Sexual Innovations in the Underworld, 1 / 2

By Iolanthe Portmanteaux

I’m not a miner, so I don’t want to get into a discussion about which mine is deepest, but I was told that the Darkling mine is the deepest of all active mines. It reaches nearly 13,000 feet into the earth, which is about four kilometers.

When the mine reached that depth, the miners began to report encounters with men carrying swords or spears, who spoke a strange language and carried bright phosphorescent lamps. Despite the fierce appearance of these warriors, they never did any harm to the miners -- at least, not physically. They seemed to want to frighten and intimidate the miners, and they succeeded. Every miner who claimed to have seen or met these strange beings was terrorized, and either refused to work in the deepest levels, or quit the mine altogether.

The management of the Darkling Corporation naturally gave no credence to these reports, but the stories brought an unwanted publicity to the mine. In popular parlance, the mine now had a name: The Cursed Darkling Mine. In addition, work on deepening the mine and enlarging the lowest levels, had come to an almost total standstill, since there were very few men willing to work down there.

The owners decided that the best way to put an end to the stories was to carry out a thorough and impartial investigation. They put together two teams: the first team was a set of private investigators and psychologists. They spoke with every man who claimed to have encountered the strange beings below. A few -- very few -- of the stories were discarded as hoaxes or as the product of malingering, but the majority were soundly consistent. The investigators did background checks, to determine whether any of the men had a history of mental or social issues. They looked for membership in cults or adherence to conspiracy theories. They tried to find connections to rival mining companies. They administered polygraph tests. They spoke to family and neighbors. They looked for even the slightest evidence of conspiracy between the men.

All of their digging and probing came up negative. As far as the investigators could tell, the men honestly and sincerely believed what they said.

At that point, the second team was created. This team was composed of adventurers: spelunkers, military men, fighters, … and me: an anthropologist.

In the midst of all these manly, aggressive, combative types, I was obviously the odd man out. The reason I was included on the team was that so many elements in the stories appeared tribal, atavistic, bronze-age. My expertise was meant to identify and debunk the characteristics these under-earth warriors had adopted.

I say “adopted” because the company’s working theory was that the encounters were real insofar as the strangers actually existed, but they were fake as far as what they purported to be: the clothes, the arms, the unfamiliar language, were all a sham. The Darkling Corporation suspected that a rival company had joined one of their shafts to the Darkling mine, and moved back and forth freely, with the aim of slowing or even stopping Darkling’s production.

There were two men on the team that I need to mention by name: MacGregor and Talbot. They went by their last names only, and although they never met before, the two became fast friends. They shared a deep, near-obsessive interest in the martial arts. They were each a master in several schools of fighting, whether Judo, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Krav Maga, Sambo, Kendo, Muay Thai, Capoeira, or simply boxing. They had endless arguments about which of the martial arts was best or most effective, and they often spent their free time sparring and comparing techniques.

They liked to joke about which martial art would be best for me, since I knew nothing about fighting. I’ve never been in a fight in my life, and hoped I never would.

If you’re curious about the composition of our team and our preparations, I’m sure you can find all the details among the Darkling Corporation’s papers.The story that I’m telling begins deep below, when our team was methodically exploring the deepest level of the mine, visiting the spots where the supposed encounters had taken place. We were thorough and we were careful, but we saw no one and found nothing. There were no clues and no traces, but we persisted in our search. We had an absolute mandate of covering the entire bottom level.

On the fourth day of searching, we discovered a narrow gap in the mine wall. It was less than two feet wide, and more than six feet high. The spelunkers pushed their way through, and after several long minutes, returned in a state of high excitement. They had found a vast open chamber where they suggested we set up camp. It was an ideal spot to use as our base. A stream ran through the chamber, and we found that the water was potable. There was a large, flat, horizontal area, and plenty of projections which we used as seats, shelves, or beds, depending on their height. The ceiling was so high and far away that we dubbed this place The Cathedral, and it was a relief to have found it after days of being closed inside the narrower parts of the mine.

