Synopsis:

Don's life changes when his roommate makes a discovery.

Story:

Afternoon of Day One: Fuck!

While I was out working at my part-time job, that prick Paul went through my stuff. He found my girl stuff, or most of it, and he laid it out on the bed where it was when I got back from the coffee shop. I couldn't believe it.

"What right do you have going through my stuff?" I yelled at him when he told me how my stuff got there. I couldn't believe how mad I was, I've never been that mad.

But he grabbed me by the front of my shirt and pushed me against the wall. "Don't yell at me, faggot," he said in a hard voice but like he was laughing at me, too. "I was looking for something and I found your perverted stuff."

"Drugs?" I guessed. "You were looking for drugs? I don't do drugs," I told him, squirming to try to get away.

He pinched my cheeks together inside my mouth with his big hand, God that hurt.

"So what? I thought you might have had some pot, so sue me. I didn't expect to find this crap. How long you been doing this?" He let me go so I could talk.

Now I was scared. He'd hurt me and he didn't think anything about it, like it was just...I don't know. I realized I could get really hurt by this guy if I weren't careful. "A while," I admitted.

"Since high school?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Before that?"

I nodded again.

"All your fucking life?" he asked, or growled, scaring me even more.

I nodded and tears were running down my face.

"So you're not just a crossdresser, you're one of them transfeminists?"

I swear that's what he said, I'd never heard of transfeminists. "I don't know?" I said.

"You ever suck a guy's cock?" he asked.

I shook my head quickly and I knew my face turned pink.

"Ever fuck a girl?" he asked.

I must have shook my head again. It hurt to admit that I was a virgin.

"Ever been fucked in the ass?" he asked.

"No!" I said. My asshole squeezed tight just thinking about it.

He laughed. "You don't know what the fuck you are," he said. "Let's find out."

I must have looked at him in terror.

He gestured at the bed. "You ever wear any of that stuff here at school?"

"No," I admitted.

"Why not?"

I looked away from him. "I was afraid to."

"Afraid I'd find out? Or someone?"

I nodded.

He looked thoughtful a moment. I was still afraid because he'd said we would find out what I was. How would he think we could do that?

"Your parents know about this? Anyone know?'

I shook my head. "I order everything online."

"This stuff fit?" he asked.

I nodded again.

"Put it on," he ordered.

I shook my head, trembling.

"Look, you pansy faggot, I want to see what you look like as a girl. If you're cute, maybe I'll let you suck my dick," he said bluntly.

I think I fell down on the floor, my legs just gave way out from under me.

He stared at me.

I tried to glare at him but I was just too scared. I started really crying and I got the hiccoughs.

"You sure cry like a sissy girl," he said, sneering. "You ain't got the balls to do what you want to do with your life which is cut off your balls. Right?" He laughed.

"What do you want?" I mumbled. "Don't hurt me."

"Oh fuck," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you, Jesus Christ. So you're a pussy, it's not like there aren't thousands of faggots and eunuchs at this school. I just want to know if you're worth it."

"Worth what?" I struggled to stop crying. He threw a box of tissue at me and I used some of them to wipe my face.

"You've never been brave enough to let anyone see you dressed as a girl?'

"Uh, no," I said.

"So, how do you know if it's worth it? I mean, it would be a damn shame if you wanted to be a girl but you would make an ugly fucking girl, huh? Personally, I think you might be pretty good looking." He snorted. "You're a weedy shrimp of a guy with no chin, but as a girl you might be all right."

I stared at him some more, unable to think of anything to say.

"Get your ass up," he ordered. He reached a hand down and yanked me to my feet. "Look, if you're just a damned queer, well maybe you can suck my cock." He actually seemed to be trying to make me think he was being reasonable. "But I ain't queer, so it can't go no further than that."

I stammered something. He pushed me toward the bathroom we shared. "Take a shower, get as girly as you can. Dress up and do your makeup, all that shit. I swear to God, if you're even passable as a girl, I'll treat you like one." He grinned. "And then you can suck my cock."

I staggered into the bathroom and he dragged a chair over to sit in the door.

He took a very macho pose, the chair turned backward with him straddling it.

"You shave your legs?" he asked.

I nodded, turning pink again.

"Sweet," he said. "Shave everything, legs, face, pits, what you've got where you ought to have a pussy. Can't stand a girl with a hairy cunt," he added.

He took something out of an Altoids tin and stuck it in his face and lit it with a tiny Bic lighter. I smelled the sweet burning grass smell of pot, I'd never smoked any but I knew what it smelled like.

"You can't..." I started.

He waved smoke at me. "You going to stop me?" he asked. He sucked on the joint so it glowed red, then said in a tight voice, "C'mere."

I hesitated and he glared at me so I edged closer.

He grabbed me and pulled my face down next to his. "Inhale," he ordered in that funny voice with smoke curling around his lips. Then he pressed his mouth to mine and blew into my mouth.

I coughed and choked but some of the sweet, spicy smoke got down into my lungs. It terrified me, I felt that it would instantly turn me into a drug addict.

He laughed, taking another pull on the joint after he released me. "You better turn into some fine looking piece of ass," he warned. "I ain't never frenched a boy before and I don't want this to be a precedent." He blew smoke into the bathroom with me. I realized that when the light in the bathroom was on the exhaust fan automatically came on so all the smoke would be pulled through the bathroom and blown out the exhaust; no one in the hallway outside our room would smell it.

