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Maybe It's Magic by RH Music Introduction: The Room for Rent Being from a small backwater town, I am excited to be finally out on my own! I've had enough of my provincial parents and their 1950's throwback, hard-line religious Christian attitudes. It's the 70's, for Christ's sake! Time to get with the times and all of the exiting happenings in the world. And as for my chosen field of study: physics. I want to unravel the mysteries of the universe. Quantum Chromodynamics is the path to explain the theory of everything! It's a physics revolution of tachyons, hadrons, and color forces! We're just a few years away from uniting Quantum Mechanics to Einsteinian physics, and I'm going to be the one who's gonna finally do it. It takes me a while, but I finally find a school with an awesome physics department, in a sleepy New Jersey town, about an hour away from New York City. Unfortunately, my scholarship doesn't include room and board, but that's OK. I'll figure out a way. All I need is a chance to prove myself. * * * "Do you smoke?" "No. Ma'am." "*Please*," she rolls her eyes, "call me Morgen. I'm only a few years older than you are." Only a few years older...? Morgen's fiery red hair and glasses makes her look much older and more mature, like one of my Mom's friends. I try my best not to stare at her breasts, which are large and lovingly outlined by her black, ribbed turtleneck. "Okay... Morgen. Uh, no. I don't smoke." "Pets?" Her voice is no-nonsense. "No." "Are you a jock? Are you going to bring women home with you at all hours of the day or night? Visitors are not allowed. Are you okay with that?" "Yes, Ma-... sorry. Morgen. Yes, I'm okay with that, Morgen." Why is she looking at me so strangely? "Okay. Non smoker, seems polite. Why aren't you staying in the dorms? Aren't freshmen required to stay in the dorms?" "I... uh... I can't afford the dorms," I say, embarrassed. "So they gave me an exception." "I understand," Morgen says. Morgen pauses, looking at me. "Is everything okay?" I ask. "I think you have..." Morgen reaches out, tentatively, "something on your... a piece of lint or something..." her hand reaches out to brush something off my forehead- - blink - "Thank you, Marshall, I have everything I need. If you still want the room, it's yours." What just happened? I look around, feeling strange. And out of place. Had I just blacked out for a second? Did I nod off? I hope Morgen didn't see that! "Marshall?" "Oh, thank you! Yes, I'll take it!" A flood of relief sweeps through me. I have a place to stay! "Excellent. When can you move in?" Thoughts of my cousin's cramped sofa flash through my head. "Is tonight too soon?" "Not at all! You'll be staying in the guest bedroom, let me show you." I follow Morgen down the hall. She's wearing bell bottom jeans which are tight around her bottom. "Here's the bathroom," she opens a door. "We'll have to share it. I hope that's okay." "Oh. Sure." I look into the bathroom. It's small and the sink and small set of shelves are overflowing with Morgen's feminine products. That won't be a problem, I decide. I just have a few things anyway. Morgen leads me to a nicely appointed bedroom at the end of the hall. It has a small set of dresser drawers, a small closet, a writing desk and a comfy upholstered chair. "Sorry about the styling, I know it's not very manly," Morgen indicates the flowered wallpaper. "It's Laura Ashley. My mom is-" I watch as Morgen stops, looks away for a second, takes a deep breath and then turns back to me. "Sorry, Mom *was* kind of a nut for Laura Ashley. So this was... she... I'm sorry, Marshall, but my Mom unexpectedly died about a year ago. This was her last redecorating project. Anyway, it's only me and Dad now, I hope you don't mind." "Oh, no, of course not." I feel like I should say something, but I have no idea what. "It's fine," I add, lamely. "Thanks, Marshall. You're a peach. I'm so glad you're here. It's been... lonely. It will be good to have some fresh energy in the house." * * * The next few weeks are wonderful. The scholarship paid for tuition and books. Because the room with Morgen and her Dad is so cheap, I have enough money, at least for now, to do nothing but focus on studying physics. I'll probably have to get a job in a few weeks, but I'll cross that bridge when I have to. I'm way ahead in all of my classes and I'm even able to sit in on some of the physics lectures they have for grad students! I've met Mr. Feyla only a few times so far. He's usually dressed in a business suit (with dress shirt, tie and hat - who wears a hat these days?) on his way to work or just having arrived home from work. He carries a leather briefcase which he leaves in the