Pinkmailed
A Requested Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

Okay, so listen up. Like, what’s the worst secret that you don’t want anybody to know? Like, a secret that you want to keep so badly that you will do anything to stop Mark and Gabe from telling everybody? I mean like, anything! Like, giving away everything that is important to you. Like becoming somebody else completely! Like, the opposite of the person you were. What kind of secret could that be?

The weird thing is – I don’t even remember, and neither does Rebecca! I mean, it is just like we killed ourselves – like we shot ourselves in the head or jumped off a bridge. We killed the people we were. Like, I used to be … I used to be … that’s it – my name was Patrick. And Rebecca was like my best pal ever, and her name was … what was her name before? It doesn’t really matter – does it? She is Rebecca now, and always.

Here’s the other crazy thing - Mark and Gabe used to hate us, and we used to hate them. Now look at us! We are like, paired with them. Mark makes love to me every night, or wishes he could. And Gabe – I have seen the way he looks at Becca. He is like a puppy dog after a run, his tongue ready to fall out of his mouth.

Becca says that she has him use that tongue on her. I don’t ask that of Mark, but only because I have decided that I don’t like my clitty very much. I am going to get a reduction and an innie installed in place of my outie. Mark says that he is Okay with it flopping around while he is humping me, but I think that it is messy. I only like his mess in the bed. I suppose that is the kind of girl I am.

Yes, I am a girl and so is Rebecca. They insisted. Become a girl or the secret is out! What was that secret again? It must have been like, really serious!

Anyhow, they said we would become girls, and we felt like we had no choice. It was not that they wanted to have sex with us. That was Becca’s idea. She said that if we had to be girls we had better be the best girls that we could be. In fact, she said that people would ask why we were dressing and lving as women, and if we didn’t want to explain, we had better say that we are transgenders. You know – like, girls in boys bodies.

It was easier to say that than to explain that … what was that secret again?

It’s easier when there are two of you, I guess. Alone it would be hard, but the two of us just fed off one another. Like, we were both knew we had to this girl thing, but we were both in the same trouble, whatever that was. We just worked it out together. Like we grew out our hair and went for the beauty treatments, and we went to the endocrinic doctor and got the patches and stuff.

People say that we look like twins. That is silly. Rebecca and I are not related. We go to the same boutique and the same hairdresser. We both love the leather skirts that we are wearing. The length is not slutty. We are not those kinds of girls. That is what we said to them. Rebecca’s plan was simple – get sexy and then tell Mark and Gabe – “you made us but you can’t have us”. She said that it would make them crazy and that is what it did.

Rebecca said to Gabe – “You should see what my underwear looks like. I am growing little titties in my bra and in my panties I have a camel toe with a mind of its own and boi pussy reamed and lubed.”

What is it about girls like us? I suppose that we can flirt from a position of experience? Or perhaps they just like the idea of laying out somebody who used to lay them out in a fight, and fuck them hard. To be honest, I don’t really care why we turn them on just so long as we do.

Now who has the power? I guess we do. Was it blackmail? I just don’t remember, but I guess it was.

So I guess our power over them is pinkmail. If you boys are not going to be good to us, and treat like we have come to expect, no pink lips and no pink hole for you boys.

It works every time.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2021

Author’s Note:
I already wrote a story called "Pinkmail" but I love the word!
Anyway, the point to the person who requested this: What secret would force you to change gender? Come on … really?