"Miss" -identified Boy

   by Miss Karen-Anne Brown

   How did it all start?

   Why have I ever let this thing happen to me?

   Could I have stopped it from happening?

   I guess the more important question is, would I have stopped it from
happening?

   In the bright sunlight that was shining this hot August afternoon, I saw
the reflection of the girl in the large plate glass window of the Perry
Department Store, on the main drag.  I examined the reflection.  Her long,
almost wavy hair fell in blonde cascades to her shoulders from the part in
the center of her head.  Some of the strands fell to the front of her,
resting on her slightly

   protruding, pert little breasts, and the rest fell in heavy folds over
her back.

   Her slender shoulders were accented by the ruffled puffy sleeves of her
blouse.  Her collar was gathered in a white lace trim that looked very
pretty over the pink, white, and gray plaid design of her blouse.  It was
not a deep neck line by any stretch of the imagination, but, it

   was low enough to allow the bright sun to glint prettily off the
delicate locket suspended from her small neck, by a nearly invisible gold
chain.

   I watched as she shifted her weight from one of her small high heeled
feet to the other.  Her legs were slim, and looked somewhat longer than
they really were, due to the short, mini-like skirt that she wore.  I liked
the shapeliness of her legs.

   Her skirt was a light tan suede, that seemed to cling to her waist,
tightly, accentuating the shape of her hips, and then to snugly taper to
about two inches above her nyloned knees.  I especially liked the way it
seemed to accentuate her flat stomach.  I could just discern where those
thighs met.  There was a slight crease over the area, as though she had
been sitting for a long time, long enough to make a crease in her skirt.

   Her purse dangled from her left shoulder.  It was a tan leather that
matched her shoes and her skirt.  She fingered her hair, pulling it back
from her eyes, lightly flinging it over her shoulder, and looked up the
street, as though she were looking for something specific.

   As her hands moved her hair, the sunlight glittered off the rings and
delicate gold bracelets that adorned her tapered fingers and her small
wrists.  She nervously glanced at a delicate wristwatch on her right wrist
and again, looked up the street.

   She was not glamorous by any standard, but, she had something about her
that was...well..  the best word is foxy.  She was not ugly either, just
sort of ordinary, but, something about her was very appealing, foxy.  You
got the impression as you watched her that she would be no easy lay, but,
too, you got the distinct feeling that if you managed to get to her, that
she'd be one heck of a lay.

   I watched her reflection, noting the feminine grace with which she made
her movements.  I really liked what I was seeing.  She moved about a bit,
and I watched her body as she took her small steps, for indeed, that tight
skirt and her high heels, would not allow her to take large

   strides.  She was effectively hobbled, and, she looked very foxy the way
her hips moved with her little lady-like steps.  It made her look like she
had tight buns.  Her skirt rode slightly up the front of her leg as she
moved forward, then slid back down as she took a step with her other foot.
The tightness of her short skirt, around her thighs, seemed to accentuate
the wide expanse, the flat area at the front of her skirt.  As she turned
to that right, the sun glinted for a moment off the brilliant white lace of
her slip, as it peaked through the 3" discrete slit in the back of her
skirt, that allowed her as much limited freedom of movement as it did.

   I watched her, somewhat mesmerized by the sheer feminine image that I
saw.  Yes, I fell in love with her, though I was watching her still,
through the reflection of the department store window.  I wondered if other
guys would feel the same way about her.  I looked around and did

   not see any other guys ogling her.  That disappointed me a bit.  I
thought she was, one very foxy chick.

   For a moment, I felt a wee bit of shame at my thoughts, especially about
the ones concerning other guys watching my lady.  Well, I guess that I had
just progressed further than I thought that I had.

   Her reflection made me very horny.  Even though I looked like that, I
still thought like a boy, even about my own reflection.  I was glad of the
tight spandex, false vagina panties that I had to wear, thankful that it
was keeping that last six inches of boy-hood under proper control.

   Thankfully, my sister's car pulled up to the curb.  I gave one last
glance at the fox in the window, before watching her head disappear, into
my sister's car.

   "Well, my pretty sister, how did you enjoy your experiment?"

   I smiled at her.  Sandra's hand was gently caressing the nyloned part of
my left leg, just below my skirt hem, which had ridden up, nearly exposing
my panties, as I had slid into the car.  The hot leather of the seat burned
at the back of my legs, through the thin fiber of my nylon stockings.

   "I loved it.  No one even took a second look at me."

   "Not even some handsome hunks?" she asked, with a mischievous smile
playing at the corners of her lips.

   I blushed.  My face burned.  She liked to embarrass me like that and she
was always able to get to me.  I was no queer, but I lived as Miss
Karen-Anne Brown, living with her older sister Sandra.

   I leaned over, quickly kissed her cheek, and whispered into her ear. 
"If you do not stop that, you'll find out that your little sister still has
a bit of her old nature left in her."

   Sandra smiled, and, suddenly, rammed her hand up under my skirt, with a
rare strength for such a pretty and small girl.

   "Well, this feels more like a pussy than anything else."

   I blushed furiously.  Every chance that she got, she took to remind me
of my effeminized state.  I knew these special panties, that she had gotten
for me, felt like a pussy.  I'd often run my hand over the besilked crotch
of my panties, somewhat unbelievingly, knowing a guy would feel a girl's
pussy if he did the same thing as I did, there.

   The pressure of her fingers, the previous excitement that I'd
experienced, as I had watched my girlified form in the store window, caused
me such a pain, as my little penis, that only remains of the boy, tried to
get out of the tight constriction of the vagina panties.  I moaned in the
agony of the strangely blissful ache.

   "God, you are such a female boy.  You're more than a sissy, you know. 
You really do belong in my clothes.  I think you agree, don't you,
Karen-Anne?"

   I moaned as her fingers probed my crotch.

   "Yes, you're right, Sandy...you're always right."

   It had only been a moment, though it had seemed to last many minutes. 
She'd again made me admit to my utter addiction to wearing her clothes and
feeling like a girl.  I was a prisoner to these passions.  As long as she
made me wear her clothes, I knew I'd wear nothing else.  I had

   no desire to be anything, but the pretty girl, she'd trained me to be.

   As she put the car in gear, and left the curb, taking us home, I thought
back to that very first time that she'd done it.  Our parents were still
alive then.  We'd had a very happy family.

   The air conditioning blasted up my skirt, delightfully.

   As though I were in a dream state, that afternoon flooded back into my
memory.  I again relived that fateful day's happenings, in my mind.

   I was eight years old.  Sandra was fourteen.  We lived on a farm.  We
did not farm it, as our parents were professional people, but, they
preferred the quiet of country life, so we lived on the farm.

   Sandra and I had been left alone for the weekend.  This was not too
unusual, as, Sandy was fourteen, and they trusted her to watch me.  From
the moment that our parents left, Sandra would not talk to me.  If I came
into the room where she'd gone, she got up and left the room.

   After an hour, I got her to tell me what the problem was.  I heard
again, those ringing words.

   "I want a SISTER...not...not YOU."

   Her words stung.  We'd always gotten along very well.  She had never
said this before.  She stood up and left the room, again, going to her
bedroom.  As I always did, I followed her.

   When I entered into her room, she was sitting on the bed.  She stared at
me.

   "What do YOU want?"

   "I want to be with you.  I don't have anyone to play with."

