Bad Boy free porn video

Bad Boy by Vickie Tern i. I'd been listening patiently forever, it seemed like forever, as my Mom laid out the proposal with my Dad mostly listening but occasionally interjecting things like, "Well, what did you expect?" and "You brought it on yourself!" and sometimes angrily, "Don't interrupt your mother, just listen, young man!" Finally she stopped talking, and we all three sat silent for a while. I finally found my breath. I was furious, beside myself, but this wasn't the best time to show it, so I just shouted out in an injured voice, "Mom! How could you think I'd ever agree to that? No way! Noooo way! I won't do it!" The two of them glanced at each other. Mom let out a long sigh, then wearily looked down at the kitchen table, studying the sugar bowl. Dad sat silent, glaring unhappily into the middle distance. Neither of them was willing to look me in the eye. My God, I suddenly realized, this was not like the other times. This one was real bad! A long pause. "Can you think of any alternative, Sam?" my Dad asked me quietly, sadly. "Yes, the alternative is I just don't do it! I don't care! No way! And that's final!" Flat and final refusals had sometimes worked in the past. My folks loved me, and they hated to see me unhappy, and I suppose you could say I was pretty spoiled Especially after my older sister Beth went away to college and then got married and moved downstate, and I was the only kid still living at home. All through my teens I'd say 'No!' firmly whenever I felt like it and they'd quit insisting, usually. They'd leave me home Sundays when they wanted to visit Aunt Julia and I wanted to watch football or just hang out. And if I was grounded or I'd earned myself a curfew, but protested vigorously enough, they'd always relent. Not this time. Dad turned to Mom and said quietly, with deep sadness, as if I weren't even in the room, as if he was trying to write me off, distance himself to save himself anguish, "OK then. He takes the consequences. He doesn't go to college this fall. He goes to jail, and that's the least of it. For five years they told me. We tried. Let him ruin his life and ours. Maybe it's already ruined. Do you want to call and tell her it's no go, or should I?" "This isn't something for the phone," Mom replied. "I'd better just go next door and talk to her. I'll tell her we're sorry, we tried, but she'll just have to do what she feels she has to do." There were tears in her eyes. She looked around for her purse and prepared to stand up. "Maybe she'll ...." "No," Dad said. "She won't." "I guess not," Mom said. "I wouldn't." Another long pause. Mom stood up and went over to the counter where she'd stowed her purse, and opened it, and took out a tissue to dab her eyes, and took a deep breath. "Sam!" Dad said suddenly, sternly. He'd seen how Mom was unable to hold back her tears. He turned to face me for one last try. I tried to grin, but his face was granite. Jeez, scary! Maybe this really was serious? I listened. There was an edge of grief in his voice I'd never heard before. "Sam, you still don't understand! You're old enough to be a man but you're still pulling these childish stunts on us. You still think that bullshit of yours applies, hang tough and it'll all go away." My God, he knows how I always act when he makes demands on me? And yet he gives in? "Well, this won't go away. If your mother walks out that door the police will be here inside of fifteen minutes, and you'll be taken away in handcuffs, and that will be that. Your life will change from then on. It's a mandatory five year sentence, Sam! Minimum! What was about to be your college years will be instead your years in the State Penitentiary. That's where soft ripe boys like you very quickly find out how Jennifer felt when you forced her to have sex with you. When you and Charlie forced her. It isn't called 'rape' there, it's called 'bitching.' Or more commonly, 'fucking'!" "Dad," I said, as ingratiatingly as I could, realizing that this was the first time I'd ever heard him use that word, "Calm down! This isn't that big a deal! She was asking for it! She wanted it, same as all the others! All this past year girls have been after me to do it with them so they can tell their friends 'I made it with the Captain of the football team,' or 'I made it with the cutest boy in the class!' I know it! I've heard them talk about me the next day! I can't help it if I'm popular!" I grinned. For once, my charm failed me. Dad's face turned black! "Sam," he said in the lowest growl I've ever heard from his throat. "You may think this is funny, but it's not funny! It's tragic! It's killing me and your mother both, and it may well kill you literally. I mean, prison is a cruel place. In prison, if you can't play your boyfriends off against each other, they'll kill you to save face so no one else can have you. To save what they call 'cred'. Then you're dead. I don't care what you thought you were doing, or what she thought she was doing, or what you know Jennifer's done in the past. It was rape, clear and unmistakable, and you will be convicted of rape, so cut the crap! That's what it was! You and Charlie raped your own neighbor's daughter! Your own classmate!" "No way, Dad!" In my class, half the girls had already put out even before they were sixteen, way before they got to the age where their parents couldn't claim it was statutory rape any longer. Fathers now and then tried to bring the charge anyhow, to avenge themselves because their dearest darling daughters had become sexually active. But even their own lawyers laughed in their faces. I mean, I'd heard that Jennifer took on the whole soccer team the year she made cheerleader, when she was only fourteen. That's what they claimed. By now, I figured, what with all those comings and goings in and out of her, and all those since then, her cunt was probably like a downtown parking lot. That's why this was bullshit! "It's her word against Charlie's and mine," I said firmly, in an 'I rest my case' tone of voice. "Two against one!" Now Dad got towering mad! I was shocked, I'd never seen him like this! "You asshole! Now you're a lawyer? Well, I'm the lawyer in this family, and I tell you right now that if this goes to court you don't have a chance. You are dead meat! You will go to jail where your ass is Bubba's to use or to swap with some other Bubba! The whole thing's on their home security tape! Voices and all! Her voice saying 'No!' over and over, and she sounds frightened! And her sobbing afterward? Heartbreaking! I've seen that tape! I've heard it! I've spared your mother the sight of it, but no defense lawyer would ever want to allow that tape to be played to a jury. It would put you away for life! But it's admissible, obviously, so no defense lawyer would ever be able to suppress it. Asshole!" I'd never heard him like this. Jeez, he sounded scared as well as furious. Mom was waiting by the door, a little astonished herself by his vehemence. I just stared. "She even has your semen sampled and registered and witnessed, you stupid shit! Yours and Charlie's all mixed together! God! My own son, forcing himself on a helpless girl! A neighbor's daughter! And not just any neighbor, a woman doctor neighbor. Not just any doctor, a forensic pathologist who knows all about how to gather the evidence and what to tell the D.A.! A woman who deals with scum like you all the time! Her own daughter! Can you imagine? How did I spawn anyone as stupid as you?" He was right, I guess. It was beginning to get through to me. I had been a stupid shit. I don't know why I'd insisted on ... doing it with Jennifer. Maybe to prove to my pal Charlie that all the girls really do want me and even though I hadn't even tried this one yet, she was no exception. I'd been batting a thousand all