YOLO (Chapters 11-15) free porn video

This story is copyright by the author. It is protected by licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Special thanks to IB12 for extensive editing and feedback. Acknowledgements: Lori Satori, Paula Paula, Wendy Mars, Robyn Hoode. They helped with editing and feedback at various points during the story development. Chapter 11 Sweet Dreams And back in the present, Sheila was still lost in her daydream staring out the living room window when a young girl in a cheerleading uniform came skipping into sight. With her bright blonde hair bouncing, and her cheerleader uniform like she wore in high school, it reminded Sheila of herself. But looking closer, it also reminded her of someone else. Those legs. That skin. Those breasts. It reminded her of... "Brad!" she said as the door opened. "Uh... hi Mom," he said with a wave. Darn it! Brad thought she was showing a house tonight. Ugh! He didn't want her to see him dressed like this. "Don't you 'Hi Mom' me," she told him. "What's wrong?" Brad asked, looking down at himself. His long hair swung in front of his face and he brushed it back over his shoulder. "I'll bet you are wondering why I'm dressed like this." "I saw you walk up," Sheila said accusingly. "Just how did you did you get home?" "Um..." Brad said as he was trying to think something up. "Randy was in a hurry, so he dropped me off up the street." "Oh..." his mother asked already knowing the answer. "So that motorcycle I heard just before you came walking up wasn't him?" "No... Mom," he answered. "Jesus Christ, Bradley," his mom warned her. "A motorcycle killed your father and it almost killed you. Now you're dressed like that holding on to some strange guy? How dare you?!?" "No Mom, Randy got a flat tire and I was just helping..." Brad tried to explain when his mother interrupted. "Who is he?" "Who is who?" Brad asked back. "The guy on the motorcycle," she said again accusingly as if Brad should have known who she was referring to. "I just met him today at the Harley dealership." "Harley dealership?" Sheila asked becoming very upset. "What were you doing at the Harley dealership dressed like that?" "Mom I told you, I was helping Allison..." "If you were helping her then where is she? Are you lying to me again, missy?" Sheila said, referring to Brad as a girl. Brad knew she was mad when this happened. "She is where she always is in the afternoons, working for her dad at his doctors office." "You're too young to date, you know," Sheila told her son. "Are you dating... men?" "No mom. I'm only 13. Physically anyway. I told you I was just helping Allison sell candy." "Then where is Allison? And where is Randy?" Sheila was asking questions and not waiting for answers. "Oh my God, I have no idea what you're doing all day. Maybe you're not even staying at Allison's. Maybe you're running around with boys all day." Sheila burst into tears. "Mom!" Brad said trying to get a word in edgewise. "Are you having sex?" she said semi-hysterically. "Is he using a condom? "Mom!" Brad said trying to calm her down. "No." "He's not using a condom?" Sheila replied. "I can't believe this." "No, Mom," Brad replied. "I'm not having sex." "Damn you..." she shouted. "You scared the Hell out of me," she continued before running into her bedroom. Slam! Brad stood there for a moment not knowing what to do. He had never seen his mother like this. Why would she think those things? Walking through the dining room, Brad caught his reflection in the huge mirror on the wall. Long, fawn-like legs with perfect skin and a little curve led up to the super short cheerleader skirt. The skirt hung perfectly flat over his blossoming hips, that were widening and changing the way he walked. His waist and shoulders were tiny, but attached to them was a growing set of breasts. Luxurious blonde hair hung down to where his boobs pushed it out. And then there was the face. Peeking out from under the silky shiny mane was an innocent, childlike face. With the delicate jawline and upturned nose it couldn't be mistaken for a boy's face. It was the beautiful face of a young girl just approaching womanhood with two big blue eyes and lips that were beginning to fill out. If Brad were still a guy, even at age 17 he would still look. No wonder he sold so much candy. And he could kind of understand why his mom got upset. Brad grabbed his cell phone out of his small purse and hit speed dial. "Allison?" Brad said. "I just got home wearing your cheerleader uniform and Mom totally freaked." He continued to fill her in on what had just transpired. "She's mad at me... she's mad at you... and she's mad at Randy." "You mean she's going to call my parents?" Allison asked. Though she was trying to be a little mean to Brad, she knew her parents would be very upset. "I wouldn't put it past her," said the blonde teen girl. "I've got an idea," Allison told him. "I'm coming over. Get Randy over there, too." "Will do," Brad told her with a smile feeling somewhat relieved. "As soon as I change." "No don't," Allison instructed. "What are you up to?" Brad asked his girlfriend. "You'll see. Just get Randy over there." Thirty minutes later, Brad's two friends were congregating in Brad's bedroom. Brad was sitting on his bed still wearing Allison's J.V. uniform. Allison was wearing a blue and powder blue tracksuit with the school's logo on it, and like Brad, had a big powder blue bow in her hair. "Randy," Allison said. "Mrs. Dowdy is understandably worried about her teenage son who is blossoming into womanhood." "I'm not a flower," Brad objected as he jumped up trying to show his stature. Unfortunately the sight of young Miss Brad standing a foot shorter than his best friend and with his shiny blonde hair, pleated skirt and budding breasts bouncing caused both Randy and Allison to chuckle. "Blossom any more and the florist will have to cut your hair," Randy shot back as Brad flicked the hair out of his face and smoothed his skirt. "His mom's scared that Brad's new hormones might put him in a situation he can't get out of," Allison continued. "You mean like Brad is becoming like... really a girl?" Randy asked. "And she likes boys?" "I'm not a girl and I don't like boys," Brad protested as he stomped his foot and pounded his fists in the air once again causing his skirt to swish and his hair to whip into his face. "She... I mean he gets girlier with each passing day," Allison said. "Can we talk about something else, please," Brad asked as he smoothed his skirt and tossed his hair behind his shoulder. "My mom is really mad." "Okay," Allison said turning to Randy. "Now we need you to calm her down and keep her busy for a few minutes. Think you can do that?" "No problem," Randy said as he left the room. Moments later Allison and Brad heard a knocking on a bedroom door. "Mrs. Dowdy, it's me, Randy. I'm here to apologize." Meanwhile, back in Brad's room, Sheila slipped out of her jacket and pulled down her track pants revealing a powder blue pair of Spanky's just like Brad was wearing. She pulled a cheerleader skirt nearly identical to Brad's out of her duffel bag in quickly pulled it on. "Now I bet you're wondering why am dressed like this," Allison said. "Uh.... Yeah..." Brad answered. "Your mother is upset because she doesn't know for sure where you are every day. So we... are going to prove... that you've been over at my house." "I still don't understand," Brad told her. "You know how in our workouts the dance routines have numbers." "Yeah?" "Quick," Sheila instructed, "do number three." Brad walked through an eight count jumping around. One arm in a high V, one hand on hips. The other hand in a low V, other hand on hips, punch a T, and kick. "Okay?" Brad asked. "So what?" "And you know how the cheer chants we've been doing when we lay out have numbers?" "Yeah?" "Quick, quietly say