I blundered around the bathroom, getting soap and washcloths and razor ready. I didn't see what choice I had. Did the prick intend to watch me the whole time?

"You need anything out here?" he asked, almost politely. "Smellum, lotion, shampoo?" My regular bathroom stuff was already handy but the lavender and aloe shaving lotions I used for girl-type shaving and my strawberry shampoo were on the bed. He handed them over without getting out of the doorway.

I had no hope of escape and calling for help seemed out of the question. What would I tell any potential rescuer?

"Do you have to watch me?" I complained.

"Oh yeah." He grinned. "Watching is lots of fun." He spewed more smoke in my face. I felt dizzy but whether from the marijuana fumes or just the pressure of what was happening, I couldn't tell.

I ran the water in the shower to get the temperature right. I had to strip while Paul watched me. He kept grinning but made no comments. I tried to conceal my crotch from him, even while stripping naked.

When I stepped into the shower, he changed his position, coming into the bathroom and sitting on the closed toilet. He propped the shower door open with his foot so he could watch me.

I protested, raising my voice over the sound of the running water, "The floor will get all wet."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Who do you think will have to clean it up, pussy boy?"

The shower water mixed with my tears. At least he didn't make me face him while I did everything he commanded, shampooing twice, then shaving my face, arms, legs, pits, chest and crotch. The last very carefully, though I did nick myself on the wrinkled skin. It bled a lot for such a small cut and the blood washed down the shower drain.

Paul the prick did make one comment. "You can use a styptic on that when you get out," he said.

I almost screamed at him then.

When I turned the shower off, he handed me a towel, the biggest fluffiest one we had, one of his. "You ain't got any girly towels," he accused.

After patting myself dry, I wrapped up in the big, blue towel, sarong-fashion, with another smaller towel, one of mine, around my head in a turban. We moved back to the bedroom of our tiny "suite".

He stared at me while I contemplated my treasures he had scattered across the bed. I owned several pairs of panties, I sometimes slept in them; two bras with the plastic gel inserts to give me shape; a padded girdle, a white slip and two dresses--besides assorted other things that seemed irrelevant.

"You pass," he said, interrupting my thoughts.

"What?" I asked.

"You, you're a girl," he pointed at me, grinning. "You're even kind of cute."

I know I turned red.

"Ah," he announced, "she's blushing." He seemed hugely amused.

"What--what convinced you?" I asked.

He laughed out loud. "The way you looked at your things; even though you've only got two dresses and a pair of shorts, you looked just like one of my sisters looking over a closetful of stuff."

Okay, I laughed too, well, I probably giggled. I think I laughed from relief, Paul seemed a lot less threatening now. But when he stood up, I flinched.

"I'm going out," he said. "Get all dolled up and I'll take you out to dinner."

"What?"

"Do your makeup first, my sisters always did so they could be careful not to get anything on their nice stuff. Put on your best show, I'm taking you to dinner," he repeated.

"I've never--"

"First time for everything," he said, looking sly. "You probably won't be a virgin after tonight either."

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Synopsis:

Don dresses for his first night out as Donna, giddy with fear and joy.

Story:

Day One, Evening

Paul the prick left me standing there with my mouth hanging open.

After I closed the hole in my face, the first thing that came to my mind was to grab some of my stuff and catch a bus back home. I couldn't think of anyway to explain things to my parents so they wouldn't call the school and try to fix it. I nearly chewed my lower lip bloody.

There didn't seem to be a good alternative so I decided to at least get ready in my best stuff so maybe Paul wouldn't get scary again.

I wandered back into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I've got a soft, almost round face which certainly isn't very manly but with my hair up in a turban did I really look like a girl? I hoped I did, I believed I did but now I had the first outside testimony that yes, I actually did. Paul the prick, said I did.

I took the turban off and dropped it in the floor to begin soaking up some of the water that had spashed out of the open shower door while Paul watched me take a bath. With a fresh towel, I patted my hair to absorb more water then I used a big tooth comb to detangle. I had nearly shoulder-length hair cut in a unisex shag, light brown except that the ends were mostly blonde from the sun in the desert where my parents lived.

I debated getting a pair of scissors and cutting myself some bangs but I chickened out.

Dropping the sarong towel into the mess on the floor, too, I pushed all three towels around with my feet as improvised mops then I hung them in the shower stall to dry a bit before going into the hamper.

Naked, I stood in front of the only full-length mirror in the room. I tucked everything I had between my legs and squeezed my thighs together, arching my back. I loved that I had no hair anywhere, I even loved the feel of naked flesh between my thighs. I could imagine that that was how having a pussy felt since it seemed so different from how things usually felt down there.

Back at the bed, I picked a lacy pair of pink panties and pulled them on, keeping things tucked back. Then I pulled on the padded girdle which would give me some shape at hips and butt and keep things from moving around.

I picked the rosy pink bra and quickly fastened it behind my back, that had taken some practice. I put the jiggly plastic inserts in which made me look like about an A-cup. I wished I had more of a waist but I had accidentally left my waist-cincher buried in my closet back home; I hoped my Mom didn't find it.

