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There she was. “Come in Brenda!” Glen Simmons absently
shouted.

Brenda Porter, the freshman girl who had freaked out at
her bus stop shyly entered the room. Glen wondered why
he didn’t remember her from the junior high school, then
remembered this was the transfer student who had just
started at Bentson High. He pointed to the seat, which
she took, careful to keep the hem of her red spandex
miniskirt under her thighs.

She was a pretty pony tailed brunette, about 5′ 4″, with
coltish slim hips and a small bust, which she
accentuated with a midriff-baring sleeveless navy knit
top. She wore saucy little three-inch red heels and
precious white socks with elaborate lace trimmings, and
her legs were smooth and shiny.

Brenda was just starting to blossom into full-fledged
femininity, with a bright pouty red lipsticked mouth,
mascara’ed hazel eyes with thin plucked brows and
lightly highlighted cheeks. Cute face too– delicate
bone structure with a longish look and a short pointy
chin and a pair of dimples to die for. A typical
fourteen year old girl even down to the braces which she
revealed as she gave him a respectful smile.

Well, maybe not so typical. She reminded him of someone
but he couldn’t think who at the moment. And she did
dress a little provocatively for fourteen– a veritable
Lolita in that form-fitting top and tight spandex mini.
But Glen had to be honest– he hadn’t the slightest idea
of what teen fashion held sway at present. Maybe this
was considered “in.”

“Mr. Skinner mentioned that something happened this
morning.

Something that upset you. Want to talk about it?”

The smile ran away from her face in an instant. “Uh, I
don’t know what you mean, sir.” She twirled a long lock
of her ponytail nervously, eyelashes batting rapidly.

“Well, I understand Tommy Jacobs was teasing you. Why
don’t you tell me the rest.” He nodded, inviting her to
do so at once.

The teen kept her big hazel eyes locked on her shoes.
“Uh, we were in the bus line and Tommy was behind me and
he snapped my bra strap.”

Glen nodded, noting this with gravity on his legal pad.
Inside he wanted to laugh. The kid had gone hysterical
because a boy had snapped her bra! “And that was it?”

She shuffled her pumps. “No. He said I had nice little
boobies and he wanted to touch them.” She was angry and
her lips were pursed tight over her braces. When her
lips parted again, Glen could see the pink lipstick
traces on the steel fittings.

Glen considered quickly. He had to be gentle but he also
knew Old Man Skinner would go ballistic if Brenda kept
having screaming fits whenever some boy snapped her bra.
He couldn’t help but notice she did have a nice, if
petite figure for a fourteen year old. If he were
fourteen, he might have snapped her bra– if he hadn’t
noticed something OFF about her. He couldn’t put his
finger on it, but there was something strange about the
girl.

“You know Brenda, boys at this age often do these kinds
of things to show a girl he likes her.”

Glen noticed the girl blush. As if this comment reminded
her of something she ought to do, Brenda daintily
crossed her smooth legs, her small hands with their red
polished nails smoothing down the miniskirt hem as she
did. He continued quickly.

“Tommy was just flirting with you. He probably likes
you. Pretty girls get teased that way a lot and
unfortunately they just have to get used to all kinds of
attention from boys.”

The little brunette looked dully out the window. “That’s
what Daddy says. Just what Daddy says.” Glen thought he
detected a hint of bitterness in the soft voice.

“Well, he’s right. I’m sure your mother tells you the
same thing too–doesn’t she?”

The student nodded reluctantly. “Do you think I’m a
pretty girl, Mr. Simmons?” she asked plaintively.

“Yes I do, Brenda.” Has she got a crush on me?… but
no– the compliment caused her to frown worriedly. Glen
pressed on. “And isn’t it nice to think a boy your own
age thinks so too and that he likes you? Maybe you and
Tommy could be boyfriend and girlfriend before too long.
You’re at the age when I bet you think about those
things.”

Brenda’s jaw dropped, eyes wide.

Good, I must be right since she looks surprised, he
thought. He plowed on in a similar vein, eager to finish
this little interview up. He had paperwork to get to.
“Sure, I bet you think about boys a lot– maybe even
daydream about the cute ones. It’s natural for you to be
a little boy-crazy, Brenda. You shouldn’t be ashamed of
your new feelings. Hey, I know who you look like now.
I’ve been trying to think of it and it just came to me–
you look like that girl on Beverly Hills 90210, uh,
Brenda. Anyone ever tell you that?”

And then Glen knew he wouldn’t be getting to his
paperwork, because Brenda Porter broke in a deep sobbing
fit. Instantly he was on his feet handing her some
kleenex. Trying to comfort her he put his hands on her
thin shoulders. “It’s ok–”

“Don’t touch me, please!” she shrieked.

His hands flew off her shoulders in a second. “Brenda,
relax! I’m just trying to help! Obviously I’ll have to
call your parents at once. You’re in no state to return
to class.”

She looked up terrified. “No Mr. Simmons! Please don’t
call my parents! I’m ok! See? I’m all set!” The
theatrical grin on her tear stained face was offered as
proof.

He picked up the phone as she rattled off assurances she
was indeed ok “I just got silly because of what Tommy
did, Mr. Simmons. Really! I’m ok I guess you’re right
about those things you said about girls at my age going
boy-crazy. I, uh, do like Tommy and I got all weird
inside. But please don’t call my parents! I’m in enough
trouble with them already! I’ll be punished if you call
them!” Her eyes pleaded with him not to make the call.

He put the phone down and Brenda relaxed. “Ok Brenda–
you can go back to class. If you have anything else you
want to talk about, come see me anytime– I’ll arrange a
hall pass for you, ok”

She smiled sweetly, brushing the last of the tears way.
“Thank you Mr. Simmons. I won’t be bothering you any
more.” She picked up her books and minced shyly from the
office.

Glen immediately reached for Brenda’s file. Something
was wrong– he could sense it. At twenty he wasn’t so
far away in age from these kids so as not to be able to
understand them.

Old Man Skinner, the principal, had hired him out of
community college only after he had received a copy of
his degree in education– he hadn’t believed Glen was
old enough to have been to college. And his looks didn’t
help either– his bright blonde hair, too-pale beardless
complexion, his short height. Maybe that’s why he had
always wanted to work as a guidance counselor– at heart
he felt more comfortable with the kids than the adult
world. Only with kids did he feel like he commanded
respect. And he knew teens well enough to know Brenda’s
behavior was just wrong.

