window, and re-examining my new female body in the mirror before I came to the conclusion that as distasteful as displaying myself in public would be, I had no other choice. Besides the next day would mean the start of classes, and I would have to get used to being seen as a female by then. I vowed to dress as nondescriptly as I could. I had it all planned out - a bulky sweatshirt to hide my new breasts, loose jeans to keep my wiggling derriere from attracting attention, and sneakers with athletic socks for the long walk. I had it all planned out. I even dragged all the aforementioned items out and arranged them on the spare bed, since I didn't seem to have a roommate (thank God!). I dressed quickly, my mind thinking about how I was going to approach Sam. But I made a few course corrections in my outfit along the way, as each of the planned items proved to be bad choices for my mission. So I supposed there was a method to my madness as I dressed, but somehow, I didn't realize exactly what the effect would be until I had finished and turned to see the results in the mirror. Then I gasped at my image, almost as alarmed as I had been to see myself as a female to begin with. I was dressed in what I would later learn was known by the awkward name of a crochet-trim sweater top with a scoop neck. It was white and showed off everything from my neck down to the beginning of my cleavage, the little dusting of freckles I had been given drawing the eye to my new breasts. I was also wearing a denim skirt that seemed scandalously short, and for the first time I realized that while my breasts were very watchable, it would be my legs that attracted the most attention, especially when I was wearing the denim slide sandals that so closely matched my skirt and raised my heels up to display my smooth, hairless legs to their greatest advantage. I was even wearing earrings and bracelets - all in thin gold circles, and my long, silky hair had been pulled back into a ponytail which, as the old song went, swayed with a wiggle when I walked. Oh Jesus, I was a babe! But how had I gotten dressed like this? It took me a few minutes to piece my thoughts together, but I finally had the answers. First of all, when I had donned the sweatshirt, it felt scratchy and uncomfortable. Of course being new to all of this girl stuff, I had thought that I could get by without the embarrassment of wearing a bra. Silly me. The sweatshirt was especially uncomfortable on my nipples, and I realized for the first time how truly sensitive a woman's nipples could be. No wonder even the flat-chested ones wore bras most of the time. So I peeled off the sweatshirt and stared into the mirror at my newly- acquired breasts. They were large, but not as large as Stacey's or Donna's - for which I was very grateful. Then I thought to myself that those unwanted breasts could actually work to my advantage. Unless Sam was in the public areas of the fraternity, someone would have to go find him. Which was he more likely to come down to see - a ratty girl in jeans and a sweatshirt, who looked vaguely dyke, or a chick looking her feminine best? Besides, if Sam had had anything to do with our transformations, he would never expect me to give in to my feminine side so quickly. Rather than avoiding me, he'd be curious about the looker who was looking for him. Maybe that was nothing but rationalization, and maybe it was good reasoning; I'll never be certain - but Rebecca Lynn was about to make her appearance either way. Besides, getting dressed as a girl wasn't too difficult, once I realized that my arms and hands were flexible enough to fasten a bra properly. It took me only a few minutes to select the right outfit - suitably sexy without being slutty. The top and denim skirt had a simple "country girl" look - especially with the slide sandals. I had thought about pantyhose, but decided this outfit looked better with bare legs - especially since my bare legs were pretty nice, even if I do say so myself. Even selecting the right accessories didn't seem too difficult. I was beginning to wonder smugly why girls seemed to have so much trouble deciding what to wear. But the makeup was another matter - until I realized I had been transformed with something that could best be called body memory. Remembering how fastening the bra and selecting the right outfit had all seemed strangely natural, I willed myself to apply the makeup in the same way - with determination and confidence in my ability to manage. The results were mixed. It wasn't that I did a bad job; it was just that it was very disconcerting to see how good the results look, and how feminine I now appeared. My deft handiwork had created the look of sweet innocence. I knew what I had applied and where, but the results appeared very natural and competent. I knew I was wearing eyeliner, eye shadow, and lipstick, but only another (another?) woman would realize how much and where. To any male, I would appear to be a natural beauty, not needing much in the way of cosmetics to accentuate my features. Whatever had been done to me to give me such skills was downright scary. Unfortunately the body memory didn't seem to extend to any other memories. I still remembered growing up as Ryan. I was intellectually still as male as I had been before the Opies had changed me. I suspected that this was all a part of their plan. After all they wanted me to act like a girl - hence the body memory - but to be embarrassed about it. They wanted the three of us to be men trapped in women's bodies. Unfortunately I thought to myself as I looked at myself in the mirror, they had succeeded. I tapped on Stacey and Donna's door to see if they wanted to go with me. Frankly I hoped they didn't. I hadn't particularly liked either Spike or Don as guys, and I had a sneaky hunch I wasn't going to like them as girls, either. Spike - or rather Stacey now, I reminded myself - was still too impulsive, and Donna was a nervous wreck. Besides I thought I'd get further with Sam if I saw him alone. Luckily there was no response to my knock. Apparently they too had decided to venture out in their new bodies. I hoped they too hadn't decided to go to our fraternity house, but somehow I doubted if either would have thought of it just yet. So with no little relief, I started out for the house on my own. I hadn't walked a quarter of the distance across campus to the TZX house though, when I began to regret going alone and dressed so sexily. With my purse slung over my shoulder, the sway in my walk seemed even more pronounced, probably because I was a little off balance and wearing a heel. I did fine when I didn't think about it - body memory again - but faltered a little when I gave conscious thought to the fact that I was prancing across campus in high heels. That sway seemed to be attracting a lot of male eyes, and there was nothing subtle about the fantasies percolating behind those eyes: they wanted me for lunch. Maybe it would have been better to have Stacey and Donna with me, I realized. All girls seemed to feel "in numbers there is strength." Only the bravest of guys would try to cut a girl out of the pack. And after all, both of the other new girls had bigger chests than I did, and similarly dressed, I would have been the ugly duckling of the three. But who was I fooling? I sighed to myself. Yeah, Stacey and Donna might have looked more enticing than I did, but I still looked damned good. The st