   "Well, if you want to play with me, you will have to become my sister."

   "I'm not a girl."

   "Well, you'll have to become one...or else...go away."

   I stared at her for a moment.  She looked at me, waiting.

   "How can I become a girl?"

   "You can't, really, but, you can look like one.  If you look like one,
you have to act like one.  If you can not act like a girl, then, go away."

   "I'll try, Sandra," I replied, shamefully.

   "Okay.  I'll let you try, but, you better be just like a real girl, or,
out you go.  I mean it."

   "What do I have to do?"

   "First things first.  Go and take those horrible clothes off.  When
you're undressed, take a bubblebath, then come here."

   For some reason, I was kind of nerved by what she was telling me to do.
I wanted to do it.  I was also afraid.  I had never seen her act like this
before.  Her attitude, excited me in some very strange way.  I still do not
understand, to be entirely honest.

   I felt vulnerable, walking down the hall to my sister's room, naked.  I
felt like something strange was going to happen.  I wanted it to.  She
smiled, as I embarrassedly entered her room.

   "Well, then, you were not just lying to me.  Good.  Here, put these on,
first." She went over to her dresser, pulled out the top drawer, and chose
a pair of silk panties.  They were pink, with a wide white lace trim around
the waist band.

   She watched as I bent over and started to pull them up my legs.  Sandra
started laughing, embarrassing me.

   "Oohh...no, you are putting them on backwards." I made the correction,
blushing at my faux pas.  I noted the difference between the front and
back, as soon as she'd told me that I was putting them on backwards.

   "Now these."

   She handed me a pair of white kneesocks.  I sat on the bed, marveling at
how different silk panties felt from my regular shorts.  I especially liked
the feel of the small elastic waist band.  They were so light, so cool,
and, so very silky soft.

   When I stood again, she asked if I liked wearing her panties.  I nodded
that I did.  Sandra just smiled, as though she'd known along that I'd like
wearing girl's panties.

   She then handed me a pair of red sandals with one inch heels.  Putting
them on, I sat to do up the little buckles.  They were so very much nicer
than my sneakers, that I had been wearing only minutes before.  I
especially liked the way the instep of the sandals pushed up against my own
arches.

   It felt...secure...somehow.  I stood and moved about in them.

   They were far nicer to wear than my own.  These were lighter and, they
felt delicate, though I knew they were strong, as I'd seen her running in
them before.  Still, I had the feeling that they were delicate.  I liked
wearing them.

   She then had me raise my arms, and she lowered a loudly rustling slip
over my head.  The thin straps settled on my slender shoulders.  As it came
down, over my head, I'd looked up and seen the girlish envelope whisper
prettily down, and I felt somehow, that I was being turned into a girl, as
the satin swished over my skin.

   I blushed recalling the event, and more so, how much I'd liked the
feeling.  I had loved the first sensations of being girlified.  The loud
rustling seemed to tell me that I was not a boy anymore.  It told me to be
ashamed because I had betrayed boyhood.  I was ashamed.  I wanted to wear
this lovely slip.

   I had to raise my arms again, and she lowered my dress down, over my
head, adjusting the short sleeves, so that my arms slid through them as my
dress settled to my shoulders.  Sandra went behind me, raised the zipper,
all the way up to my neck, tightly tied a big bow at the base

   of my back.

   She then made me sit as she put a little bit of makeup on me, mascara,
blush, eyeliner, and a pale pink lipstick.  I stood after she had brushed
my shoulder length hair, so as to look a lot like hers did.  She gave me a
doll to cradle in my arms.

   "Do you feel like a girl, now, little brother?"

   "Yes."

   "You're very pretty, you know.  You're too pretty to be a boy.  I wish
Mom would dress you like this all the time.  Do you want to see what you
look like, my pretty sister?"

   "Yes."

   She led me by the hand down the hall to my parent's room.  I felt my
slip caress my thighs as I walked.  I liked it.  I heard it rustling and
liked that too.  The little click of the girl-shoes I wore mingled with the
sense of unreality that I was feeling.

   She took me to the full length mirror, and stood beside me.  We could
have been sisters.  Sandra was taller than I.  I was wearing a dress that
she had outgrown two years earlier.  I stared at the reflection.  My long
hair framed a girlified face.  My light blue dress flared out falling in
large folds to just above my knees, to just above my white kneesocks.

   In the crook of my left arm, was a pretty doll.

   "Kiss your dolly, my pretty sister," she whispered.

   I did, admiring how much I looked like any other girl.

   Sandra put her hand out to touch the front of my dress.  I was hoping
that she would not notice that my little private had gotten very, painfully
hard.  I had longed to be able to touch it.  I swooned when I saw and felt
her fingers as they explored the shape that was beginning to push out the
front of my pretty dress.

   I heard her whisper in my ear.  "This proves that you are a girl,
inside, and you should wear dresses all the time.  I want you to be my
little sister whenever I baby-sit you, okay?"

   "Yes...I...I would like that."

   "I think you look like a Karen...a Karen-Anne.  That will be your girl
name, okay?"

   "I like it." I was leaning back against her, lost in the sensation of
her fingers rubbing that girl-material of the panties into my most private
part.  I loved it, and did not want it to ever stop.  Her hand moved,
gently rubbing between my legs.

   I'd never hide from her, my love of being dressed in her clothing.  I
exploded in the most sensational feeling that I'd ever felt.  It wracked my
body, making me acutely aware that I was wearing girl's clothing, and that
I was feeling like this because I was being turned into a girl.  Just as I
exploded, I heard her whisper, "You are a pretty girl, and you feel this
way because all girls love to feel pretty and you want to do, and to feel
everything that a real girl does and feels, don't you, Karen-Anne?"

   "Ooooo....Yes," I sighed, relaxing into her arms.

   That summer, I spent more time as Karen-Anne than as a boy.  From the
moment that my parents left in the morning till five minutes before they
usually returned home, I was Karen-Anne.

   I was jarred back to reality by the slowing of the car as we pulled into
the driveway.  Sandra smiled at me.

   "Well, K-A, now that you know you are entirely mistaken as a girl, when
you go outside, we might as well get rid of the rest of those boy's
clothes, right?"

   I looked at her smiling face.  She was serious.  Again, I felt the hot
sun on my legs as I left the car.  I looked down at the skirt hem that had
ridden up to my crotch, revealing to my eye, the black lace trim of my red
silk panties.  Tugging at my skirt, and feeling some comfort as I got it
back into place, I slung my purse over my shoulder and smiled back.

   "I guess so, Sandy.  You always seem to know what is best for me,
anyway."

   "Good girl."

   I knew my fate was sealed.  At nearly fifteen years old, but for the
last four months, since burying our parents, I'd been living as my sister's
sister.  Since that first day of coming to stay with her, she'd insisted
that I resume my Karen-Anne identity.  To be honest, she had no resistance.

   Sandra had moved away from home, three years earlier, to attend college,
and, the only times that I'd been to dress up were at the rare times that
my parents left me alone for the night or a rarer weekend.  She often
bought me lingerie, and, on her weekends home, she'd find a chance to sneak
it to me.

   Now, I had not worn any of my boy's clothes for over three months. 
Today was an experiment.  Sandra had insisted that I learn, once and for
all, that I was more of a girl than a boy, and she made me agree to leave
the house, early in the morning and spend the day all alone,

   downtown, doing what girl's do, window shopping.  I'd had to take the
public transit downtown.

