Maybe It's Magic - Chapter 4 free porn video

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Maybe It's Magic - Chapter 4 by RH Music Chapter 4: My "secret" is revealed The next morning. I wake up in my own bed, feeling wonderful. I think about what had happened the day before. Wearing the sweater, going to Home Ec, sewing, laundry, and then that far out sex with Morgen. After it was over and we had come down from that trip, we just stared at each other and laughed! A kind of hysterical, 'I can't believe what just happened' crazy laughter. What an amazing day. I get up, take off my PJs, and pad to the bathroom. But I only get as far as the hallway before-- "OH!" I screech. "Mr. Feyla!" I run straight into him! "Marshall?" He looks at me, with my breasts and my bra and panties, looking confused. "What are you... Ah... why are you dressed in...?" "Nothing!" Blushing furiously I cover my chest with one arm and my panties with the other and dodge into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. Darn it! Fudge! How could I have been so stupid? I look at myself in the mirror. My face is beet red, and the flush extends all the way to my cleavage. Cleavage? Oh god. I have cleavage! Why did I have to wear this particular bra yesterday? It's a light cream plunge demi-bra from JC Penney with satin straps. It pushes my small boobs together. The cups are covered in lace and the lace practically frames my tits. No wonder Mr. Feyla was staring. I blush even deeper. * * * "So that's why he looked so spaced out," Morgen giggles when I tell her over breakfast what happened. Mr. Feyla had already left for work. "But Morgen! He's seen me in a bra and panties! He's going to think I'm a pervert and he's going to throw me out on the street!" "Oh, hush, it'll be fine. I'll talk to him tonight. Don't worry.." "Are you sure?" "Absolutely positive," she assures me. * * * But all day at school I freak out. It's Friday and I have a pretty full schedule. I have my first "Apparel Care for the Family" class (which goes well, we cover different types of fabrics and how each type should be cleaned and cared for) followed by my standard physics class, English Literature, advanced calculus and sociology which requires some research in the library. When I finally get home I see that Mr. Feyla's car (a dusty-metallic green Buick LeSabre with a white vinyl roof) is already in the driveway. Feeling like someone headed for the gallows, I enter the side door into the kitchen. I wince as the screen door slaps closed (too loud!) behind me. Mr. Feyla and Morgen are both there. He's drinking a beer and reading the paper while Morgen is studying another psych journal. "Marshall," Mr. Feyla says. His voice is neutral, neither angry nor comforting. "Have a seat." Morgen puts down her journal and looks at me with a mischievous smile. I look back and forth between them. What's going on? "Morgen has explained everything to me, Marshall. Or should I call you Kelly?" "Kelly?" I ask, looking over at Morgen, who just continues to smile back. "Okay then, Kelly it is," Mr. Feyla says, mistaking my question for a statement. "Now Kelly, I want you to rest assured that your secret is safe with me." "My secret?" It seems I can only parrot what Mr. Feyla is saying. "Of course. Now I would think that with Women's Lib you'd be anxious to blaze new trails for women--" "Blaze new trails?" "--but Morgen explained to me that you didn't want that extra burden, which I guess makes sense." He shrugs his shoulders. "Honestly, I had no idea that the Physics department of our local university could be so backwards in accepting women to their program! It's the 1970's, for goodness sake! In fact, I have half a mind to lodge a formal complaint to the dean on your behalf!" I let out an involuntary squeak of alarm. "But don't worry, I won't. I promise," he places a comforting hand on my arm, and squeezes it. For some reason, his touch, even through the sweater, gives me goosebumps. "Now I understand that you feel you have to continue to pretend to be a man on campus," he continues. "Pretend to be a man...?" I look over at Morgen with alarm. What the fuck? But she just looks back with a smug I-said-I-would-fix-it-but-I- didn't-say-how expression on her face. "Yes. But I want you to know that you no longer need to pretend inside this house. I'm sure it must be horrible for you to have to cover your true nature all the time." "My true nature?" "Your true nature as a woman, of course! Morgen explained how you've been hiding your... uh..." he searches for the right euphemism, " 'endowments' by binding or hiding them under those hot and heavy sweaters." Unconsciously, I cross my arms over my ugly brown sweater. "Exactly," he says, mistaking my motion. "So I just want you to feel free to dress as a woman. Go ahead and wear dresses or skirts and blouses or whatever you kids are wearing these days. But certainly don't bind your... uh... you knows..." he makes a vague gesture towards my chest. "That has to be uncomfortable and it is most certainly bad for your... uh..." he trails off, unable to say the word. "Breasts," supplies Morgen. "Honestly, Dad. They're just breasts. There's no need to be a prude about them." "Yes, well," Mr. Feyla huffs. "I was brought up to not talk about such things in polite company. Regardless. I think Kelly understands my meaning. Right Kelly?" I look at Mr. Feyla. It's endearing in a way, how concerned he is for my welfare, and my heart melts a little as I see his caring expression. "Yes, Mr. Feyla, thank you. I... I... appreciate how... uh... how accepting you are of my... um... my situation?" "Not at all! In fact, I'm relieved. I knew that you were spending so much time with Morgen, it made me wonder what was going on! Of course, God knows that Morgen can take care of herself. She's just like her mother in that way. Strong willed. But I saw you spending all that time in her room and it did make me wonder. After all, how could I have known you were really a young woman all this time? And so it was just you two girls all along, talking about... girl stuff, I guess? And now I understand why you like cleaning so much. So, well, it seems that everything is working out for the best, isn't it?" * * * "What have you done?? How could you? He thinks I'm a woman now??" "Shhhss!" Morgen shushes me. We are in my room. "It was the only way," she continues, in a whisper. "He saw your breasts! They made quite an impression! What else was I going to say?" "I just can't believe