Though, truth to tell, I looked to have more trouble now than a mother three hundred miles away would be able to cause me.

Remembering Paul's advice about doing my makeup first I decided that it made sense to avoid getting foundation or blusher on my outer clothes so I got out my meager supply of cosmetics and went to the bathroom.

The soft beige foundation went on so smoothly over my hairless face, it felt like silk. I dithered a bit then did my eye shadow next. Well, I started to then decided it mattered which dress I would wear, the blue Hawaiian print or the little black cocktail dress, to how I should make up my eyes.

I finally chose mauve and silver for my lids with deep turquoise for the folds and just a thin line of silver below my brows. A plum colored pencil brought out my pale brows and plum mascara mad it all come together. If I have one good feature, it's my eyes; they look big in my small face and their blue-green color is just odd enough to be striking.

Never have managed to learn to do eyeliner, though. I really need to have someone show me how; when I try on my own, I end up looking racoonish.

Blusher, lipliner and lipstick, all in berry shades of pink, maroon and red to finish up. I used a lipbrush to paint lighter highlights and darker curves onto my lips then some translucent powder to set them.

I carefully pulled the black rayon cocktail dress over my head and settled its flirty skirt around my padded hips. I thought I looked pretty good in the mirror but I remembered the three laws of fashion. Accessorize. Accessorize. Accessorize.

I brushed my nearly dry hair forward then shook it back, carefully pulling a few damp strands just exactly where I wanted them. With three plum-colored plastic hair clips, I made things stay pretty much in place.

A plum and scarlet scarf concealed my too-thick neck and a wide plastic belt in the same colors gave me the appearance of a waist. Plastic clip-on earrings in silver and scarlet, a multi-colored beaded bracelet and scarlet-and-black low-heeled pumps completed my appearance.

I giggled to see Donna in the mirror again. It had been nearly two months since I had been able to dress this fully and I didn't think I'd ever looked so good before.

I wished I had nail polish, time and skill to make my hands look good but a costume jewelry ring provided a nice touch. A couple of spritzes of my drugsstore eau de cologne and I was about as done as I could get.

I practiced sitting, walking, standing while I waited for Paul to come back. I could hardly contain my excitement. I'd be going out in public for the first time as a girl--on a dinner date no less. Of course, Paul was a prick for forcing me into this but I forgave him until I thought of his last remark.

Did he intend to force himself on me whether I would or not? I didn't know. It happened to real girls all the time, date-rape. That worry combined with the anxiety of my public debut to leave me almost sick with dread before I heard Paul's key in the door.

I stood, paralyzed between the desks at the far end of our little roomette. I would have hid in the bathroom but that would actually have been closer to him when he entered.

He stared at me then smiled. "You cleaned up pretty good, I might even make a few guys jealous tonight."

I thought I might burst with feeling; fear and joy, anxiety and pleasure and a hundred variations on a theme turned my legs to spaghetti.

Paul tossed a package at me. "I noticed you didn't have any pantyhose. Put those on, grab your purse and let's go. My steak isn't getting any rarer."

Grateful for the gift of the pantyhose and giddy with relief that he seemed genuine about liking how I looked, and I quickly slipped a pair on and wiggled them up under my skirt with my back turned to Paul's sniggers. "How did you know my size?"

"They got height and weight charts on the packages," he said. "Besides, they only come in three sizes, short, tall and fat. Guess which two you ain't."

"I'm not tall," I said.

"For a girl, you're more than average tall. What are you, 5'9"?"

"Not quite," I murmured. It was really about to happen. I would be going out in public dressed as a girl on a date with a tall, not bad-looking college boy who had bullied me into this. My insides turned to ice water.

Paul quickly changed his shirt, ran a hand over his beard stubble and decided not to shave. I wondered what his stubbly cheeks would feel like against my smooth ones.

"Got your stuff in your purse?" he asked, reaching for me.

I held up my one good, black leather handbag containing cosmetics and little else. Paul grabbed my other hand and towed me out the door.

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Synopsis:

A dinner date with Paul and several revelations keep Don confused.

Story:

Day One, Later

Paul pulled me out of our room and down the hall to the elevators before I could really react to the fact that there were other people around. No one I knew well but still.... Just before I panicked the doors of the elevator closed and we rode down in the relative silence of my panting and Paul's soft chuckles.

"Don't think it, be it," he said. The elevator doors opened; I put my hand in Paul's and hurried across the lobby, through the commons room, across the campus to the parking lot and never once looked around to see if I knew anyone.

I hadn't seen his car before, a two-year-old sporty Japanese-built. He held the door open for me and I slid in, remembering to manage my skirt so I didn't flash the neighborhood. I'd never had to do that before but I'd sure read about it in lots of online stories at websites that archived transgender stories. Paul held doors for me every time all night, it made me feel--I don't know--very privileged and special.

He took us to dinner at a little Italian place near the campus, ordering for both of us, in Italian. I didn't know he spoke Italian but it's enough like Spanish that I understood some of it. He had a steak, rare, with noodles in some sauce with vegetables. I got a salad, pretty good, but just veggies.

"I think I'm hungrier than this," I said.

"Go easy on the bread, you need to lose a few pounds," he said.

I blinked, that kind of stung.

"What do you weigh?" he asked.

I didn't lie. "Uh, 147."