   Most of the day, I had been scared out of my wits, but, I finally began
to relax.  I realized that everyone thought of me as a girl, not as a boy
in girl's clothes.  As that realization settled in, I really started to
enjoy the sensations of wearing a short skirt on a hot day, of walking on
uneven pavement in high heels, of feeling small, vulnerable, and knowing
that my 5' 4" stature did not have to compete with boys.  I loved having
the freedom to just wandering in and out of girl's

   clothing stores.  I'd always longed for the courage to do that before,
and, now, I was doing it, and, I knew that if I wanted to, I could even try
on dresses or a new skirt.  I was too scared to, but, I knew that I had the
freedom to, if I wanted to.  It was now normal and expected of me, when I
picked up pretty lingerie, looking like I might buy it for myself.

   I was free, like I'd never been free before.

   I knew, I had just told my sister that she could turn me into a girl.  I
knew that I wanted her to do it.  Sandra wanted to do just that.  She was
always teasing me about getting a boyfriend, like a real girl would.  What
scared me, was, that I was beginning to wonder what it would feel like to
have a boyfriend, a real boy, not one like me.

   *****

   My parents had been killed by a drunk driver last March.  I was not yet

   fifteen when it had happened.  Sandra had already been away from home

   for nearly three years, and excepting for the vacations, I had not seen

   her.

   When we were together again, on those vacations, not much changed.  As

   usual, if we were left alone for a few hours, she would become morose

   if I did not return to my Karen-Anne persona.

   As Sandra was twenty years old, there was no contest when she suggested

   to the lawyers that she become my official guardian.  There was quite a

   bit of money in our parent's estate, with the sale of their practices,

   the settlements from the insurance companies and their own life

   insurance and pension investment plans.

   Sandra had been working as a legal secretary for nearly a year, and,

   she had learned enough to be able to successfully negotiate

   settlements, the custodial arrangements for me, and she was more than

   capable of making prudent investments from the estate monies, for my

   part as well as her own.

   I was more than pleased with the arrangements.  I also desperately

   hoped that she would make me wear her clothes all the time that I lived

   with her.  She had always done it before, when we were alone, and, I

   wondered if she would do it again.

   I came to share her apartment in mid-April.  As the school year was

   nearly over, and I had had very good marks, the school had

   automatically promoted me, and told me that I would be able to move to

   my sister's town, without the worry of enrolling in a new school for

   only a few weeks.  Because of her position in a legal office, they

   also, when she suggested it, agreed to give my school records to her,

   as the new school that I would be attending had not yet been decided

   on.  She explained that as she had had no need for a school, she had

   not learned of what schools were available.  That made sense to Mr.

   Coleman, my principal, and, he ordered my transcripts to be sealed and

   gave her the envelope.

   Sandra, though I did not understand it at the time, had successfully

   arranged to have every aspect of my life left in her hands.  I did not

   mind that, but, it had been a long time since I had been close to her,

   and, so, it took a bit of time to redevelop the relationship with her.

   To be entirely honest, I was too ashamed to admit to Sandra that I

   wanted her to dress me in her clothing, so, for the first two weeks, I

   said nothing about my secret desires.

   One night, when she had returned from work, and we were sitting at the

   dinner table, Sandra looked at me, straight in the eye.  I felt naked

   before that open, appraising gaze of her bright blue eyes.  I blushed

   and looked at my plate, wondering what she was thinking.  She could

   always overwhelm me, just by looking at me, with that expression in her

   eyes.

   "Well?"

   "Well what, Sandra?"

   "Well, where is Karen-Anne?  Has she disappeared?"

   "Nnnooo...", I whispered, my cheeks burning.

   "What did you say?"

   "I said no."

   "I have not seen her.  You have been here two weeks and I have not seen

   her, unless..."

   "Unless what?"

   "Are you wearing my clothes in secret, when I am not here?"

   "No."

   "Have you stopped wanting to wear girl's clothes?"

   "No."

   "Well, I am just not comfortable with a boy in the house."

   "Oh..."

   "That's right.  I want to see Karen-Anne.  Go and change."

   "Okay".  I tried, desperately, to hide the relief in my voice, but, I

   knew from the knowing look on her face, that I had not deceived her.

   She read me like a book.

   I went to my room and took off my clothes, hanging everything up in the

   closet, almost wishing that I would never have to wear them again.

   That was just not possible.  There were more meetings with lawyers,

   and, I would have to go to school, and, there were so many things in my

   life that would force me to continue being a boy.  I wished I could

   just wake up tomorrow morning, and find that God had changed me, so

   that I would from then on, be expected to wear lingerie and dresses.

   I stood in front of the mirror, the full length mirror on the closet

   door.  I stared at my naked body.  The only part of me that looked like

   a boy was a flat chest and a few inches of flabby flesh that just hung

   there.  If not for that thing...

   Yet, a part of me wanted to remain a boy.  I felt torn apart inside.  I

   wanted to cry.  I dreamed of just being a boy or a girl, and not this

   hybrid that I was.  It was not Sandra's fault, though she was the first

   to dress me as girl.

   No, I would not have responded the way I had, if there had not been

   something girlish inside of me from the start.  There was just two

   people inside of me.  One is a boy and one is a girl.

   I knew it was normal for everyone to have two personalities, but,

   usually, they were of the same sex.  What was wrong with me?  Everyone

   was whoever they were, and they also tried to act like whoever they

   wanted to be.  I was a boy who wanted to be a girl?  It made no sense.

   I wanted to cry.

   It wasn't my fault I was betraying boyhood.

   I was a boy and a girl.  My body the boy, and, my inside, the girl.

   Tears welled behind my pretty eyes.  With determination, I ripped

   myself away from the mirror and went to the bathroom.  Sandra came in,

   just as I was about to step into the shower.

   "K-A?"

   "Yeah?"

   "I think that since you are just about fifteen, that you should start

   doing things...things that older girls do."

   "What do you mean, Sandra?"

   "Well, for a start, it would not look right, if you wore your pretty

   dresses, but your body had hair all over it."

   "Oh."

   "That's okay when you're a little girl, but, not at your age.  Nylons

   would emphasize the hairiness.  It would look ugly.  You don't want to

   look like an ugly girl, do you, K-A?"

   She knew I did not want to be ugly.  I wanted to be pretty.

   "This is the way we girls do it.  Stand in the middle of the tub, and

   turn around."

   I felt something being sprayed on my back, my bum and my legs.  At her

   prompting, I turned to face her, and she completed the spraying on my

   chest, arms, private parts, and the front of my legs.

   "Now, stand there and wait for about twenty minutes.  You will like

   what this stuff will do.  I think that since your hair is already so

   light, that you will only need to do this about once a week.  After

   twenty minutes, take a shower, and scrub yourself with the facecloth,

   all over.  When all the hair is gone, take a hot bath, with lots and

   lots of bubble bath in the water.  You remember how I showed you how to

   prepare a girl's bath?  Good, girl.  When you're done, come to my

   room."

   The tingling of my skin with a slight burning sensation that started

   after the first ten minutes, frustrated my waiting a bit.  Combined

   with the fact that Sandra had mentioned nylons.  I had never worn

   nylons before.  In fact, I had only worn clothing that was suitable to

   younger girls, before.