it," I stamp my foot and sit heavily on the bed. "All of this time. Wearing that dumb sweater. And now," I snap my fingers, "all for nothing. Just like that." "Hey, it's your own fault," Morgen wags a finger at me. "What possessed you to go prancing down the hall naked like that?" "I wasn't naked." "Oh, *right*. As if just bra and panties is *so* much better," Morgen rolls her eyes. "Listen, all that matters is that you can stay. That's what you want, right? To stay living here?" She sits down next to me and holds my hand. I look into her eyes. "Yes," I admit. "I'm glad I can stay. But I'm just so embarrassed." "You'll get over it. Now, let's get you dressed for dinner." "Dressed for dinner? What's wrong with what I have on?" "You heard Dad. He's expecting you to dress like a girl now. You know, since you no longer have to hide your 'true nature'." "But... but... what does that mean?" "First, let's get these ugly things off," Morgen says, stripping me down to my bra and panties. My jeans, plaid shirt and the brown sweater are cast aside. "Oh my god, those legs. I forgot all about the legs." Morgen 'tsk tsks'. "Well, there's nothing to do but to shave them." "WHAT??" "Come, I'll show you." Morgen drags me across the hall (I squeal, feeling naked in my bra and panties, afraid of running into Mr. Feyla again) and into the bathroom where she runs the warm water in the tub. I have to take off my panties and sit on the side of the tub while Morgen shows me how to shave my legs. "There, all nice and smooth," she says. I run my fingers over them. The skin is so sensitive! I do it again. Mmmmm.... silky smooth and moisturized. "It's just like when Mom showed me how to shave," Morgen says, watching me. "Hey, let's do your pits too. Take off your bra." I do as instructed and soon I'm standing up in the shower and shaving my arm pits. This takes some time but soon they are free of hair, if a bit stubbly. "Excellent," Morgen says, drying me off before I put my underwear back on. "Now promise me that you will shave both your legs and your pits every day. Okay? Promise me." "I promise," I say, humbly. The thought of that becoming my every day morning ritual makes me feel all twisty inside. As if I'm agreeing to spend my personal time working on making myself become more of a woman? Should I be agreeing to that? "It's a good thing that you no longer have hair on your face." Wait, what?? I can no longer grow facial hair? I look at my face and realize it's been weeks since I shaved it. How could I have not have noticed that? "It must be the spell," Morgen continues. "Now, let's get you dressed properly." Morgen drags me back to my room and opens my closet. It now has about a half dozen dresses and skirts in it! They seem to dominate the closet, with my male dress shirts and dress pants scrunched to the side. "But why do I have to wear dresses?" I whine. "You don't wear dresses. You wear bell bottom jeans and turtlenecks." "Because, we need to make sure that Dad doesn't get any ideas that you're really a man. There can be no doubts in his mind, okay? From now on, you need to be Kelly, in this house." I am struck by the irony of having to pretend to be a woman to fool a man who thinks I am a woman pretending to be a man. "Fine," I sigh. "Oh, don't be like that. I bet you'll come to like it. You might even want to start wearing them all the time. Even outside the house." "Now... wait a second--" "Okay, first let's get you into some pantyhose." "Students wear pantyhose?" "Some do," Morgen shrugs. "Not with pants, obviously. But with skirts and dresses, yes. Besides, Dad will want you to wear pantyhose." "What do we care what he wants?" Morgen ignores me and instead gives me a lesson on how to put on pantyhose without tearing them. As I slip them on, I can't deny that the feeling of the stretchy diaphanous mesh sliding up my (now shaved and smooth and extra sensitive) legs is delicious. I tingle from the waist down. "Okay, time to get dressed. Let's start with this. Simple and pretty. What a student today might wear." She hands me a white knit shirt with delicate flowered embroidery. It's stretchy and fits me closely. "My god, my breasts look enormous in this!" I stare at myself in the dressing table mirror. The sleeves end just above the elbow. The embroidery makes it look like it came from someplace in Scandinavia. "And now step into this." Morgen slips a pink, straight A-line mini skirt up my legs and fastens it in back. It flares out at the bottom and ends half way between the knee and my crotch. She pulls out a pair of white canvas flats which I slip on. "Oh, perfect," she says, grinning. "Demure and fetching." "What are we dressing me for?" I am certain my panties will show if I sit down. "What's important is that this is what Daddy feels students should look like." "Really?" "Yes, really. Now, let's put some makeup on you." "MAKEUP??" "Sit!" Morgen pushes me down at the dressing table and kneels by my side. She explains the fundamentals of foundation, powder, blush, eyeshadow, and lipstick. "Where did you get this lipstick?" I ask. It's obvious that it's used. "Never mind." Morgen reaches for a hair brush. I had been meaning to get a hair cut ever since starting school, and now it's down below my ears. Morgen brushes it out further and then holds it back with a pink, satin head band. "I wish you had bangs," she mutters. "Oh well, we'll work on that later. Okay, now before we go out there to prepare dinner, we need you to work on your voice. Speak higher. Take your voice, and speak in a higher register." "Like this? Like this?" I experiment at different levels. "Higher." "Like this?l "That's it," she says when I've finally gotten it right. "Now look in the mirror and say, 'Hi! My name is Kelly!'" "Hi. My name is Kelly." I feel ridiculous. "Try again. Now this time, try and really feel like you *believe* it. Really try and feel like Kelly." I look in the mirror and think for a second. I see how my hair looks. The makeup I'm wearing. I can taste lipstick, I feel pantyhose stroking my legs and the straps of the bra holding my breasts. I feel the hem of the skirt riding across my thighs. I look in the mirror and suddenly I see a woman staring back at me, with wide interested eyes and a friendly, warm, approachable smile. "Hi! My name is Kelly! Oh my god!" I put my hand over my mouth. Where did that voice come from?? "Oh, that's Fab!" Morgen says with glee. "What just happened?" I ask, shaking with fright. "What did it feel like?" It