The Cathedral wasn’t far from the elevator and the phone to the surface, and although it wasn’t central to the excavated areas, it was near enough. We called up to report our find, and to ask for more gear. We strung up lights so we wouldn’t drain our batteries.

It was possible -- and even likely -- that the groups of “warriors” had entered the mine through this gap, which hadn’t been made by the Darkling miners, and didn’t show on any map of the mine. Our contacts on the surface were quite excited by our discovery, since -- up to that point -- they naturally feared the worst: which was, that we wouldn’t uncover anything at all.

Once our base camp was established, we divided our search team in two: half continued to search the excavations, while the other half made their way around the Cathedral, which was larger and far more extensive than we originally thought. The spelunkers found a pool, fed by a hot spring. It wasn’t large enough to bathe in, but I was able to route the water off a rock edge, where I created a hot, refreshing shower. This made life underground a great deal more bearable.

After a few more days, our explorations of the mine itself were nearly complete. We found nothing in the mine that could possibly explain, prove, or disprove the strange encounters. The exploration of the Cathedral, on the other hand, was far more promising, although it seemed to have no end. On this particular day, we were on the verge of turning our full attention to the Cathedral. Two of our men returned to the mine to visit the last unexplored tunnel. Four others set off to probe the limits of the Cathedral. The other nine of us remained in camp, either resting or maintaining equipment.

Dinner time came and went, but none of the six explorers returned. I was sent to use the phone to report to the surface. Two others went to look for the mine explorers, and four went searching for the Cathedral crew.

Let me say that my sense of direction is very good -- even in that underground place. I’d made my way from the Cathedral to the surface phone enough times that I could do it quite literally with my eyes closed. In fact, the lights failed once when I was alone without my flashlight, and even in that total darkness, I confidently made my way by feel, without making a single wrong turn. This time, however, the lights were fully on, yet I couldn’t find the phone, or even the elevator, which was big, well-lit, and very hard to miss. I backtracked, thinking I must have lost my way, but I returned even more sure that I was in the right place. There hadn’t been a cave-in; we would have heard it. So I took out my light and examined the rock ahead of me. What I saw was unbelievable: A wall had been erected, blocking me from the phone and the elevator! The wall was composed of fitted stones, laid by hand. A chill ran through me. It had to be the work of many hours, of many hands. I tried to pull the stones away from the side where the phone was located, but the rocks were so heavy, and placed so tightly and expertly, from floor to ceiling, that I couldn’t budge them at all.

Alarmed and thoroughly frightened, I ran back toward the Cathedral. The walls echoed with shouts, cries, and gunfire. When I entered the narrow doorway, I literally bumped into one of the strangers. He was slim but muscular, and naked except for a long loincloth that dangled just past his knees. He smiled, but not a friendly smile. It was the confident smile of a successful predator. He took me by the upper arm and led me, firmly but gently, toward our camp, where a terrible contest was taking place. He pushed me down to my knees and put his hand on my head, and the two of us watched the scene unfold. Four of my companions lay dead and bleeding on the ground. Beyond them, MacGregor and Talbot were fighting for their lives against the warrior strangers. A group -- maybe a dozen -- strangers stood watching as MacGregor and Talbot took on one comer after another. The strangers were armed with swords and short, curiously shaped knives. They approached one at a time, as if waiting in a queue.

I must say that I was enormously impressed by the fighting ability of MacGregor and Talbot. I admit that in the past I suspected that all their talk about their fighting prowess was just hot air. How wrong I was! Watching them in action was like watching a violent dance. Neither of them made a single mistake, neither made the slightest misstep. Instead, they made short work of each challenger, disarming them, using their weapons against them, then casting their arms aside. They beat the strangers with their bare fists, and tossed them about like rag dolls, using judo throws. It was magnificent to behold.