chant number two," she ordered. "Hustle Vikings Hustle... they don't have a chance... Hustle Vikings Hustle... they don't have a chance..." "Now walk through routine number two while saying chant number two." Brad thought about it for a moment. Routine two, chant two. Routine two, chant two. Then like flipping a switch a light bulb lit up in Brad's mind. "Cheers!?! Are you telling me that all those aerobics routines are cheers?" "Please don't get angry," Allison said to him. "Angry?" Brad said. "I'm supposed to be a football player. Now you've literally turned me into a cheerleader. Why didn't you tell me that's what we were doing?" "Who would want to have this conversation?" Allison asked with a chuckle. "I can't believe my own girlfriend..." Brad said glaring at her. "Let me explain," Allison asked him. "I'm not at dance camp this summer with all of the other cheerleaders, and I'm working in the afternoons down at daddy's office. You have to exercise for an hour a day anyway, and I don't know when else I would have time to practice my routines. This has been hard on me, too." Brad thought about what she said for a moment. It was true, and Brad realized he was lucky to have people in his life who would sacrifice so much to help him. "It's okay, Allison," Brad finally relented. "I forgive you." "Great," she said as she reached into her duffel bag. She handed Brad a pair of poms. "Now let's start from the top." Fifteen minutes later, Allison and Brad came walking down the stairs in their cheerleader uniforms, holding their pompoms. As they rounded the corner into the living room, Brad heard his mom laugh. Boy was Randy great. He could lighten any mood. But as the two cheerleaders came into sight, the conversation dead stopped. "Hi Mrs. D," Allison said, breaking the silence. "As a former Vikings cheerleader, you know how much time and effort go into learning the routines." "Yes, Allison, I do." "And after seeing your daughter... I mean your son come home on the back of a motorcycle with some strange man you're questioning what he is doing with all of his time." "You've got that right," Sheila answered. "Well then, if this doesn't convince you Brad's been spending a lot of mornings with me, then I don't know what will." Brad and Allison went through every chant and dance routine in the Madison High school's repertoire. High kicks. Splits. Hip and head shakes. Sheila couldn't believe what she was seeing. His handwork was still a little off, but he had every foot placement and hip motion down to a T. Allison even brought a boom box, and they went through and NFL cheer routine which Sheila decided was a little too sexy for a thirteen- year-old. But when it was over, Allison sat down for Brad's finale. "Two-Four-Six-Eight... who do we appreciate? Mom... Mom...Myyyyy Mommmm," Brad chanted, ending the routine with his arms in a High-V while doing extended leg kicks. Sheila got up off the couch and hugged her female son. "I love you so much," she said with a tear running down her cheek. "I love you, too, Mom." Allison and Randy quietly snuck out, leaving Brad and his mother in the moment. The next morning Brad had just wiggled into his bikini when he heard his mom's car start. He threw on his wood sandals, grabbed his shoulder bag, and ran clomping down the stairs. "Mom!" he shouted as the car drove off. Dang it! Now how was he supposed to get over to Allison's? Brad paced for a moment in the driveway. He pulled out his phone and hit speed dial. "Come on, Mom, pick up," he squealed like a teenage girl into the telephone. Nothing. Maybe Allison could come get him, he thought as he dialed again. Nothing. Now what? He could pedal over. No. As a thirteen-year-old girl, he was way too short to reach the pedals on his 10-speed. He sat down on the front porch contemplating his next move. Vroom! Vroom! Brad heard the sound of a high revving motorcycle. He looked up as a familiar figure rode down the street on a minibike. As the figure moved closer Brad stared with a little excitement. I know that person, Brad thought as he came closer. I know that person. I know that person. George! It was Brian's fourteen-year-old brother George. The same George Brad had kissed only days ago. The little hot shot came speeding into the driveway, and burned out to stop leaving a mark on the asphalt and burned rubber behind. The move and sound startled Brad and sent his heart fluttering. "Uh, hi," Brad said shyly. "Hey there gorgeous," he replied. "How are you?" "Oh, I've been better," Brad answered. "What's wrong?" "Nothing really." Nothing?" George asked. "There is definitely something wrong. And George Martinez can not stand to see a pretty lady sad." "Shut... up!" Brad replied. His heart fluttered as he looked into George's penetrating brown eyes. Brad looked down causing a curtain of hair to drape around his face, giving him a moment to hide while he composed himself. After a moment he lifted his head up and tossed his hair over his shoulder. Grinning from ear to ear, Brad said, "You are so full of it." "Can't your knight in shining armor rescue milady from despair?" "It's just that my mom forgot to take me over to Allison's and there is no one to come get me. "First time I've been called no one," George quipped. "No offense taken if you might ask. But as you can see, my minibike seats two." "Really?" "Your chariot awaits," George said as he helped Brad onto the bike. "Now hold on tight." Brad pulled a hair tie out of his shoulder bag. As he was getting used to handling his long, beautiful locks he quickly tied it into a ponytail, and hugged George's bare torso. Cruising at 30 miles per hour, the vibrations of the motorcycle gently jostled Brad's breasts up and down against George's bare back. Even through the fabric of the swimsuit, he could feel his nipples sliding up and down. As his breast flesh jostled, Brad pressed tighter against the boy's back. Brad lay his head on George's shoulder, and he could feel every muscle in the young boy's back. Soon enough the two were at Allison's. George quickly hopped off the bike and grabbed Brad by the waist, helping the female boy dismount. With Brad's arms locked around George's neck, the smooth operating teenager dropped Brad to his feet, but pulled him close by the waist. "Thank you!" Brad said, as he reached up to hug the boy. As his breasts touched George's bare chest, his nipples shot tiny jolts of electricity pulsing through his body. Still embracing, the Brad reached up again and hugged the boy, this time planting a soft kiss on he boy's cheek. Pulling back, but still interlocked, the two teenagers looked deeply into each others eyes. Eventually, their lips met. "No," Brad mouthed between kisses, but George just took a breath and kissed him again. "No," he mouthed again, but George wasn't listening. But for that matter, Brad wasn't listening to himself. "No!" Brad screamed as he shot up in bed. A dream. An erotic dream. Brad Dowdy was having an erotic dream about a boy. "Please God," he muttered to himself. "Please not this." But "this" was happening as Brad lay in bed in a state of arousal. His nipples were completely erect beneath his pajama tank top. And to make matters worse, something leaked in his underwear, it was wet. Bladder control definitely was a lot harder now, but had he really just wet the bed? Contemplating what just happened, Brad closed his eyes and rubbed his nipples for a moment. Thoughts of George flashed in his mind. "No!" his eyes shot open again. While he was eager to explore the new sensations of his barely teen body, he was determined not to think any more of George. "I can't let this happen," he said to himself and closed his eyes to try again. "Okay," he thought logically, "I can fix this." Brad tried hard to concentrate on Allison, as he flipped over on his stomach to try to hump the sheets. As a