year. Home runs every time! And there was this one was sunbathing in her bikini in her back yard and we saw her and we'd gone over to chat and we'd asked her to show us something she had in her bedroom and .... well, the rest of it just followed. Same as it always did. But now for the first time I began to feel a little scared. All of a sudden my bravado collapsed. "I thought she wanted to do it," I said weakly. "No you didn't," was all my Dad said. "You knew she didn't want to do it. She told her mother she was terrified and mortified and felt violated, and her mother's still outraged, simply furious. So you say 'No deal'? All right then. Tonight you sleep in the county jail, and your life takes a very different turn?" That wasn't acceptable. I knew that now. "If I do what you say, this thing Jennifer's mother says, my life takes a very different turn anyhow," I said morosely. Mom heard me. She set her purse back down on the counter and just stood there silently. "Yes, it does," my Dad said. "It will. But it might be quite pleasant, some of it anyhow. It'll be a lot better than jail. And you'll still be able to live here this summer. And go to college in the Fall. We can still be a family." His voice broke as he repeated the word. "A family." "Please," I heard my Mom whisper under her breath, as if reciting a prayer. "Please, Sam!" They were right. I'd been a stupid shit and they loved me and I owed them. Above all I owed Jennifer and her family. After what I'd done I suppose I ought to make amends. Give them what they wanted. I suppose I should call myself lucky they were offering me an alternative to jail. "OK," I said. "What do I have to do exactly? You say you'll help me? How do I do it?" They both stared at me, unable to believe their ears. And at that moment the phone rang. Dad lifted his eyes to Mom, standing by it, and she answered it. "Yes," I heard her say. "Sam too, just now. Finally." She paused. "Bertha, I'm so relieved! Yes, at least we'll still have them home, and they can still see each other, that's a blessing." As she hung up she said simply , "Charlie's mother. He agreed right off. He's already ... wherever Dr. Taylor sent him, and his mother says he'll be back home again in only a day or so. Away hardly any time at all! Thank God!" And she sat down and buried her face in her arms and began to cry. I never felt so terrible in my whole life. For a while we all three just sat there, my Mom's shoulders shaking, an occasional wail stifled by her arms. "What do you have to do, you ask?" Dad said finally, resuming our conversation. "Well, that's more your mother's department than mine. She'll have to tell you." We waited some more. Mom gradually got control over herself and sat back, and took a few deep breaths. "Sam," she said. "Honey, really, it won't be that bad. It can be a lot of fun in fact, if you just look at it the right way." "What way is that?" I asked. "Look at what?" I was feeling dragooned, and I wasn't happy about it. It wasn't fair, really. Five minutes of my ... imposing myself on Jennifer paid for by giving up a whole summer? Still, as Dad pointed out, giving up a summer's better than giving up five years. Or more. I drew in a deep breath, and in a mild voice I told them that. That what they were proposing now sounded reasonable. I thought they'd be pleased to hear I was reconciled to it. Mom looked worried. "Maybe you don't understand, Sam," she said. "It isn't just the summer you'll be giving up." "Let's not worry about that right now," Dad broke in abruptly. "One thing at a time, I think. One day at a time. Shouldn't we be calling Jennifer's mother now and telling her that you're willing to cooperate? That you want to do everything you can to set things right?" "Sam has to do that," Mom said. "She said that she'll need to hear his voice when he says it. It isn't too late to call now, do you think?" "No," Dad said. "It's only 7:00 pm. She said any time before 9:00 pm. After that she calls the cops." "Well, Sam, call her. Talk to her," Mom said. "Just remember, this isn't a punishment. Call it a kind of therapy. For Jennifer. Your job is to restore her self-confidence, her self-respect. Her feeling of control over her own life. You took those things away, and now you need to give them back. Think of it that way." "By being her friend, doing everything she wants me to do all summer long, satisfying her least little whim?" I asked a little resentfully, trying to wrap my mind around the idea. "By being her servant in effect?" "By being helpful to her," Mom corrected me. "By being agreeable. Yes, by being her friend." Mom's eyes were looking into mine insistently. I couldn't look away. "Don't avoid the issue. If she wants, by being her personal maid and waiting on her hand and foot, that's true, but I don't think she wants that. She wants you to be her companion. Like a girlfriend. As near as you can get to that. That's the main reason for this. And that's not negotiable." "Why not negotiable?" I asked. I suppose I still had a shred of hope that maybe I could talk myself out of the most humiliating part of this job. Pretending I'm a girl. All summer! "I've told you and I've told you, Sam," Mom said wearily. "Right now any male her own age is a threat to her. That's what her mother says. It often happens that way. She needs to feel reassured that boys aren't threatening, that they can even be nice. She knows you're a boy and that you've done more than threaten her, you've forced yourself on her. She needs to know now that you're no more of a threat to her than any girl would be. That you're willing to be a girl. So she and her mother can still live here as neighbors and yet not be constantly reminded or threatened." "Stupid kid," Dad muttered to himself. "To a neighbor he's known half his life yet!" Mom paid no attention. "Jennifer also needs to act out her resentments. Seeing you humiliated by being feminized is one way, and the least painful way for you of many available to her, Sam. Keep that in mind. She needs to feel comfortable with you, so all her apprehensions and feelings of helplessness can dissipate. If you can become genuine friends, sharing everything, enjoying each other's company, telling each other your little secrets, being girls together, she'll lose her fear of you. She'll learn to trust you. Girls like to trust each other." "And frankly," Dad then added, "Dr. Taylor wants to be quite sure that you know how it feels, what it's like to be a girl who's subject to the will of any boy who fancies himself irresistible, just because he's stronger. She's quite firm about that. She means to see to it! I don't know how, because you are a boy after all, and you're relatively strong compared with most girls. Luckily, your adolescence began late, so there aren't many physical differences yet." "All right," I said, dispirited. "I'll try. Like you say, Charlie'll be going through the same thing, so I won't feel like a complete fool." "I don't know what Dr. Taylor has in mind for Charlie," Dad said, looking away. "We only talked about you. Something else, I have the impression. You better get on the phone with her now. Be apologetic. Sound genuinely sorry. Be sorry. But don't expect her sympathy, you won't get it." Dad was right. She listened to me tell her that I agreed to do everything she or Jennifer asked me to do, everything, no matter what, respectfully and without hesitation, the whole summer long. The full three months. She heard me say I was sorry, and that I wanted to do everything I could do to make it up. "Don't expect a medal," her voice replied coldly. "Just be here at eight tomorrow morning properly dressed for the day. Be sure to call me 'Ma'am' and 'Dr. Taylor" always, and Jenn 'Miss Jennifer' if that's what she wants. Plan to go home after the dinner dishes are