foyer and never opens. On weekends, he puts on something plaid and works in the yard or goes back to the office. Mr. Feyla is a man of few words, and I've barely heard him say more than "Good Morning, Marshall". I can tell he's still struggling with the death of his wife, since he's often looking away and grimacing, and sometimes he has to leave the room suddenly. I'm often invited to eat dinner with the family which I gratefully accept, since it stretches my meager finances even further. During these dinners, Morgen keeps up a lively chatter, her long hair swaying to and fro as she makes a point, clearly trying to pull her father out of his depression. On occasion she's successful and Mr. Feyla (his first name is Richard) contributes a word or two, or becomes interested in her story, but almost immediately he slips away again, staring at his food, mostly uneaten, before rising silently and going to bed. "I worry about him," Morgen admits. "It takes time," I say, repeating what I would hear my mother say. "I suppose you're right. I just feel like he's getting worse, not better. I would do anything to help him feel better. Anything." She looks at me. "I'm sure you'll think of something," I say. * * * Chapter 1: The Panties I often sit at the kitchen table, reading through physics or doing math homework. Not only is it less cramped and has better lighting than my bedroom, but also Morgen often studies there too. She's getting her doctorate in Psychology. I wonder if she's analyzing me. Normally I would think that someone as beautiful and confident as Morgen would be way out of my league. But then why is she always so friendly? She's always chatting with me when we are together and offering food or snacks, her long red hair pulled up into a pony tail and swinging seductively in the air... Is it possible that she's interested in me? And so today, I pick out the book called "The Large Scale Structure of Space Time" by Stephan Hawking and George Ellis and head to the kitchen. It's a brand new book, an early copy loaned to me by my physics professor. It's so brilliant how they proved that the world started with the Big Bang! It's such a shame that Hawking has Lou Gehrig's disease and that he'll only be alive for, at most, another few years. I sit down at the kitchen table and Morgen is already there, reading some articles from a research journal. Also on the table is a stack of laundry, mostly dark blouses and shirts (Morgen wears mostly dark clothing which fits her mostly dark personality), and on the top of this pile of freshly washed clothing is a pair of pink panties. For some reason, perhaps because they are so unlike anything Morgen would wear, or maybe just because they are such an intimate garment, the panties catch my eye and I stare at them for a second. They are made of a silky nylon with an elastic waist. The leg holes are trimmed with white lace. They look like a typical pair of housewife panties from the 1960's, the type my Mom might have worn. Finally, I tear my eyes away from the panties and open my book and start to read, taking notes and referring to a mimeographed copy of my professor's lecture notes. "I saw that," Morgen says, not looking up from her journal. "Saw what?" I try to act innocent. "I saw you staring at those panties." "I..." I squirm uncomfortably, and glance back at the panties. The shiny nylon catches the sunlight coming into the room making them glow. "No. Of course not," I try and bluster my way out of it. "Do you think there are two kinds of men?" Morgen asks, looking up from her journal. "What do you mean?" "You know, two types of men. Real men... and men who like to wear women's panties." I suck in my breath at her rude implication. "I wouldn't know," I say, in a huff. "Now my father, he's definitely a *real man*. Very traditional head of the household. Dominant. Wants his way. I think that's why my mother liked him so much, because he could stand up to her and bend her to his will. He would never even think of wearing panties. Like most men, panties are just what needs to be removed before getting to the good stuff." "Morgen-" I want to stop her, how she's talking about her father is really embarrassing. But I don't know what to say. "I've been studying about transsexualism and transvestism, mostly about men wanting to dress as women. Of course it's a mental illness, but current psychological methods don't seem to be working." "Interesting." I am grateful that the conversation has veered towards medical literature and away from her father's dominant personality. "But it makes me think that maybe there are real men, and then men who like to wear panties. Like that pair that you were staring at as you came into the room." "I wasn't