He flipped through the courses chosen. Home Economics
(an A), Gym Class (an A-), then all Cs and Ds in her
required academic courses, all of which were general.
That indicated Brenda wasn’t taking college prep
courses. Not a future Rocket Scientist of America, he
chuckled.

Then he glanced in surprise at the IQ score– 135! Not a
genius but she ought to be taking college prep for now.
He took another look at the coursework. It was annotated
“General classes at request of parents.” He found the
parents’ names. Maybe if he could talk to them, convince
them Brenda needed to take harder courses and really
apply herself. They’re probably not too bright
themselves.

Wrong again. “Mr. Rick Mason, attorney at law and Dr.
Lesley Mason, plastic surgeon.” These were Brenda the
Ditz’es parents? They had requested non-college courses
for their daughter? It didn’t make sense. He needed more
information.

He dialed up the number listed as the last school
attended and was connected to a Deanna Hill, his
counterpart at the Jasper Ohio Junior High School
guidance office.

“Yes I remember Brenda. Cute girl, real quiet. Is there
a problem?” the older lady inquired helpfully.

Glen didn’t know what to say. Even inferring there might
be would be against the rules. And if it got back to the
parents, he might be held liable for slander. “Not
really. I just want to help her adjust to our school and
I thought you might have some insights,” he explained.

“Well, she was only here for a year. A good kid
basically. She never was very social– no friends I can
recall. She wasn’t an academic star– never did her
homework and never studied for tests. She seemed
embarrassed about it but never did anything to improve.
Just had a ‘I’m just an airhead and I can’t help it’
attitude– not that she ever brought a book home. Not
that her parents cared. They attended one teacher-parent
conference and said if Brenda could learn to cook, clean
and sew plus keep herself in shape, then they were
happy. God damn,” the woman exclaimed, “it was as if all
they wanted for Brenda was to be some bimbo housewife!
And her mother is a doctor for God’s sakes!”

Glen hesitated then plunged in. “How did Brenda get
along with boys?”

A pause. “You know, it was funny. She seemed completely
preoccupied with her appearance, like being pretty was
everything. I thought she dressed, well– a bit old for
her age. You know– one of those girls who really gets
into makeup and clothing. And yet she hated it when boys
touched her even innocently. Never had a boyfriend
either. At one point, I suspected sexual abuse– you
know that’s not natural for a girl to be so skittish.”

“What happened?” Glen pressed.

A disgusted laugh. “They moved before I had a chance to
do anything. That’s why I’m glad you called. Tell me
what high school you’re at so we can pursue legal.”

Glen hung the phone up. Skinner was such a conservative
that he’d flip if Glen brought in some out-of-town know-
it-all. Bentson was a small town with a small town
mentality. If Glen thought Brenda was being sexually
abused, he’d have to dig up more than he had. He
searched through the files but the only other
information was the listing for the school Brenda
attended preceding Jasper Junior High. He dialed the
number for the Central Massachusetts State School and
got the records office.

“I need the records for a student, please.”

“Social security number?” a gruff male voice demanded
rudely.

“034-99-6669.”

“That D. Porter?” The voice didn’t sound like a guidance
counselor in a school system to Glen.

“Yes. Can you tell me something about–”

“Look Mac, hundreds come in and go out as fast as I can
book ’em here in Records. I don’t no particulars, ok?”

“Fine, just fax it over ok?” He gave him the number, got
a brusque ‘yeah’ and the promise it would be there by
end of day.

That has to be it for my Sam Spade routine for a while,
Glen thought. He put the file in his brief case, soon
forgetting about Brenda Porter. For the rest of the
morning he buried himself in evaluation forms and
talking to college admissions offices as he requested
information for next year’s seniors. At noon, he heard
the cries from the kid’s recess. With an effort he freed
himself from his paperwork and looked out the window.

The day’s weather had turned out well and a beaming May
sun was streaming in. He looked across the school
grounds at the various kids– the girls gossiping in
groups, the boys tossing a baseball, and then… Brenda.
She was leaning against the main building wall, reading
the latest issue of Seventeen.

She seemed so intent on her magazine she couldn’t see
Tommy Jacobs sneaking up behind her. Glen could see on
Tommy’s face there was going to be trouble and with what
he guessed about the girl, he knew that one of Tommy’s
pranks was the last thing needed. He sprang to his feet.

He had just swung open the door when he and the entire
freshman class of Benston High saw Tommy pluck up the
hem of Brenda’s red hip hugging spandex miniskirt to
reveal what was underneath– a pair of red cotton
French-cut bikini panties that clung high on her slim
hips. The kids filled the schoolyard with laughter as
Tommy triumphantly cried “I knew it, I knew it! Brenda
wears slut red panties! Hahahahahahah!”

He ran to Tommy, pushing him away and trying to obscure
the view of the kids. The eighty or so kids in the yard
roared with laughter, boys looking over and around Glen
to get a peek at Brenda’s underclothes. He turned back
to her and she was hysterical, struggling to yank her
skirt down, but Tommy was holding it up, not allowing
her to. Brenda flayed at him weakly, her arms flying to
cover her pantied crotch.

“Tommy Jacobs, leave Brenda alone–now, mister! Or it’s
Detention Hall!”

The boy gave him a lame look and let go of the skirt. As
he did, his eyes caught a flash of Brenda’s now-infamous
panties. Tommy, unwilling to risk further trouble had
walked off and the kids had turned away as well, not
interested in being implicated. So Glen was the only one
who saw the bright reflection of sun on what looked like
metal.

The glint had come from where Brenda’s panties
disappeared between her legs, as if from some metallic
surface underneath the skimpy undergarment. He looked
quickly away. As he did, he thought he caught Brenda
slipping a finger under the panty crotch and pulled it
over the metal.

“Brenda, go inside and pull yourself together. I’ll
speak to Tommy.”

Brenda looked at him, face beet red and thoroughly
humiliated. “I didn’t do anything, Mr. Simmons! He kept
bothering me, asking me what color panties I was
wearing! When I told him to leave me alone, he called me
a tease and he did this!” She was shaking.

“Go on in, Brenda. And I think I better give you a ride
home tonight after school, all right? Riding the bus
with Tommy is asking for trouble.”