Then, when the strangers seemed to have had enough, their leader raised his hand. In his other hand, he held a strange, black, not-quite-round ball. His warriors took a step back and covered their eyes with one hand. I soon saw why: The chief threw the ball to the ground. When the ball hit the ground and broke, it released a bright green goo. I heard an eerie whine and the goo ignited in a blinding flash. I was taken completely by surprise; after looking into the intense light, I couldn’t see anything at all. I heard MacGregor and Talbot shouting, and felt my hands being bound in front of me. Then I was led away.

When I was able to see again -- about thirty minutes later -- I saw that MacGregor and Talbot also had their hands bound, but theirs were bound behind their backs. I also noticed that they were bound with cord: I could see it biting into their wrists. I, on the other hand, was bound with a white ribbon, the ends of which dangled down to my knees. The three of us were being led through a city street. The inhabitants lined the road and leaned out of second-floor windows to gawk at us. I could scarcely barely believe what was happening.

The three of us were surrounded by men armed with spears and swords, in the midst of a well-populated city. The streets were wide; the houses clean and well-built. The inhabitants looked healthy and happy. High above us arched the roof of an immense cavern -- so large that it gave us the sensation of being outside, rather than deep in the bowels of the earth. Everything was lit by a natural luminescence whose source I couldn’t see.

“Will you look at this place!” MacGregor exclaimed.

“It’s hard to believe, isn’t--” but before I could finish, my guard gave me a slap on the back of the head.

Annoyed that MacGregor could speak, but I couldn’t, I glanced over at my companions. I noticed that Talbot and MacGregor were under very close guard and massively outnumbered by warriors carrying spears. I, on the other hand, had only one guard, whose weapons were sheathed. Every now and then he gave me a shove or a slap to keep himself from being bored.

After we’d walked nearly a half mile, we were brought into the atrium of a large building, where a huge, older-looking man was holding court. In spite of his age, he was muscular and fit. He must have been over seven feet tall. He sat behind an elevated desk. Spectators lined the walls, leaving a large open area in the center. We were brought to one side of the open space, where we were stood in a line.

The chief who had captured us addressed the court. After brief introductory comments, he proceeded to narrate and pantomime our capture. First he portrayed, one by one, the deaths of each of my twelve dead companions. Apparently all of them had put up a fight; a fact that was appreciated by the spectators and the judge. Twelve times the crowd murmured its approval. They were particularly interested in how well my companions fought. The chief tried to show my dead companions’ facial expressions, so he could render their determination and courage. He imitated their fighting style, and their nobility in death. A few times the crowd shouted in admiration for my fallen friends.

Then the chief came to the capture of Talbot and MacGregor. Here, he became much more eloquent and animated. He gestured to my two companions and approximated, with sweeping arm and leg motions, the battle put up my friends. He acted out the way my friends disarmed his warriors. He mimicked the punches and throws, and -- to the great astonishment of the entire company -- the way that MacGregor and Talbot tossed aside the weapons, preferring to use their bare hands. MacGregor and Talbot understood quite clearly what was going on: there were murmurs of approval for their courage and skill, and exclamations of astonishment for techniques that were clearly innovations in fighting, as far as these underground warriors were concerned. When the chief was done testifying, he slapped his chest in pride, then walked over to MacGregor and Talbot, and slapped their chests in the same way. A cheer went up, and the cheer lasted for nearly a minute. The judge made a gesture, and the bonds that tied their wrists were cut. As Talbot and MacGregor massaged their wrists, the judge brought forth from his desk a bottle and a pair of small cups. He filled both cups, and he and the chief tossed them off. Then he filled the cups again, and the chief presented them to MacGregor and Talbot.

“Smells like whiskey,” Talbot observed.

“It’s nothing like,” MacGregor corrected, “but it’ll do.” And the two of them tossed back their heads and downed the liquid. MacGregor smacked his lips in satisfaction, and the room roared with approval.

“I think we’re in, boy,” MacGregor told Talbot. It was true: everyone smiled at them. The entire room was full of obvious, even glowing, admiration.