felt like... like I slipped or something, and slipped right into being Kelly. But not just pretending to be her, but really... like I was actually a college student named Kelly!" "Well, I know you don't believe in magic... But it was magic. Or maybe it wasn't? Maybe it was just the fact that you're wearing a bra, panties, a ladies' shirt, a skirt, and pantyhose. Maybe that's just starting to affect you. You know, subconsciously." "Really? Is that why this is happening?" I can't believe my voice. It's so high! I can't seem to be able to make it come out normally again. "No, of course not, Kelly," Morgen says. "What's really happening is that you are under the spell of a magic curse. Now come on, we need to go prepare dinner." * * * "Kelly, I must say that you are a very beautiful woman. Looking at you now, I can't imagine how I ever thought you were a man!" We are in the dining room, eating dinner. Mr. Feyla looks me up and down, appraising my look. His eyes linger down, focusing on my breasts for an uncomfortably long time. My clingy white knit top is so snug that it leaves nothing to the imagination. I even see little bumps where my hard, fat nipples poke out. "Thank y--" "Ahem," Morgen clears her throat and makes a 'speak higher' motion with her eyes. 'I am Kelly, I am Kelly...' I repeat to myself. "Thank you, Mr. Feyla," I say, feeling as much as I can like a bright and interested (female) college student. I squirm a bit in my seat. The skirt has bunched up and my bottom in panties is sitting directly on the fancy antique chairs in the dining room. My legs are mostly bare and touching the wood. It feels more intimate... more naked than I'm used to. And sitting so close to Mr. Feyla, makes me self conscious. I'm constantly adjusting my hair. "Well I for one am grateful that Kelly's 'secret' is out in the open," Morgen says with a glint of mischief. "At least inside this house. Dad, I can't tell you how much Kelly's been complaining about how horrible it is to suppress her 'natural girlish and womanly desires' and how she's been missing on wearing all of the cute clothes she sees everywhere." "Morgen!" I say, shocked, staring daggers at her. "Well, it's true!" she insists, wickedly. "You know it is. And she absolutely *hates* wearing pants." I groan. Why is she doing this to me? "Is that so?" Mr. Feyla says. "Well, I for one am glad to hear that! These days, boys and girls dress so much the same that you can't tell them apart! Especially with the boys and their long hair. I'm glad to hear that there's at least one of the fairer sex who doesn't mind dressing like a woman." 'This is getting worse and worse,' I think to myself. 'What more could go wrong?' "I keep trying to tell Morgen," Mr. Feyla continues, "how much more popular she would be, you know, if only she took a moment to work on her appearance." "I'm no longer your little girl, Daddy. You'll just have to get used to the fact that I dress myself now." "I suppose," Mr. Feyla sighs. "I can't remember the last time I saw you in a dress. I think it was..." He thought for a second. "Hey, I just had a wonderful idea! Let's all go to town for a fancy evening. I saw that Leonard Bernstein is back, guest-conducting the New York Phil in Mahler 5. We can do an early dinner and then go to the symphony." "Mahler 5?" I ask, curious. "Remember? That's the one with that beautiful sad adagio that Bernstein played for Robert Kennedy's funeral at St. Patricks." "Don't get Daddy started on Mahler," Morgen cautioned me. "Or worse yet, Beethoven." "There's nothing wrong with Classical Music, young lady," Mr. Feyla says, shaking his finger at his daughter. But he did it in a teasing way, not in a lecturing way. Morgen just rolled her eyes. "It wouldn't hurt for you to listen to more of it. So what do you say?" Morgen looked at me for a second and it was like a lightbulb went off in her head. "Yes!" she responded, suddenly bright and interested. "I think it sounds like a wonderful idea!" "What do you say, Kelly?" Mr. Feyla turned to me, placing a hand on my arm and gently squeezing it. Oh... something about his touch... suddenly I felt flushed and aroused. "Oh, I don't know..." "Are you worried about people recognizing you?" Morgen asks. "There's over 7 million people in New York. I think you'll be okay." I look back and forth between the daughter and father. Morgen is making eyes at me and nodding gently to her father. Suddenly I understand. She sees this as a way to get him out of his depression since his wife died. "Well, okay," I finally relent. "I suppose you're right. After all, one of the reasons I decided on college here is that it's so close to New York City. I've never been!" "Then it's a date!" Mr. Feyla says, jubilant. "And we'll be sure to do it up right, a real night on the town!" He gives my arm another squeeze before letting go. Something about the word 'date' makes me tense up inside. He doesn't mean... "Fab!" Morgen says. I watch as Morgen stares at her father, delighted. I get the sense that this is the first time she's seen him happy about anything since her mother died. "And don't worry, Kelly. I'll find you something fancy and elegant to wear." Morgen says. Wait... what?? * * * Later, as I am getting ready for bed, Morgen knocks and then enters the room carrying the dreaded suitcase. "Now what?" "Take off your PJs," she says, "and hand them over". Her voice is no- nonsense. "Okay..." I strip. This leaves me standing in the middle of the room in just bra and panties. "No more men's pajamas for you," Morgen says, putting the suitcase on the bed and snapping open the latches. The suitcase contains several nightgowns. "But why not?" "We can't have you running into Dad in the hallway in your scanties, now can we?" Morgen asks. "And since we want Dad to see how you're expressing your girlish and womanly nature, both during the day as well as at night, then these are what you have to wear. Put this on." Morgen holds out a long, soft pink nylon gown. It's gathered at the bosom and trimmed with lace and delicate embroidery. "But, but... you wear pajamas to bed," I point out. "Why do I have to wear nightgowns?" "I wear women's PJs, and all I have is the one pair. All of the other ladies' sleepwear in this house are nightgowns. Besides which, I think you're more of a nightgown girl anyway, don't you agree? Now, I don't want you wandering around the hallways half naked anymore. Okay? If you need to go to the bathroom, leave your nightgown on, and here's a robe for you to