cleared unless we have some further use for you. Goodbye!" The hone went dead. "She wants me properly dressed," I told my mother after hanging it up. "That's no problem," Mom said. "We still have lots of your sister's clothes, all her high school things and a lot of her later bangles and dresses and things she didn't think were appropriate after she got married and was no longer -- as she'd say -- 'on the prowl.' We have her sportswear and her dating clothes, even some outfits I refused to allow her to wear, you know the kind. She kept everything. They'll fit you, and some of them are really lovely. You might even enjoy wearing them. Though we'd better see that your hairdo is cut and set tonight, so it'll look nice tomorrow. You'll be too busy to fuss with it I suspect." "If you don't mind," my Dad said. "I don't want to hear any more of this girl talk. I'll leave you two now." He looked at me. "I'm glad you've decided to stay with us, son." He paused. "I guess I should say 'daughter.' Whatever. We both need to get used to a new you. This is your life now." "For the next three months," I said, trying to sound breezy. He didn't say anything. Just disappeared into the living room with his newspaper. Mom just stared at me a little, weighing something. She was now more preoccupied than sorrowful. Suddenly she stirred. "Go to your to your room now and wait for me ... Samantha," she said. "That's got to be your name now, 'Samantha,' so you won't forget for a single moment that's who you are. Sam no longer lives here. And when I say 'your room' I mean your sister Beth's old room. That's where she left all her dolls and dresses and stuffed toys, and they're all yours now. You'd better learn to love them the way she did, because they're now as much a part of your life as they were hers. Your old room is absolutely off limits! You will not enter it again, starting right now! This minute! You hear me?" "But all my clothes ...." I started to object. Then I stopped in my tracks. "You're suddenly beginning to catch on, aren't you?" my mother said, a spiteful as well as regretful tone in her voice. Beth's room was all pink and cream and frilly, mirrors everywhere and Mick Jagger and Leonardo deCaprio posters and so on where there weren't mirrors. A girl's room. Since she'd gone off to college it'd been left pretty much as she abandoned it. Neat. Supernaturally tidy. Unlike my room, with its sports stuff and game controllers and last week's clothes piled on every chair and half the bed and every inch of the floor and all on top of each other. "Why can't you be like your sister?" my mother would cry out exasperated whenever she entered my pad to try to clean anything, or find something. "This place is a pigsty!" It wasn't, though there were half-eaten sandwiches and soiled dishes spilling here and there. Her cry usually meant she'd given up on me. So I never paid it any attention. Now I'd better. I have to be like my sister, I was thinking. Well, not exactly like her -- I could be my own version. We'll see. I began feeling a little better. Off limits or not, I decided to stop off in my own room and pick up at least my Wiii to use as minimal survival gear anyhow. I could get through this with a few decent computer games to distract me. But as usual Mom was ahead of me. "Go directly to Beth's room," she said sternly. "Don't stop in Sam's old room for anything. Not clothes, not his computer games, not even his cell phone. There's nothing there you'll need for the foreseeable future." She paused. "You aren't Sam any more, you're Samantha," she said sternly. Then, "What's your name now?" "Samantha," I said gently, trying to humor her. "That's right. Where's Sam?" "Gone away," I said, hoping that was the right answer. She may not have heard. She was looking at me critically, speculatively, appraisingly, absorbed, exactly the way she'd look at herself in the mirror just before heading out somewhere fancy with Dad. "I'm going to see if I can get Holly over here tonight yet," she said half to herself. "Maybe she'll be willing to do your hair and maybe help you look a little more appropriate, even though here and not at her salon. She's better at that kind of thing. If we can get you well-squared away with all this right away, then Dr. Taylor will know that you're serious when she sees you tomorrow and maybe she won't feel quite so vindictive. More important, you'll know that this is serious, that this is a real commitment. So you'll feel better about it too when you go next door and begin your new life. If you can start out looking like a real girl, everyone will treat you like one, and it'll be easier to live like one and become one." As I went upstairs I heard her talking to Holly on the phone. "Everything!" she was saying. "A total wipe-out. He has to begin again, be someone altogether new. She has to, I mean. The less she remembers about what she once was, how she looked, the better!" A long pause. "That's right! No more of that Goth dark hair hanging straight down. Something very different. I was thinking blonde and curly and sort of sprightly. Yes, that would be adorable given the shape of his ... of her face. I do want Samantha looking cute and bright, right from the beginning. Beth was also blonde, so her clothes and make-up will match up with no problem, and we can fill in the more recent styles gradually. And of course tight curls are a lot easier to care for." Her voice paused. "That's right, 'Samantha.'. Oh, Holly, I don't know what to think, it's too soon. Within a half hour? Wonderful, you're an angel, I'll see to it she's ready." Was that a sigh or a sob? Mom hung up, and I moved on. Weird. Passing my old room, I again considered zipping into it and snagging my Wiii despite everything, but then decided against it. Things were difficult enough right now. Certainly for my mother. I went into Beth's room and sat down on the edge of Beth's bed. And just stared at all the tubes and boxes and pads and pots and bottles, all the stuff still laid out on her "vanity" as she called it -- her creams and ointments for maintaining her body and her face. Though she hadn't lived here for years she'd insisted on leaving it just the way she'd left it, so whenever she came to visit she'd feel right at home. Mom came in a moment later and went directly to Beth's closet and bureau and began taking things out and looking things over and nodding. "Holly's coming over right away to design your hairdo and show you how to fix your face," she said. "She also suggested a few things. Strip down so we can get you dressed appropriately." "I'm wearing jeans and a T-shirt," I said. "How's that not appropriate?" She just looked at me. "Sam ... Samantha, this is hard enough without you making more trouble. It'll help if Holly can imagine she's working on a girl when she does your hair and your face. That way she'll be more likely to come up with something pretty. You're thin and your features are regular and not too large -- I think you'll look quite nice, done right! As adorable as Beth when she was your age. So no more back talk! Strip down and then put these on!" She handed me some frilly pink panties and a pink frilly bra, and tossed a skirt and blouse down on the bed beside me. "A bra?" I looked at it and made a face. "I have to wear this? What for?" Now Mom looked grim. Grim enough to scare me! "I'll give you what for! From now to the end of the summer you will not leave this room without wearing a bra, young man! It isn't decent for any girl your age and you will NOT!" She heard what she'd just called me and it broke her irritation. She actually grinned at herself! "I mean, young lady! This was your choice! You chose it. You're a girl now! A girl is what you are, so you will behave the way all girls behave! Am I understood? Young lady?" I nodded. There was nothing to say. "Call me if you need help putting anything on!" She started to leave. Suddenly she turned back and came toward me and grasped me by the shoulders and looked me earnestly in the eyes. "Sam...Samantha honey, this is not easy for any of us and it's hardest of all for you, I'm sure, but it's done, settled, and it's way better than the alternative, so stop giving us both a hard time. Go with it! Be glad you have the option. You're a girl and that's that! When I got my first bra and when Beth got hers, we were both of us overjoyed! It meant we were becoming women at last! Well, so are you. You're becoming a woman, and this bra is especially pretty, and as you can see it matches your panties and that gives a girl a special feeling of being ... complete. So wear them both proudly! Feel as feminine as they look. I'll see you downstairs in fifteen minutes, girl!" And she turned quickly and left. Sheesh! I said to myself. 