guy, this was the sure fire way of getting off, with his penis gliding back and forth against the Downy soft sheets. But as a girl, this just wasn't going to work. Soon he found himself on his back with his pajama pants and panties inside out and kicked to the ground. He began to rub himself with four fingers, before finding out he could hit that spot much better with two. Slowly his legs spread wider and his bent knees almost touched his chin. Though he tried to think of Allison, his new body meant business, and images of George smiling flashed before his eyes. He rubbed faster and faster until his jaw dropped and locked, fully open. As a guy, Brad found a little hand lotion really helped. But as a girl, the more he rubbed, the more like lotion it got. Then it happened. Brad's hips convulsed and something came shooting out of him in a tight stream. "I peed myself again," he said to himself, but it felt so good he just kept rubbing. Now squeezing his legs tight, Brad used both hands to try to keep the juices from leaking all over his sheets. And now lying quietly in the dark with his eyes wide open, Brad Dowdy realized he'd had his first female orgasm. The next morning Brad was up early. He was wrapped in a towel going through his hair routine when his mother entered the room. "Why are the sheets off the bed?" "Uhh..." Brad answered. "I know you have so much on your plate, I thought I could help with the laundry." The truth was, he would die if his mother had seen the stain his new anatomy left on the bed. "Aren't you sweet," Sheila said to her female son as she walked over to examine the sheets. It wasn't like him to volunteer to do laundry. "Want to help me pick something to wear?" he asked nervously as he opened his dresser drawer. He had to get her away from those sheets. "Ha," his mother chuckled. "You probably won't like what I pick." "How 'bout this?" he said pulling out a shirt. No, a blouse. It was a purple sleeveless top with a ruffle front. "That's cute," she said encouragingly. "And these?" he asked as he grabbed pink denim girl-cut shorts. "Help me with my hair, Mom," he said as he flipped his head upside down and handed her a brush. Sheila walked over to her female son and began running the brush through his hair. God, Brad was pretty. She loved seeing him all girled up. But she was also starting to realize other people enjoyed seeing him that way too, and not for the right reasons. "I'm sorry I freaked out on you last night." "It's okay, Mom," Brad said. "I'm sorry, too." Sheila dropped Brad off at Jenn Tech. "You're sure you don't want me to come in with you?" she asked her son. "No, mom, I'll be fine," he said as he exited the car. He flipped his hair back and jogged up the stairs. Brad paused and sighed before entering through the front door. "Can I help you?" asked Marla, the gorgeous Latino receptionist. Marla knew this young lady looked familiar, but couldn't quite place her. "I'm here to see Professor Chase," he answered. "And who may I say is here?" "Brad Dowdy," he answered. A big smile crossed the receptionist's face as she realized who he was. "Aren't you just adorable," she said. "You just get prettier every time I see you." Brad smiled outwardly as he cringed inwardly. He couldn't wait for the summer to be over. Brad took a seat and waited until Cindy, the beautiful blonde that looked like a model, came out to get him. "Hi Brad," she greeted him. "Don't you look pretty today! Walk this way." Brad remembered the scene from Young Frankenstein when the beautiful woman said that, and then gamely men tried to imitate her walk. Envisioning himself as one of the male characters in the movie, Brad started to mimic her walk in what he thought was satirical mockery. As she walked ahead of him, he watched as she placed one foot in front of the other with each step. She kept her back and head perfectly straight and her arms down at her sides and not moving. As a guy, Brad always walked with his feet parallel to his shoulders and his arms swinging. But Cindy walked completely different. The total effect of Cindy's gait made her hips sway and emphasized her gorgeous female derriere under that short skirt. But after about a minute, Brad realized that what he was doing did nothing to make fun of the beauty in front of him, but actually made him walk more girlie. As he tried to resume his former male walk, he noticed how much more it caused his breasts to bounce and his hair to jump everywhere. It actually was more comfortable to walk more like Marla. Soon enough, the two had reached the lab. "Okay," Cindy said. "You know the routine. Off with the clothes." Unfortunately for Brad, he was familiar with the routine and he stripped without any objection and climbed up to the wall. Cindy fastened the shackles and tied his hair in a bun, and Brad was once again staring at his naked female body in the mirror. His vagina had changed, it was more purple. From a distance, it almost looked like his ball sack. That is, if his balls had a deep slit down the middle. God was this embarrassing. "Well hello there Miss Dowdy," Professor Chase greeted him. "I saw you trying to walk like Cindy in the hallway. You've almost got it down perfect. Remind me to get you some heels before you leave." Brad remembered the whole place was covered in security cameras. Oh no! He almost said, "I was just doing that scene from the movie," but he didn't. If Professor Chase thought he was making fun of her employees, she wouldn't be happy. "Did you notice how easy it was for you to mimic her walk?" Professor Chase asked him. "No," Brad said. "But I have noticed I am picking up my girlfriends dance moves at an alarming rate." "That is all part of our technology," Professor Chase explained. "You see, when the brain wants to do something, the body must learn to respond. Infants can't just walk the first time they want to, and athletes spend years perfecting the control of their bodies. At Jenn Tech, we have improved the communication between the brain and body parts. By the end of the summer, you should have the equivalent of seven years of dance training." "Great," Brad responded. "I'm going to be a better dancer than my girlfriend." Chapter 12 What's the Deal? Staring out the window on the ride home, Brad got to thinking about recent developments at Jenn Tech. By letting his guard down, Brad seemed to be falling into the trap of the sinister professor. He decided he needed to make a greater effort to reject the female conditioning he seemed to be immersed in. But then he received a text that something was unusual with the scans they performed today, and they needed him back first thing in the morning. Though he wasn't sure if the visit was necessary or if she just wanted to torture him some more, Brad didn't want to risk it. So he arrived early the next morning, wearing an old soccer uniform he found in the attic. The blue uniform draped across his body giving it a blocky appearance and hiding his developing curves. The female boy's long blonde hair was tucked up neatly beneath a baseball cap. Even though he had dressed as a girl in front of Allison, Randy, and even his mother, the last thing Brad wanted was to give Professor Chase any satisfaction of seeing him so inappropriately girlified. Brad made his way down the marble hallway and opened the heavy mahogany door into the Professor's office. The redheaded woman in her early thirties looked up as Brad nervously entered. Somehow he ended up more and more girly with each session at Jenn Tech. Now used to the routine, Brad plopped himself down in the wingback leather chair seated in front of Professor Chase's desk. His legs were open like a normal teenage boy, and his arms were crossed across his chest. "Who do we have here?" she asked. "Is that Mr. Dowdy?" "Hi Professor Chase," Brad answered, trying to lower the pitch