She nodded and trotted off to the Girl’s Room to compose
herself. As she did, Glen watched what had probably
started the trouble. Brenda’s spandex skirt was so
tight, that her panty line underneath was as clear as
day. As she swiveled her slim hips, it must have seemed
to Tommy that yes, she was being a tease. “Good” girls
just didn’t sashay around that way. Glen sighed and took
Tommy to Skinner’s office for a “discussion.”

An hour later, Glen returned to his office. On a hunch
he called the Nurse’s office. “Has Brenda Porter had any
surgery that you know of?”

No, not that she knew of, the nurse answered as she
consulted her records. Any corrective surgery she’d need
a metal brace for? Was there any mention of hip
problems? No, none of that. Last time she’d been seen by
the nurse?

“Haven’t seen her actually. The day we did Physicals,
she was out. Then she came in with a note from her
mother giving her a clean bill of health. I wouldn’t
worry about Brenda’s health at all, Mr. Simmons. You see
her mother is a doctor.”

He hung the phone up. Glen knew it was wrong to be so
beguiled by the mystery of what was under Brenda’s
panties. It was pretty indecent actually. But even
though the girl was undeniably sexy in a fresh way, he
told himself he was only interested in the answer as it
fit with the rest of the pieces. And yet even as he
tried to distract himself with his mounds of paperwork,
his mind kept returning to the sight of that pantied
midsection, so taut and trim under that panty.

The panties were cut so sheerly they practically
disappeared up the girl’s privates giving him the
impression that the girl either hadn’t grown much pubic
hair or that she kept it closely shaved. Or entirely
shaved. But that was crazy! A fourteen-year-old girl
shaving her sex? He wondered how wild Miss Brenda Porter
was and what exactly she did after school. He stopped.
There had been a small bulge under there. Yes, now that
he thought about it, there had definitely been a mound.
All this daydreaming had brought it back.

He had only begun to ponder what the metal item was that
perhaps caused the mound when he remembered to check the
fax machine. There it was, waiting for him at three-
thirty on the dot. He took the fax to his desk and began
to read. It seemed the Central Massachusetts State
School wasn’t your run-of-the-mill junior high. It was a
reformatory. And a mistake had obviously been made in
the records.

The “D. Porter” listed was a twelve year old boy! He had
the phone in hand to call the Records Department to make
another request for the proper file when he saw the
grainy head shot. He looked at the fax closely. The
photo was that of a twelve-year-old boy, Danny Belmont.
The familiar hazel eyes, the black hair, the pointy
chin– it was as if Brenda had a brother! No dimples or
Adam’s Apple, and Danny’s lips were thinner than
Brenda’s, but other than that they might have been
siblings. Weird.

He looked at the notes in the file. “Danny’s birth
parents unknown. Brought up in a number of foster homes.
Caught shoplifting at eleven and remanded to the Central
State School for correction. Placed for adoption by
state to Mr. and Dr. Mason at age eleven and a half.” So
Brenda had a brother? But the other information was
identical. Danny Belmont’s Social Security number was
034-99-6669. And so was Brenda Belmont’s.

Glen heard the knock on the door. It was Brenda, here
for her ride home. Glen gathered up Brenda’s file and
the fax and threw it in his briefcase. “Ready?”

Brenda nodded, her ponytail bouncing. “Yes, thank you
Mr. Simmons.”

“Say Brenda, can I reach your parents at this hour? I’d
like to see them after I drop you off– about, uh, what
a good job you’re doing in Home Ec and Gym class.”

Her hazel eyes widened in fear then glee as he added the
reason. “Oh would you, Mr. Simmons? It means so much to
them that I do well in those classes. They would be so
pleased with me!”

“Well, fine. I’ll be happy to do that. Just tell me
where I might find them. At their offices?”

Brenda thought a minute then shook her head doubtfully.
“Oh no sir. They’re always home when I get off the bus.
They’re always there after school.”

And so they were. Glen could see the matching black and
silver BMW convertibles there at the head of the long
drive, even as he pulled in with his old Pontiac
Firebird. The house was practically an estate, easily
two hundred yards off the road, hidden behind huge,
immaculate hedges and a mason wall.

It stared down at him imposingly, three stories of
white Victorian excess of cupolas, verandahs, and French
windows. A gorgeous house, certainly in the million-
dollar range. He looked at Brenda again, silently
contemplating some inner concern in her trampy little
miniskirt. “General classes at request of parents.”

Even if Brenda was adopted like her brother, why would
the new parents who lived in such affluence restrict her
to go-nowhere courses? Why would they place such a
premium on Home Ec and Gym class? Why would they allow
her to leave the house dressed this way every day?

A tall, youngish man of thirty-eight or so opened the
front door, eyeing him suspiciously. Brenda looked up,
biting her lower lip. “Daddy,” she explained as they got
out of the car. “You’ll tell him I’m doing well in Home
Ec and Gym?”

Glen nodded and extended his hand. “Mr. Mason, I’m Glen
Simmons, the Guidance Counselor at Bentson High School.”

The man’s mien softened. He reminded Glen of a TV
lawyer– slightly graying hair, strong, conservative
presence and a self-confidence that bordered on
arrogance. “Nice to meet you. To be honest, I thought my
Brenda was getting a ride home from a high school boy.
No offense intended,” he added humorously.

Glen blushed. “None taken. I offered to give your
daughter a ride home because of something that happened
at school today–”

“Has she gotten herself into some mischief, Glen?” He
looked critically at Brenda, who looked at Glen with
hurt betrayal.

“No– she hasn’t done anything Mr. Mason. It was just a
schoolyard prank really. Actually if your wife is home,
I’d like to ask you some questions.”

The attorney masterfully waved off the request. “Come in
the house first and let’s get this cleared up. Brenda,
come here girl.”

Brenda, standing frightened between the two, obeyed and
with eyes downcast and by the older man’s side, walked
with them into the house. Inside a tall striking redhead
of thirty-five was pulling off a lab coat. Glen thought
she looked like a younger Sigourney Weaver, with a hard-
edged, no-nonsense way about her. She was introduced as
Mrs. Mason.

It nettled Glen who liked first names not to be granted
the courtesy of calling these people by their first
names even as they called him Glen. They had a way, Glen
could tell right off of making one seem inferior.
Probably got that from giving orders to everyone all day
long.