'Girl!' she calls me. But then, what else should she call me? What else had I agreed to become? I was stuck. A girl for the summer. That's what I was. ii. So I slipped out of my clothes and into the panties and figured out how to deal with the bra -- clip the band first, then twist it around and slip the straps up onto my shoulders. And tighten them with that slide they put on them. Easy. The cups lay flat, folded across my chest. OK, no matter. It was a denim skirt, pale blue and buttoned in front with brass 'Levi's' buttons, not too girly, except that it was a skirt. But the blouse was bright blue and silky and had a small lacy collar, and lots of space in front for where girls usually bulge. I slipped it on and buttoned its tens of thousands of teeny little buttons and felt silly. Mom had laid out sandals for me, I saw, but no socks. So I flip-flopped my way downstairs feeling a little foolish, the hem of the skirt brushing unfamiliarly against my calves. Holly had arrived, I saw, this friend of my mother's who ran a beauty salon. She was in the dining room with Mom, laying out on our dining room table all sorts of hair rollers and bottles and girl things from a huge backpack she'd brought with her. "Ahh, there you are!" said Holly, looking at me, her eyes inexpressive. Then after a moment she added merely, "Sit down here." I did. "You'd better understand that I have no sympathy for you, Samantha," she said right off, as she grasped my long black hair and lifted it off the nape of my neck and tugged it here and there, inspecting it speculatively. "Boys who rape girls get no sympathy from me, even if they're the sons of my best friend. Especially if that's who they are, because I know they've been properly raised but even so they've made my best friend miserable." I looked straight ahead and let her talk -- I figured she had to get it out of her system. She was right, what she said, and I didn't feel good about it. "And I don't think being a girl is punishment. I think it's a blessing most boys won't ever understand and don't deserve!" She was tucking a towel into my neckline to keep hair and goop off my blouse, I suppose. 'My' neckline I noticed I was calling it. And 'my' blouse. This playing at being a girl was catching! "So, Samantha, I'll just have to think of you as a girl, someone who always was and always will be a girl, and go from there. Does that work for you?" "Yes, ma'am," I said. What else could I say? "You should do the same thing. Realize that you're a girl. Have you had your first period yet?" She asked me that weird question as she led me into the kitchen the first of what turned out to be three different times, this first time just to wash my hair and get started. "No, not yet," I said, going along with the gag. She seemed shocked. "At your age?" she said. "I'd think it could happen any time now. You're very late, you know. And it would stain that skirt -- that's a very pretty blouse, incidentally, I love the collar. My first period was also delayed, and then it came on very suddenly and in gushes! I was in school at the time, in class, and I had to rush to the little girls' room to clean up and get a pad. It was so embarrassing! Ruined a perfectly beautiful plaid skirt, too. So be prepared! You should be carrying tampons, Samantha. Are you?" "No," I said, beginning to wonder what she was raving about. "Has your mother shown you how to use them? Maybe also sanitary napkins for your days of heaviest flow?" she asked. Her voice was kind, but with a strange edge to it. "No, ma'am," I replied. Instead of replying to me she turned to my Mom, standing at the other end of the dining room and watching the whole procedure, prepared to snuff out any rebellious gestures on my part before they could bother Holly. "Claire," she said to my Mom. "What do you say? Shouldn't we show Samantha how we deal with our monthlies? Isn't it time she joined the sisterhood?" She was by now rinsing my hair off with the sprayer on the kitchen sink, and applying some kind of thick cream to it in small batches, rubbing it in with her fingertips. "I suppose it is," my Mom replied, a little puzzled but hesitating to ask Holly what she meant. "Then why don't you bring me one of your tampons," she said. "While Samantha's still standing and bending over the sink and this lotion is doing its work is the ideal moment, I think, for her to learn that we aren't made entirely of sugar and spice. It's way past time she became one of us." Mom saw what she meant and nodded, though I didn't, and turned to go to her room for one. I'd seen them, I knew what they were. Beth used to leave boxes of tampons all over the house, I supposed to advertise that she was now all grown up. Mom would bawl her out for it -- it wasn't ladylike. Only when one of her friends told her it wasn't cool was when the boxes finally disappeared. "And some vaginal cream too," Holly shouted after my Mom. "For lubricant! We don't want to hurt her the first time around. It should be pleasant for her. Fulfill her, in a way!" She grinned at me, inviting me share her pleasure in her pun. I didn't. "Vaginal cream? I have something for yeast infections," my mother called back. "But that won't do. And I have Premarin cream. Do you think ...?" "Premarin's perfect!" Holly replied. "It's poetic justice, in a way. He lubricated Jennifer with the testosterone in his sperm, so we'll lubricate him with the estrogen in his vaginal cream. When the tampon's in place it'll absorb fairly quickly, maybe begin doing wonders for her complexion! Be sure Dr. Taylor knows when she begins her own hormone treatment. We won't want to overdose the poor girl right off." I didn't like the sound of any of this. But Mom didn't seem worried, and I knew she meant me no harm, so I just waited, bent over the sink with my eyes shut while Holly did stuff to my hair. "You're wearing very pretty panties, Samantha," Holly's voice declared just over my shoulder, as I felt her pulling them down. I guess the skirt was so short anyone could get their hands up there. But what was she up to now? "Now just stick your tush way out for me." I did. "Relax!" I didn't know what she meant. But suddenly I felt pressure on my anus. Then something slippery sliding into it. "Oh!" I said in a high pitched voice. Was she was goosing me? Then something sliding out. And something like a turd still in there. "There! Now you're a woman, Samantha," Holly said. "Wasn't that easy?" She sounded faintly triumphant. "I suggest you change these a few times a day for the next few days, and use this tube of cream to ease the way each time. By the time your period ends you'll be used to it and well on your way, whatever Dr. Taylor is planning for you! Your mother will show you how. All girls have this problem. Solving it becomes second nature. Now sit back in that chair in the dining room, and we'll get