of his voice. It still resonated like a girl or a young child, but Brad held his resolve to do the best that he could do. "I don't believe I have an appointment with Mr. Dowdy this morning," Professor Chase stated. "Of course we do," Brad countered. It took a lot for him to get down there. The last thing Brad wanted was to have to come back. "Let me recheck," Professor Chase said as she pulled out an appointment book. "No. No Mr. Dowdy. Oh, wait. I do have an appointment to see a Miss Dowdy." Professor Chase stood up from behind her desk and walked over to the wingback chair. Her hands placed behind her back as Brad rolled his eyes. He was not going to let her shame him. "Do you know any Mister Dowdy, Miss Dowdy?" the professor asked. Brad tried to shoot her a look like, "Hey, it's me. I'm Mister Dowdy and it's going to stay that way." "You know, Mister Dowdy, a gentleman always removes his hat once inside a building." Professor Chase reached up and pulled Brad's baseball cap off. She then watched as his unpinned hair fell loose from its confined space, cascading freely around his shoulders. "Oh look, what do we have here," she questioned as Brad looked up through the curtain of silky hair. "There's Miss Dowdy," Professor Chase taunted, as if speaking to a small child. "I trust you are taking good care of that lovely hair." She handed the boy his baseball cap as Brad saw she had a brush in her hand. "Let me see," she said as she bent over and ran the brush through tangles caused by the hat. "Mmmmmm. Smells nice. Lavender? You have been using the conditioner we gave you. Good girl." "I may have girl hair," Brad objected as firmly as he could in his high- pitched feminine voice, "and some other girl parts. But you'll never make a girl out of me." Professor Chase brushed Brad's golden locks into a shiny smoothness and framed that beautiful mane around his face. Brad tried to keep himself from staring daggers and looked up at the professor resulting in two doe-like eyes peeking sweetly through the curtain of flaxen hair. "What a precious little pout," Professor Chase said to him. "You, Miss Dowdy, are going to drive all the boys crazy." "No I'm not," he protested again and flicked his freshly brushed hair over his shoulder. "I'll tell you what, Miss Dowdy," the professor continued. "I have a sweet proposition for a very sweet girl. It will be good for Jenn Tech Industries and it will be good for your mother. And though you might not realize it, it might be good for you." "I'm not making any deals with you, Professor." "Oh I think you will, Miss Dowdy." Professor Chase stopped talking and glared fiercely at Brad. This was one intimidating woman. After a moment of silence, she continued. "The hard part will be convincing your mother. Now here's my offer. I won't force you, but I think you will take it. Listen carefully." Sitting at the kitchen table, Sheila was lost in thought as she agonized over the checkbook. The real estate market, especially in Florida, had grounded to a halt. She had taken up real estate, as a part-time job, once Brad had entered high school and no longer needed her undivided attention as such. Yet, for the moment, she stared into emptiness, thinking about where her life could have been. Thankfully the kitchen timer interrupted her as the blackened chicken cooking on the electric griddle was finished. She placed the meat onto a wooden cutting board where she carefully sliced the two breasts into equal parts. She removed a bag of baby spinach and Romani lettuce from the refrigerator along with mushrooms, vine ripe Ruskin tomatoes, fresh green peppers, diced onion and a cucumber that she had cut up earlier. With love and care, she tossed the salad, covered it and placed it back in the refrigerator. Then Sheila wrapped the chicken and glanced at her watch. Brad would be home any minute. It was so nice of Professor Chase to have someone drive him home from Jenn Tech. She went back to the checkbook and examined the numbers one more time. Unfortunately there was more going out than coming; mortgage, a car payment, electricity, and health insurance. The numbers just didn't work. Click. Sheila heard the front door shut gently. It was not the usual slam she was used to hearing from her son. She must've told him not to slam the door hundreds of times. Maybe he was finally listening. "Mom? Are you home, Mom? Mom?" Sheila heard the high pitched of her teenage son. Ever since her son lost his deep voice to the age regression and change of gender, Brad had made a point to speak deep from his gut so he would sound as manly as a little girl could. Occasionally, when excited, his voice slipped into the higher register. Sheila enjoyed those moments as she often fantasized about raising a girl. The situation with her son was only temporary she would tell herself. Could anybody blame her, given all of the tragedy recently in her life, the fantasy of doting over her beautiful daughter? It was a shame Brad wouldn't humor her more in this department. Sheila could hear Brad moving through the living room as the wood floors creaked with each step. Yet, something, like Brad's voice, sounded a little different. Mothers notice these little things, you know. While she usually heard the banging of Brad's feet and the squeak from the rubber of the sneakers against the polished floor, she distinctly heard the click of a hard sole against the pine floor. But quickly, her mild puzzlement turned to shock. Expecting to see her thirteen-year-old female son dressed in the oversized soccer uniform she had recently pulled out of the attic with his hair stuffed up under a baseball, Sheila Dowdy's jaw dropped. In his place a teenage girl walked in the room. The girl was wearing a cotton summer sundress, with a flowing skirt. The dress had wide shoulder straps and dipped a little in the front to the tight top area. Though it didn't show any cleavage, it certainly showed the shape of a teen girl. Sheila stood in silence for a moment as she looked her son up and down. "Oh my, God! Brad? Is that you?" "Do you like it, Mom?" Brad asked as he twirled for her to see it from all sides. Brad lifted the skirt as he twirled. When he did, Sheila realized what was making the click-clack sound on the floor. Her son was wearing high heels! The shoes weren't pumps with a separated heel, but corked wedges. They were high angled, but had a hard leather sole and were filled with cork. The shoes were white leather sandal style with ankle straps. As Sheila stared at her son's feet in those adorable shoes, she noticed his toenails were newly painted soft yellow, which made her eyes move up to his hands. His fingernails were long and sported the same pastel color as his toes. His hair looked freshly brushed, laying soft as mink. "You look beautiful!" she said in disbelief. "Why, thank you, Mother," Brad said as he curtsied. He curtsied! It was just only this morning, when she dropped him off, that he swore he wouldn't let Professor Chase slowly turn him into a girl. I guess he was right. Professor Chase had turned him into a girl instantly. "I can't believe you agreed to this, what on Earth convinced you?" "I'm not thrilled with it, but it won't hurt me to broaden my horizons." "I'm so proud of you," Sheila said as she walked over to the counter and picked up the salad bowl. "Fresh spinach salad with blackened chicken." "Great, Mom. Thanks," Brad replied as the two sat down to eat. "Did Vivian put you on a special diet? Is your stomach okay? Is everything alright?" Sheila asked, concerned about his sudden change in diet. "It's fine, Mom," Brad said as his mother served up the salad meal. They sat down to finish the conversation. "All right," Sheila said. Still something didn't feel right. "Remember when you threatened to send me to finishing school?" Brad said, reminding her of their girls