wear for extra coverage." The robe is a matching pink, nylon robe, with long sleeves, lace around the cuffs, and a nylon belt. Morgen hangs it up on a hook by the bed which I hadn't noticed before. I slip on the nightgown. It slithers deliciously down my body, stroking my naked skin. Feeling it slither across my shaved legs is nothing short of heaven. I'm not sure I've ever felt something so luscious. "Oh!" Morgen giggles. "Um, Kelly, sweetie? Women don't wear bras to bed." "Really?" I ask. I had been wearing a bra, 24x7, for over a month now. "Really. You should take it off. Here, I'll teach you a trick only we girls know." Morgen explains how to pull my arms through the sleeves and take off the bra without taking off my nightgown. "Men *love it* when you do that. They think that is far out sexy." "Why would I care what men think?" "Oh... you know." Morgen shrugs. "No, I don't know, what are you saying Morgen?" "Kelly! What do you think is happening here?" "I don't know. I'm... I'm becoming more and more of a woman." "And do you want that to happen?" "No, of course not!" "Then why are you wearing panties? You don't have to, not really. And why are you wearing a bra? You know what it's doing to you, right? It's making your breasts grow. And now you're wearing nightgowns to bed. Why are you doing these things?" "I..." I struggle to put my thoughts into words. "Nothing's changed. Not really. So what if I like to wear panties and a bra. That's okay, isn't it?" Without warning, I feel tears dripping down my face. "Of course it's okay, sweetie," Morgen pulls me into a hug, using a tissue to wipe my tears away. "Because I really do want to wear them. I don't know why, but I do." I hug myself, feeling weepy and distraught. "And this nightgown is nice too," I sniffle, "why can't I wear it?" "Oh, Kelly, honey, I didn't mean to bum you out. It's just that, you know your body's changing, right? I know you don't believe me, maybe you think this is all just a hormone change or something, but it really is the magic which is doing this. A magic curse. You'll be okay for a little while, but in time, maybe even before you've realized it or before you're ready for it, the changes will be irreversible. You are on a path, my dear. And the longer you stay on that path, the harder it will be to go back, until one day, it will be impossible. You'll be stuck." "But there's no such thing as magic," I insist, plaintively. I hold on to Morgen, warm and comfortable in her arms. She leads me to bed where the two of us snuggle together under the covers. "That's not true," Morgen says, giving me a kiss and stroking my back. "And I wish you would believe me. Because by the time you realize it, it may be too late." * * * The next morning I wake up alone to delicious smells of breakfast. My dreams last night were all warm and comfortable. The soft fabric of the nightgown around my legs was silky and feminine. I couldn't help but run my hands over my body, just enthralled by the feeling of all of that slippery, satiny nylon and lace under my fingers. I pull on the robe and pad to the bathroom. The nightgown and robe brush delightfully around my ankles and slip over and between my legs. Once I've done my business (sitting down, of course, the long gown and robe bunched up around my waist), I head into the kitchen, expecting, as always, that Morgen is there waiting for me. "Hi Kelly." "Mr. Feyla!" I squeak. I am suddenly aware of how I must look to him. My hair is frowzled and going every which way, I have long strands in my eyes, I must look half asleep, I'm wearing this sexy nightgown and robe, with NO BRA, and oh my GOD, my NIPPLES ARE SO HARD!! They are hard fat points poking out my nightgown and robe and making little tents on my chest!! Just the thought of it makes them crinkle and tingle. I quickly cross my arms to cover them up. Slowly, hesitantly, I look up, only to see Mr. Feyla looking back at me, quizzically. Then his eyes drop. He's checking me out! "Morgen?" I quickly stepping over to her. "Is there... uh... anything I can do to help?" "Of course, sweetie," she says, gently brushing my bottom with her fingertips before putting an arm around my waist. Oh god, her fingers! The thin slippery fabric of the nightgown, robe and panties transmit her touch almost as if I were naked. Almost if I were naked in the kitchen with Mr. Feyla and his daughter! "Here, I've started the bacon and the toast. Why don't you do the scrambled eggs and then put everything together?" "Sure," I quickly agree as I reach for the eggs and fetch a bowl. But then Morgen leaves me and returns to the kitchen table, where she sips her coffee while reading a psychology journal article. This leaves me standing alone, again, making breakfast for Mr. Feyla and his daughter Morgen. As the eggs cook, I set the table, putting down plates, utensils and glasses, and filling the glasses with orange juice. Mr. Feyla looks up as I reach around him, blatantly staring at my breasts as they hang and sway in the nightgown. Blushing, I quickly go back to finish breakfast, acutely aware of his eyes on my round bottom as I turn away from him. I return first with the bacon, which I serve onto the plates, then the eggs and toast. I try and stay upright, rather than having my breasts hanging out and swinging all over the place. But this means I have to get closer, which in turn means that my body presses against first Morgen and then Mr. Feyla (!) as I serve the food. "So beautiful and she cooks too!" Mr. Feyla observes, making me blush. I sit down and start eating. Again I feel naked, sitting there in just my nightgown and thin robe. I can feel my nipples pricking out, like hard little points, jutting out from my chest and making little tents in the nightgown and robe. Hard fat little points. Hard fat little eye-catching points that men like Mr. Feyla must love to stare at. Oh god, how I wish I could pinch them! I look back and forth between Morgen and her father. She's reading her journal and ignoring me. He's reading the Wall Street Journal, and covertly glancing at me every few seconds. And here I am, basically eating alone. "So, uh... Mr. Feyla--" "Ahem," Morgen clears her throat, giving me a look. Right! Must speak higher! 