"Five-eight and a half, 147. Not bad, but could be better. What size dress you wear?"

"A twelve," I said.

He made a face.

Now I felt bad, what was wrong with a twelve?

"I want you wearing a ten by Thanksgiving, an eight by New Years."

"An eight!" My ears burned from blushing, but whether from anger or embarrassment, I couldn't tell. We got wine with our meal, too, even though I'm only 19; the waiter didn't pour any in my glass but Paul had. I took a sip, not the first wine I'd ever had but better than the stuff my parents poured on holidays.

"Easy on that, too," said Paul. "Alcohol has calories."

I didn't say anything for a bit.

He grinned at me. "You don't argue, I like that in a woman."

I still didn't say anything.

"You're cute when you sulk," he said.

"I'm not sulking," I said.

"Pouting."

Really? I'd tried pouting in the mirror, I didn't think I'd been doing it right.

He laughed. "You're a trip."

I concentrated on salad and tried not to think of bread and butter for a bit.

"How come you speak Italian?" I asked.

"What kind of name you think Felucci is?"

"Polish? But your name isn't Felucci, it's Phelps."

"Ellis Island, I guess," he shrugged. "My dad's grandma still spells it 'Felucci'. Ma nonna Maribella."

I laughed. "My grandma calls my dad, 'Baldo'. I think that's hilarious."

He grinned with evil intent. "Baldness is hereditary."

"Lucky my Mom is Welsh and Indian," I said.

"Still," he said, "considering.... You ought to make sure no male pattern baldness catches up with you. Snip. Snip." He worked imaginary scissors with his hands. I knew he wasn't pretending to cut hair and a thrill winced through me. "I wondered why you didn't look Hispanic," he finished.

I glanced around to make sure no one had heard him. My hands were still a bit damp from the tension of being out in public. I decided to continue with his change of subject. "Most people don't know 'Beltran' is Spanish."

"Your dad's name is Baldo Beltran?"

I shook my head. "Actually, it's Juan Jose Teobaldo Alejandro Manuel Beltran y Domingues. All the men in his family are named Juan Jose something-something-something. He goes by Jack T. Beltran. "

He laughed and we traded family stories for a bit.

Paul shushed me with a finger to his lip as the waiter wandered over to ask if we wanted gelato. "No, grazie. Ora e troppa grassa," Paul said.

The waiter laughed, glanced at me and sputtered. "No, no," he said. "E molta bella." Then he added in English, "American girls are too skinny."

I glared at Paul, blushing. I could guess what he had said and not from knowing Spanish.

"E parla Spagnolo soltanto," said Paul quickly.

I nodded politely. "Pinchazo. Cochon. Pendejo," I said in as sweet a voice as I could manage. The waiter hurried away and Paul stuffed his napkin in his mouth.

He took it out to say, "I love it when you speak French, Tish."

So I laughed, too.

"That was actually a pretty good voice you did," he said when I stopped giggling. "I didn't want you to talk 'cause mostly you sound, well, you sound like a boy--not a man, but not a woman either."

"Oh." That deflated me pretty good. I thought about it while Paul counted out money for the check. I pitched my voice up and tried something. "Well, how do you think I oughtta sound, fer shizzle! Like, is this any better?"

He snorted. "Some. Don't try slang you're not used to using." He thought about it. "Maybe you could lisp, just a bit. Some girls do."

I blushed again. I actually had had a lisp when I started school, had to have speech therapy to get rid of it. Maybe I needed speech therapy again.

As if he'd been reading my mind, Paul said, "How are you going to pay for this?"

"What?"

"All of it. Clothes. You need to see some doctors, head doctors, medical doctors, surgeons. It's all going to cost money. Thousands, tens of thousands. Your parents good for it?"

"My folks...." I shuddered. How the heck would I tell them.

"I don't remember," Paul said. "You got any brothers or sisters? No, no sisters, you'd have been caught by one of them."

"What? I've got three brothers--uh, and a cousin my folks practically raised. Male."

"Older? Younger?"

"They're all older than me, my folks are in their fifties. How could I tell them, this would practically kill them."

"For Christsake, you think they don't know something has been up with you? I don't think they're that stupid. They probably think you're gay and are dreading you telling them you've caught AIDS."

"Huh." I felt poleaxed.

"Tell them," he said. "Soon. But they don't have money for what you need, do they?"

I shook my head. "I-I don't think so. Besides, they'll need money, too. Mom's health is slipping...."

"One of your brothers?"

I snorted, imagining asking Alec, Tom, or Sal for that kind of money. And Mannie had gone back to Mexico, he wouldn't have anything.

He pulled into a parking lot about that time, a strip mall. It was dark, almost eight p.m. and only one business had any lights on. The sign said, "Passions."

I put a hand out to touch Paul, I'm not sure why I did that. "What are we stopping here for?"

He grinned at me as he opened the door. "Instructional videos," he said.

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Synopsis:

A visit to the video store and a quiet place to park.

Story:

Day Two, 1 A.M.

I dithered while Paul shopped in the adult video store. Clearly, he expected me to go along with his plans--whatever they were. Did I want to have sex with him? Did I have a choice?

Could I run? I didn't even have any money with me and I had no idea exactly where we were, it looked like an industrial area with a few shops and some rundown apartments.