staring-" "Oh, Marshall, it's okay! It's not something you can control. I perfectly understand. It's just who you are." "But Morgen, I swear, I wasn't-" "They are really pretty, pink panties, aren't they?" "Listen, Morgen, I don't know what you're trying to do, but I swear, no matter what you think I wasn't -" "Marshall, you didn't answer my question," Morgen interrupts. "Look at the panties. Don't you think they're pretty? Pretty pink panties?" Against my will, I look over at the panties. I take in the lace, the slippery texture, the elastic at the waist with the scrunched up fabric creating small ripples like shiny liquid. I feel my pulse rate increase. "Yeah, I guess." I try to act nonchalant. "No guessing, Marshall. Are they pretty pink panties?" "Yes," I admit. "They are very pretty panties. Now, can I get back to studying-" "And they're magic, too." WHAT?? "I-I'm sorry?" I stammer. "Magic?" "Yes, magic. Isn't that interesting?" "There's no such thing as magic." "Oh, but there is. There most definitely is." The way Morgen says this, her absolute confidence, gives me a start. I had no idea I was rooming with such an unscientific woman living in this fantasy world! "So, in what way are they magic?" I ask, my voice dripping with skepticism. "Well, for starters, the more you look at them, the more you want... no, the more you *need* to look at them some more." "Oh, is that all," I roll my eyes. "It only works for the kind of men who like to wear panties," Morgen gives me a knowing look. "Transvestite or transsexual men. I'm sure that my father or I could stare at them for hours and then never give them another thought. But for men who want to wear panties... for those sorts of men... well if you even just glance at them, then you'll find that you want to look at them some more. And then you'll want to look some more. It will become like an obsession, you won't be able to look away." "That's ridiculous." "Is it? Aren't you feeling it right now, Marshall? Don't you feel them calling to you? Don't you feel an urge to look over and just gaze at them, right now?" "No." "Oh, okay then. I guess I was wrong about you," Morgen says, abruptly returning to her journal. Annoyed, I return to my reading. Stupid panties, I think. Why is she harping on them so much? Does she really think I'm some sort of pansy? That I like wearing panties? I began to rethink our interactions. Perhaps Morgen was being so nice to me these last few weeks because she felt I was not a threat? Perhaps she thinks I'm gay, that's why? You hear all the time about women with gay friends. My heart sinks. Of course I knew from the beginning that a beautiful grad student like Morgen couldn't possibly be interested in a freshman like me. But this is an embarrassing way to find out. And all over a pair of stupid panties. Stupid pink panties. I start thinking about them, laying innocently on top of that pile of laundry, looking pink and feminine and delicate and glowing in the sunlight. I shift a little in my seat. Those panties. Now that they are on my mind, I can't seem to stop thinking about them. Damn it! Maybe if I just look at them briefly, then I can clear my head and get back to work? I quickly glance over and then back at the book. I notice Morgen look up quickly, but then return to her journal. It wasn't enough. It felt just like just a teaser. Oh god... I really need to look at them. Maybe if I pretend to stretch, I can get a good look and then that will be enough? I reach my up and stretch out, as if I'm tired of sitting, and this allows me to turn my head and look at them... Oh... They are not just pretty, they are beautiful. How could a pair of pink housewife panties be so beautiful? And they look so delicate and feminine, I imagine a housewife picking them out and slipping them up her long, graceful legs before putting them on, covering her pert buns and cupping her delicate pubic mound- "I told you, they're magic!" Morgen says. I snap out of my reverie and look over at her, my face beet red. "Well, how could I *not* look at them, the way you've been talking about them all this time," I retort, angrily. "Oh Marshall, it's okay! Please, look at them as much as you want! I won't think any less of you because you like to look at women's panties. Honestly!" "I'm done." "Are you sure you're done?" "Yes." "Well, good. Then I don't have to tell you about the other part of the magic." I try to read for a while, but, of course, it's hopeless. "What other part of the magic?" I ask, finally, desperate to know more about these supposedly magic panties. Morgen grins, a look of triumph on her face, as if she knew I would have to ask. "The other part of the magic is this. The more you look at them, the more you want to wear