Then the chief turned his attention to me, and told the story of my capture. He made it seem as though I was hiding at the start and that I was discovered while trying to run away. He mimicked my fearful look, my hunched demeanor, and held up his hands as if afraid of being struck. None of it was true, but how could I contradict him? The spectators laughed as if they were hearing the funniest thing in the world. He pulled me forward, to the center of the room, and pushed me to my knees, just as the other warrior had done when I was captured. I looked up at him. He smiled down at me and ruffled my hair. Again, the room roared with laughter. The judge let the laughter die down. Then he barked a command. At that, three beautiful young girls entered and walked slowly toward me. They were barefoot, and each wore a white tank-top mini-dress that ended above the middle of the thigh. It was cinched at the waist, and they were obviously wearing nothing underneath. They stopped a few feet away and laid a similar white dress on the floor in front of me. The girl in the center pointed at me, then at the dress. The entire room was silent, waiting.

“No,” I said, and shook my head. She stepped forward and slapped me. Hard. I didn’t see it coming. She pointed again at me, and then at the dress.

“No!” I said, more forcefully. She slapped me a second time, a little harder. Then she pointed at me again, poking me hard in the chest, three times. It hurt. She pointed again at the dress.

“I’m not going to wear that fucking dress!” I shouted, and braced myself for the slap.

But it didn’t come. Instead, the girl walked behind me and stood on my calves, so that I couldn’t move. The chief handed each of the girls a double-edged knife, and they began slowly and carefully cutting my clothes off me. I say “slowly and carefully” because the knives were exceptionally sharp, and they were double-edged. Even if they were as careful as can be, they could very easily cut me, and cut me badly, without meaning to. For that same reason I kept very still and tried to not even breathe. Soon, I was completely naked, except for the ribbon binding my wrists. I looked at it and realized that all this time if had simply pulled my wrists apart, the ribbon would have fallen away.

You could have heard a pin drop in that chamber. The girls handed their knives back to the chief, and then a fourth woman entered, carrying a small cup filled to the brim with a transparent green goo. I had a pretty good idea of what was coming next, and resolved to not let a single drop of that stuff pass my lips. My resolve did me no good. She didn’t even try offering it to me. The woman crouched down in front of me and watched my breathing. Then, at just the right moment, her hand shot to my neck -- not striking me, but touching me in a way that startled me and caused me to throw my head back with my jaw open. In the same moment, she dumped the green goo into my mouth and pushed my head back even farther. It was diabolical: I was thrown off balance; I was afraid I’d fall over. She’d caught me just after an exhale, so I didn’t have the breath to push the goo out of my mouth. I couldn’t turn my head to let it dribble out of my mouth. I had to either swallow or choke. Instinctively, I took a gulp. I meant to draw some air through my nose, but instead I sent the whole viscous mess flying down my throat. Then the girls let go of me and took a step back.

Almost instantly, my senses began to reel. I felt like I was either drunk or high. It was a pleasant sensation, though. I looked up at the four girls and thought, How lovely they are! I smiled as they uncoiled the ribbon from my wrists. I didn’t resist at all when they lifted my arms and lowered the little dress onto me. They each ruffled my hair in turn. Then they helped me to my feet and showed me to the crowd, turning me in every direction. All the people said, ahhh-haaa, and I smiled at all of them. It sounded so nice in that moment. It was only later that I learned that it, like the hair-ruffling, was an expression of derision.

As they led me from the chamber, I heard MacGregor swear in horrified tone. I turned toward him and smiled.

In spite of how awful that moment was, I’ll always remember the next few months as the happiest time of my life. I know now (as I knew then) that my euphoria was chemically induced, but the joy and peace I felt seemed totally natural. They dosed me with the green goo every day, but in a smaller portion than the mega-dose they’d given me at the start. I swallowed it willingly; it seemed like the right thing to do.