   My mind's eye was filled with visions of delicate legs, with silhouette

   hands and arms rolling a nearly transparent garment up them, and

   attaching them to lacy garter straps.  I wondered if I would look

   like that.  I felt suddenly like a boy.  I wanted for it to be normal

   for me to wear nylons.

   I nearly scraped my skin with the rough washcloth.  When the ordeal was

   over, I was as hairless as a baby.  I was thankful that I had not yet

   had to start shaving.  After rinsing the tub, I ran a bath, preparing

   it the way Sandra had taught me so many years ago.  In the bath, I was

   overwhelmed by the sensuousness of the oiled water on my hairless skin.

   It was the most delightful thing I had ever felt.  It's no wonder women

   prefered baths.  They are lovely.

   The bath over, I removed the tight bathing cap and dried myself on the

   fluffy pink towel, noting how normal it seemed to me to be doing this.

   I wanted to be girlified by my sister.

   Anxiously, and ashamed of the boyhood asserting itself, I went to her

   room.  She was sitting on the bed waiting for me.  She looked at my

   erection and smiled.  It was proof to her of my craving for her

   effeminating domination over me.

   "Well, we'll just get Mr.  Dong into some silk panties, where he

   belongs, and we'll all be a lot happier about him."

   I unquestionably accepted the panties proffered by her right hand, and

   stepped into them.  These were different than any I had worn before.

   They were a little like boxer shorts, only, they extended half way down

   my thigh, and were gathered with an elastic, beribboned band.  They

   were kind of on the loose side, around my hips.  I throbbed painfully

   with the friction of the silk, softly and girlishly caressing the

   underside of my cock.  They were an erotic ice blue color with white

   trim.

   She grinned at me, "Admit it, K-A, you'd rather wear panties, wouldn't

   you?"

   I looked at her.  I could never hide my true feelings from her.

   "Yes..." I was ashamed of this girlish desire.  I wanted to cry, not

   because I wanted to wear girl's clothes, but, because it was not normal

   and expected of me to do so.

   "Hold this." She handed me something.  I could not see what it was.

   She went behind me, gathered it together in the back, then started

   lacing and tying it so tightly, that I could not breathe.  She then

   ordered me to raise my hands as high in the air as I could, and redid

   the lacing.

   My normal measurements, are 34"-30"-33".  With a gleeful smirk, she

   measured my new waist.

   "Beautiful.  You are down to 25", like a gorgeous fashion model."

   She tugged at my panties and worked the lacy garter-straps down

   through my panties, and had me sit on the vanity stool.  She showed me

   how to bunch up a fresh pair of nylons, and to slowly unbunch them as I

   worked the lovely material up my hairless legs, so that I would not

   make a run.  Then she pulled them off again, telling me that she forgot

   the toenails.  She used an emery board to round out the shapes, placed

   cotton balls between each toe, and then painted them with bright red

   polish.  All that I was able to do, was to sit, admiring them, as they

   dried.  Then, I demonstrated that I had learned how to properly put on

   my nylons.

   When Sandra was satisfied that I'd learned how to do it right, she then

   had me extend my hands, one at a time, while she glued false nails to

   the ends of my fingers.  Smilingly she told me that it was a special

   glue, that would not come loose in the swimming pool.  The nail tips

   would probably stay on, she told me, till my own nails grew long enough

   to replace the false tips.

   I was marveling, wondering how I would pass for a boy, with such long

   nails.  She was trying to trap me, as I slowly began to realize.  I

   also realized, she was getting no resist from me.  I wanted this

   transvestized trap.

   While I continued sitting at the vanity, Sandra slid my very first pair

   of high heeled shoes onto my nyloned feet.

   They were court shoes, she explained.  There was a kind of squarish

   heel of two inches, a square toe with laces on the front.  The material

   looked like alligator skin, but was a light tan colored leather.  They

   were delightfully soft, and the instep pushed in the most delightful

   fashion against the arch of my foot.  I loved the way they felt.

   When I stood, and felt the tautness of my first nylons, combined with

   the sense dainty-ness imposed by my shoes, I felt womanly.  Sandra

   beamed when she read the emotions on my face.

   "K-A, as far as I am concerned, you should have been born with a pussy.

   As long as I have anything to say about it, you will be a girl.  I will

   expect you to dress like and conduct yourself as a young girl, for all

   the time that you live in my house, okay?"

   I looked at her, my throat pained with the painful lump that was there.

   I was just not able to speak.  Sandra knew of my consent.  she read me

   like a book.  Then she added her little barb, as she usually did.

   "We'll just have to get you a boyfriend who doesn't mind Mr.  Dong,

   there, in your silk panties, won't we?"

   She giggled when I burned in my cheeks.  She did not know it, but, I

   had had an experience with a boy, and, I flushed with shame at my

   remembrances of that afternoon.

   I thankfully received a lacy satin camisole over my head, stepped into

   my loudly rustling half slip, that had overlaying flounces of lace

   trimming.  The slip and camisole were obviously a matching set.

   Sandra then removed my camisole, telling me that she had forgotten

   something.  I sat on the vanity stool again, and she went to stand

   behind me.  She reached, causing me much pain, into the top of my

   corsollette, and kneaded at the fleshy part of my chest, till, I had a

   protrusion hanging over the top of the corsollette.  I had my first bra

   slid up my arms.  When she had hooked it, I could feel the satin cups

   as they held my newly created breasts.  I looked down and saw the lace

   trimming adorn the bulges of breast.  I looked like a girl there to.

   Something inside of me, just let go, and I gave myself over completely

   to that sense of girlishness that was slowly pervading my entire being.

   Sandra, gently, with the palms of her hands, began to lightly massage

   the bra cups.  It was so sensuous.  My nipples got very hard, hard

   enough to hurt.  My entire breasts seemed to be super sensitive to her

   gently moving hands.  Her fingers rolled my nipples between them.

   "Ahhhh, just like any other girl, K-A." Then she had me raise my arms

   again, and she dropped my camisole down over my head, back into place,

   only, this time, it looked more natural, as it clung to the newly

   rounded shape of my chest.

   Sandra then handed me an off white, very pale beige long sleeved satin

   blouse, with full sleeves.  I slid my arms into the garment, did the

   buttons up my back, fastened the buttons at my cuffs, and loved the

   luxuriously ample material that caressed my forearms.  There was a high

   neck with a froth of lace coming from under my chin.  In the mirror, I

   noticed how the garment hung, so very loosely, from my new breasts,

   over my corseted waist, looking like it would on any other girl.

   I felt strangely, as though I were a privileged person to be allowed,

   though a boy, to wear such lovely things.  My heart swelled with

   thankfulness that I had a sister like Sandra.  I just loved her for

   doing this to me.

   She lowered a light brown plaid skirt with a high waist and shoulder

   straps, down over my head.  She went behind me to do the zipper up.

   This made the high waist accentuate the flatness of the corseted

   waist.  It flared out from my hips.  I did the little buckles of the

   straps up, just under my breasts.  The full skirt fell to my knees, in

   large folds.

   Sandra raised the suitjacket over my arms, sliding with a lovely

   rustling up over my satined arms.  It was an eton style of jacket, the

   bottom hem at my waist, just where my skirt started to flare out.  It

   came in a V, like a regular suit jacket, only the buttons were large

   tan brown leather ones.  The lapel and the pockets were trimmed in a

   light tan leather, as well.  This jacket was so ultra feminine.  It

   looked like the kind of thing that would have been worn in the old

   black and white movies of the fifties, by the pretty stars.  I sat,

   remembering to smooth out my skirts under me, so as to not make creases

   in my skirt, and submitted to Sandra as she administered the makeup and

   the curling iron.