started." I walked ... no, waddled back. It felt like a waddle, but it must have been a twisting sway of some kind, because behind me, Holly whistled and called out to me in an imitation man's voice, "Hey, shake it any more and it'll unscrew itself and fall off, lady! Or maybe it's already been screwed so often it can't possibly fall off?" "Holly!" my Mom called out in mock disapproval. Meaning real disapproval but she didn't want to seem critical. I understood what she was saying well enough, and I looked back over my shoulder and exaggerated my wriggle. It was funny though. With that thing in there -- a cotton tube I suppose -- it didn't feel exaggerated. Walking with my ass crammed and rotating just seemed ... the way to walk. Maybe that was the idea? "Samantha, stop that!" my Mom then called to me. "I won't have you undulating your hips like a tramp!" "No, Mommy," I replied with a grin. To show her I was being a good sport. But she didn't realize I was joking, calling her 'Mommy' and all, being a good sport. "I mean it!" she said, glaring. "If you must wave your ass at the boys, not in this house!" She was really into this, my being a girl! All her reflexes as Beth's mother were triggered by the sight of me in Beth's clothes! I was her daughter all right! "I won't," I said soberly, and she looked mollified. Even managed a wan smile. I tried to hold my hips still as I moved to the chair and sat down, but that damn thing in my ass felt strange, and I didn't quite succeed. She really thought I wanted to attract boys? Jeeze! "Let her, Claire," Holly said mildly. "She needs to practice waving her ass somewhere, or she won't be popular. We both did it. She has a whole new world ahead of her to cope with." I didn't know if she was serious or kidding, and I certainly didn't want to know. Two hours later Holly was packing all of her stuff back into her bag, and I was still occupying a dining room chair. I'd had my "comb out" and I was waiting for my nails to dry. "Those stains on her lips and eyelids will last a good long while," Holly was saying with great satisfaction to my Mom. "It's a new process. Maybe even longer than the year they guarantee." "A year!" I shouted it out, horrified. "But this ...." "Samantha!" Mom called out. I shut up. "You're a girl, have you forgotten?" Holly said. "Girls are girls, period! You agreed that's what you are, so that's what you are! Don't fret. Permanent tinting on your lips and eyes doesn't prevent you from matching different lipcolors and eyeshadows to your different outfits. Your usual make-up will cover it every time. But it's distinctive enough so any time at all, day or night, waking up or going to sleep, you'll look ... well, the way a girl should look. The way you look right now. Pretty!" She smiled reassuringly at me. While she'd been working on me for the past few hours, I realized, I'd altered in her mind's eye. I was no longer the delinquent son of her friend but a girl who was sitting there listening to her impatiently, as girls my age do when their elders lecture them. Just as my mother'd hoped when she'd put me into this denim skirt. For the last hour or so Holly really had been beautifying her friend's daughter 'Samantha.' "Thank you," I said. Several times during the evening my mother had insisted that when complimented, I should reply politely. And Holly had complimented me several times. "You said a year, Holly?" I added in a small voice. This whole punishment was supposed to last only through the summer. As I understood it. A few months. "How about when I want to look like a boy again?" "Girls sometimes love to try out a boy look," Holly said. "I understand. No problem. You'd look just darling done up like a boy. Just cover the stains with 'natural' shades of ordinary make-up. Of course even the natural shades have their own matte or gloss finishes, and both of those are so associated with girl looks that they can only approximate the way boys look. They'll work for you, though with the shape of your face and the hairdo I've given you, you'll never fool anyone that you're a boy. You're simply too cute! I envy you, Samantha!" "You do look very nice, dear," my Mom said. "I suggest you worry about the future another time. You have a lot to cope with right now. I'm pleased for you. What Holly did for you will make your transition a lot easier. You need to thank her." "Yes, thank you Holly," I said. I stood up and curtsied. They'd taught me that while chatting with each other about likely ways I'll need to know to behave tomorrow, at least in the beginning, to make a good impression. If anyone tried to challenge me, or mock me, my usual aggressive response wouldn't do at all, they'd decided. But exaggerated politeness including curtsying just might. That move -- that sort of bob my body down and up while standing with my back straight, one foot in back of the other -- made the tampon in my butt feel a little peculiar. Not unpleasant, just peculiar. I'd practiced it a few times and decided that even though it was something only girls did, mostly servant girls in movies but sometimes ordinary girls trying to be especially polite, it was ... sort of nice. But Mom knew that polite or not, by now I felt stressed. She spoke gently. "When Holly leaves us, honey, change your tampon and then go straight to bed. You have a big day tomorrow. I'll show you how, there's nothing to it. Have you seen yourself yet?" I hadn't. Holly and my Mom exchanged swift glances, as if privy to a secret I wasn't, and Mom then saw her to the front door. I heard her car start. Mom returned. "To your room, young lady," she said. This time with no harshness, more as a suggestion that should be complied with. "You remember how Beth loved mirrors? How she covered her walls with them? I think you'll appreciate them too now that you'll see something worth seeing in them." I wasn't worth seeing when I was a boy? Annoyed, I followed her. She passed on into Beth's room, mine now, and flipped on the wall switch, and stood aside and waited for me to enter. I did. And was astonished. There on the opposite wall, facing the door I was passing through and passing through that very same door, was a rather pretty girl! Her face was small and pert and her hair was a halo of pale blonde curls, almost platinum blonde but with golden highlights. She breathed delicacy, sweetness, daintiness. And she was looking at me amazed, as astonished to see me as I was to see her, yet approving everything she saw. I looked back at her equally astonished. She suddenly smiled a crooked, radiant, come hither smile at me, and I melted! She wanted me, and I wanted her! Only then did I come to my senses -- I recognized it. That was my standard smile, the reflexive way I informed pretty girls that the captain of their football team likes the way they look and wants to show his appreciation more ... intimately. It was me, that girl! Smiling back at me with a promise of ... oh, all sorts of earthly delights when we found time to... get a little closer! Holly wasn't exaggerating! Even I'd want to date me! I was a dish! A doll with a sly, knowing look on her face. A teen age temptress! I fell in love with me at first sight! Mom saw the whole thing happen, each attitude flash across my face. "See, it isn't so bad, being a girl, now is it?" she said. I couldn't reply. I was speechless. "Here's what girls wear when they go to bed." She held out a delicate garment of some kind. "Doesn't this babydoll make you feel all scrumptious, just looking at it? A dainty, filmy top that just barely reaches your you-know-what, and a large, comfy pair of matching lacy panties to cover your bottom and keep you decent? It's a set. Here, put it on. Careful of your hairdo when you pull off your blouse, honey. If it tangles it'll be easy to comb out -- Holly