The four were in the living room, the Masons and Glen
sitting and Brenda standing. Mr. Mason demanded to know
what had happened in the schoolyard and as Glen
explained what had happened, Brenda cringed. After
hearing the whole story, Mason turned his cold blue eyes
on the teen.

“So, you’re teasing boys again, that it?”

Brenda shook her head, the ponytail dancing in the air.
“No, Daddy! I swear!”

The parents exchanged smug looks. “Obviously Brenda
needs to be taught another in a long unbroken string of
lessons, Rick. Will you do the honors or shall I?”

The husband pointed to his chest. “You handled her last
time. I better take care of it this time. We switch off
so she doesn’t think she can get away with anything,” he
explained to Glen.

He stood up and took off his expensive suit jacket. With
deliberate slowness, he unbuckled his belt and pulled it
off.

Glen watched in growing unease till he understood that
Brenda was about to be strapped with a belt for doing no
more than being a pretty girl!

“Please, it wasn’t her fault! She doesn’t deserve to be
punished!” he pleaded.

The man smiled cruelly. “But you said it wasn’t really
the boy’s fault either. Well, you don’t know Brenda. She
needs this,” he slapped the belt hard against his open
palm,” to remind her to behave herself like a proper
young lady. And no more interruptions Glen. When I’ve
finished with this, we can discuss why you’re here, but
not before.”

Glen stood up. “Perhaps I should leave.”

“Whatever for?” Mrs. Mason asked fliply. “Brenda is
punished all the time. Just wait five minutes. That’s
all it takes.”

Glen sat down, mesmerized as the girl, in resignation,
draped herself over the man’s knees. As if part of a
regular ritual, she herself yanked up the miniskirt,
revealing the incriminating panties that had caused all
the trouble. Mason’s fingers were on the elastic band of
the panties and was ready to pull them down, then looked
at Glen and left them up. Glen looked for a telltale
glint of metal, but Brenda had either covered it up or
it had never been there. Of the slight bulge, Glen could
see nothing from where he was sitting.

He watched with macabre fascination as the leather belt
was raised high over the small, shapely pantied rear and
fell with a harsh crack. Brenda’s eyes were closed, but
she obediently counted out each and every stroke. On the
second stroke, she broke into tears, but even then, she
continued to announce each stroke as it crashed into her
backside. From the corner of his eye, Glen noted that
Lesley had unconsciously let her hand drift down to the
lap of her pants. Then, aware of it, pulled it back
stealthily.

At last, Brenda was allowed to rise. She was told to go
to her room as the adults had a talk. All three adults
watched the fourteen-year-old prance painfully out of
the room, the slim hips forced to swivel in an
exaggerated way so as to avoid feeling more pain.

“Little slut,” Mason whispered as his eyes followed the
spandexed teen ass wriggle out of the room.

“Yes, little whore,” agreed the doctor wife in a cold,
reptilian way. Glen shivered.

Mason looked up at Glen, completely professional. “Now,
what do you have to tell us about Brenda?”

“Well, did you adopt Brenda?” he asked.

The two nodded. “Yes, when she was eleven or so. I took
care of the legalities,” answered the lawyer affably.

“And did she have a brother named Danny?” Glen pushed.

The redhead rose. “Drink for you Glen?” she asked
suddenly.

He looked uncertainly at the two of them. Mason answered
for him. “Yes, Lesley, great idea. Get us all some
lemonade– all right for you Glen?”

He nodded. As the tall redhead left the room, there was
a moment when he thought their eyes met again in some
secret amusement.

“You’re about what, 5′ 4″ Glen?”

He nodded, embarrassed about where this was going.

“Young too, huh? What are you, eighteen?”

“Twenty, Mr. Mason.”

He gave him a comical look, as if to ask who could
believe that. “I thought you were sixteen when I first
saw you. I’d say definitely sixteen. What do you say,
Lesley? Doesn’t Glen look as if he’s about sixteen?”

She smiled with icy concurrence. “Oh yes, he’s got the
small framed body of a sixteen year old at most. My
apologies, Glen– my clinical opinion, that’s all.” She
handed him a glass of lemonade. “Here you go.”

He took it and put it down. “Thank you. Now about this
Danny Belmont.”

Mason looked at him offended. “Please, your drink first.
Then we’ll tell you all you want to know about Danny and
Brenda and the way things are in our household. But
please, don’t be rude– it’s hot out today. Enjoy your
lemonade!”

Glen surrendered, picking up the full glass. The two
Masons watched as he drained it, leaving their own
drinks alone. He smiled. “Very good! What do you make it
with?”

Dr. Mason’s mouth opened wide in laughter. “Thioridizine
hydrochloride. Also known as mellaril.”

Glen felt woozy. “W-what does that do?” he asked as he
slumped forward.

The husband and wife laughed. “Oh, you’ll find out
darling– you’ll find out very soon,” the woman doctor
promised.

***

The next day Glen woke to the color white. All around
him, just clean, antiseptic white. Hospital white. He
tried to move but he was in a body cast. IVs dripped
liquid nourishment into his system and he felt totally
numb. He couldn’t feel a thing.

“Good morning. You look pretty good for a corpse!” Mr.
Mason held his strong chin in his hand, measuring Glen’s
reaction.

“W-w-ot ooo meeen?” Talking was painful and he stopped
as tears formed in his eyes.

Mason held up a copy of the local newspaper. A subhead
read in bold type HIGH SCHOOL MOURNS AS LOCAL GUIDANCE
COUNSELOR DIES IN AUTO ACCIDENT.

Glen started to cry as he blurrily made out the text:

Glen Simmons, 20 years old of Bentson, Florida was
killed Wednesday morning at 11 pm when his Pontiac
Firebird slammed into a restraining wall on Coast
Highway 14 and plunged into the ocean two hundred feet
below. No body has been recovered, but two witnesses,
Mr. and Dr. Mason of Solitude Lane reported that there
was no question Simmons was killed in the accident.

Richard Mason, a prominent local attorney, testified to
police seeing the car swerve erratically, then driving
off the road. His wife, Dr. Lesley Mason with the
Private West Palm Beach Clinic was reported as telling
police there was no way the driver could have survived
the fall and subsequent explosion. The police have ruled
out any foul play and closed the file. No immediate
relations were known at press time.”