I cried for a bit then pulled down the lighted mirror and freshened my makeup. Well? What else could I do.

Paul returned with a bag, slid back under the wheel and presented me with a small box from the bag.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Open it."

I did. It contained a charm bracelet, a silver chain with dangling hearts, stars, ballet shoes, teddy bears, kittens, high heels, lipsticks, miniature bows, amethyst-colored stones and fake pearls. "For me?" I squeaked.

"Yup," he said, apparently pleased with my reaction. He grinned. "It was the girliest piece of jewelry I think I've ever seen."

"I love it," I said, slipping it on and moving all my beaded bracelets to the other wrist. "I could kiss you."

He turned in the seat and leaned toward me. So I kissed him, feeling daring and scared, but really, the present was thoughtful and sweet. I gave him a peck on the lips then another on the cheek.

"You're welcome," he said softly. He sat back and started the car. "I told you I'd treat you like a girl if you looked like one."

I couldn't catch my breath. "Could you--would you--can I be a girl for the rest of the weekend?"

"Honey, you can be a girl for the rest of your life. If you want to bad enough."

We drove for a while. I wondered what else he had in the sack, it looked too large to contain a few videos. I didn't ask.

I thought we were heading back to campus but he turned onto a tree-shaded avenue and we headed up into the hills. Pretty soon, we stopped and parked at an overlook. Below us the city sparkled like jewels and around us the leaves rustled and muttered. He got out and came around to help me out then he picked me up by the waist and set me down on the hood of the car.

"Oof," he grunted. "I wasn't kidding about you needing to lose weight."

I whimpered a little.

He clambered up to sit beside me and put his arm around me. This felt so different from when he had been bullying me after finding my stuff. It didn's seem like the same paul I'd been living with for weeks.

He pulled me close and kissed me on the forehead. "What am I supposed to call you?" he asked.

"Uh, Donna?"

He shook his head. "No, Don/Donna. That's lame. Besides, someone might connect my girlfriend Donna with my roommate Don. You need a girlier name. A very girly name."

"Donna means lady." I pointed out.

He snorted and rubbed his knee. I assumed the one he'd injured that had ended his athletic career. "Your name is Misty," he said.

"Misty?" I squeaked.

He nodded. "Then when you're away from the school, you can be Misty Dawn, so it's still your name."

"D-A-W-N?"

"Of course."

"Sounds like a stripper."

He laughed. "Which brings us to the subject of how you're going to pay for what you want to do."

I didn't say anything. "I thought we came here to neck," I said softly, accidentally out loud.

He turned to me, pulling me half into his lap. One hand went behind my head and the other went to my ass. He kissed me hard on the lips, forcing his tongue into my mouth while his hand groped until it found the crack of my ass. Strong fingers probed at my asshole, right through my skirt, hose, girdle and panties all the while he kissed and nibbled my lips, my tongue, my face.

I struggled at first but then I put my hands behind his head and tried to kiss back. I hadn't had much experience so I just tried to respond to what he was doing. I felt very aware of how much bigger and stronger Paul was and it excited me.

"We'd better stop or we'll never watch those videos I rented," he said between kisses.

I giggled and we just snuggled for a bit. It seemed so strange, yesterday I hated this guy and earlier today he had me really frightened for my life. "I like being your girl much better than being your roommate," I said.

He laughed. "Yeah, well." He stoked my hair and hummed something tuneless; I couldn't see his face. "Tell me the truth, did you enjoy me watching you naked this afternoon?"

"Uh? To tell the truth, I was too scared of you to notice." I thought about the question. "Are you serious about--uh--m-me stripping as a possible way to make money?"

He nodded. "I know of a dozen or so girls who are doing it to pay for their education."

"Yeah," I said. "But they're all prettier than me--and born girls besides."

"You're pretty," he said. "And there are guys who would pay extra to see a girl with something extra take off her clothes."

"Gay guys?"

"Hell, no. Gay guys want men, not ersatz women. Your audience is kinky straight men."

"That doesn't make sense."

"No, it doesn't. But take it from this slightly kinky straight guy, the fact that you look like a girl but you have something else in your panties is exciting."

I swallowed, frightened by the thought for some reason. He began kissing me again and pressing his fingers into the crack of my ass, reaching foarther down to where my concealed maleness trembled when he touched it.

My fear spiced my arousal; I dropped my trembling hands into his lap and found the swelling of his desire pressing against the denim. I fumbled for his zipper, I wanted to hold his sex in my hands.

He pushed my hands away, slid me off the hood onto my feet on the ground. "Get in the car," he ordered.

I bit my lip, afraid that I'd somehow made him angry. I got back into the car but he sat on the hood for awhile longer and I realized that he was smoking another marijuana cigarette. I pulled down the vanity again to check my makeup. It was a disaster area so I fiddled with that, fixing it again.

I didn't like the idea of him driving while stoned, plus he'd had at least half a bottle of wine earlier--but what could I do about it. I assumed we must be in the hills above the campus but I had no idea where in any real sense of knowing how to get home.

Paul came back to the driver's side door just as I put the vanity back up. "Don't do that too much, I don't drive this thing often enough to keep the battery fully charged," he said. "Girls," he snorted as he slid behind the wheel.