made your do wonderfully convenient that way, same as with that permanent make-up you made such a fuss over. But the less trouble we need to take with our daily routines the better." If I'd seen that babydoll set on the girl in the mirror I'd have gotten hard for her immediately. But I wanted to preserve some semblance of me as I knew myself to be at least from the skin on in. "Mom," I said, trying not to sound querulous. "That ... nightgown is awfully effeminate. I mean, even Beth used to wear pjs to bed, not ... stuff like that." "These were hers," Mom said insistently, in a tone of voice suggesting that no more objections would be tolerated.. "She's worn them. And there're other things just like it in her drawers and closet. All sorts of undies, nighties, lingerie -- she had her frilly side. She just never thought it proper to show it to her brother, that's all. She wore things like this when she wanted to feel really feminine, sexy. Which you will want to feel too from now on. Feminine anyhow, so no one doubts it, least of all you. So from now on you'll wear all of her frivolous things. Don't worry, they'll feel marvelous and look marvelous on you, and you'll feel just lovely. You'll enjoy them. So no more complaining!" "Yes'm," I said. I didn't want to give her any reason to overdo this feminizing thing. "But first, to the bathroom. Each week from now on you'll depillate, you're lucky you don't have much body hair to begin with, but from now on you'll have none. And every night you'll cream your complexion. All over. That's how we keep ourselves clear and smooth and soft. And kissable." With that last she looked straight at me, and I resolved, no more objecting to anything. Do everything she says or hints. "Yes'm," I replied. "Clear and smooth and soft and kissable." An hour later I was wearing the babydolls and tucked into Beth's bed, which was now my bed. I was also hairless, except for my head and around my cock. Not that I'd ever grown much hair. Mom had shown me some elaborate night-time cleansing rituals. And also how to change my tampon. There was a little string hanging out of my rear end -- Mom insisted on calling it my 'pussy,' though I never knew she knew such words. Tug on it to pull out the old cotton tampon, take a soft plastic tube out of the box, lubricate it with the tube of 'Premarin' and snake it into your ass, get used to the weird feeling, push in the smaller tube behind it all the way, and that pushes a new cotton tampon way deep into you. Pull out the whole assembly, feel for the new tampon's string to make sure you can get the thing out again. Voila! "Thatta girl!" she told me when I'd done it successfully and looked up at her with an embarrassed grin.. "Your responsibility now! At least a few times every day, for at least a few days every month. Let's say five days, shall we? Nothing to it! Now let me tuck you in." She hadn't tucked either Beth or me in for years, so I figured she had something else on her mind. Sure enough. I got into bed and she adjusted a blanket, then leaned over me. "Now, Samantha, here's a real secret you should know. Girls sometimes get to sleep by ... relaxing themselves. Moving their hands over their clits, diddling it and imagining what it would be like if it was a boy's hand. It makes them feel so deliciously girly! You'll want to try it and see for yourself. Every night. I think pretty soon you'll soon love it!" As she left my room and was closing the door behind her, she repeated her suggestion. "It'll be a girl's hand doing it, yours, but try to imagine it's a boy's hand anyhow. That's one of the pleasures you can enjoy now that you're a girl. You do look very attractive, very feminine, sweetheart. So feel it, don't deny yourself." And there I was in the dark. My 'clit,' huh? I slipped my hand into the full, silky panties of my babydolls and began to rub on my 'clit.' Yes! A boy's hand! You bet! Mine! But then I began to think about the way my fingers, the very fingers clutching my cock at that moment, were red-tipped. It was a girl's hand that was caressing that sensitive, erogenously high-powered part of my body. The way some of the girls in my class did when I dated them and they didn't want to put out for me but did agree to jack me off. It was a girl's hand even though it was attached to the rest of me. I considered how feminine I looked now. And felt the seductive babydoll sliding and drifting over my skin. My lotioned body. My girl's body. A girl's hand? On my 'clit'? Boy or girl, that became a kind of kaleidoscope. Now I was a boy, so it was a boy's hand like mine was when I made moves on all those girls' cunts, getting them excited by stroking those soft wet places and slipping my fingers into their slits, and rubbing their clits, like mine. Like I was rubbing my own clit now. Did it feel as good to those other girls as this does to me? Maybe! Years ago, Charlie's hand and my hand had jerked each other's cocks off experimentally, when we were kids first checking out the sensations, finding out what it was like. We'd greased our palms and pulled on each other and he'd diddled my clit faster and faster and I'd tried to imagine he was a girl but he'd remained Charlie, and then suddenly he'd squirted on my shoes, and I'd reached for the kleenex just in time to catch my own cum as it spurted out of my own clit. I mean cock! I'd just cum! I lay there, pleased, my drippy girl parts still contained by my babydoll panties. My pretty babydoll panties.... iii. I heard knocking and opened my eyes. Daylight. "Time, honey!" my mother said. "Your first full day as a girl! Remember to change your tampon when you take your shower, and check for any last hairs where they don't belong." She looked at me. She saw me glance down. "Yes," she repeated. "There too next time, girly, I think bare is nicer for a pussy. More attractive." She briefly looked flustered, as if she hadn't meant to say that. Then "Always glance under your arms to check for fuzz, and use a shower cap to protect your hairdo. And use lotion all over yourself afterward always -- you'll want to feel soft and smell nice. Then come for breakfast." This time slipping that plastic sleeve into my ... pussy and pushing in the cotton wad piston wasn't a problem at all. In, push, pull out. Done. Set! "Hey, I can do this!" I was thinking. Mom left out a big bottle of body lotion alongside the sink, so I used it to finish up. Better not try to use make-up yet -- a glance at my face showed me that the dark pink stain Holly'd put on my lips and the gray stain on my eyelids served well enough. Very girlish. When I took off my shower cap, I saw that my curly blonde hair was already presentable. Just a little fluffing with my fingertips in the mirror and .... my God that was an incredibly girlish gesture! My instinct was to feel ashamed, make myself feel more manly, even ape-like, but I realized immediately that I'd better suppress that reflex. That I better practice more girly stuff if this is supposed to come off right. So I lifted my elbows a little bit higher and fluffed my hair again, this time shrugging my shoulders with each hand motion. And did that ever look cutesy-pie? I smiled slyly at my all-girl mirror image. I'd just made a conquest of my first male! That thought then made me uneasy, so I pushed it out of mind. I found when I got back to Beth's -- I mean, my -- room that while I was showering Mom had laid out on the bed a chemise and a simple red cotton dress, a kind with a few ruffles gathered together up the front to hide the buttons, and also hide the absence of boobs. Clever! Also a belt -- I recalled that last night Mom and Holly had decided that with my narrow hips I should wear belts for the time being, to pull in my waistline and create the illusion that I had curves. Why'd they say 