He sobbed, which was agony. “Why dooo tis?” he tried to
scream. Why was he in such agony?

The red-haired woman was by his side with a syringe.
“Sleep little one,” she whispered and the world was
black again.

***

Days later.

The woman and man were standing over him, arguing.

“It’s my turn!” the woman was angrily disputing. “You
made your picks the last time! Besides,” she cooed
evilly, “I think you’ll like my choice.”

Was that Brenda standing behind them, wearing the candy
striper uniform? Where was he anyway? A hospital of some
kind? What were they doing to him? What had they already
done to him? The cast was still on his body leaving only
his arms bare. He felt weak and sensed that he had lost
a great deal of weight. Strange things were being done
to him, things that scared him.

“Well, if you have something interesting in mind,
Lesley. What look do you want for our new pet?”

“The Kelly look of course– to go with our little
Brenda! Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have them both? I
want to take advantage of that fine blonde hair of his.
A wonderful natural feature.” She pulled out a scalpel
and was using it as a pointer, swinging it through the
air as she described how she wished to alter the subject
in question.

“Small breasts but bigger than Brenda’s.” She put her
arm around little Brenda and clutched a small breast
through the striped blouse. She found the nipple through
the bra underneath and twisted. Brenda cringed and kept
her lips clamped, but the pain in her eyes called out to
Glen.

“Yes, maybe a bit bigger. Maybe a pair of nice ripe
32Bs– cute, feminine, but not centerfold. Big sensitive
nipples to play with. A smaller upturned nose. The chin
has to go– even if it gets a little weak, it’ll still
work. I want to really thin out the eyebrows, but I want
to lengthen and thicken the lashes.”

Mr. Mason was nodding, in increasing agreement with his
wife.

“And the lips– you’ll do the lips, correct?”

She nodded. “Yes, but not as much as Brenda. Some
moderate collagen should plump up the lips, but let’s
not go Julia Roberts, alright? There’s a pretty bow-
shape there that might get ruined. Now, the waist needs
to go down of course, and the hips go up– how about
tagging it at a 32-24-29? A nice, huggable petite figure
that’s almost doll-like. You like?”

Mr. Mason smiled. “I like. Sounds like you’re going to
give this bitch a nice, tight butt. think she’ll be
grateful?

Glen froze as he heard the woman’s icy, shrill cackle.
“After what we do with it, I doubt it honey!”

“And you’ll let the hair and nails grow out naturally or
will you use an accelerator?”

The doctor looked down at Glen. “An accelerator. Don’t
you want everything done as quickly as possible?”

The man nodded. “Absolutely.”

Pain. The syringe was sinking into his arm again.

Glen winced as Dr. Mason slipped the chastity belt over
his male member. The metal was cold and he shivered. The
doctor squeezed the microscopic snap with a pair of
tweezers and it clicked with finality.

Dr. Mason stroked his cheek, running her hand through
his long, lustrous blonde mane of hair. “Cold, pretty
baby? Don’t worry– it’ll get so hot down there you’ll
never believe it was so cold! The two openings in the
belt between your legs will allow you to relieve
yourself– sitting down of course! Now, stand up.”

He obeyed promptly, popping off the hospital bed in the
Examination Room. Glen had learned it was actually
underneath the Mason’s mansion– a private medical wing
devoted entirely to the private experiments and whimsies
of Dr. Mason. It was where she had turned him into a
female. There was another room too, but one he had never
been in. From the windowless, white hospital-style
bedroom where he was locked every night, he could hear
things though. Brenda’s cries, whippings, Mr. Mason’s
yells, Dr. Mason’s screeching laugh. They called it the
“Play Room.”

As Glen stood in front of the mirror, he looked at the
image that stared back. Was that really him? It was
still difficult to believe the changes were permanent
even after a whole month’s time. The most obvious change
was the pair of moderate sized perky high-nippled
breasts that hung from his chest. He could feel the
jiggle of the orange-sized spheres as he moved quickly,
the way the cold air massaged his long nipples into
small, hard rubies. They weren’t huge, but he could
surely feel their weight as he walked.

And he walked differently now too. His legs were longer,
his calves shapelier. His instep had been raised, giving
him a high stepping toe-first way of walking. His hips
were wider as well, his butt fuller. The whole affect
was to give him the light airy prance of a ballerina–
or a showgirl.

His hands were soft and callus free as if the heaviest
object he had ever lifted was a hairbrush. Even the scar
he had gotten from fishing when he was twelve was gone.
All that was there now was milky skin as soft as velvet.
And having nails now was strange. He had to be careful
how he used his hands, how he picked things up, how he
held things, otherwise he might break the nails. And
that was unthinkable.

His arms seemed more relaxed as he walked if he held
them up in the air, elbows bent, with hand bent, palms
down. It also seemed natural for him to rest his hands
high on his hips, practically on his wispy waist. With
thumb and index finger resting palm down on them, he
felt more relaxed than if he just kept them by his side.
Glen couldn’t tell, but he guessed some muscles in his
body had been lengthened and shorted to produced these
desired affectations.

Seeing his face for the first time was a frightening
sensation. He could barely believe that the blue eyes
were his. Permanent cosmetic contacts, the Doctor had
explained. His eyebrows, once as thick as caterpillars
were now razor-thin plucked blonde arcs. In contrast,
his eyelashes were long and lusciously full-bodied, and
he now no longer closed his eyes and opened them– he
batted his lashes. His mouth was even smaller, his thin
lips now poutier.

When he smiled, his expression was like the one they
made Barbie dolls with– sexy, surprised and happy all
at once. His nose was half it’s previous size. He had a
deviated septum, the result of a long ago high school
tussle, which had given his nose a slight bend to the
left. But now it was small, upturned and delicate and
perfect as porcelain. And framing his whole face was his
light blonde hair, now straight and long enough to reach
to the tops of his breasts.

As he silently inspected himself, Mr. Mason walked into
the white hospital room. “Well, there’s the pretty lady!
How are you Kelly?” The older man was leering at his new
breasts and he held up his hands to shield them.