them." "That's ridiculous." "Is it? Aren't you feeling just a tiny bit like you want to wear them, even now?" I shift uncomfortably in my chair. As soon as she mentioned it, I did, in fact, start to wonder what it would be like to put them on. "No," I say. "Besides, the whole idea is ludicrous. The world is run by physical laws. There is no such thing as magic." "Really? You're so sure? Don't you think there is more in the world than can be explained by physics?" "No. Maybe physics doesn't explain absolutely everything yet, but it soon will. And there's definitely no such thing as a mystical force called 'magic'." "Well, then, if you're so sure, Marshall," Morgen winks at me, "then why don't you take a good look at those panties? Go ahead. Take a good long look. I know you want to. Then when you've had your fill, tell me if you don't feel like putting them on, not even a little." "Okay, fine. I will." I had been desperate to look at the panties anyway, since my previous glances had both been cut short by interruptions. If only I can just look at them *enough*, I reason, then I won't need to look at them anymore and I can put the whole ridiculous discussion behind me. But oh... The fabric is just so fine, like gossamer strands woven together. And the shade of pink was pretty, not girly but just very pretty. And the lace, obviously it's machine lace, but it is just the right amount of detail. But they're just panties! Women's panties! And I'm a man! Stop looking at them! Stop looking at them! But I just can't seem to tear my eyes away. My god, how I want to reach out and touch them... feel them... slip them up my legs-- "Marshall?" As if electrocuted, I jerk out of it and stare back at Morgen. "I thought I had lost you there. So now tell me, are they magic panties? Are you feeling like you want to put them on?" "Yes, I *do* want to-" the words come out of my mouth before I can stop them! "I mean, NO!" I desperately try to retreat, "I *DON'T* want to put them on!" "AHA!" Morgen says. "I knew it would work! I just knew it! You *are* feeling like you want to put them on, aren't you!" "No," I huff, my scalp sweating because I'm so embarrassed. I glance over at the panties quickly before turning back to Morgen. "I could care less about them." "Oh Marshall, it's okay. You are who you are. It is nothing to be ashamed of. You are just a man who likes to wear panties," she shrugs her shoulders as if it happens every day. "I perfectly understand. Not everyone can be a real man like my father. Some men just like to wear panties." "I'm not like that! Morgen, you make up these ridiculous, unproven assertions, and then just expect that I'll... I'll... give in because... you know, just because you're a grad student and I'm an undergrad. But not this time. You're wrong. It's unscientific. I'm not... that way. I'm not... that kind of man. I'm really not." "Okay then, Mr. Science Man. How about a test? How about a test which proves that I'm right?" "A-a-a t-t-test?" I stammer, suddenly freaking out. "Yes. Like an experiment. You say that you are not a man who likes to wear panties, but I say that you are. Further, I say that you actually want to wear these panties, right now. So, let's perform a little experiment, shall we? I'll put these panties in your bedroom, on your dresser drawer, where you will be forced to look at them several times a day. If I'm right and the panties are magic, then by the end of the week you'll have put them on. But if you're right and you're not the sort of man who likes to wear panties, then I'll take them back and you win. How does that sound?" I glance over at the panties, then to Morgen, then back to the panties again. They will be in my bedroom... right on top of my dresser drawers. I feel a thrill run through me. Damn it! Get a grip, man! "Okay, deal," I say, standing up. Morgen stands up too and we shake on it. She then takes the panties and disappears into my bedroom, coming back a second later and returning to her journal. Coincidentally, a cloud moves over the sun and the warm glow of the kitchen is turned into a cold grey formlessness. But when I look out the window, it seems that the entire sky is covered with grey clouds and there is no blue sky anywhere. Wow, that was fast! To go from sunlight to grey so quickly. After a second, I hear rain drops pattering against the window pane. A few minutes later, I realize that I need a new pen, so I go to my bedroom and fetch a pen from my bookbag. I see the panties on the dresser, glowing softly in the light of the dresser lamp which Morgen turned on, no doubt to draw my eye. I stand there for a second before finally shaking my head and returning to the kitchen. "Had to go look at the panties again?" Morgen asks, her