'I am Kelly, I am Kelly' I think to myself furiously, and just like that my voice comes high and pretty. "What are your plans for today?" I ask Mr. Feyla, by way of making conversation, in my (now) girlish young-woman voice. For some reason, Morgen smiles at this (while still pretending to be engrossed in hour journal) and Mr. Feyla gives me a strange look. What was that all that about? "Oh, uh, Kelly, it's actually a pretty ordinary day, I'm one of an army of accountants and lawyers working on a merger..." I listen politely as Mr. Feyla talks about the merger that's in progress and all of the legal, accounting and tax implications that need to be worked through. It's actually pretty interesting and it's clear that Mr. Feyla loves his job and is pretty highly placed in the investment bank that's co-ordinating the merger. I look over and see Morgen rolling her eyes. "I'm sorry," I interrupt. "But did you say FIVE HUNDRED MILLION dollars?" "That's right," he said, proudly. "If it happens it will be the fourth or fifth largest merger of all time." "I... but..." I sputter. "I mean... that's like a half a billion dollars?" "Yes, it's a big transaction," he grins. "I guess those math classes haven't been wasted," Morgen teases. I stick my tongue out at her. Mr. Feyla continues to talk about the merger, careful to not mention the company names involved, calling them simply "Company C" and "Company K". I sit listening and rather amazed that this unassuming man in this unassuming house is putting together half-billion dollar deals and is seemingly so relaxed about it. But then, Mr. Feyla has to leave in order to catch the train. Since he's running a late, and since it was because he was talking to me, I try and be helpful by fetching his jacket and umbrella from the hall closet which then I help him put it on (all of this is done in the kitchen, with Morgen looking on, wide eyed). "Thank you, so much for breakfast, Kelly," he says, leaning forward, placing an arm at my waist, and giving me a quick peck on the cheek. "I can't tell you how much it means to me." I stand there, rooted to the floor, staring after him, my hand raised to my cheek where he kissed it. "That's the first time since Mom died that he's stayed for breakfast," Morgen observes, once Mr. Feyla is out the door. She pauses. "I wonder what's changed?" Morgen asks, grinning at me wickedly. * * * That evening Mr. Feyla checks The New Yorker and discovers that the Bernstein concert isn't for another month. This is good, because I'm not ready to go out of the house as Kelly yet and the delays will give me some time to get used to the idea, which currently scares me half to death. And so, with that event sometime in the future, life settles into something of a nice routine. Every morning we wake up and have breakfast together. At first Morgen would help, but then after a few days she just seemed to expect that I would make breakfast for everyone. I don't mind, of course, once she showed me the basics, I find that I enjoy cooking, actually. Breakfast is easy, really. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, toast, orange juice, or sometimes just cereal and milk. After the first week or so I am able to do it all practically in my sleep. And the complements I get from Mr. Feyla! You would have thought I was beatified and walking on water from the way he talks! And not just that first day, but every day. His compliments give me a little warm pulse of pleasure in my heart every single time. "He's such a nice man," I think to myself, as I do his laundry, vacuum his bedroom and scrub his bathroom toilet. Of course I am still wearing male clothes outside the house, but inside the house, Morgen insists that I dress as a woman. For my first full day working as a homemaker, dressed as a woman, Morgen picked out a bright, yellow gingham shirtwaist dress. "Kind of old fashioned," I say, holding up the skirts. I rub my legs together, enjoying the feeling of pantyhose ("You must always wear pantyhose" Morgen says, seriously). I had never felt something so amazing as pantyhose before, and I really can't get enough of it: reaching down and stroking my legs (in pantyhose), rubbing my legs together (in pantyhose), feeling the hems of my dresses lightly brushing across my skin (in pantyhose), feeling the rubbing and stretching of the whisper thin mesh fabric over my legs as I walk throughout the house doing my cleaning chores (in pantyhose). Just the most amazing sensations! I thought briefly about wearing pantyhose underneath my pants as I went to school everyday, but quickly rejected it. After all, I'm still a man, not a woman. "Yes, the dress is old fashioned, I think that Mmm--" Morgen stops herself. "I think that *mmmmaybe*" she continues, suspiciously," it's from the mid 1960s, so not that old. Besides, it's what Dad expects a woman who wants to express her inner feminine soul - like you - would wear." "Okay, fine," I say, cursing myself for running into Mr. Feyla in the hallway for about the 99th time. Morgen pairs the yellow gingham dress with a pair of strappy cream colored sandals with one-inch heels, which look really nice and makes the outfit look super classy. I walk around the house humming as I'm doing the vacuuming and dusting and putting things away, like putting away clean dishes or discarded newspapers, you know, every day stuff, the heels click-clicking on the hardwood floors. The strappy sandals are one pair of four sets of shoes that Morgen has given me to wear around the house. There's a pair of black Oxfords, with a low heel, that I wear with my schoolgirl outfits. There's the canvas flats. Brown pumps with a blocky 2 inch heel and an ankle strap that I wear with house dresses or schoolgirl outfits. And finally, the cream colored strappy sandals with the one inch heel which I also wear with house dresses, depending on the color. The outfits are either 1960s style house dresses, or "schoolgirl" outfits. Schoolgirl outfits are short skirts, paired with pantyhose or colored tights, and then some sort of blouse. A lot of times it's a figure-hugging turtleneck, like the one that got the stares at the college bookstore, or it can be a light cotton blouse of some sort. The skirts are plaid or plain, made of wool or some sturdier cotton fabric, and they are so short! Everyone is well above the knee. When I sit, I have to cross my legs or at least hold them together or my crotch will flash for all to see. Thank god I'm wearing pantyhose (yet another good reason for pantyhose, that lovely miracle of modern clothing!). Anyway, judging my Mr. Feyla's reaction, Morgen must be right - what I wear at home must be what he's expecting, because he's always commenting on how 'cute' and 'adorable' I look. When he first came home and saw