night out. "I'm sorry," Sheila admitted. "I should have never said that." "Well, after thinking about it, it might not be a bad idea." "Are you serious?" Sheila asked in astonishment. "Why on Earth would you want to do that?" The answer was Brad did not want to do it. Yet, Professor Chase arranged a deal with him for a before, and after, finishing school video, to be used in their winter ad campaign. In return, Jenn Tech would knock tens of thousands of dollars off his mother's bill. The professor also warned him that Brad's mother would never stand for it. It had to be their secret. At the end of the day, Brad knew what was best for Brad and the family. So he would attend the one-week finishing school whether his mother liked or not. Or at least he would if she believed him. "YOLO, Mom." "You only live once? What does that have to do with anything?" "You were in pageants," Brad started to explain his reasoning. "Allison was in pageants. You two are the most important women in my life. The experience is bound to bring us closer together. To help me understand something more about you." "Oh, Darling," Sheila said as she went over and embraced Brad in a loving hug. It was a dream come true. Sheila so desperately had wanted a perfect daughter to teach this stuff to. "I'll take you to Jenn Tech in the morning." Hook, line, and sinker. "I have to be there tonight," he told his mother. "We are starting really, really early." "Oh?" she asked with surprise. "Okay. Well then help me clean up and I'll drop you off." "Ummm," Brad said with trepidation. "They're already waiting for me." "You mean?" "There's a limo outside," Brad said as a look of disappointment crossed his mother's face. She certainly wasn't prepared for the suddenness of all this. "But I can help you clean up if you want," Brad said as he sensed her discomfort. "No... no. Don't worry about it, Sheila said, still taking in the situation. Brad looked at her for a very awkward moment. "Okay. I guess I'm off," he said as he walked over to his mother for an embrace. Sheila brushed his hair back over his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. Then Brad headed towards the front door. "Don't you need to pack?" Sheila asked as Brad headed for the door. "Professor Chase told me everything I needed would be waiting," he answered. "They're even upgrading my smartphone." "Are you sure everything is okay?" Brad's mother asked, worried, as Brad waved goodbye with a plastic smile. Sheila could tell it was forced and she almost stopped her son, but didn't, as his head turned and his beautiful blonde hair hid his face from view. For the first time he was happy to have it. He walked out the door and side stepped gingerly down the porch steps as his mother watched. "Here," the driver said, handing Brad a small cloth bag. "What's this?" "It's your purse, Miss," the driver informed him. "Professor Chase said you forgot it." Brad entered into the limousine quickly, smoothed his skirt, and sat down. As the driver shut the door, Sheila could no longer see her son through the tinted windows of the luxury car. Brad could see her and he thought to himself she looked really sad. Sheila watched as the car pulled away. "Finally," she thought. "He's finally playing along." Sheila desperately wanted to see her genes in the perfect little daughter. A daughter to live the life she never had, as she sacrificed her modeling and professional dreams to raise a family. To have the other mothers acknowledge what a good parent she was. Still, something didn't feel right. Was she wrong to encourage his feminine behavior? Should she even allow him to go to finishing school? Was she doing the wrong thing? Was she being a bad mother? Brad wouldn't be doing this if he didn't want to. He did volunteer after all. "It's all alright," she told herself. "It's only temporary. It's all just a game." Then why did she feel so bad? As the car pulled away Brad quickly turned his head and stared out the back window. Although she couldn't see him through the tinted windows, he could still see her. She looked heartbroken, he thought to himself. Maybe he should stop. "Driver." "Yes, Miss." "Maybe we..." Just then Brad heard a muffled "Beeeeep," which stopped him in mid- sentence. "Yes..." the driver said. "I was just saying perhaps..." "Beeeeep." There it was again. It sounded like a cell phone, but not his phone. "Do you need to get that?" Brad asked the driver. "It isn't my phone, Miss," the driver replied. "Beeeeep." There it was again. Brad started shuffling around the back of the car and searched beneath the seat as the driver glanced back in the rearview mirror. "That's not what my phone sounds like." "Well, then, your purse has been ringing for an hour." "Oh my God! I was supposed to watch a movie with Allison tonight," Brad said in frustration. Brad unclasped his new accessory and dumped its contents on the seat. A metallic pink rectangular block fell out along with some makeup items and apricot scented hand lotion. "My phone," he gasped as the car continued on its journey. It was pink! "Not that too," he thought to himself as he awkwardly dialed Allison to explain he wouldn't be coming over. But before he could dial out, it rang again. The caller ID read "Jenn Tech Industries." "Hello?" Brad answered. "Good evening, Miss Dowdy," came the voice. It was Professor Chase. "Hi Professor," Brad answered back. Everything about this woman gave him chills. "I trust you are on your way back to our facility." "Yes, Ma'am," he answered. "Then your mother bought your explanation." "Yes, Ma'am." "Very good. Then I will let you go," Professor Chase said. "But before I do, there's just one more thing." "I am going to make a girl out of you," she taunted him. "A perfect little lady." As Brad hung up the phone he glanced out the window. They were already on the highway en route to the place he dreaded. He wanted to tell the driver to take him home. He wanted to jump out of the moving vehicle. He wanted his body back. But for the seventeen-year-old boy in the body of a teenage girl, there was no turning back. The next morning, Brad was up with the sun. What feminine horror would he face today? He half expected to see another Disney princess dress or perhaps another Hannah Montana outfit. Inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw what the professor had laid out for him to wear. This wasn't going to be so bad after all. Brad walked into the Jenn Tech television studio wearing a blue boys, or maybe a girls' soccer uniform carrying a ball. His hair was tied in a low ponytail hidden down the back of his shirt. One week later, Brad walked out of Jenn Tech a young lady. His pink ball gown exuded femininity with delicate and charming details, and side floral ornaments. The bubble skirt was big enough for a hoop, but filled with a cloud taffeta on the inside and adorned with fluffy sheer organza-like petals on a flower outside. His hair was curled in tight spiral ringlets and adorned with a pink bowed hairband. Brad lifted his skirts, ready to descend the marble staircase. With his free hand on the rail, he started his descent to the limo. With all he'd been through this week, navigating this obstacle wasn't a problem. With his back held straight, head high and a pretty smile on his face, Brad barely had to think about what he was doing. Feeling each step with feet he couldn't see, before he put his weight down, had become second nature. Having successfully traversed the staircase, he extended a hand to the limo driver who readily assisted his entrance. As the car shifted into drive, a television set popped up, and Brad saw the time capsule of his week of training. Of course it started with Brad walking into the studio wearing a baggy soccer uniform. You couldn't really tell if it was a boy or a girl. "This is our tomboy," said the