'for the time being'? I wondered. She'd also laid out a bra and a fresh pair of panties. OK, no sweat, this is my life, I said to myself. So I clipped on the bra same as before, and pulled on the panties, and took the chemise and then the dress and raised them over my head and let them fall onto me one after the other, then belted the dress. On the floor were "flats" I remembered they were called, as against "heels." Shoes that looked a little like slippers, so I slipped my feet into them. And checked myself in the mirrors, and gave a little twirl. Very nice!! This wasn't too bad! If I was a girl, I'd go for me, I decided. Hey, I'd better be one, I then realized! No 'ifs'! I better seem to be one for real or I'm in big trouble. Anyhow, I sure looked real! I tried to mince my way downstairs and ended up skipping down. That new full feeling in my rear end was now kind of ... reassuring. Comforting. I liked it! When I got downstairs there was Dad just leaving the house for work. He looked me over gravely and said nothing. Then finally, "Well, anyhow, Samantha, you won't disgrace us. You look very nice, dear. Enjoy your day." "Thank you, daddy," I said. He looked surprised, then smiled at me pleasantly and left. Only afterward, staring at the closed door behind him, did I realize what I had called him. Well, if he didn't mind .... Mom had laid out a full breakfast for me. Juice and cereal and bacon and eggs and toast and everything. Trying to cheer me up, I supposed. Or to reward me for going along with this ... silliness, was how I still viewed it, though oddly, some of it was interesting, even exciting. Considering that the alternative was hard time in jail, this wasn't so bad. "Will Charlie be doing stuff at Dr. Taylor's and Jennifer's place today too?" I asked her with my mouth full. "Same as me?" Mom looked embarrassed. "No. Charlie's ... doing his ... new things in another place Dr. Taylor knows about. You'll see him later she tells me, don't worry about it. Take smaller bites! Try to be dainty, honey!" Changing the subject? Big mystery? "OK," I said cheerily. As I left the house to walk the short distance to their door, she handed me a purse. "No girl ever goes out without one," she cautioned me. "You never know. Your tampons and your house keys are in there in case you come home late, and there's make-up in there too. Don't try to use it yet without someone helping you, but get used to always having some with you. A girl needs to feel confident about her appearance." "Yes ma'am," I replied. What else was there to say? "Make us proud, Samantha!" And she hugged me harder than I could remember. "Remember to tell Dr. Taylor about the Premarin you're using on your tampons -- it's a prescription drug so it may matter. And be the best girl you can be! You do look very nice." I was moved. She didn't seem to want to leave me -- it was as if she were saying goodbye to me for a long time, maybe even for good. There were tears in her eyes. "Thank you. I will, Mommy," I said. It somehow seemed fitting to say that. "Don't you worry even a teensy bit!" Good God! 'Mommy'! 'Teensy'! Still, she seemed consoled by those words. I stepped outside. No one visible anywhere, not up or down the street either, praises be. I walked down the sidewalk, feeling my tampon press gently inside my anus and the hem of my dress swish against my legs. I decided to help them by swishing my hips, and that felt even nicer. The sun was shining. I arrived at Jennifer's door much too soon, and rang the bell. Jennifer answered and stared expressionlessly at me. She didn't recognize me! I smiled, it was a triumph of sorts, I guess! Then suddenly, "Oh yes, you're ... the new girl come to help out. I'll call my mother." She turned and shouted out, "Mom! He's here!" And disappeared, "She's here, dear!" Dr. Taylor's voice answered from somewhere inside. As if chiding her. "Every day from now on she's a 'she'! And there's no need to announce her. Samantha? I'm in the dining room!" I took this as an invitation and went in. She was sitting at her dining room table, an empty coffee cup alongside, making notes on a narrow pad. She glanced at me. "The prodigal returns," she said in a neutral voice. "My daughter's rapist." Then she looked me over carefully, top to bottom. There was no warmth at all in her eyes. I said nothing. Finally she set down her pen. "I see your mother's trying to spare you humiliation. I'm sorry to say she's succeeded -- you're quite passable, Samantha. A pity, I was hoping you'd look ludicrous, a sissified disgrace to the neighborhood, so I could parade you up and down the street inviting put downs and humiliation." She paused. She seemed to be expecting some kind of response from me. "Yes'm," I said finally. "I'm sorry, ma'am." I wasn't, of course. This was a triumph of sorts. The more I looked and acted like a normal girl, the more I'd disappoint her. I'd better remember that, I told myself, and decided then and there that I'd go as far as I could, I'd in no way resemble a boy for the next few months. So I let one of my wrists droop, the way the girls in school always did with theirs. And I tightened my throat toward a voice with higher pitches. "I promised my mother I'd try!" I added. The effort backfired -- she approved. "That's good. I'm glad you're trying. It's a good start, anyway. Now understand this, Samantha. You'll do everything I ask you to do, and whatever Jennifer asks you to do, and whatever it is you'll do it immediately. No delay, no questions. Understood?" "Yes'm," I said again. And this time I curtsied. Her eyes narrowed -- was I being insolent? But her expression didn't change. "Go begin clearing up in the kitchen. I'll join you shortly." She returned to her pad and pen. It was a kitchen pretty much like ours. I loaded their breakfast dishes into the dishwasher -- it was just Jennifer and Dr. Taylor, there was no Mister Dr. Taylor -- and I wiped the counters. Then I hand-scrubbed a pot and a frying pan. This was maid's work, as I'd expected, that was why Mom had laid out this washable dress I was wearing. But it suddenly occurred to me that I could use an apron. I looked around and found one hanging on a hook in the pantry, a little frilly, with bright flowers embroidered on it even though it was meant for serious work, not just for show. So I put it on and considered mopping the floor -- it looked pretty grungy. So I did begin mopping it. A sponge mop on a stick didn't accomplish anything, so I got down on my hands and knees with a stiff-bristled scrub brush. That worked. I could actually make out a pattern in the floor tiles. "All right, Samantha, let's get you started." Dr. Taylor's voice behind me as I was working away on a hardened spill near the fridge. "Stay just where you are and don't turn around, but hold still for a moment. Now, first I need to record your voice. Do you freely consent to this course of treatment?" "Yes'm," I said, not daring to move. 