What was wonderful about that time -- at least for the first few months -- was that the only people I saw were those beautiful girls in their short white dresses. Yes, just like the short white dress that I myself was wearing, but at that time I couldn’t see myself. I wasn’t allowed a mirror, so I only saw the girls. When I looked down at myself, I seemed to be looking at someone else, not me. The girls were very kind and very attentive. Every day, about mid-morning, they would give me a massage. I’d lie naked on a table, and five of them would surround me and work on me together -- one at each limb, and one at my head. All five would rub my torso and back as well, and it was the best massage I ever had in my life. It must have lasted 90 minutes or so, and as they worked, they would dip their hands into a different goo -- this one was a white, opaque mixture that my skin drank up, the way that sand drinks water. As the girls rubbed, the goo seemed to sink into the very center of me, through my skin to my muscles, and even deeper, into my bones and inner organs. On my head, I could feel my hair and scalp drink it up, and I swear I felt it seep into my brain, filling my head. After about an hour of this, I would feel as though my body didn’t exist. It was a beautiful feeling: all my tension, all my anxiety, all the smallest discomforts in me, disappeared, and I was perfectly in the moment, floating like a cloud, high in the sky. I’d experience this floating sensation for a short time and then the second part of the massage would begin. Someone would bring in a bowl of brown goo. It had an intoxicating aroma that reminded me of a bitter after-dinner drink -- I could never quite remember which one. The girls would turn me on my left side, pull my arms gently behind me, and two of them would lie across me, to keep me from moving. Another girl would hold down my left leg, while she rested my right leg on her shoulder, so that my legs were open to forty-five degrees.

The girl near my head would dip her hands into the brown goo and rub it into my chest, causing the most stimulating sensation I’ve ever experienced. The girl behind me would massage the brown goo on my genitals and groin. I would get so sexually excited that I’d begin writhing and groaning. They’d continue until I was sweating and trembling, and at that point, the girl near my head would start pinching my nipples with her thumbs and forefingers, and the girl behind me would stroke my cock and slide her gooey hand into my anus. Then they reduced their rhythm to a tantalizing, maddening slowness, that brought my entire body to the brink of orgasm and held me there until I thought I’d explode or die. Then, all in the same moment, they’d abruptly shift their rhythm, and I’d cum explosively onto a dish they placed for the purpose.

After that, they’d cover me with blankets while I caught my breath, and I’d fall into a deep, dreamless sleep until it was time for lunch.

Once a week, instead of the massage, they would lead me to a round stone basin about six feet in diameter. It was full of another type of white goo -- not the same one used in the massage. They made me soak in it for about forty minutes. At first they would push my head under, but I soon learned that I needed to immerse my head twelve times for at least 10 seconds each. Once I got the idea, I’d go under myself, without the push. Although the goo in this bath looked the same as the white massage goo, its effect was totally different. As soon as it touched my skin, it felt as though incredibly tiny creatures were crawling all over me, burrowing into me through my skin. It doesn’t feel as creepy as it sounds. It was more like millions of tiny creatures massaged me at once, and sank deep into my body, so they could massage me all the way down to my core. I don’t know how many times I looked at my arms to see whether the creatures were real, and how many times I rubbed myself, trying to touch them. But I never saw any movement or touched any tiny creatures.

As I write this, I realize that if I hadn’t been drinking the green goo each morning, that I would never have submitted to that treatment. I would have been wildly aware of the horror of it. But at the time it only seemed innocent and interesting.

The weirdest part of that bath was that, as soon as I stepped out of the goo, my skin felt completely dry and clean. And soft! Unbelievably soft, with a fresh scent, like lavender.

In the afternoons, I had to learn dance and poses. I began learning the dance by doing it in a group with the girls. There were a lot of sweeping arm motions, many bends and stretches. It was a nice workout, apart from whatever esthetic effect it had. I did my best to copy what the other girls did, and after a few weeks, I felt as though I had it down.