announcer. "Ironically, we'll call her Missy." The montage started with Brad juggling the soccer ball, first with his feet then off his knees and even his shoulders. His ball skills were apparent. He threw a baseball, caught one and connected on a mighty swing. The nimble Brad ran tight passing routes and caught everything thrown his way. The last pass had him diving for the ball as the bun popped and blonde hair spilled across his face. Then, a close-up showed that even with a mouthful of hair, he had a great big smile on his face. "In one week Missy will go from this..." We see Brad shooting a basketball with his hair back in a bun. "To this..." Cut to Brad wearing the same basketball jersey with a medium length black tube skirt and stumbling while walking in heels for the first time. "To this..." Cut to Brad on a stage full of beautiful young girls wearing evening gowns and sashes. Brad's name is called, causing him both shock and disbelief as a tiara is placed on his head. With a dozen long-stem roses cradled in his arm, he makes the journey up and down the catwalk waving to the crowd, tears evident, along with a winning smile of happiness. The video went on, documenting his week-long transformation, as he learned to walk in heels and put on makeup. It showed him looking lost in a pageant changing room, to gradually learning clothing selections, to grabbing everything in a whirlwind and hustling out to the stage in full girl getup. The week had flown by. Like his mother drilled into him, Brad approached the girl stuff like a game. Up was up early, and in bed late every night. He imitated the other girls in the program, half mocking them he thought. But seeing his week edited and played back, it started to sink in what was happening. They were completely and utterly girlifying him. The 45-minute presentation included sit down interviews, and his candid reactions, along with commentary from Professor Chase, explaining how biochemical affects certain situations of the teenage girl's brain. His teenage girl's brain. He needed to reverse, or at least stop the bombardment of stimuli that would provoke girl thoughts. No more dresses. No more dancing. But as the video ended, the limo pulled up at one of the fanciest restaurants in town. Stepping gingerly out onto the red carpet, heads turned. Who was this young starlet? they questioned. His mother, also dressed to the nines, waved to him, to catch his attention. Looked like another fancy girl's night out. Though he knew he had to put an end to it, he couldn't let on there was a problem. His mother would want to hear everything. Looked like Brad was in for a night of gibbering, endless, girl-talk. The next morning, Brad sighed as his closet was full of the clothes he wore for pageant week. Three outfits a day. Fortunately, Professor Chase also sent home the sports uniforms from the first day of finishing school. Beep! Beep! Brad knew that horn. It was Randy. Wearing pink sneakers, Brad grabbed cleats for today's workout, and ran to the car. "Hey, dude," Randy greeted him as he pulled the car door shut. "God, am I so glad to see you," Brad said. "Likewise," Randy replied. "How was your week?" "Way too much estrogen," Brad replied, remembering he hadn't seen a guy for a week. "You mean at Jenn Tech or that little teenybopper body?" Randy quipped. "Shut up," Brad said, rolling his eyes and swatting Randy on the arm. "Aren't you cute." "Shut up, Randy!" Brad squealed. Randy noticed at times Brad really sounded like a teenage girl. He pondered the situation and shut his mouth for the rest of the ride. Running pass patterns was quite different in Brad's prison of girl- flesh. After a week of running around in strapless dresses, Brad now ran pass patterns with his arms at his side or crisscrossed over his breasts. This changed his hand-eye coordination. And the skinny fingers on his girl hands didn't help either. The result was the ever dependable Brad began dropping pass after pass. "Wow," Randy observed after ten dropped balls. "I didn't know they could engineer suckiness." "I don't suck," Brad argued, returning to the line of scrimmage. "I guess you are a little young to suck," Randy retorted. "But I'm sure you will in high school." "Shut up," Brad said. He hit his friend in the arm again. But unlike his regular punch, his upper arm stayed in at his torso, and the full force came from the elbow down. He hit his friend like he would have if had been wearing one of those pageant dresses. Like he didn't want to pop a boob. "Not only do you run like a girl," Randy said. "You even hit like one." Brad hit him again. "You're only proving my point," Randy told his friend. Brad was silent as he pondered what Randy was saying. "I'm just a bit off," he eventually replied. "A bit?" Randy quipped. "This is like throwing routes with my little sister." "I am not a girl!" Brad said, refuting his friend. "The empirical evidence says otherwise," Randy said, mocking their goofy science teacher. Brad was silent again and found himself fighting tears. "Randy, please," Brad said sounding panicked. "Help me get this girl stuff out of my system. Please." "I'll do what I can." Brad ran the ten-yard crossing pattern that was their signature play. Since Brad's small hands had him struggling with high and low ball placement, Randy put this one on the numbers. "Ow!" Brad shouted. "That hurts." He looked at his boobs. "Dude," Randy said. "That's as good as it's going to get." "That really hurt my..." Brad hated to say it "...boobs." "Maybe you just aren't cut out for this now." "What do you mean by that?" "I mean, you are a girl and all." Brad looked at his palms, and then the back of his hands. Next he studied his arms. He surveyed himself as if he'd never noticed that he was a girl. He looked down at his breasts, encased in the sports bra. Then he pulled the top out a bit to see what he was dealing with. His boobs were soft. Sure they hurt. But Brad made dealing with pain a daily part of his existence. "I've played through worse," Brad reminded Randy. "Hit me." "Where should I put it?" his friend asked. "Right on the numbers," Brad said, ready for the outcome. Brad ran the pattern again. Smack! Brad snagged the ball, not letting go. He caught it! The next throw hit Brad's boobs again, harder. Once more it hurt. In fact it hurt bad. But Brad did whatever he set his mind to. He could do this. Every day for the next week Brad and Randy were back out practicing. Brad was working hard every day to unfinish the finishing school education Professor Chase gave him. By the seventh day he seemed to have lost the gait of a thirteen year-old-beauty queen. Things were returning to normal. The next day Brad was due for a checkup. He grabbed a sports-bra. It was definitely the least feminine item in his wardrobe. He had to wear panties, of course, but the rest of what he put on was the soccer uniform. Brad marched in to Jenn Tech with a clear sense of identity. Neither his girl body, nor charm school, was going to keep him acting like a girl. Following Marla down the hall, Brad walked like a caveman. Feet shoulder length apart. Large steps. Arms swinging for movement up and balance. While these movements caused the extra flesh in his boobs and butt to jiggle, it was still better than walking like a girl. "Well, well," Professor Chase said as Brad entered the Lab Room 3. "If it isn't our little rebel." "Even after I completed your charm school, I'm still me." "Is that who you are?" "You betcha." "Whatever you say, Miss Dowdy," Professor Chase continued. "Now let's see how you're doing. You know the routine." Brad stripped down to his underwear. He was now shackled to the exam table while the Jenn Tech machines hummed and buzzed over his body. She had another of the holographic machine projecting onto the ceiling, superimposing feminine garments and