“Uh, fine, Daddy,” he answered in that new, subdued
voice of his. Mr. Mason was Daddy and Dr. Mason was
Mother, he had been told. Brenda was his little sister.
He was Kelly, a sixteen-year-old girl. A pretty girl who
must behave. Or Daddy and Mother would punish Kelly.
Glen had already learned what a hard spanking Daddy
could give when his Kelly had sassed back. Damn! That
had hurt!

“We’re about to go over the new rules, Father. Please
sit down– no, not you Kelly. You just stand there in
front of the examination mirror and listen carefully.”

Glen saw Daddy’s eyes on his bare butt reflected in the
mirror. It made him so uncomfortable. He had been kept
naked since the operations had ended a week ago and it
was driving Kelly to the point of nervous exhaustion. He
hated being kept nude. It made him so vulnerable. All he
wanted to do was snatch up a sheet and cover himself.
But he kept quiet and listened to his new parents
instead.

“Your chastity belt is designed to keep that silly
little thing of yours under complete control. You can
function naturally in every way, though it will prevent
you from playing with yourself. It’s ok to blush Kelly–
that’s the sign of healthy shame we want to instill in
our girls.” She smiled. “You SHOULD be ashamed of that
little thing– which is why the chastity belt will
control it and keep it nice and flat. We won’t have it
ruining your panty lines with big bulges! Got it?”

Glen nodded demurely. For now, he had decided it was
easier to accept and obey. Minute to minute, hour to
hour, he told himself. Just survive long enough to get
out of this nightmare alive.

“As you know, you’re a lucky little girl. We’ve adopted
you, just like Brenda. Rick has taken care of all the
legal details. As your parents, we have complete
responsibility for your upbringing and discipline. As
you’ve already discovered, we’re very old fashioned when
it comes to correcting improper behavior. Our opinion is
that pretty girls should be seen and not heard.”

Glen swallowed hard. It was still strange to be think
Dr. Mason was talking about him, uh, her.

Mr. Mason– Daddy– continued where his wife had left
off. “It really is too bad for you that you had to
meddle in our business– and that you happened to be
such wonderful material to work with! Small, child-like
in appearance, no facial hair– hardly a male at all!
Much better suited to be a teenage girl– like Brenda.
You were right about Brenda. We took her when she was
about twelve. You see we’ve always wanted kids. Though
not for the usual reasons, right Dear?”

His wife, her hands resting in her white lab coat,
nodded in agreement. She was pleased with her handiwork
and like a true craftsman kept inspecting the finished
product, looking for a single flaw. But there were none,
she knew. Kelly was perfect– a sexy, sixteen year old
girl.

“We are extremely successful and up to three years ago,
thoroughly bored. Money after a certain point means
nothing,” Mr. Mason discoursed. “You grow soft, begin to
watch too much television. That was how we got hooked on
Beverly Hills 90210. Have you seen it? As we watched it,
we grew infatuated with the idea of having those
beautiful girls to do with as we wished.

“There’s nothing as appealing as a teenage girl coming
to terms with her sexuality. The experiments with ever-
so-subtly seductive, pretty clothing, the thrill of the
stolen first kiss, the innocence of the embrace, the
sweet surrender to the first lover. It has a taste
fuller than the finer glass of wine. Lesley agreed. She
had steadily more aroused by the sight of the pretty,
pampered girls on the show. I think she even brought up
the idea. Why not capture a runway who looked like one
of them for a pet? I could handle the legal aspects of
the capture and Lesley could do the necessary cosmetic
surgery to turn our new possession into the toy of our
dreams?

You have to understand Kelly that Lesley and I are very
sophisticated when it comes to sex. We have certain
tastes that aren’t exactly mainstream. Because we are
both very successful, we have come to look at the world
in a different way. There are those who take and those
who give. Well, instead of waiting for something to be
offered, we take it. This goes for our tastes in
lovemaking.”

Glen noticed a burning glow in the man’s eyes that
scared him, scared him more than anything else had so
far.

“You wouldn’t understand this, but people who have power
like to use it. The exercise of power over those who
don’t have it is an intoxicating experience never lose a
taste for. Power to correct, power to train and tame,
power to bend another to your will–”

“Yessss!” Dr. Mason’s hands were plunged deep in her
pockets as her husband continued his dark discourse.

He smiled at his wife. “Well, it is a drug. You get
hooked.

Unfortunately, my wife is just as strong willed as I am.
Stalemate. So we used whores– a poor substitute at
best. You never get the sense of true submission. Thus,
Lesley’s idea. I loved it. Between the two of us, we had
the capability to pull it off. But the more Lesley
thought about it, the less enthusiastic she was about
her own idea. I asked her why but she refused to say.

Then it hit me. She was worried. You see, Lesley is as
jealous as any spouse. As am I. She was concerned about
the inevitable course of such a plan. What if I became
too involved with the runaway? If I came to actually
grow affectionate? So I suggested the perfect
compromise– a boy turned into a girl.

We would leave the male genitals, but the rest would be
completely transformed into a pretty girl. That way we
could have our cake and eat it too, so to speak. We
would have our teenage temptress to train and play with,
and temptation would be avoided because I’d never, ever
leave my Lesley to run off with a boy. Not that I would
ever leave my darling wife, but this solution made her
feel better and satisfied both our appetites.”

He stroked his long, strong chin in smugness for the
brilliant solution they had concocted. He looked at Glen
with wide, questioning eyes, but Glen remained silent.

“Since you had to be a nosy little fool, you have no one
to blame except yourself.” She smiled disdainfully, her
white teeth bared.

“You were kind enough to bring your file regarding
Brenda, which I’ve destroyed.” Mr. Mason pulled a
cigarette from a small silver case and lit it with an
obsidian lighter. He took a long, slow drag on the black
Dunhill and continued. “And you’re well aware of your
tragic demise. So all the loose ends are tied up, are
they not?”

Glen continued to clutch his breasts. “You’ll punish me
if I tell you what I really think of all this,” he
answered, his soprano voice wavering with fear.

Mason flicked an ash in an ashtray and shook his head.
His deep-set eyes were amused. “Go ahead, Kelly. tell us
what you REALLY think.” His wife’s hard. cold eyes were
on him too, interested in what he had to say.

“My name isn’t Kelly. It’s Glen Simmons.”

The wife looked at her husband. The two laughed. “Your
name is Kelly Mason,” Mr. Mason advised patiently. “Here
is your birth certificate.” He handed a square piece of
paper to Kelly, who took it quickly so as to keep his
breasts covered.