The poses were more of a drill. There were eight of them:

• bu : kneel, sitting on your heels.
• fahla : like the child pose in yoga: starting from bu, you lean forward and put your forehead and the palms of your hands on the floor with your arms extended.
• ehsi : kneel with your body upright, fingers interlaced behind your head, shoulders wide. I call this one “kneeling prisoner.”
• nebt : down on all fours.
• itch : the “show your ass” pose. From nebt, you’d put your forearms flat on the floor and your face to the floor between them, all the while keeping your butt high.
• ehsey : I call this one “standing prisoner.” Stand with legs shoulder width apart, and interlace your fingers behind your head, elbows spread wide.
• poroo : turn your back on the person who said it, and bend at the waist, keeping your legs straight. Rest your hands on your thighs.
• dumsane : lie on your back, bend your knees, grip your ankles, and spread your legs as far as you can.

They would drill me on the poses several times a day, and often call them out when I least expected it. Sometimes they would say the commands in a soft voice, other times they would bark or shout them at me. In the end, my responses became automatic: I’d be chopping vegetables, for instance, when one of the woman would softly say bu, and I’d find myself on my knees without realizing I’d done it.

There was one last word: roh, which meant “at ease” or “as you were.”

Once I was able to do the dance by myself, without having to watch the others, a girl came once a day to give me private lessons. Before I saw her dance, I thought I was doing it very well. She, on the other hand, had grace, control, and a seductive fluidity that made me feel like an utter clod. She drilled me, adding movements, slowing me down here, speeding me up there, correcting the set of my feet or hips or shoulders, turning my head, telling me to smile. She worked me very hard.

Then, my morning schedule changed: There was no more goo for me: no more goo massages or goo baths; no more green goo in the morning. Instead, I was sent to school, to formally learn the language. I had, of course, picked up a lot of words, greetings, and common phrases, but they wanted me to know the language better.

So they sent me to kindergarten. I spent three hours every morning with four- and five-year-olds, reciting the alphabet, the numbers up to 20, and the names of colors. I was taught to read from picture books with words written large. These were stories on the level of “See Dick and Jane. See Dick run. Run, Dick, run.”

Surprisingly, I was NOT the best student. I tried my best, but I think the green goo hadn’t just made me docile and pliable; it had also made me a little stupid. One day in class my mind wandered, and I realized that, ever since the first dose of green goo, I hadn’t thought about my life in the world above, or the people on my team, or anything about anthropology. I tried to recall something -- anything! -- about anthropology, but nothing came to mind apart from the word anthropology.

Then I realized that the children were laughing and that my teacher was standing in front of me, calling me back from my daydream. Two of the little girls had been playing with my hair, making tiny braids, petting my head, and ruffling my hair. The teacher had me stand and told me to follow her to the principal’s office. They spoke briefly, and my teacher gave me a kind smile and left. The principal then led me to the first-grade classroom and told me, “This is where you’ll come tomorrow and the days after.” He also gave me a note to bring to my matron.

It turned out that this would be a pattern: every morning I would walk to the elementary school and participate in the language lessons given at my grade level. When I would learn enough to be bored, they would promote me to the next grade.

With each promotion, there was a treat: The guard who usually escorted me to school would take me to visit MacGregor and Talbot. They had become gladiators: every ten days they were obliged to fight for their lives. MacGregor seemed to relish it, but Talbot talked of nothing but escape.

“I don’t understand you, boy,” MacGregor would tell him. “This place suits me down to the ground. And you miss the point of the arena: we’re not just here to fight; we have to put on a show.”

“It isn’t even a real fight! Not for you; not for me. I don’t have to make any effort at all! These people don’t know anything about hand-to-hand combat,” Talbot complained. “All they know is weapons. Fighting with them isn’t even a contest, let alone a show.”

“You’re wrong, there,” MacGregor contradicted. “They’re learning. They’re watching and taking it in... and they’re adapting. That’s why I use different tactics each week, and that’s why I’m holding quite a bit back. Mark my words, soon they’ll use your own moves against you.”