hairstyles over his near naked form. Professor Chase explained this process was to help patients like Brad keep their dignity in the wake of an examination where they had to be naked. On top of that, department stores and clothing manufacturers actually paid to have their clothes featured, hoping the women undergoing Jenn Tech beauty enhancements would want their clothing. Click. Brad looked up to see he was dressed as a farm girl, complete with denim Daisy Dukes, cowboy boots, and a plaid button-down shirt. The long sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and the shirt was tied just under his breasts. To top it off, they superimposed his long blonde hair tied in pigtails. Completely immobilized Brad had two options: close his eyes or enjoy the show. But like watching a train wreck, there was a morbid fascination with what he was watching and his eyes remained open. Ninety seconds went by. Click. Brad was now wearing a white sundress with blue polka dots and blue low heels. His hair was combed perfectly straight. Click. Brad was now wearing a pink cotton babydoll nightgown with his hair in pigtails again, this time secured with pink ribbons. With a look of concern, Professor Vivian Chase approached the girl. "And what, pray tell, have you been doing to yourself?" Professor Chase asked him. "Just laying out and exercising like I'm supposed to," Brad answered. "By exercising do you mean letting yourself get beaten senseless?" Professor Chase had mostly been hostile towards Brad Dowdy, the high school football player trapped in the body of a girl shackled to the wall. She asked the girl with compassion, "Has someone been beating you?" "What do you mean?" "You've got deep bruises to your thighs, breasts and arms. Your fingers are showing minute fractures," she explained. "But the most serious concern is the hematoma to your breasts," she said looking over the data. "Hematoma?" "Very deep bruising." "Oh, that" Brad said. "It's nothing. Just some football dings." Professor Chase's face went from a look of genuine compassion to outright anger. "Football? You've been banging up my body parts playing football?" Professor Chase demanded. "You said I had to exercise," Brad responded. "I thought I laid out the terms and conditions that you must follow unless you want to buy those boobs forever, Miss Dowdy." "They're just bruises," he tried to explain. "They'll heal." "Not by the time your new body is ready," Professor Chase told him. "You have severe tearing that is separating your breast tissue from your pectoral muscle. I'm afraid that instead of paying you for growing those breasts, we are now going to have to charge you instead." "But they look fine," Brad asked in a state of panic. "I don't even see a bruise." Professor Chase explained. "We aim for perfection, Miss Dowdy. The parts you are growing are to be sold as perfect. We can't sell or attach a product to someone with deep tears and bruises, regardless of whether you can see them or not." "So what does that mean?" Brad asked. The professor hit a button and released Brad's shackles. He hopped down onto the stool causing his breasts to bounce. "It means we're done." "The appointments over?" Brad asked. "Well I guess I won't play football anymore." "You can do whatever you want," Professor Chase affirmed. "You just said I shouldn't play football," confused. "No Miss Dowdy, they belong to you now. You weren't able to live up to the terms of our agreement. I'll have Marla finished the paperwork and send you your final bill. Instead of paying you for that hair and breasts, you will now be paying us. And that won't be cheap, as you know." "Professor Chase, no," Brad begged. His heart was beating rapidly somewhere beneath his breast. "I'm afraid my hands are tied on this one," she explained. "And I don't joke." "Come on Professor, these bruises can't be that bad," Brad said continuing to plead his case. "There has to be something you can do." "I'm sorry Miss Dowdy," she continued. "But what we need here is time. Time for everything to heal, and time to make sure there is no permanent damage. And with this summer schedule, that is one thing you don't have." "Please, Professor," Brad continued begging. "Can't you make this one exception? Who's going to know the difference?" "I've already stuck my neck out as far as I can on this one," she said. "I'm just sorry for your mother." His mother. Brad had let his mother down once again. First by getting in the accident that caused the family enormous debt. And now dragging them even deeper with his inability to follow instructions. The professor paused for a moment. "What?" Brad asked. He could see the professor had an idea. "I think I figured a way," she said. "I think we can make another deal. But I've got to warn you, it's going to hurt." "I'm a football player, Professor Chase," Brad said. "I think I can handle some pain." Chapter 13--Two Queens, One Hive With Brad shackled to the wall, Professor Chase hooked up the IV. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Professor Chase asked. "It is going to be painful." "Well, as long as it keeps me from being a burden on my mom, I'm in," Brad replied. "And I told you, I'm the starting tight end for our high school football team. Pain is my friend." "Don't say I didn't warn you." Brad watched curiously as the Professor went behind a wall where she hit a button. Brad could feel something pumping through his blood. His heart rate began to increase. His body began to shake, almost convulsing, like a mega-dose of caffeine coursed through his veins. Ow. His bones felt like they were stretching. "Owwww." That really hurt. They were pumping nanobots, growth hormones and nutrients through his blood. "It's about to get worse," Professor Chase warned. She watched the girl, who still thought of herself as a boy, with morbid fascination. Perhaps even a look of sympathy crossed the scientist's face. "Ahhhhhhhhhh," the girl grunted. "I'm sorry dear." "Uh. Uh. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Brad groaned as tears ran down the transformed boy's pretty face. "Brace yourself." "Ah! That hurts! Ahhhh!" Brad screamed with drool dripping from those pretty lips. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" A teenage girl's bloodcurdling scream echoed off the marble floors and walls of Jenn Tech Industries. She struggled to break her metallic bonds, but to no avail. Screams and wails gave way to gags and grunts as the two-hour process wore on. Brad nearly passed out a couple of times, but managed to retain consciousness. His hair, having exploded from the tight bun from earlier, was in his eyes, in his mouth, and even in his nostrils as he hyperventilated. And just like the pain started, it finally stopped. A nurse wheeled a gurney over to the wall and as they unshackled him, he collapsed onto it. "Get her into the recovery room, and call me when she wakes up," Professor Chase instructed. Six hours later, Brad was not only up and about, but finished at the salon. His hair, bright and blonde as always. Freshly washed, was now six inches longer, extending well past his breasts. It was layered and feathered, and looked absolutely perfect framing his beautiful face. And what a face it was. His lips were slightly fuller, and his nose was even more upturned. He still had that delicate jaw line, but his cheekbones were more pronounced and the flesh around that jaw line made his face rounder. The effect meant his face no longer looked like a girl-child, but was well on its way to becoming a woman. Entering the changing room, he saw his cell phone blinking that he had missed a call. Mom. He hit a button to call her back. "Are you still at Jenn Tech?" Sheila asked, concerned at how long he had been gone. "I sure am." "You've been there nearly eight hours," Sheila said. "Is anything wrong? Your