voice full of teasing. "No," I say, with annoyance. "You know, Marshall, that if you put them on, you'll have to admit to me that you're the type of man who likes to wear panties. You know that, right?" My bottom shifts uncomfortably on the vinyl kitchen chair. For the first time I realize that I'm feeling turned on by all of this intimate talk. "Yes, I understand that, Morgen. But it's not going to happen." "Well, for your sake, Marshall, I hope you're right. Because if you do put on the panties, then you'll have to come to me and admit that you are a man who likes to wear panties. And that will activate the last bit of magic in the panties." "There's more?" "Oh yes, there's more. The last bit of magic is that once you put on the panties and admit that you like to wear them, then you will be wearing panties for the rest of your life. You won't ever be able to switch back to men's underwear." "You're joking. That's... there's no way. Why wouldn't I be able to switch back? *ahem* I mean, if I were to put them on, which I wont!" "I don't know. I don't know how the magic works. I wasn't even sure if it would work. All I know is this. If you put on those panties, then you'll be wearing women's panties forever." "Well then," I glance over to the bedroom door which I can just see down the hall. It's as if I can actually feel the panties in there, calling to me. "I guess I better not put them on." "Not if you believe in magic," Morgen says, a chuckle in her voice. * * * For the first couple of days, I was OK. Not great, but okay. I went to school and was mostly able to focus on my studies and not the stupid panties lying on my bureau. The pretty pink, nylon and lace panties, with the smooth shiny fabric, I wonder what they feel like? I wonder what would feel like to run them through my hands, to touch the fabric to my face, what did they smell like? Like laundry detergent and dryer sheets? It's Wednesday morning and I'm having a hard time getting dressed this morning, I woke up staring at the panties with a huge boner, marveling at how delicate and feminine they appear. In my head I already know that I want to put them on. It seems so deliciously naughty to do it, like breaking some sort of societal boundary between men and women. Like opening a door where I know on the other side will be danger and adventure. Venturing into the world of women and femininity and lingerie and lace and silk... Oh god... is this a door to a land where I may get lost and never find my way back? Or maybe I should just put them on and get it over with. The thought goes through my head. Of course, putting them on means admitting to Morgen that I am a man who likes to wear panties. But what if I put them on and then decide I *don't* like wearing them? That might happen, right? It's possible? I don't have to tell her I put them on, right? There's no way she'll actually know... right? I keep wondering, are these Morgen's panties? It's absolutely clear that they are used panties (washed, of course, but clearly previously worn), and therefore they have to be hers, right? Something about the fact that they are panties that belonged to *someone* makes them all the more dangerously attractive, dangerously exciting. I would be putting on other women's panties. Slipping my legs into the leg holes, pulling them slowly up, the fabric stroking me, settling around my hips and over my bottom, just like this other woman had, the fabric caressing her crotch and her buns just like they would mine... Shit, I'm late for class! * * * "Marshall, are you okay?" My physics advisor, Dr. Manichev has stopped me in the halls of the physics building. "Uh... sure. Why?" "You seem... distracted. These last few days. I was worried." He's right, of course. I can barely keep my focus on physics anymore. Those damn panties... they're all I can think about. But what am I going to tell him? That I've been distracted because all I can think about is wearing panties? I would be labeled a sex pervert for sure, and probably shunned, if not outright expelled, from the university. "You haven't been asking as many questions as you normally do," Professor Manichev explains. Professor Manichev is actually my advisor, not my physics professor. But sometimes I sneak into his classes to listen and then ask questions afterwards. "I..." What am I going to do? Physics is my life! And now it's suffering because a stupid pair of panties and GOD DAMN IT WHY CAN'T I STOP THINKING ABOUT THEM??? "It's just... I've..." "Is it a girl?" Prof. Manichev asks, winking. Morgen! "I... I guess," I shrug my shoulders. "Well, there's not competing with that," he laughs and claps me on the shoulders in a jovial, 'we're all men here' kind of way. "But seriously, you need to get your head back in the game. I'm going to recommend that you join in with the graduate students on the advanced topics lecture program. But I worry you won't be able to keep up unless you devote your entire focus to the reading." "But I'm... I mean... how do I..." He shrugs "Sometimes... sometimes it's the unknown which captures us. Sometimes you... sometimes you have to take a risk," he says. "Be brave to experience new experiences. I know you have a fire for physics, that's obvious. So I'm confident that you'll come back to it, probably with more fervor than ever." * * * That night, I lie in bed, staring over at the pink glowing bundle of cloth on my dresser drawers. 