me working on dinner with Morgen (I was wearing that first yellow gingham dress), he just stared for the longest time. I asked him what was the matter, but all he said was "Nothing! Nothing at all, Kelly!" Then I saw that he exchanged looks with Morgen, but no one would fill me in on what they were thinking. * * * "Hey Kelly, did you have a cold last week?" the girls in Family Apparel Care ask me, smirking. "No, why?" "Because, you no longer sound like you have a frog in your throat," the lead girl (her name is Stacy) asks. "What do you mean?" "Your voice. It sounds normal today." I let out a little squeak in a high pitched voice, holding a hand over my mouth when I finally realize what Stacy is saying. I had forgotten to speak in my 'Marshall' voice! I was automatically speaking in my high and girlish 'Kelly' voice! Dang it! Now what am I going to do? I cough and desperately try to lower my voice back to it's "Marshal" range. But several attempts and it refuses to budge. Gosh darn it! Oh heck! "Are you okay, Kelly?" Stacy asks, with the other girls looking on, also curious, watching me as I try clearing my throat multiple times. "I don't know," I say. I try pitching it lower, saying, "I thought my voice was the same," but it comes out wrong again! It's now comically lower, as if I'm a girl trying talk like a man. The girls all laugh at this, and belatedly I realize they think I'm trying to be funny on purpose. That's me. The class clown. Fortunately, Prof. Chambers enters at that moment and we start class. Thank my lucky stars! It's not until later that, I realize what went wrong. As soon as anyone says 'Kelly', my voice shifts to my Kelly voice and then it takes *forever* to get it to return to my male register. It's as if merely saying my name means I switch to Kelly and start talking higher. * * * After classes are done each day, I usually head straight home, eager to spend some time with Morgen. Of course, I have to change into a skirt or a dress as soon as I walk in the door. "I don't see why I always have to dress up when I'm home," I complain. "You father won't be home until the evening." "It's so you can express your feminine side at home, in private, *Kelly*," Morgen says, winking at me and tickling my side, making me squeal and giggle. "Besides, it's safer this way. What if you were dressed as Marshall and Dad surprised us by getting home early like he did last week?" I had to admit that was a concern. Mr. Feyla was spending a lot more time at home these days. Besides staying every day for breakfast, he was now leaving work on time and getting home around 6:30pm, sometimes bringing work home with him. Once he actually came home for lunch. Morgen was sure it was because of me, somehow. I certainly did see him around a lot. If I was in the kitchen studying, he would be too. If I was in the living room watching TV ("The Mary Tyler Moore Show" or "M*A*S*H" - every time Klinger dresses as a woman, Morgen would elbow me), he would be too. "Okay, fine," I give in. "But do I have to wear such short skirts and dresses? None of them reach more than half-way down to my knees, for crying out loud." My current outfit is a white blouse with puffy sleeves and a dress-shirt collar paired with a short brown flared skirt. "It's what all of the girls are wearing at school these days," Morgen shrugs. "No they're not," I point out. "They're wearing jeans. Like you." "Oh really? What about the girls in Home Ec?" "It's Family and Consumer Studies!" "Oh, pfft," Morgen laughed. "Okay, fine. What do the girls in *Family and Consumer Studies* wear? I awkwardly toe the ground. "Okay, fine. They all wear skirts or dresses. But that's because they're like, all sewing geniuses." "Like you?" "I would hardly call myself a genius," I say, trying to be humble but blushing at her praise all the same. "Oh, come on, Kelly. The way you replaced the zipper in my jacket? That was amazing. Regardless, you're wearing skirts and dresses at home, and that's that. It's what I want, and I'm pretty sure it's what Dad expects as well." "Fine," I say, resigned to my fate. Something about the thought of Mr. Feyla 'liking me' in dresses makes my heart thump. "So, what cleaning should I do today?" "What? Nothing. You're caught up with all of the laundry, right? And things are picked up and vacuumed? You're free for the rest of the day." I look around for a second, feeling empty. Nothing to do. I am already caught up on all of my studying and sewing assignments. "I could read... I suppose." "That sounds like a good idea." Morgen picks up a journal and starts to take notes on a yellow notepad. "What about the bathrooms?" I ask. "They're filthy. The toilets - yuck. And the tub - it should not be smudgy brown like that. Honestly, Morgen, I don't know how you and Mr. Feyla can stand to live like this." Morgen stares at me. "You want to clean the bathrooms?" she asks, astonished. "Of course I don't *want* to clean your bathrooms," I say. "I was just pointing out that they really need to be cleaned." "Okay. So noted. " She returns to reading her journal. I fidget some more. Suddenly, all I can think about is what it would be like to have nice, shiny bathrooms for everyone to come home to. Now that I voiced how dirty they are, I suddenly realize I can't stand them any more. "Okay, I'll do it." "I knew you would cave," Morgen laughs. "I swear, it's the magic. I had no idea. Every day you're getting more and more like--" She stops. "More and more like what?" I ask. "Nothing. More and more like... uh... a person who likes to clean house." "That's not what you were going to say, Morgen." "Who cares what I was going to say? All that matters is that you like to clean and you want to clean the bathrooms." "I never said I *wanted* to clean them. I just... can't stop thinking about how nice it would be if they were clean. You know. For you. And Mr. Feyla." "So... you want to clean them so that Dad and I can have clean bathrooms." "Yeah. Something like that." The way she says it makes me feel funny inside. "Okay, if that's what floats your boat, who am I to argue? Cleaning supplies are in the kitchen closet." Happy to have something to do, I hop up and get to cleaning, my short skirts bobbing around my legs in their pantyhose, my brown pumps with the blocky 1 inch heel (with the ankle strap) clack-clacking on the floor. End of Chapter 4 Thanks to Robyn Hoode for her editorial help. (also for chapter 3, which I forgot) Remaining errors are entirely the fault of the author.