I giggled, pleased that he was in a good enough mood to tease me. I felt suddenly as if we'd had this exact conversation many times before and would have it again. As if we had been boyfriend/girlfriend for years. Back home, I'd had crushes on boys very like Paul, talk about unrequited love--big, tough, hard-edged Hispanic and Anglo boys and one big black kid I thought had the soul of a poet under his surly exterior.

Paul started the car and soon we were on the way again, winding through the darkened hills past multi-million dollar homes and the ragged, blackened stumps of an old fire.

Some of the boys I had lusted after back in high school were even ones who had given me a hard time for being a fruit--staring in gym class nearly got me beat half to death more than once. I broke my left wrist while running away from one beating; apparently I hit it on something during my panic. Didn't notice it for hours; it hurt, I just didn't know why. Then when I took my left hand in my right and felt the bone move in my arm, I almost fainted.

Paul must have heard me whimper.

He reached across to touch my cheek, to see if I was crying? "Hey," he said. "I wasn't mad at you, it just wasn't the right time or place."

"I know," I said. I felt happy just then, knowing that Paul cared about what I thought of him.

He put his attention back to driving but continued talking. "I did some thinking. You can't be a stripper without a wardrobe and that's going to cost money. How much you got?"

"Uh? Enough for books and a bit extra. Most of that from my part time job."

"You ain't going to get rich pulling coffee drinks for jerks, babe."

"I'm not--I can--I guess I'll have to wait."

He shook his head. "No. You won't ever be nineteen again. If you can get started on this now, you'll have a lot less trouble looking and being female."

The dashboard clock showed the time as after midnight. A turn onto a wider road and I suddenly knew where we were; about six miles closer to downtown than the campus. Botox City they called it, for all the plastic surgeons in the high rise office buildings. I knew that a good boob job would cost about $3000 or more, just one of the expensive procedures I would need done.

"I don't see how," I said.

"How bad do you want it?" he asked.

We got back to the campus parking lot before I thought of a good answer to that one.

Friday night, even at one in the morning, the dorms were not completely silent. The place had a supposed curfew, but on our floor, the fifth, someone had a party going on in the eight-person suite on the end of the building. I didn't feel nearly as nervous coming back as I had going out.

"Don't tell the school what you're doing, at least, not until the end of the semester. They probably wouldn't let you stay in a dorm room with me," Paul said once we were inside.

I nodded. Funny, earlier I had been thinking of how to get rid of Paul.

"I kind of blew some money, Misty. Got to get used to calling you 'Misty'." Before I could say yea or nay to the new name, he poured out the goodies he'd bought at Passions.

Besides the videos there were other things. One I recognized as a waist cincher like the one I'd left at home. Two other pieces of clothing looked like thong panties.

Paul pointed at those. "Gaffs. They make hiding your package easier." One of them actually had an instruction card with drawings. I felt myself blushing.

He pointed to several vaguely penis-like objects in various sizes shrink-wrapped to a card. "Graduated butt plugs. We'll get you started on the smallest tonight."

"What?"

"Sex lube," he said, holding up a tube.

"Is a butt plug what it sounds like?" I asked. They ranged in size from slightly bigger than my little finger to nearly two-inches wide.

He nodded. "I want you to wear one all the time until you can put the big one in and out without tearing something. Now on the videos, which do you want to watch first? Buggery 101, Going Down on Guys for Fun and Profit or She-Male for Rent?"

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Synopsis:

Obligatory sex scene, or how to have sex like a girl even if you're not quite.

Story:

Chapter 6

We watched the videos, or rather Paul fast-forwarded through them so we saw "the good parts." They certainly seemed to do something for him; they mostly looked uncomfortable and/or embarrassing to me. I actually felt less like having sex afterwards but it was an education of sorts.

The one featuring a so-called she-male astonished me. She wasn't that pretty but she had big breasts, a womanly shape and feminine face with a small cock and no balls between her legs.

Paul explained. "She probably got herself castrated as a teenager. Keep her dick from getting too big. See, guys keep getting more manly, sometimes until their late twenties because of the testosterone. No testosterone, beard doesn't get thicker, voice doesn't get deeper, muscles don't get larger, etcetera. Add the female hormones and tits and ass grow, skin gets soft; if the bones haven't stopped growing maybe even the skeleton gets girly."

He looked at me. "You should have whacked them off when you were about eleven."

I don't think he expected me to burst out crying.

"Uh?" He apparently had no idea what to say. "Don't you want them off?" he finally asked after pulling me into a hug.

I hiccoughed. "Sure, b-but how was I supposed to d-do that at eleven? Oh, I wish I had."

"I was just kidding," he said. "But I can see, well, from your viewpoint, I mean, I'm sure that any girl who had balls would want them removed?"

I giggled into his chest. It wasn't what he said so much as the stammering around the subject. At least, I stopped crying. "I'm okay," I said.

"We'll get that taken care of for you as soon as we can," he promised. He kissed me on the forehead. "And get you on female hormones, too."

I looked up at him then raised myself up so I could kiss him. Things progressed from there and we weren't in any such uncomfortable spot as the hood of a car this time.

When I started to unzip his pants he said, "You don't have to."

I looked up at him, a little unsure.

"Oh, I want you to," he said. "But I'm not going to do it for you--I'm not gay."

"I don't think I am either," I said. "I wouldn't want you to...to treat me like a gay man."