He scanned it. It said that he was indeed Kelly Mason,
that his parents were listed as unknown, that he had
been born sixteen years ago. It was notarized with the
appropriate date, the signatures legitimate, the
document completely legal.

“And this.” Mason passed another piece of paper to him.
It was notification that Kelly had been adopted by the
Masons two months ago– about the time of his
“accident.”

“And this.” Another piece of paper. This one a death
certificate for Glen Simmons, dated and stamped by the
proper authorities. It was signed by Dr. Lesley Mason,
the reporting physician.

Glen looked up, tears forming. It couldn’t be! It was
impossible to make someone go away and to create someone
else in their place! It couldn’t be done– could it? “I
can find witnesses…”

But Mason cut him off. “You can? We did someone
investigating and WE couldn’t find family, friends,
girlfriend, anyone who might miss you. Are you telling
me there’s someone we missed? Save your breath– we
didn’t miss anything.”

“No one will suspect anything out of the ordinary, Blue
Eyes.”

Dr. Mason shook her head emphatically. “No one.”

“But I’m a man! I have a cock!” Glen shrieked in
frustration.

The soprano betrayed him and the couple chuckled lightly
at the incongruity of the statement and the dulcet tone
in which it was expressed. “Not really. You’ll find your
chastity belt quite snug, missy. It isn’t coming off any
time soon. As for being a man, well— I JUST DON’T
THINK SO!” Mr. Mason boomed in scorn.

Glen looked around craftily and smiled. “Fine. You can’t
watch me all the time. I’ll get out of here and then–”

Dr. Mason nodded in agreement. “Naturally you’ll be out
of here. I’ve kept you here for observation, for your
own good. But it is time you were allowed to live in the
house with the rest of us. You have a wonderful bedroom
all set up for you. Any high school girl would love it.”

“And I’ll get out of the house then–”

Mr. Mason looked at him dumbfounded. “Of course you
will, young lady! If you think you’re going to laze
around the house all day, you’re plain wrong! You will
be getting out of the house– and going to high school.”

Glen was confused. “Fine, then when I get to the high
school, I’ll…I’ll…” His lips opened and slowly
closed. His blue eyes widened.

“You’ll what, Kelly? What will you do?” Mason puffed on
his cigarette. “You’ll do nothing, because if you do,
you’ll be sent home, diagnosed with mental problems. And
if you run away, you’ll be brought back here by the
police. And even if you do get far enough away, what
then? How far do you think a pretty blonde, blue-eyed
sixteen year old runaway girl would get on the highway
or city streets? Hummm?”

Glen clutched his breasts closer.

“So you can put those thoughts out of your pretty empty
little head. Thinking too much is bad– very bad. It’s a
habit you’ll lose soon enough. Your mother knows how to
help you forget those pesky thoughts with some special
medicine you’ll be on for a while. Pretty soon you’ll be
the pretty vapid teen you know you are– and you can
concentrate on what’s really important– like boys and
clothes and boys and makeup and boys–”

“And lingerie and boys and jewelry and boys and so on,”
Dr. Mason rattled off. Then she leered. “Not that boys
are EVERYTHING mind you. There are women too.”

Glen’s hands had bunched into small, angry fists against
his heaving bosom. “How can you make me do that? You
can’t— you can’t make me into a girl if I was born a
male! There’s no way! You just want an act and I’m not
going to pretend to like any of this so you two can get
off!” He was furious and confused, but he knew this was
right– he wasn’t gay and he couldn’t pretend to get
into this kinky stuff no matter how much they hurt him.
He went on with more confidence. “Oh, yeah, you can MAKE
me do things, you can FORCE me to do things, but you’ll
know it isn’t REAL!!!!”

He had hoped the outburst would shatter the perfect
surface of their arrogance, their utter calmness and the
everyday-way they were talking about remaking Glen
Simmons, High School Guidance Counselor into Kelly
Mason, sixteen year old girl. He would have to make them
see it just wouldn’t work– but now they were laughing
at him, laughing deeply and richly, as if he couldn’t be
more wrong about anything.

The redheaded bitch caressed his arm. “Poor Kelly! Never
heard of mellaril? Why would you?” she reminded herself.
It’s what’s responsible for those plump boobs of yours.
But you’re right– that’s just a physical change, gives
you feminine characteristics externally. The real magic
is going on inside your metabolism right now. Another
benefit of having you as part of our little family is
that I get to make up for an error in judgment.”

Her husband tried to dispel criticism, but Lesley
overruled him with a wagging finger. “Please Rick,
don’t. I made a mistake with Brenda. I’ll admit that.
But with Kelly, I can make up for it.” She turned back
to Glen.

“For the last two months, every since your untimely
“accident,” your system has been saturated with
estradiol. It’s a high performance female sex hormone.
Brenda was induced with the same treatment. She was
given the exact amount of sex hormones a normal girl her
age would have. Because of the wonder of biochemistry,
I’ve implanted you, like I did with Brenda, with a
device that will convert your testosterone into
estradiol. However, instead of giving you the natural
level of hormones as we did with Brenda, you’ll produce
sex hormones at a rate fifty percent higher than the
level found in natural-born teenage females.”

Rick Mason hooked his finger in his belt, grinning
wolfishly. “You see, even though Brenda’s system carries
the hormones, since they are only average level, she
hasn’t been as, shall we say, stimulated as we’d like
her to be. When we decided we wanted her to have the
characteristics of a young teenage girl, we forgot that
along with curiosity about sex, there would also be fear
and confusion. Brenda’s too prim and proper for our
tastes.”

“Yes, and once the metabolism has been set, you can’t
screw around with the biochemical mix,” Lesley the
doctor elaborated. “Brenda behaves just like a normal
fourteen year old girl would– curious but scared, coy
and immature. Not what we want when it comes time for
frolics in the Play Room. But with the amount of
Estradiol you’ve been given, we’re sure you’ll be able
to help us train Brenda the way we want her to behave
for us.”

He didn’t like the sound of this. “Estradiol? What will
it do to me?” he asked feebly. He dreaded that he might
guess the answer if not the specifics.

Mr. Mason put out his cigarette, letting his wife
answer. He was so deliberate in all his actions, thought
Glen. As if he knew every objection I could raise before
I said a thing.