   This time, she did things she never did before.  She showed my how to

   apply mascara, using the brush carefully, so as to not get it all over

   my cheeks, and to lift and separate my lashes.  I realized they were

   already as long as a girl's, naturally.

   She showed me how to use a foundation, blusher, lipstick and my

   favorite, the eyeshadows and liners.  Then came the delightfully

   feminine jewelry, earrings, bracelets and rings.

   I knew that I was a lovely girl.  Sandra, seeing me for the very first

   time, completely girlified, was so ecstatic at the results, that she

   insisted on taking pictures of me.  I spent the next hour, in many

   poses, both in the apartment and in the local park.  Sandra used up

   three disks just taking pictures of her sister.  I felt flattered.

   As Sandra had always made me go outside with her, going outside was

   nothing that I had to get used to.  I was too terrified to ever try it

   alone, but, with her, I had enough confidence to go to the park and

   pose for her.

   I felt pretty.

   Over the summer, I again, got used to being a girl, of sitting with my

   knees or ankles together, of doing things with long nails, of dressing

   my face and hair every morning.  I loved the life I was leading.  I

   also found that the special pills that Sandra was giving me, was making

   my waist smaller, and my bust and hips bigger.  I knew that she was

   turning my body into a girl's, and, I wanted her to do that.

   I also, as you read earlier, learned to go out on my own, as a girl,

   with confidence that I was a girl, to everyone who saw or dealt with

   me.  She had made me be myself, and I loved her for it.  I was willing

   to do anything for her, and, that included the humiliation of

   confessing to her that I had done something with a boy once.

   That happened last night, at the dinner table.  We had just eaten,

   and, Sandra asked if I thought at all about boys, the way that a girl

   thinks about them.  When she saw my blush, she knew she had hit on

   something, and she made me tell her.

   "Last October, one Saturday, when Mom and Dad left for the day, well,

   as I usually did, I put on some of the clothes that you left in that

   big green trunk.  Of course, they are nothing fancy like what I wear

   now, but, well, I liked them, even if they were little girl styles.

   Well, like usual, I got dressed up.  I wore a dress, slip, panties,

   knapsacks and a pair of your old running shoes.  I went back to the old

   pond, you know the one?"

   "Yeah?  So what happened?"

   "Well, later in the afternoon, when I was coming back, just as I

   rounded the corner of the barn, my best friend, Gerry rode into the

   yard on his bike."

   "Nonie...." I could tell she liked the story.

   "Yeah.  I couldn't hide, because he saw me."

   "What happened?"

   "Well, at first, he just stared at me, then, he asked me why I was

   wearing girl's clothes.  I lied.  I told him that I was being punished,

   and was being made to wear them for the whole weekend.  He kind of

   smiled at me and told me that he thought I was pretty as a girl.  I

   knew I blushed because he told me that blushing made me very pretty to.

   He followed me into the house.  I gave him a coke."

   "Did you?"

   "Well, he had cycled nearly four miles to see me, so, I felt I had to

   be hospitable."

   "You mean, be a good hostess?"

   I blushed, because, I recalled, that that was exactly the thought that

   had crossed my mind at the time.

   "So, what happened then?"

   "We went into the living room.  I sat on the couch, and he sat in the

   easy chair.  He downed his Coke and asked me to refill his glass.  When

   I brought the fresh glass to him, he slid his hand up under my dress.

   I blushed furiously, because, being in girl's clothes, in front of

   someone, had made me really hard.  He grabbed my hard and

   twisted it in the front of my panties."

   "Sssoooo?"

   "He told me that because I was hard for him, proved that I was a queer,

   and, that I really liked to wear girl's clothes, just like a real

   faggot would do.  He made me admit that I was not being punished.  He

   also made me admit that I wore these clothes because I liked feeling

   like a girl."

   "Really?"

   "Yeah."

   "So then what happened?"

   "Then he made me admit that I really feel like a girl when I wore

   dresses.  He also made me admit that it was normal for girls to like

   having sex with guys, and, that since I seemed to like being a girl so

   much, that it would be normal for me to be like any other girl, when

   she was all alone with a guy that she liked, and then he twisted my

   panties again, to show me that he knew that I liked him, to want to

   have sex with her boyfriend."

   "Nnnoooo!"

   "I really did not know what to do.  I couldn't tell him that I did not

   like him, because, he was holding my hardon in his hand, and he was

   driving me crazy.  He knew I was acting just like a fairy, and, he made

   me admit that I was really a fairy which, I did.  I could not deny the

   hardon."

   "Then he stood up and he kissed me.  Sandra, I was helpless.  I could

   not stop myself from putting my arms around his shoulders, and when he

   pushed his cock at me, I pushed mine at him.  I felt completely like a

   girl, and, I knew that I would do anything that he told me to.  He

   kissed me for a very long time, and, I loved it.  Then, he put his

   hands on my shoulders and gently pushed me downward.  In a minute, I was

   kneeling in front of him.

   He asked me if I knew what he wanted.  I was so ashamed that all I

   could do was to look up at him, and nod my head.  He undid his belt,

   opened his pants, and told me to pull them down.  I did what he told me

   to.

   Then, I had to take his underpants down.  He did not have a very big

   cock and it was almost hairless.

   I touched it, then, opened my mouth and moved my head to it.  He came

   almost as soon as he felt my mouth on him.  I almost choked.  I thought

   that I was going to die."

   "Oh...I know the feeling..."

   "Well, then, He made me lay down and he lay on top of me.  He kept

   kissing me and driving his pelvis into me, as though I was a girl, and,

   he made me cum in my silk underwear.  He told me that I was his special

   girlfriend and that I was his special boyfriend.  We went together for

   only two weeks, because, he parents moved away.

   "So, you sucked a cock..., are you sorry you did?"

   "No, I am not sorry."

   Sandra looked at me.  she knew the truth.  All I was doing was

   confirming my effemination.  She knew that it was not a question of

   being sorry for sucking a cock, it was a question of feeling normal and

   complete.  She smiled with her knowing and penetrating blue eyed gaze.

   I knew that nothing was hidden from her now, and that somehow made me

   feel free.  I was myself.  I was Karen-Anne.

   It took me a few weeks to get over the fact that I had confessed to my

   sister, the most intimate thoughts and fantasies that I had had.

   However, life goes on, doesn't it?

   We soon settled into a routine, and, I was without a doubt, completely

   satisfied with my girlified estate.  I no longer was hard all the time

   because I was wearing panties and knee length hems.  It would never

   have seemed possible to me before, but, I had to admit, I was

   comfortable and felt normal, posing as a girl.  I felt like a girl.  I

   loved dressing like a girl, and, I was thankful for that bit of wisdom

   on Sandra's part, that made me feel like I really did not have a choice

   about whether or not I was going to be a girl.  I had reached a state

   that I had never thought would have been possible for me to reach.  I'd

   become so used to wearing girl's clothing and of being accepted in

   public as a girl, that the wearing of the clothing no longer kept me in

   a constant and painful state of arousal.  It was now the normal thing

   for me to wear feminine attire.  I loved this new freedom from my

   boyhood, to.