"Okay," he said. He unbuttoned the top of his jeans. "It's just, I would go down on a girl who went down on me--but I can't do it for you. Sorry."

"It' s okay," I whispered. I slipped down to the floor, still dressed. "Tell me if I'm doing it right."

"Don't use your teeth and I can't see how it can be done wrong," he said.

I giggled. My hands shook as I pulled his stiff dick out of the folds of cloth. It seemed enormous, almost as thick as my wrists. I licked it experimentally and it quivered.

Paul grunted and a pearly drop of some liquid appeared on the spade-shaped head. I heard his lighter click and looked up. From somewhere he had produced a joint and lit it. He still lay back on the bed, sort of diagonally, with his legs partly spread and his pants and shorts down around his thighs.

He drew the spicy smoke into his lungs then asked in the tight voice that meant he was holding it in, "Wanna hit?"

"No," I said, a little annoyed that he was doing that then.

"Pot makes it last longer," he said. "For me." He exhaled right at me and the fumes stung my eyes a bit. I squeezed his dick with both hands in retaliation.

"Easy, easy," he said, sounding a little amused.

I licked the pearly drop off the head of his dick; it tasted salty with a hint of sweet musk. I was honestly suprised that it tasted so good; I'd been afraid it would remind me of the way piss smells. Paul quivered.

I kissed it, my lips lingering. I dragged my kiss around by moving my head, then worked my tongue in and out. I opened wide and fitted the whole head into my mouth. The soft, rubbery flesh felt like nothing else. I had a guy's cock in my mouth.

I worked the fingers of one hand up and down the shaft while I found his balls with the other one. I held them in my palm while I played my fingernails over his sack.

I sucked. I worked my tongue. I forced my head down until I almost gagged on his dick against the back of my throat. I took it all the way out and played with it in my hands while I took some deep breaths.

"Jesus," muttered Paul.

I put the head back in my mouth as far as I could, not gagging by force of will. I went up and down, in and out while holding and stroking his balls. Paul grabbed handfuls of mattress and moaned before exploding in my mouth. Some of it went straight down my throat and I did gag a little, I was so surprised.

Most of it spurted out around his cock, dripping down my cheeks and chin. I tried to catch some it in my hands and more of it on Paul's thigh. It tasted like salty, creamy, cheese with a chemical or fishy edge and I caught a whiff of garlic and wine. I pretended to like it, swallowing as much as I could and even licking it off his leg.

To be honest, it wasn't that bad and eating it really seemed to excite me. Paul sat up and handed me the box of tissues. I cleaned my face and hands and his leg and cock.

"Easy, easy," he said when I worked on him. But he smiled like the cat who'd just got a blowjob from the canary.

I felt like I'd been filled with some electric kind of love because, in that moment, I loved Paul. My panties felt tight and constricted, not painful though; I'd been worried about that. I wanted so badly for Paul to fuck me.

"Take off your skirt, blouse and hose," he ordered. I did so, making a bit of a show of it. I'd never felt so much like a real girl. He gave me more directions. "Turn around, pull that chair over to lean on; bend over, far as you can; pull down your panties and girdle a bit and spread your ass cheeks with your hands."

"I--," I was afraid.

"Shh, shh," he said. "I should gag and blindfold you. Next time; I think you're too scared right now. I'm just gonna put the butt plug in."

I did as I was told, keeping my eyes and mouth closed, imagining being gagged and blindfolded. My heart beat so loudly, I thought surely Paul could hear it too. He squeezed some lube into the crack of my ass, then used his finger and the buttplug to move it around, working it little by little into my asshole. I put one hand under my bra, and the gel padding, to play with my nipple, wishing it were even more sensitive.

"Relax, relax," he kept saying in a soothing voice. "There's my baby, my girl, lovely virgin, sweet piece of ass."

We both giggled and he slipped something into my asshole, either his finger or the butt plug but he took it out again quickly. I didn't know what to think of the sensation, as if something had come up and grabbed me from the inside. Before I could think about it, he slipped it in and out two more times, a little deeper each time. Then he plunged it in as far as it would go and I knew it must be the butt plug cause he had a hand on each cheek of my ass.

I squeezed my asshole muscles but the butt plug only went in a little deeper. Because of its shape, with a narrow neck, I couldn't force it out. It felt enormous but really, it must have been only the smallest one, no bigger than my own finger.

"Now don't you be pulling this out, unless I say you can, girl," Paul ordered. "You're going to be wearing one of these until you feel naked without something in your ass."

I shivered.

"Pull your panties and girdle up, make sure you're not going to get hurt 'cause I'm gonna give you a pony ride."

I had only a vague idea what he meant but I adjusted things so I hoped nothing would pinch. When I pulled the padded girdle back up; it pressed the butt plug even further into me. I heard someone breathing hard and realized it must be me.

"Turn out all the lights," Paul said. We'd left only the desk and bathroom lights on, now those went out, too. "Straddle my right leg, back to me," he said.

I did, he pulled me against him, covering my eyes with one hand and pressing on my abdomen with the other. I leaned back against his body. He began to flex his right foot while squeezing my tummy and pulling me against him, then releasing me to let me slide a little back and forth on his leg.

"Rock-a-bye, baby," he whispered in my ear then he began kissing my neck. "Squeeze your thighs, get into the rhythm."