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Chapter 1: The Longest Chapter - continuedKadren swung her mace threateningly at one of the creatures.  It backed away a little, but did not retreat.  The other five paused, but then resumed their slow advance forward.  They looked like small, ugly (uglier than usual) goblins, and more feral than any goblin she had ever encountered.  These were the same sort of creature that Coj had already handily dispatched.  They made shrill noises as they closed in, and gave off, what sounded like, cackles....

Supernatural
2 years ago
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A Different Kind of Magic Trick

A Different Kind of Magic Trick Mandrake the Magnificent was in a real bind. His monthly magic show was in a week and his normal assistant was going to be unable to perform due to a broken leg. How would he be able to find and train a new assistant in less than a week? Mandrake could not just cancel, as advance ticket sales for the show were through the roof at the club he was to perform at. After pacing back and forth through his house for the better part of an hour, he decided to...

2 years ago
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Do You Belive in Magic

Do You Believe in Magic? By Zephyrus "This shit *sucks!*" The audience--especially the men and women sitting right by the boy-- groaned and spat disapproving comments at the haughty heckler's umpteenth interruption. And, with his whole audience in disarray, the magician on stage stopped twirling his wand around his top hat, which rested on a wooden stool in front of him, and gave a lighthearted, amused look directly at the impudent blonde boy. His body--arms crossed, face tight...

2 years ago
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Magic empire

Chapter 1 Co homeThis is my home? Although I saw the family's disposition through the crystal ball, I didn't expect it to be worse than I thought. I really wanted to turn around and catch up with the teacher and go back to the mixture of paper, medicine and metal. Go to the tower.I huddled in the chair, and my family’s eyes were like a liar, a rogue, a beggar, and many years of dreams shattered in an instant.When I was seven years old, I was taken by the teacher. He took me away with magic and...

4 years ago
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MagicChapter 57

Having nothing better to do, Sean walked down the path that led to the convenience store to pick up a soda. It was a nice Saturday afternoon and the weather had convinced him that it would be nicer to walk there rather than take his truck. Traveling the well worn path, he reached the junction that led off to Max’s house. Much to his surprise he found Max seated on a fallen tree trunk tossing pebbles across the path. After checking around to say hello to Clea, Sean realized that Max was alone...

2 years ago
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Mud MagicChapter 2 The Shrine

Utterly drained and light-headed, Rhys arrived at the House Of Mercy, the small stone shrine dedicated to the village’s patron deity. Calling it a “House” was a bit much. It was smaller than the barn back on Padec’s farm, just big enough for the altar, the confessional and four pews. Large gatherings and ceremonies had to be held on the village green, with a small portable icon as replacement for the altar. Rhys knocked at the door. During daytime, Celeste usually was in the chapel, ready...

3 years ago
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Magic 101Chapter 4

I spent most of the afternoon calling, or summoning, I guess, some books from Pat’s library. Maggie’s suggestion had me wondering, and once I thought to look, it wasn’t at all farfetched. The search might have gone faster, and did go faster except I was transcribing as I went. I got quicker with my transcription spell though, and by the end of the day, could pull a new book and transcribe the readable portions in mere moments. In a book called ‘Fledgling Magic‘, there was a section about how...

2 years ago
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The Curse of Magic Mansion Part 1

by BD Long -------------------------------------- It was a dark and stormy night…. But that’s skipping ahead. The day had actually been quite pleasant. The Wilder family’s station wagon was parked on the side of the road, and Howard took a knee by the passenger-side wheel. “Yep,” he said. “Definitely a flat.” “Howard, we’re in the middle of nowhere,” his wife Donna said, leaning her head out the window. “Forget that,” said Jane, their younger daughter, who leaned against the hood...