   But, as the summer progressed, I began to fret a bit.  I would have to

   start back to school in September, in only three weeks.  I did not have

   any boy's clothes, and the thought of buying some, depressed me.  I did

   not want to return to that dog eat dog competition and hardness that I

   had hated, where I'd always felt like I was an actor, portraying a

   role.  I knew how to be a boy, and a good one at that.  I was always

   watching them to see how they acted, and I would imitate them.  I

   hated it.  I felt totally false.  I hated the tight control that

   I had to keep on myself, to keep the guys from finding out what I was

   really like.  I had to act every moment, and I hated the strain on my

   psyche.  When I wore dresses, I did not have to pretend, all that I had

   to do was to act the way I felt.  I was more normal, acting like a

   girl.  The last few weeks had convinced me that 85 of me hated

   boyhood.  There was a part that still wanted to be a boy, that missed

   the boyish life, but, it was a small part, and, I found that I easily

   subdued that desire.

   I played with dolls, when I was alone.  I wanted to experience all the

   girlhood that I had missed.  Sandra knew that I would do that, and so,

   one day, she had returned home with complete Barbie doll set, with

   twenty changes of clothes, including lingerie.  I was embarrassed to

   admit it to her, but, when she came home and found that I had forgotten

   to clean up my doll stuff, she could easily tell by the doll clothes

   spread out over the coffee table that I had been playing with my

   Barb.  Sandra really seemed to get some kind of secret thrill out of

   knowing that I did girl things during the day.  She would always get

   this funny knowing smile that played with the corners of her lips,

   whenever I had admitted to doing something, of my own volition, that

   was girlish.

   I had taken over most of the domestic areas of our lives together.  I

   learned, over the summer how to cook, reasonably well.  I learned how

   to do the laundry and the ironing.  Sandra even taught my how to make a

   simple dress, and then, I experimented with patterns.  I was not very

   good as a seamstress, but, I loved the way it made me feel to be making

   myself a skirt.

   Sandra had a boyfriend, I met John about seven weeks after I had

   started to be Karen-Anne on a full time basis.  Sandra had wanted me to

   develop some confidence, before I started to mix with a male, on a

   social level.  By the time that I met him, I had become so used to

   being a girl, that it was only a few minutes before I was completely

   comfortable in my role as Sandra's little sister.

   I liked John, and I hoped that Sandra would marry him, as, I knew that

   she liked him very much.  I think that she was also having sex

   with him.

   One night, we had supper together.  John left early as he had a big day

   the next day.  He'd been teasing me, as was normal, about getting me a

   boyfriend.  He knew that I was very shy and that I did not want to meet

   any boys, but, he teased me about it, because, he told me, he loved the

   way I blushed.

   Sandra went to take a bath, while I dealt with the supper dishes.  I

   liked doing housework, especially, since there was not much else for me

   to do around the house, anyway.

   I was sprawled out on the couch when she came back to the livingroom,

   wearing a floorlength pink satin robe, that I just adored.  I remembered

   how it felt when I had worn it last, and, she did look so lovely in it.

   I got hard as I remembered the sensations of the material caressing my

   hairless legs as I had moved about the apartment, in it.

   "K-A, sit up.  Young ladies don't sit like that, with their legs wide

   open to invite anyone who cares to look."

   I quickly corrected my posture, locking my knees together and

   straightening my dress out under me.

   "Well, young lady, I have been sensing for a few days now, that

   something is bothering you, deeply.  Care to tell me what it is?"

   I looked at her.  Sandra was so very pretty, and, she wore her emotions

   all over her face.  I could see the love and concern for me, nearly

   pouring out of her eyes.  I was so very fortunate to have such a loving

   person to look after me.

   I stuttered.  I still felt a bit reluctant about my deepest desires to

   be a girl all the time.  I guess I would always have a part of me that

   thought it was wrong for a young boy to prefer the life and deportment

   of young women.

   "I...well, it is just...I..."

   "Spit it out, girl."

   "Well, I have truly enjoyed being Karen-Anne for the summer.  I never

   thought life could be so...so very lovely.  I..." I looked at her for

   help.  Usually, she knew what was going on in my mind, and she usually

   helped me to voice it.  This time, she just looked with a questioning

   in her eye.

   "Well, K-A, what is it you are trying to say?"

   "Well, school starts in two weeks."

   "Yes?"

   "I don't have any boy's clothes, and..." I buried my face in my hands,

   and began to sob as I continued, "And, I don't want to get any either."

   "You want to go to school as a girl?"

   "Yes..." I wailed, my anguish at such a confession admitting some of

   the deepest and most misunderstood emotions that I had.

   "Is that all?"

   Sandra came over, sat beside me, pulled my head to her breasts and

   began to gently rub my long haired head.  She waited till I had gotten

   control over myself again, then made me look at her.

   "Well, Dear, we are going to have to buy you some school clothes, but,

   unfortunately, or...maybe not, after this little confession, they will

   not be boy's clothes."

   "What?" I was incredulous.

   "I should have said something earlier, I suppose, but, I guess that it

   just did not seem too important to me, so, I guess that I just assumed

   that you would know that you would go to school this year, as a girl.

   You know that huge gray stone building over near the downtown park?"

   "Yes...what about it?" I was sniveling as I dried my tears, wondering

   if I had made my mascara run lines on my cheeks.

   "Well, that building is the Michael's Academy for Girls.  I took the

   liberty of enrolling you there."

   "What about my school records?  They are for a boy."

   "Well, being in a legal office has some advantages.  I have had your

   legal name changed to Karen-Anne Brown.  I am afraid, that I falsified

   your school records to show that you were a female student.  You are,

   as of now, legally, a girl, enrolled in the academy for this coming

   semester.  I also was able to get your birth registration changed, so,

   legally, on all government records, you are now, a girl.  If you went

   into a bank to cash a cheque, as a boy, you could run the risk of being

   arrested, for presenting false identification.  By the way, you will

   never be able to come into your inheritance, in six years, when you

   turn twenty, unless you do so, as a girl, as Karen-Anne Brown.  All of

   your dividend and interest cheques now come, addressed to Miss

   Karen-Anne Brown.  As soon as you turn sixteen, the cheques will come

   to you.  Right now, it is against the law for a person under the age of

   sixteen to cash cheques.  Most banks do not enforce it, but, it is,

   none the less, the law at present.  I have also purchased life

   insurance policies in your legal name of Karen-Anne Brown."

   I stared at her.  She wanted me to be a real girl.  She wanted me to be

   happy being a real girl.

   "You mean that I have no choice.  I cannot go back to being a boy?"

   "That is the long and short of it, K-A."

   "You are forcing me to live as a girl?"

   "Yes." She grinned at me.  "I know you want to anyway."

   I threw my arms around her and sobbed, this time out of sheer ecstasy.

   I was so overcome with emotions, knowing that my most secret desires

   were being forced to become the reality of my life.  Happiness could

   know no greater depth than that which coursed through me at that

   moment.

   I had a private, but, I was legally a girl.  I had to live like a girl

   in order to get all that was due to me.  I was pleased.

   I knew now, that the special vitamins that Sandra had been making me

   take were actually turning me into my legal sex.  She had made the

   decision to correct a situation that she thought was wrong.  I loved

   her for loving me so much.  I knew that she had risked a great deal for

   me, legally, and, yet, no price was too high, for her, to procure my

   happiness.  I hugged her tightly.