'Just put them on...' I hear the voice in my head. 'Something has to change... you can't just keep staring at them! Your physics homework... your math homework... your everything homework... it's all suffering! Just put them on and be done with it!' The lamp over the dressing table is on, casting the entire room in a soft pink glow reflecting off the panties. I tried turning it off, but the switch seems to be broken and doesn't do anything. The power cord goes behind the dresser drawers which are too big and heavy to budge. I thought about unscrewing the bulb, but the shade is screwed in and the screws are rusted in place. So unless I want to break the shade, there's no way to turn it off. It's okay anyway, I don't mind. I always sleep with a nightlight anyway. I try turning on my side with my face away from the dresser, but I can still *feel* it behind me, taunting me. Sitting there... pretty... nylon... slippery... feminine... pink... I am NOT a man who likes to wear panties!!!! I turn around on my other side, eyes screwed shut. The problem is I so desperately want to put them on. Every day, I want it more and more. The thrill of slipping my legs into something so.... risky and perverted. So... naughty. The thought of feeling that slip of fabric, that lace caressing my legs, as I pull them on... entering this foreign world, giving in to temptation, changing into a man who likes... STOP STOP STOP! I turn over again. And again. And again. It's going to be a long night. * * * Somehow, I wake up and I'm standing. I'm standing by the dressing table, just staring at the panties. I look over at the clock. It's 1am. I'm hard. Oh... so hard. I just breath and just stare at them. And stare. Oh, they're so pretty... Already I know that it's going to happen. I can't help myself anymore. The temptation is too much. I'm too horny, too excited, too curious. I feel like I have to try them on or explode. Besides which, there's no way they're really magic, right? The world is made of physics, not magic! So what if I try them on? I'll do it, then take them off, and that will be that. I'll discover that they're nothing special, and it will clear my mind and I can get my life back. I reach out and grasp the panties. As I do, a thrill runs through me. I'm really going to do this! I'm really going to try these on! I am going to put on a pair of women's panties! I feel my nipples tingle and goosebumps form. They're so much softer than I imagined. I feel the nylon in my fingers. Oh, they feel so wonderful.... I look down and I'm already naked. I see my pajamas and underwear on the floor. When did that happen? Morgen put some witchery in my brain, it's clear. But that's all it is - just an obsession which she somehow created with her psychology textbooks. Maybe when I'm done she'll just say 'psych!' and let me in on the experiment that's she's running. An obsession... she has somehow planted a subconscious obsession in my mind. An obsession I can take care of right now. All I need to do is just put these on... I slip one foot into the panties. Oh.... ... just slip these on... and then I can tell her that I tried them on and her plan failed. That I am *not* a man who likes to wear panties. That I am, absolutely, just an ordinary man... a real man... who... I slip the other foot into the panties. Oh goodness... I feel the soft lace tickle the skin on my legs. They're so flimsy! The fabric is so thin! I slowly pull them up my legs. I shouldn't be doing this, I think to myself. I shouldn't be doing this! I should not be doing this...! But it's already too late. There's no way to reverse course. I just... I just can't. Gradually I pull them up... It's like I'm stepping into an entirely new dimension. A dimension of femininity that had been closed to me, forbidden. A dimension from which I wonder if I will ever escape... I slip the panties over my bottom. I pull them. Up... (*gulp*)... over my privates, which nestle into them like they were always meant to live there. I pull the them to my waist. Oh.... I can't stop touching them. I