The doctor’s tongue slipped in and out of her mouth as
she explained, as if savoring word after delicious word.
“It will make you terribly insecure, very vain,
extremely flighty. Your attention span will be very
short and you’ll become bored with anything that
requires too much thinking. You’ll be overly preoccupied
with your appearance at all times. You’ll be led by your
emotions, a spoiled brat one minute, a darling angel the
next. You’ll find yourself unable to make decisions for
yourself and you’ll be drawn to strength, since you’ll
be so naturally dependent and submissive. In other
words, you’ll exhibit every stereotypical female trait
exaggerated by fifty percent. And the estradiol will
have one more dramatic affect.”

“What? Please tell me!” begged Glen.

She licked her lips before answering. “You’ll be a very,
very horny young lady. Come on, Rick, let’s take Kelly
to her new room.”

Glen was shown to the bedroom by his new ‘parents.’ He
gloomily looked around. It was decorated entirely in
pink– pink plush carpeting; a big pink double bed, with
two fluffy pillows and a smiling oversized teddy bear; a
pink vanity replete with lipsticks, mascaras, perfumes,
foundations, brushes, styling pins and rollers; a pink
painted bookshelf filled with brand new paperbacks, all
of them romance novels; a pink skirted nightstand with a
stack of magazines like Cosmopolitan, Teen Beat, Soap
Opera Digest, and a number of catalogs from Talbot’s,
Laura Ashely, Victoria’s Secret and more; a pink
Princess phone; a pink plastic boom box with a pre-
selected music library of Madonna, Janet Jackson,
Whitney Houston, and Wilson Philips CDs; a pink lamp in
the shape of a ballerina; and a single window adorned
with pink curtains.

On the wall were two posters. One was full of flowers
and flowing feminine script. It repeated a trite poem
about setting love free and it would come back to you.
Another was a full-length poster of Fabio, the romance
novel cover model and teen heartthrob. The requisite
Barbie doll rested on a bookcase shelf watching over all
with her empty and pleasing smile. A Minnie Mouse clock
clicked away the minutes and hours on the wall.

“You’ll be very happy here, Kelly.” Mr. Mason’s —
Daddy’s– hand was on his bare ass and he hated it.

“And you’ll finally be allowed to wear clothes. Isn’t
that exciting? Why don’t you play dress up by yourself
and get used to your new home, Kelly. Your father and I
will be down in the Play Room with Brenda.” She rubbed
her palm against her thigh. “She’s been a very naughty
girl and needs to be punished.” The door was shut,
leaving him alone.

He was relieved. Privacy. It was the first time he had
enjoyed privacy in two months. And clothes! He never
realized how much you could miss clothes! He opened the
dresser. Naturally– girls’ underwear. Bras, panties,
thigh high stockings and nighties. He opened the next
drawer. Tops– but all in bright or pastel colors. He
opened the bottom drawer– shorts, exercise outfits and
bathing suits. None of it in the least boy-like.

He turned and opened the closet. Inside hung a number of
short-skirted dresses, frocks and miniskirts. There was
even a little black cocktail dress. “Is that when I get
invited to school dances?” he thought disgustedly. On
the floor were a number of shoes– many being three inch
heels of varying fashion colors. In addition, there were
a pair of open-toed sandals and a pair of pink Reebok
running shoes.

He looked out the window, down at the wide luxuriant
green lawn and the hedges that bounded the huge estate.
They couldn’t make him put these clothes on. And yet he
wanted to cover his body. Reluctantly he returned to the
dresser. He pulled out a light blue cotton bra and
slipped it on. It gently lifted and separated his 32B
breasts, offering some girlish cleavage above the
flowery trimming that decorated the demi-cup.

He hated the pleasant way it made him feel. He had to
resist. But as he stepped into the matching Calvin Klein
blue thong panties, he couldn’t help the wave of delight
he felt as the snug garment crept between and up his
legs. He had to remember he was a male, a twenty-year-
old male, not some dopey sixteen-year-old kid. But his
resistance crumbled as he slipped on the white cotton
half-blouse that bared his trim, flat tummy, feeling the
tightness over his breasts as he buttoned up. He picked
out the only pair of jeans in the closet, determined not
to wear a skirt, no matter what.

But as he held up the pair of No Excuses jeans, he
realized why the calves had zippers. The designer jeans
were so tight, he had to unzip the calves, then get on
his back and try to jam himself into the legs. He
managed to get them half in and stood up carefully. He
bounced up and down as he forced his already small butt
into the even tighter jeans.

At last he was able to get them in and triumphantly
zipped the zipper. With the air of a natural gesture,
his hands found their familiar perch on his hips. The
mirror showed a sassy, hot to trot sixteen year old with
pouty lips and smoldering blue eyes. But that wasn’t the
reality, Glen reminded himself frantically. Fishing
though the shoes, he slipped on the pink running shoes.

“Very pretty, Blue Eyes.” It was the Masons. They were
back. But they weren’t alone. Mr. Mason yanked a leash
and Brenda came tumbling to the floor behind him. “See
your new big sister, missy?”

Brenda looked up, eyes swollen with tears. The leash was
attached to a pair of handcuffs and allowed Mr. Mason to
drag the boy-girl behind him. The fourteen year old wore
only a pair of white bikini panties and a training bra.
The back of his thighs were red as if from being hit
with a flat object repeatedly.

“Brenda has been a naughty little girl, Kelly. It seems
your sister isn’t as interested as she should be in her
housekeeping duties. Naughty girl!” Mason screamed at
the girl.

Brenda groveled on the floor before the two adults.
“Please! No more! Please! I won’t do it again!” She
pressed her cheek against Lesley Mason’s high-heeled
shoe pathetically.

Mrs. Mason rubbed her shoe across the boy-girls cheek
and Brenda obediently began to lick it. “This is what
happens with only children,” she spoke to her husband.
“They get spoiled like Brenda. You know, I think having
a big sister like Kelly around will do wonders for
teaching Brenda how to act like a proper young lady.”

Mr. Mason concurred. “Kelly, you may do whatever girls
do when they are alone. Your mother and I need to
continue with Brenda’s discipline– in our bedroom.”

Brenda looked up. Kelly noticed the boy-girl shaking as
he struggled to his feet. The door was shut and Glen was
left only to wonder about the many shocking shouts