   The next morning, after our usual breakfast, as it was Saturday, Sandra

   told me that the day was reserved for shopping, for me.  she told me

   that she had been accumulating my dividend and interest cheques for me,

   and that there was nearly $2,000.00 that we were going to spend, today,

   buying me my own wardrobe.  She had withdrawn the money yesterday,

   before the banks had closed, and, we were going to go shopping as soon

   as I finished the dishes and did my hair.

   She did tell me that there was one thing that I should be aware of.

   "You have been wearing my clothes for the summer, and, I do not mind

   that.  But, you are a teenage girl.  My lingerie and styles of clothes

   are not suitable for you.  You are going to have to get used to wearing

   plainer clothes.  As you get older, I'll get you more suitable things,

   but, from now on, you wear your own clothes, unless I give you special

   permission.  I do not want someone to get overly interested in you

   because of your too mature styles of dress, all right?"

   "Yes, of course.  Whatever you say, Sandra."

   "Well, I just don't want any arguments when you have to wear simpler

   things, that is all.  You have to learn to dress your own age level."

   "Listen, Sis, I want to be as normal a girl as I can possibly be."

   "Great.  One other thing that you are going to have to get used to is

   wearing a training bra.  Any day now, your breasts are going to start

   to hurt like hell.  Every girl goes through it, and, you will find that

   the only relief from the pain is to wear a training bra under all of

   your clothes."

   "I have to wear a bra?" I knew I could not hide the grin that was

   spreading across my face, betraying the ultimate joy that I was feeling

   over my predicament.  Circumstances were forcing me to do what a normal

   girl does.  that would be very fine with me.

   "You look like the Cheshire cat after swallowing a canary, K-A.  Oh,

   before I forget it, you also have to get rid of that slight amount of

   facial hair that is developing.  I have arranged for you to receive

   electrolysis treatments, starting next week.  Well, let's get our butts

   in gear, Girl."

   I luxuriated in the front seat of the car, knowing that my fate was

   sealed.  We were going to get me a complete teenager's wardrobe.

   I did not like the underwear that she selected, too much, but, I went

   along with it, knowing that my time would come to pick lingerie that

   really turned me on.

   All the panties were brief styles, of white, light blue or pink.  She

   picked out 15 pairs of panties for me.  I was thankful that they were

   all of a brushed satin material, and I knew they would feel just

   fabulous, next to my skin.  All the slips were white or beige.  The

   only consolation was the lace trim, which was profuse.  They were all

   pale colors, as befits modesty.  She told me I would not need fancy

   bras, as no man was going to see them anyway.  She said that luxurious

   lingerie was half for the men who would see them on a girl, anyway,

   and, since that would not happen to me, I could learn to live in modest

   clothes.

   She selected three corsets of beige, all very very plain.  The only

   thing that I liked about the was that the had garter straps.  Sandra

   knew that I detested pantyhose as much as did she.  We selected three

   dozen pairs of nylons of different shadings, and three pairs for

   dressing up in, with lovely delicate butterfly designs in them.

   Then we went into a uniform store, and we selected three uniforms.  I

   loved these.  They were a dark plaid with a thin green and red lines.

   The skirts were profuse with half inch pleats.  I knew that the skirt

   would swirl way out, if I turned fast.  I was surprised to see that

   there was a satin underslip in the skirts, that seemed to be to small

   for the skirt.  I asked Sandra about that.  She smiled and told me that

   it was the school's way of insuring that their girls learn to walk in

   small dainty, lady like steps.  The slip was designed to hobble the

   wearer, enforcing small steps.  The school's main concern was to

   produce young ladies, not just graduates.  Young ladies meant that they

   were delightfully feminine and graceful beings, who would bring credit

   to the institution over their lifetimes.

   The uniform blouses were white satin, long sleeved, that had a delicate

   red bow tie at the peter pan collars.  She took 12 blouses.  There were

   also vests, buttoned with big brass buttons, and three jackets matching

   the skirts and vests, with a school crest on the pocket over the left

   breast, and, a little flair of white lace at the cuffs.  It was a very

   pretty uniform, or so I thought.  I fell in love with it.  I fell in

   love with knowing that that would be my normal daily attire for months

   to come.

   The physical education uniform consisted of a dark blue affair that

   looked like a shirt on the top, and shorts with big puffy legs.  They

   were of satin however.  They required white sneakers and white

   kneesocks.  Sandra bought me a suitable supply.  There was also a

   uniform winter coat and purse.  The purse was a dark brown leather and

   looked kind of like a half moon, and was about three inches in depth.

   The top flapped over and was buttoned near the bottom.

   The winter coat was dark blue with light blue satin trimming along the

   collar and the pockets.  There was a small belt type of arrangement

   going across the back.  The front was double breasted, no pun intended,

   and was fastened with large brass buttons.  I loved it.  There were

   also three brass buttons at the cuffs.  The remainder of the uniform

   consisted of brown leather, wrist-length gloves, and a leather hat that

   looked like a boy's fedora, excepting the dark blue satin ribbon

   hanging down the back about six inches, and the gold lettering across

   the front, identifying the Michael's Academy For Young Women.

   By the time the school stuff was bought, it was past noon.  I had never

   realized that shopping could be such hard work.  We loaded the stuff

   into the car, with all the other boxes and bags, and, then, decided to

   go to a big mall.  She told me that I still had a lot of stuff to get.

   After a light lunch, we started out on the afternoon's procurements.

   Our first stop was a jewelry store, where she insisted that I have my

   ears pierced.  I was scared of the pain, but, let the sales lady do it

   anyway.  She inserted the gold studs into the piercing gun, and, I soon

   had little gold roses adorning my ear lobes.  It made me feel so

   feminine.  I loved it.

   She helped me select watches, bracelets, necklaces and earrings, all

   suitable to a fifteen year old, which I would be very soon.

   Next was a cosmetics store, where we used the computer to help us

   select proper colorings for my own makeup kit.  This took nearly an

   hour, but, I had a complete outfit at the end of the hour, including a

   home perm kit that Sandra was going to give me sometime over the next

   week.  I learned that I was a spring.  We bought a "Color My World"

   book, so that I could learn what colors I should wear.

   Then we entered the "Casual Affairs Boutique".  Here Sandra helped me

   select some casual skirts and blouses.  I did not want to, but, she

   made me take two pairs of slacks, and then she selected a few pairs of

   shorts, with knee socks, bobby socks and a pair of pink sneakers.

   Next was the "Junior's Bazaar".  Here, we selected some sweaters, skirts

   and dresses.  She made me try on all of the dresses first, before

   allowing me to buy them.  I also selected some lounge suits, hostess

   suits and one pink satin pants suit, that she thought could pass for a

   teen's outfit.  She did not want me to get it, but, I liked it so much,

   that she finally agreed.  Then to my surprise, she bought three pairs

   of panty-girdles.  These, she had put into a separate bag, that she

   slipped into her purse.

   We went to a leather store, where I selected five pairs of shoes, all

   court shoes, one pair of high heels, and a pair of knee high winter

   boots with three inch heels.

   Next, we went to the "Formal Shop", where we purchased three dresses

   that would be suitable for dress up or for semi-formal affairs.  We

   also bought a beautiful floor length gown of pale blue satin with full

   crinoline slips, just in case I got invited to a wedding or something.