stroke my hands over my bottom, feeling my tight buns cupped in the whisper thin soft fabric. I stroke my fingers over my bulging penis... Oh god.... They don't feel as good as I thought they would. They don't. They feel better. I stroke my hard penis through the panties, my finger nails lightly stroking my bulge and that touch being transmitted right to my skin through the thin fabric. Breathing hard, I drop to my knees. I continue touching and stroking, both front and back, running my hands over the panties, reveling in how they make me feel... how I feel wearing *WOMEN'S PANTIES*... how I have just put on *WOMEN'S PANTIES* and now I AM WEARING THEM.... what does that make me? What am I now? Am I man who likes wearing women's panties? And what if I am...? I stroke and stroke. Urgently, I grasp for my old male briefs laying on the floor, I pull out my hard penis and, with a grunt, I ejaculate into the briefs, coming hard and long, catching everything. I continue stroking for a while, coming to two more peaks, my balls still trapped inside the panties, still stroking them, still feeling how much I am enjoying the thrill of having put on a dangerous and forbidden pair of WOMEN'S UNDERWEAR... Finally I am done. Exhausted. Drained. I lean against the dresser drawers. I squeeze my penis, working out the last drops of sperm and wiping them away with my cotton briefs. Finally, I pull up the panties over my, now softening, penis. On shaky legs I stand up and, with absolute clarity, I know what I need to do. I have to go see Morgen. * * * I can see that the light is on under her door. She must be up late, studying. I knock softly, in case I'm wrong. "Come in," she calls out softly, so as not to wake her father who is sleeping next door. I have put on my pajamas, so I am covered up when I enter her bedroom. It's the first time I've seen her bedroom. It's small and crowded. There are books heaped everywhere. Many are textbooks, but there are also large, very old, leather bound books as well. What sort of research is she doing? To the right of the room is her bed. It's a big canopy bed with heavy dark burgundy drapes. A lamp on her night stand casts a soft circle of light, enough for her to read. On the other side of the room is a study desk flanked by bookcases, stuffed to overflowing with books, records, trophies, pictures and souvenirs. There's a dresser drawer to the left with two drawers half open and clothes half in and half out, spilling onto the floor. There's another pile of dirty clothes in front of the closet, which is itself so stuffed with clothes that the door can't close. Someone should really pick up this room and wash all these dirty clothes, I think to myself. "You're here," she observes. "Yes." I look at the ground. She has brown shag, wall to wall carpet I notice. "Why?" "I think you know." Morgen grins, triumphant. "Yes, I know. But I want to hear you say it." I feel my face flush with shame. "I..." I pause, unable to continue. "You.... what?" Morgen prompts. I hesitate. Somehow I feel that saying it out loud will make it real. Morgen waits. I feel that she'll wait for as long as it takes. "I put them on," I say, finally. "Put what on?" Morgen asks, merciless. "I put on the panties," I say. "And are they still on? Are you wearing them now?" "Yes." Admitting this out loud to her has made me hard again. "Very good," Morgen says. "And thank you for coming here to tell me, Marshall. I am proud of you." "Proud of me?" I ask, thinking she must be kidding. "Yes, proud of you. I know it can't have been easy, coming here to admit that you put on those panties. It took courage to come to me and say that. Although I imagine you didn't have much choice in the matter, still it took courage." "Thank you," I shift uncomfortably. "I guess." "So now what?" she asks. "What do you mean, now what?" "Are you going to keep wearing them?" I don't know what to say. I know what I want to say, but I just can't. "It's okay, Marshall," Morgen says, gently. "You can say it. Remember the panties are magic. You don't really have a choice." "But how can they be magic?" I say, too loudly, before Morgen shushes me. "That's impossible," I whisper. "There's no such thing. Besides, it's all just in my mind, right? If I want to keep wearing panties-" "You want to keep wearing them?" Morgen interrupts me. "I...." I fidget awkwardly, not wanting to admit the truth. Not wanting to become that person. Not wanting to give in. Not wanting to open that door and walk through it. Besides, didn't she say something about how if I admitted it, I would activate the last part of the magic an I would have to wear them forever? "*If* I want to keep wearing them, then that's all in my mind, right?" "Maybe that's what