1 year ago
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Saras Magic Crayons SRU Chapter 13

Magic Crayons by Maggie O'Malley This story is dedicated to my Auntie Sara the Art Angel. Her beautiful creations both art and literary bring joy and love to all they touch. Yet as wonderful as they are, they are not the greatest gift she possesses. The greatest gift of all is the beautiful young woman herself. Auntie Sara you are a kind, generous, and gentle soul with so much love to give, and so many who want to give love back to you. You bring a smile to my face every time...

4 years ago
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The Power of Mind Magic

The day has come. The day which every demon looks forward to. The day of maturity, being the most important day for a demon of any race, but especially for a demon of the devil race, and even more so for a demon of the caliber of Asmodeus. Devils were known to wield all different kinds of demonic magic, and it was really luck of the draw when it came to what kind. As the son of a high ranking demon, Asmodeus's magic was nearly guaranteed to be far stronger than lower ranking demons' magic, even...

Mind Control
3 years ago
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Magic Ink V The Third RealityChapter 29

Seamus continues his Narrative: The following new characters appear in this chapter: Sarah MacKenna, Chandra Duncan's Sister, Seamus's Wife, 5'-2" tall, 100 pounds plus, 34C-20-30, 18 years old, long lustrous black hair, brown eyes, beautiful Duncan MacKenna, Oconostota Chandra's Brother, A & A's Husband, 5'-10" tall, 145 pounds, 16 years old, dark auburn hair, gray eyes, a very handsome young man I transferred Black Bear, the Ranger Lieutenant, and myself back to the...

4 years ago
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Magic 101Chapter 5

It was just before Halloween when I heard from Pat again. He had never bothered to tell me what the Council investigator had found, or even what the investigator had been looking for in the first place! It must have been because I was thinking of him, because the next thing I knew, I could feel him calling, scratching against my shields. I opened up a bit and... ‘Hey kid, Hank, you there? Hank?‘ he was blasting loud today, making my ears ring. Well, not, um, not ears, but whatever took their...

2 years ago
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Remember The Magic

Let me introduce myself, my name is Amanda, I’m eighteen years old, and still live at home with my mother and younger brother Bryan who is seven. This is a story of how Christmas took on a whole new meaning for me. Our Christmas tree was lopsided, with a few bald spots, and even looked more pathetic with the few presents under it. However, it was all my mother could afford. Ever since the divorced she barely enough money to pay bills, let alone buy presents. You see, my dad is a penny...

2 years ago
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Magic Dick

MAGIC DICKI watched as she entered the bar. She wore a little black dress, hemline mid-thigh. Probably in her mid-thirties: she sported perky small breasts and a trim figure. Raven black hair and porcelain skin. She was petite so had to struggle a bit getting onto the bar stool. I enjoyed the brief view of skin above her thigh-highs.I smiled at her and she smiled back. With one look we both knew what the other wanted, and it wasn’t each other. She was definitely a Coyote, in pursuit of young,...

1 year ago
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Magic Ink VI the Final OConnellChapter 7

I awoke the next morning a very satisfied and rested kitty. I instantly knew that it was morning even with no windows to see out or the fresh air of dawn to sniff. The remains of last night's meal, about twenty pounds of meat, were still there and I wolfed it down in short order before starting to clean my muzzle and whiskers, which I had neglected to do last night due to tiredness. Following cleaning up, some of last night's meal was anxious to depart, and I deposited my cat scat in the...

2 years ago
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Magic Ink V The Third RealityChapter 55

The following new characters are introduced in the next two chapters: Savannah Collins Shannon's twin, James's Wife, 5'-2" tall, 105 pounds, 34C-22-34, 17 years old, blond hair, gray eyes, very cute Shannon Collins Savannah's twin, James's Wife, 5'-2" tall, 105 pounds, 34C-22-34, 17 years old, blond hair, gray eyes, very cute James's Narrative of his trip to Boston: I went north with Gwyn, Glanda, and their soon-to-be lawyer Husband plus a number of other Representatives to...

2 years ago
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Saras Magic Crayons SRU Chapter 4

Magic Crayons by Maggie O'Malley This story is dedicated to my Auntie Sara the Art Angel. Her beautiful creations both art and literary bring joy and love to all they touch. Yet as wonderful as they are, they are not the greatest gift she possesses. The greatest gift of all is the beautiful young woman herself. Auntie Sara you are a kind, generous, and gentle soul with so much love to give, and so many who want to give love back to you. You bring a smile to my face every time...

4 years ago
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The Magic Show

The Magic Show By Katie Dale My family bought tickets for "The Great Carla's Magic Show". This was mainly a children's oriented magic show, and we thought my little ten-year-old brother and nine-year-old sister would enjoy it. So the whole family went - all five of us. I was thirteen. The theater was packed, mostly with families that had little children. Our seats were in the third row. Carla the magician, clad in a tuxedo and top hat, started with some standard tricks - card...

3 years ago
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The Mystery of MagicChapter 2 A Knotty Problem

Jotan watched the preparations for a few moments and then turned to Bridgette. "Lady B, time for more history and what you call demographics and some even more technical subjects, that I suspect you will have no more understanding of, than I do. It is knowledge, Lady B. It is how things are. You learned things in school -- things you were expected to learn by rote. This is that sort of knowledge. "Time is slippery between our worlds. I told you that a month here would be like two weeks...

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