'Course of treatment'? What did she mean? But I wasn't supposed to ask. Being treated like a maid, I supposed she meant. "Good. Now pull your panties down," she ordered. "Please." So I did. My bare bottom stared at her. For sure she was staring at it. Suddenly a slender hand reached between my legs and clutched my balls, closed gently on them. I was startled and gave a little jerk, and felt the sharp tips of long fingernails scrape the top of my scrotum. So I held very still. "Maybe I should just take these now," Dr. Taylor mused behind me. "You won't really need them from now on." I held myself rigid, petrified with fright! Then, a reprieve! "No, why bother? They'll be shrinking to pebbles anyhow over the next few months. You can decide for yourself what to do with whatever's left." Her hand let go of my scrotum. I began to breathe again. "Now, your shots. Understand, you'll probably feel a little nauseous in the morning when you first wake up, maybe for as long as a week. That's natural and normal. But it gets less so, and then not at all as the other changes begin to be noticeable. The whole process will take up most of the summer. When it's completed I'll consider that you've paid your debt and I'll release you from your obligations to me and my daughter, and what you do for the rest of your life will be of no further concern to either of us. Is that understood? Is that acceptable?" Not exactly, but I wasn't going to say so. "Yes, ma'am." "So then. You'll feel two different pricks. Don't be surprised by them." Pricks?! Two different guys are going to rape my ass while I'm bent over? Alarmed, I managed to turn my head slightly. She was leaning down just behind me. On a table next to her was a tray with two different syringes on a towel. Hypodermic needles! What!!? "Dr. Taylor, what are those...?" "Hush!" I felt a sharp stab in my rump. Then almost immediately, another one. The second one took a while. "Hold still," she cautioned me at one point. Then I felt her withdraw the needle. "There, that's all, it's done!" she said. She sounded grim. "Determined and done!" she sort of repeated, this time sounding almost gleeful. I turned my head all the way around to look at her. Sure enough, she looked triumphant. Deeply satisfied in some strange way. "May I stand now, ma'am?" I asked, annoyed, also wondering what it was that was done. Puzzled. "If you wish, Samantha!" As I stood up I asked her in as polite a voice as I could, considering what had just happened, "What's 'done,' Ma'am? If I may ask?" "You may ask. What's done is that this summer you'll become a woman. You've consented to it, and your parents have signed the forms, and your own recorded voice has provided all the informed consent anyone might need. It was that or jail, you'll recall, and that's what you chose. What's done is, I've just injected you with enough female hormones to do the whole job, both the kick-start and the time-delay kinds. The process will be accelerated, so whether you go to college next Fall or just go to work, there'll be no question about you by then. By the end of summer you'll go on sustaining doses of estrogen and progestin taken orally, to maintain your complexion and keep your figure ... plumped out. The pills of any standard birth control regimen will serve, I'll write you scrip for them myself if your Mom hasn't introduced you to your family gynecologist by then." "Gynecologist? A doctor for women?" I knew that much. "I'm sure your mother uses one, and your sister Beth must have had one. Now you too. To return to your question, that's what's done. This didn't sound right. "Hormones? What ... ahhh, what kind?" But she was too pleased with herself to hear me and answer. Still too strangely exulting. "Yes. Sam was a disgrace to his sex! But by the end of the summer Samantha will be a credit to hers! You already are, in some ways. You look quite convincing, dear. Quite authentic!" I was suddenly reminded of what my mother had told me to tell her. "Dr. Taylor, I'm having my period, my mother says, and she told me to tell you I'm using Premarin to grease my tampons." She raised her eyebrows. "Premarin? Are you sure? Not KY or the like?" She sounded more than casually interested. "Yes, ma'am," I replied to all three questions. "Well!" she said. Then paused. "And how often do you change your tampons, if I may ask?" "She says I should change a few times a day. Three times so far." "Already three doses of Premarin administered anally! That yields near-total absorption into the blood stream, you know. My, my! Well, dear, with that and what's in you now you have certainly been kick-started all the way across the room! You'll certainly be feeling nauseous during the next few days, Samantha! And chances are you'll be growing some promising little bumps under your nipples almost immediately. You may end up quite the lady!" This did not sound good. She paused and seemed to be struggling within herself. "Well, why not?" she said to herself. Then to me, "Samantha, are you listening? From now on use the Premarin cream only once a day -- we don't want to overdo anything. Jennifer will lend you one of the other lubricants she uses in her own vagina and her ... other places she want to insert things now and then. So they'll slip in easily." She paused, then sat down on a kitchen chair and settled herself to deliver a speech. I stood before her and listened. "Samantha, you're now committed to becoming a girl. During the summer you'll help take care of my house -- though there's very little to do that way. Mainly you'll be ... a kind of companion for Jennifer. Help her get past the trauma you forced on her, you and that rude friend of yours, Charlie. In return, Jennifer will teach you the many things you'll need to know about being a girl, and like it or not I expect you'll find her quite helpful. In the end I'm sure you'll appreciate this summer as a something special in your life, and in future years you may well look back on it and thank us." "You mean, I'll appreciate learning how girls feel about things, and all?" "Oh, not just that. I mean you're going to have to learn how to be a girl at first hand. How to deal with all the kinds of problems girls face, how to develop the right attitudes, how to enjoy your new life. So there'll be no regrets." What she was saying made sense, from her point of view. But there was something out of plumb in the way she was saying it. In those references to my 'new life.' "You mean, so I won't mind being a girl for the summer," I said, looking for clarification. "So you won't mind being a girl, period," Dr. Taylor replied. "Those shots work fairly quickly. By the end of the summer they'll have done all they need to do." "Then by the end of the summer I'll get my life back?" I asked. What was she saying? She was looking at me, a little puzzled. "That's another kind of choice, Samantha! This one's been made for you by Sam. Be a girl or serve out a five year jail term! And you'd have served it all, young ... man, if that's who I'm addressing! All five years! No parole. Trust me, I know!" I saw determination in her eyes. Her lips tightened. "Samantha," she said more quietly. "Sit down. Let's be perfectly clear!" I sat opposite her at the breakfast table. My bottom reminded me of the shots she'd just injected there. "What you did -- what Sam did -- was unthinkable, horrible, a girl's worst nightmare, and not to be tolerated! I see many such instances in the course of my work. All sorts of girls have had their lives ruined by such flagrant exhibitions of male macho backed by sheer muscular force. It was quite impossible for Sam to continue to live in this neighborhood thinking that my daughter Jennifer was just one more of his conquests. That would have been much too humiliating for her and for me too! Sam had to be taught a lesson, the kind that lasts a lifetime, and his friend Charlie too. My daughter had to be protected, and even apart from issues of retribution the world had to be protected from him. Sam had to be altogether reformed." Now her face had grown quite hard. "Jails are where we send people to protect ourselves from them and maybe reform them. But I'm not a cruel person, Samantha. I know what jails are like for ripe boys who've had a decent upbringing and can't even begin to cope with really street-tough criminals. Boys like you. What you did to my daughter would have been done to you daily if you'd chosen jail. You'd have become a prize bitch, a whore rented out by whatever pimp happened to be running your cell block. In the end, giving and getting sex in and out of every one of your body openings would have been the way you'd spend your days. As