magic really is?" Morgen says, as if she's in a grad student lecture hall pontificating to undergrads. "Maybe it *is* entirely in the mind. Maybe it is entirely a manipulation of the experience and the perception and the wants and needs of the humans involved. Perhaps that is all that it has ever been. Since the world is perceived and reported by humans, would it take anything more than that to make magic real? Or at least as real as our human minds can perceive?" I feel both excitement and fear at her words. What if she's right? It would be possible for a world to be both ruled by the laws of physics and to allow this form of magic. Might Morgen be... a witch? Might she be manipulating me right now? Morgen reaches out and touches my hand. I don't pull away. I can feel my willpower to resist starting to ebb. "Tell me what you want, Marshall," she says. We both know what she is referring to. "I want..." I take a couple of deep breaths. What am I doing? But I so want to! Morgen grasps my hand to give me courage. "I want to continue to wear panties," I say, finally. "All the time?" Morgen asks. "Is that what you want, Marshall, to wear panties all the time?" "Yes," I say. A shiver runs through me and I feel my stomach flip. Morgen is silent, looking at me. This is it. "Yes... I do," I add, in case my first sentence wasn't clear enough. Morgen continues to be silent, staring at me intently, as if judging me, looking into my soul. After a couple of minutes it becomes unbearable. "I... like wearing them," I admit. "I guess I am...." Finally I remember what I am supposed to admit to her. "I guess I am the type of man who likes to wear panties." "You guess?" she asks, backing me into a corner. "No... I...." I take a couple of breaths. "I am a man who likes to wear panties. I like to wear panties." My fate is sealed. Both Morgen and I can sense it. What I say is true, and it means that I will be wearing panties for the rest of my life, I have closed that imaginary door behind me and now I am now forever trapped in this new world. A world where I wear panties. "Would you like more panties to wear?" Morgen asks. I can't help myself. I let out a thrilled gasp, before covering my mouth in embarrassment. "I'll take that as a yes," Morgen laughs. Still holding my hand, as if I'm a little child, she gets up off the bed and fetches a small, dusty pink vinyl suitcase which had been hidden behind the dresser drawers. Carrying it in one hand and holding my hand with the other, she leads me back to the guest bedroom where she places the suitcase on the bed, opens the latches with two loud *SNAP*s to reveal a mound of nylon and cotton panties of all types and colors. Oh, so pretty!! Immediately I want to reach into the suitcase to feel them, but I restrain myself, anticipating the pleasure for later, when I can savor the experience in private. Morgen opens the top drawer of my dresser drawers, where I keep all my underwear. "Need to make room," she says, wickedly, teasingly, although it's patently obvious that there's plenty of room for the panties. She lifts out all of my practical white cotton briefs with their elastic waist bands and places them on the bed. Then she takes all of the panties from the suitcase and carefully lays them, one by one in the drawer. Wait. Suddenly I realize that she had a suitcase of panties... all set to go? Just waiting for me to capitulate? "Oh, these too," she says, looking at me with eyebrows raised, fetching the soiled briefs from the floor and holding them between two fingers as if they were nuclear waste and puts it with the others. Morgen places a hand on the open dresser drawer, the drawer now full of panties, and looks at me, catching my eye. She's daring me to stop her, I realize. She telling me that this is my last chance, and that once the drawer is closed shut there is no going back. I will be wearing panties forever. But although I realize all this, and she gives me plenty of time, I find I am unable to do anything to prevent it. I just stand there, unable to move, frozen to the spot as she slowly, slowly, closes the drawer shut with a soft, wooden 'thunk'. "See you in the morning," she says, gathering my male briefs into the suitcase and closing it. "Don't worry about these, I'll take them to the Salvation Army where I'm sure they'll be gratefully appreciated by some real men. Men who do not want to wear panties for the rest of their lives. Unlike you." And then she leaves, closing the door behind her, leaving me standing there wearing panties and PJs, with a drawer full of even more ladies panties which are now mine, forever. * * * End of Chapter 1 Thanks to Robyn Hoode for her editorial help. Remaining errors are entirely the fault of the author.