Talbot grunted, but said no more.

“You could be worse off,” MacGregor said, and he’d gesture at me. “You could be turning into a wee lassie, like our friend Henry here.”

“I’m not turning into a girl!” I replied in an irritated tone.

“Sure you are. Look at you,” he said, putting his huge hand on my thigh, “You’re as soft as featherdown, and your legs are shapely and free from hair. Did you ever have such lissome legs and silky skin and hair when you were practicing anthropology?”

“It’s just the goo,” I told him. “It makes my skin soft. That’s all.”

“Oh, no, I’m afraid that’s not all. That’s not all by half,” he told me. “I’ve been talking with the lads here in the arena. You have to know that you’re dealing with men who have a mad genius for the botanical arts. Believe me, the plant world holds no secrets from our masters. All of their ingenuity is concentrated into those various gels and goops and goos. The lovely phosphorescent light, the healing power of their doctors, it’s all due to their deep knowledge of the properties of plants. The boys have told me what’s in store for you. For now, you’ve been slimming down and softening up -- and I swear they’ve taken years off of you -- but soon we’re going to see your little titties sprout, and your cock and balls will shrink down and turn themselves into a sweet little pussy.”

I glowered at him.

“Cut it out,” Talbot said. “It’s bad enough, what they’re doing to her, we don’t need to rub it in.”

“I’m not a her!” I shouted.

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” MacGregor said, in a soothing tone. “Keep your temper. We’re all friends here. You have to adapt in order to survive. I think you’re doing well with the hand you’ve been dealt. I’m sure I wouldn’t have navigated all this--” here he waved his hand to indicate my little dress, my long soft hair, and my naked legs. “No, clearly I couldn’t have done this as well as you have.”

I didn’t reply, so MacGregor went on. “Look now, but you’ve no one to blame but yourself. If only you’d put up a fight, they never would have done this to you.”

“If I tried to put up a fight, I’d be dead,” I retorted, with tears in my eyes. “I’d be dead, like everybody else!”

The conversation with MacGregor threw me into a funk. I was angry, offended, hurt, vulnerable, affronted, and full of resentment. My escort, the young guard who walked me back to my dormitory, noticed my dark mood, and with a smile pushed me into a doorway and tickled me until I screamed with laughter. I didn’t want to laugh. I didn’t want his tickling to make me feel better, but in spite of my anger and distress, it did make my mood pass, and by the time I reached home, I was happy again, though I also had a desperate need to pee.

Unfortunately, I already knew that MacGregor was right about the changes my body was going through. After the goo treatments stopped, I could see myself looking more and more like a girl. I’d somehow gotten slimmer and smaller, and the shape of my face had changed. My hips and ass had grown slightly, and my breasts were more sensitive.

At school, I was now with the fourteen and fifteen year olds, and I could see that my physical development was about even with the girls in my class. The boys had begun to notice my ass, and started staring at me during class. I became quite conscious of exactly how short my skirt was, and at least once a day caught some boy trying to get a look between my legs.

Something was was definitely happening between my legs. My balls had re-attached to my groin and were transforming into a pair of soft, smooth mounds. My cock was smaller in diameter than my pinky finger, and at this point was less than an inch long.

My training in the dance and poses continued, but the school work had gotten quite difficult. Maybe the problem was that the goo had made me slow in the head. Maybe it was all the hormones raging in my body. I’d forgotten what a torment my teenage years had been; having gone through it once didn’t make it easier a second time.

Still, somehow, for some reason, in spite of my backwardness, my teacher took me to the principal, who showed me to my next classroom. He indicated where the sixteen and seventeen year olds met, and told me, “This is where you’ll come tomorrow and the days after,” just as he had done all the other times, when I’d passed from one grade to the next. He gave me a note to bring to my matron, just as he had all the other times. But then, before he turned to walk away, he reached under my skirt and gave my butt a double squeeze.