voice sounds different." "Um... Mom... You remember that dress Allison gave to me that Mrs. Brown didn't want me to have?" "Yes, Hon," Sheila said. "I don't think I'll be needing it anymore." "What do you mean you won't be needing it anymore?" Sheila asked. "Did they make you a boy again?" "No, Mom, I'm still a girl." Brad was aware that his body had changed, but his male genitalia were still AWOL. "I'm almost done here and they promised to drop me off. I'll see you soon. Love you," Brad said and hung up the phone. He surveyed the clothes someone had laid out for him. The soccer jersey was gone. Instead he found a purple ruffle top made out of silk or satin or some other shiny material. In place of white cotton panties, decorated with a few pastel flowers, was a pink thong with purple-laced edging. And the bra was purple, too. Picking it up, he looked at the label: 36C. It seemed Brad had gained a cup size. Brad tried to work the clasp when he was hit by his latest hurdle: long fingernails. His nails had been manicured and painted bubblegum pink, the same color as his toenails. Unfortunately, thanks to the deal he made with Professor Chase, these long pink nails had to stay. They didn't have to stay pink. Red or purple or green would suffice, but he would have to keep them up. That meant his football practicing days were over. Finally, he hooked the bra in front of him, and then spun it around where he slipped his arms through the shoulder straps, nestling his breasts inside the cups. If fit perfectly. He pulled on the ruffle top, which still fit him, but fit him much tighter. Looking down, he couldn't find the soccer shorts he had on earlier. Instead was a bright pink stretchy thing Brad decided, was either a hair band or a scarf. Picking it up in his hands, he noticed the color perfectly matched his nails. He folded it in half, Twisted it into a figure-8 and put it on his head. It was awkward, but he eventually was able to pull his hair through it. Not seeing any other kind of pants, Brad wrapped the robe around him and stepped back onto the floor of the salon. "Ummm... Cindy," he called to the pretty blonde who seemed to be leading him on his journey. "My shorts seem to be missing." "I don't think they will fit." Cindy chuckled as she looked at Brad's wider, more womanly hips. "You're probably right," Brad agreed. Having gone straight from the recovery room to the salon, Brad had little time to survey the changes in the rest of his body. He was nearly as tall as Cindy, who looked like someone out of the pages of a Victoria's secret catalog. "But I can't just walk out of here in my panties." "You could always wear the skirt we left you." "Skirt?" Brad asked. "What skirt?" "The one that's wrapped around your head," she laughed. "You've got to be kidding me," Brad said. "No... you've got a lot to learn about women's clothes." Brad went back behind the curtain and pulled the fabric off his head. This sheer garment definitely seemed more like a headband or a handkerchief than an actual piece of clothing. But, as he pulled it up his legs, it just seemed to stretch as it passed over his much wider and rounder hips. The result was startling. Brad looked down at the front of the skirt that was stretched against his flat tummy. And in the rear, the material felt like it was holding his butt cheeks up, much like his bra supported his breasts. Looking around, he didn't see any shoes, until out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a shoebox. Opening it, Brad saw a pink pair of stilettos with a three-inch heel. "Please don't tell me these things are for me," Brad said. "Okay, I won't." Cindy smiled. "Now hurry up and put them on so I can show you how to maneuver in them." "My mom already taught me how to sit in a miniskirt." "It's not just sitting, Brad. It's walking and standing perched on high heels. A gust of wind can push your balance off and make you show those pretty panties of yours." Brad knew his old shoes wouldn't fit him anymore, and for the moment, he didn't have much choice. And just like Cinderella with her glass slippers, these shoes fit him perfectly. He walked out of the dressing room ready for what came next. "Let's get this over with," Brad reluctantly agreed, as he came clomping out. Since the last stimulation he received was running football routes, Brad clomped out like a bulky tight end running a pass pattern. If it wasn't for the luck of a strategically placed chair for Brad to catch his fall, he would have face-planted in the salon. Observing the former male, "How about a quick refresher?" "This is going to be fun," Brad said sarcastically. After a few tips on posture and foot placement, it was like riding a bicycle. The intense training and practice sessions from his finishing school appearance came flooding back. Brad was following Cindy down the marble hallways of Jenn Tech Industries towards the office of Professor Chase. Brad walked deliberately... -deliberately the opposite of- what his football coach said was essential. In sports, you kept your feet shoulder width apart for perfect balance. "Low man wins," the coach would say, referring to the power you leveraged against your opponent, from crouching and thrusting upward. But with his back straight and arms at his side, a stiff breeze could have knocked the former football player over. Arriving at his destination, Brad composed himself and walked into Professor Chase's office. Daintily he placed one foot in front of the other. Heel to toe. Heel to toe. His back was straight, his arms hung at his side, and he could have balanced a book on his head. His steps were careful and deliberate, and Professor Chase could tell he was concentrating. She couldn't have been more pleased. All in all, Brad was looking more and more fawn-like with his movements. He approached the Professor's desk and smoothed out his skirt as he sat down gracefully, crossing his legs, and folding his hands in his lap. "Very good, Miss Dowdy," Professor Chase said, praising him. "I try," he said, emphasizing the word "try." As a result, his voice rose in pitch, sounding very girly. "But I am surprised that you've agreed to go along with this." "And why is that?" "Because a couple weeks ago you were freaking out at the idea of wearing a dress in front of your mother, and now you've agreed to wear one every day out in public." Brad's gaze dropped to the floor as a feeling of guilt overwhelmed him. "Well, I just don't want to be a burden anymore." He paused to consider his change in attitude. Trying to feign confidence, he smiled, and looked Professor Chase in the eye. "And like you guys have said, once I go back to being me, no one else will know I did these things." "But you'll always know, Brad," Professor Chase reminded him. "You'll always know." The smile left Brad's pretty face, and his eyes shifted downward. "Can I go home now?" "And how do you plan to do that?" "Can't you have someone take me?" Brad asked. "Or can I call my mom now?" "We could take you home," Professor Chase said as she reached into her drawer, pulling out a key. "Or you can drive yourself." "Oh my God!" Brad squealed without thinking about it. "A car! You're lending me a car?" Brad was now on his feet bouncing up and down, clearly excited. Just the reaction Professor Chase hoped for. Twenty minutes later, Brad pulled up in his driveway in a bright yellow Volkswagen convertible. It was like turning sixteen again; he had wheels. He pulled the bottom of his miniskirt to make sure it hadn't ridden up before exiting. Then, after opening the driver side door, he swung his legs out of the car in one graceful motion while keeping his knees tightly together. He swiveled his hips and upper body towards the door and stood. He reached back into the car and picked up a pink tote bag, threw it over his shoulder and headed for the door