I tried. The sensations threatened my sanity. Sometimes the pressure was back on the nearly flat head of the butt plug sticking out of my ass under the girdle, driving it in and out. Sometimes the pressure was further forward on my concealed genitals; sensations blurred and I couldn't really feel what was real and what was not. I imagined that I had a pussy and that Paul was fucking me from the rear.

Fast, then slow, slower then faster, Paul moved his hand from my eyes to my mouth to keep me from screaming. He seemed to have a knack to know when I was just about to come and he would slacken the pace or lift me off him for a moment.

He slowed almost to a stop, "How's it going, cherry girl?" he asked in my ear.

"Uh, huh," I said.

He started up again, faster and faster and somehow harder and harder. He had trouble keeping his fingers out of my mouth; I tried to bite him. I don't know what I did with my arms at the end but the climax roared through me in a rising crescendo like nothing I'd ever felt before.

While I hung there limp, draped over his chest and leg, he whispered to me again. "Go to sleep, sugar." He rolled us both into his bed, me between him and the wall, and I went to sleep immediately.

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Synopsis:

Waking up is hard.

Story:

Chapter 7

I woke up, still entangled with Paul's arms and legs and wedged between him and the wall. I lay there, very content, for so long that I fell back asleep. When I woke up the second time, Paul had moved so as to place pressuee between my legs with his thigh.

The sensation confused me. I could swear I felt him up inside me, a solid presence filling me. The eroticism of my helpless but protected position overwhelmed me and I began to pant and squirm, trying to rub my crotch against his leg. This threatened to become painful because I needed to pee and because of the constriction of my tight garments but even the almost-pain seemed charged with the sexual energy. I had never known this element of my own self, that I could enjoy such a thing as being constricted, confined and sexually stimulated almost to the point of hurting.

"Having fun, baby girl?" Paul asked in my ear.

"Uh huh," I grunted between pants.

"Slow down, slow down, make it last," he whispered. But with one hand he reached behind me and pressed insistently on the plastic butt plug in my ass.

"Uh," I groaned.

"Got your little button, here," he chuckled. He worked the plug, in and out, in and out, just with little pressures, timing it to my stroking myself on his thigh, slowing me down then speeding me up. I wanted to bite him but I couldn't reach him, somehow.

"Sweet little girl, doesn't know what she's gotten into," he said. "You going to be a good girl?"

"Huh, uh, huh?"

"Being good means being my girl, all the time," he said.

"Okay," I managed to gasp.

"Being my girl means you do what I say." He squeezed me against the wall, the tiny dildo going in and out, in and out. "All the time, understand?"

"Uh huh," I said. It seemed, not reasonable, but--I couldn't think of a word. I couldn't think at all with him pushing in and out and helping me rub up and down.

He stopped and moved away slightly. "You agree? Misty?"

"Uh!" I tried to move closer, to get back to what I'd been doing; it occurred to me that I hadn't quite woke up yet.

"Say 'yes'." He held me away, pinning me down but unable to stroke myself against his leg, press my hass against his hand, reach him with my mouth or tongue. I squeezed my own legs together and moaned. With one hand he held both my wrists above my head, with the other he lifted one knee away from the other.

"This is unfair," I complained, finally opening my eyes to look up into his. They were grey with a hazel ring around the iris and flecks of green in the grey. His lashes were long and dark, his hair tousled with sleep, his mouth crooked in a seductive smile. He shook me in the grip of his hands; his body and his knee above
my waist trapped me completely. I sighed and almost came in spite of him denying me stimulation.

"Of course it's unfair," he said. "You can't be a girl in a man's world without looking unfairness right in the kisser." He grinned, wide as sin, evil as corruption, happy, goofy and lovable as a Disney character. "Now, tell me you're my girl, you belong to me and you'll do whatever I say."

I shuddered. I knew I wanted to say it; what's more, I knew I wanted to mean it. I bit my lip.

He kissed me on the forehead and I lifted my head to let him. "I'm your girl," I said. "I want to be your girl."

"And?"

I sighed and squirmed some more. As a game, this was a little too real and yet, I knew I wanted to do this. "I--I belong to you, um, y0u own me and I have to do whatever you tell me." I think I grinned back at him, trumping his dominance with my submissi0n.

"Whoa," he said. He moved closer, pressing his crotch against me. I felt his dick going between my legs. His hand found the button in my ass again and he released my hands to pull me tightly against him. "Close your eyes. Don't move," he ordered me. "Lie completely still."

Well, I tried.

He pulled me beneath him and arranged me into a position where he could fuck the separation between my legs, rubbing his cock between my thighs. He teased me with tweaks of my butt plug and brushes of his hard dick against the layers of cloth sealing my own sex inside.

"Help," I whispered. "Help me come."

He put a finger in my mouth and ordered me to suck on it. "No talking, no moving, don't even think," he said, chuckling. I tried to go limp; to have no voluntary tension anywhere, but my back arched and my thighs ached with straining muscles. I tried to slow my breathing, but I gasped in rhythm with his thrusts. I tried to surrender my will but I wanted him to dominate me, to fuck me, to make me belong to him.

He pounded me into the thin dormitory mattress and I came like a mountain, looking for a prophet to tell me--what's going to happen to me now?

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