   I fell in love with this dress, and prayed for a reason to wear it.

   By this time, it was seven PM.  I was exhausted.  However, at home,

   Sandra told me that if I wanted to be a girl, I would just have to

   learn to suffer through it, then, she ordered me to take the scissors

   into my bedroom and to start removing tags, and hanging my clothes up.

   After half an hour, she did come in to help me.  She told me that the

   only thing that they had forgotten was sleep wear, but, she would give

   me two of her own nightdresses, a robe, and the pink satin mules that I

   had always seemed to like so much.

   Once it was all cleared away, and the boxes and bags of tissue paper

   were neatly stored in a closet, she took back the clothing I had worn

   for the day, and reminded me that there was now no need for me to wear

   her clothes, as, with my money, I had bought for myself all the clothes

   that I would ever need over the next school year.

   Then, with a smile, she produced the three panty-girdles that she had

   bought.  Actually, all they were was spandex panties.  She had cut all

   the material out of them, excepting along the seams.  They looked like

   a tangle of cords.

   She told me that I would be able to have complete control, and yet

   still enjoy the sensation of my panties on my bum cheeks, if I

   remembered to wear these.  She showed me how they were to work.  I

   stepped into what remained of the legs holes and raised the remainder

   up over my leg I looked like a real girl.  I felt free, really and

   truly free.  Many many times, I had stood before a mirror, and wanted

   desperately to look just like I looked now.  I'd be able to wear minis,

   shorts, tight jeans, anything at all that would normally accentuate the

   girl's finer points, and, I could now wear those things without fear of

   discovery.  I could now be really me, and, the most beautiful thing

   was, I was still a boy to.  I had the best of both worlds.

   My closet was bulging, as was my dresser, with my new wardrobe.  I went

   to sleep that night with the strangest sensation of feeling that I was

   a girl now, forced by forces outside of my control.  I fell asleep very

   satisfied with my new status in life.

   *****

   Dear Diary;

   It has been ages since I have written anything in you, almost a year.

   But, I just wanted to try and capture some of my feelings.

   It has been two weeks now, since I started at the Michael's Academy For

   Young Women.  Wow, it is like a dream come true.  I love it.  I have

   been so ultra busy since I started school, but, at last, I have a

   break.

   I am in the school library right now.  I have a one hour study period,

   so, I want to try and get some of these things onto paper.

   I am wearing my uniform, as is every other girl in the school.  I just

   adore the way the full skirt with those little half inch pleats just

   swirls around me at even the slightest movements.  It looks a bit like

   the way a kilt on a highland dancer looks.  It is to me, a constant

   reminder that it is a skirt and not pants that I am wearing, and, I

   just love it.

   Something else I love is that my uniform skirts have a tight fitting

   underskirt/slip.  It is impossible to walk like a boy.  The skirt

   hobbles me, at the knees.  I can not take a step bigger than eighteen

   inches.  When I sit, I can move my knees up to six inches apart, if I

   really force it.  You know that I don't, however.  You know how I love

   sitting with my knees together, as a young lady should.  One thing that

   I do like also about the underslips, is, if I ever got in trouble, it

   would be almost impossible to run in them.  I'd have to pull my skirt

   way up around my hips, if I had to run.  I feel so limited and so

   restricted by my feminine dress.  I am forced to be like a dainty and

   graceful girl.  In all honesty, I practice walking so that my steps are

   not the maximum allowable.  I feel like such a sissy, mincing around on

   high heels taking dainty little steps.  God, it is so liberating.  I

   feel so free to be myself.  Sandra, I love you forever.

   I can not ever describe the feelings I get of sitting in a class full

   of fifteen other girls, all dressed exactly the same way that I am.  I

   am so conformed to the feminine image of my classmates.  It gives me

   such a very very deep thrill to know that no one can pick me out from

   any other girl in the class, because, I belong here.  We are made the

   same by the uniforms.

   Usually, there is such a lovely delicate scent in the air, from all of

   our perfumes mingling.  It is how I would imagine that heaven might

   smell.

   I sit near the back on the left side, so, all I have to do is look up,

   and I can see most of the girls in my class.  I can not even begin to

   count how many times a day I look up, see this vision of these

   beautiful teenage girls, all struggling over their school work

   problems, watching, as one brushes her golden hair back behind her

   ears, and another tugs at her skirt hem to get more comfortable, while

   another sqinches up her pretty eyes and chews on her pencil, lost in

   thought, and, I marvel, knowing that in reality, I am a boy, but, I

   belong here, with them.  I am one of these girls.  I am no different

   than they are.

   I wear the same clothes.  I study the same materials.  I have the same

   problems with the school work.  I slip my heels off my nyloned feet,

   and feel the cool tile on my near naked foot, then step back into my

   shoes and go back to work.  I love the feel of the high instep as it

   presses against the arch of my foot.  Every other girl here, is wearing

   shoes like mine.  It is normal, and it is expected.  I have pretty bows

   at my toes.

   Here, achieving an excellent mark, is recognized as an achievement, it

   is not frowned on as a brown noser's activity.  The school puts a great

   deal of emphasis of doing the very best, of setting high expectations

   for oneself.  I love it.  I am not only enforced to live as one of

   these other girls, but, I am expected to compete in similar endeavors.

   I love the envy, when I do a good job and get a special recognition.  I

   am competing with girls, in equal settings, and, sometimes, I can beat

   them.  I can not tell you, Diary, how absolutely necessary those little

   apparatuses that Sandra made from the spandex panties are.  Being in a

   completely feminine world, has been so exciting, that I have a constant

   erection, from the moment I walk in the doors in the morning, till I

   get to relieve myself at night.  I can't wear the vagina panties for

   hours at a time, as it is just too constricting for normal everyday

   wear.  So I am thankful for Sandra's ingenuity in making them for me.

   The crotch of the thing stretches, so that even when I get really

   really hard, like at gym class, or something, it still makes me look

   like I have a girl's crotch.  I would be in some very serious trouble

   if it were not for those things.

   What really surprises me, is that, in the girl's room, when they talk

   about their boyfriends, I do not get soft.  I hear them describe how

   some guy kissed them, and, I find I envy them.  I know that as I am

   only fourteen, though nearly fifteen, that Sandra will not let me have

   a boyfriend yet, but, what amazes me, is I want to have one, just like

   the other girls.

   It is only two weeks, but I already know how to make a guy cum in his

   pants, while just dancing.  These girls love to be cockteasers, and

   they readily relate the things they are discovering and experiencing

   with each other.  Marsha, one of the more popular girls in the class,

   was all excited this morning.  Last week one of the girls dared her to

   suck off her boyfriend, and she couldn't wait to tell us how much she

   loved the taste of cum, and the feel of his big hard dork ramming into

   her throat.

   Many times I will hear how looking in a certain way will get a guy

   interested in you.  I have to be honest, Diary.  I do go home at night,

   and practice these facial expressions in my vanity mirror.

   Because I am still pretty new, and most of these girls have been going

   here since grade one, together, they do not involve me too much in the

   private talk, but, I would never have believed that girls are so damn

   horny all the time.  A guy, well, you know when he is horny, but, girls

   don't have things sticking out of their pants to let you know.  Well,

   he...heee, most of the girls don't anyway.

   There are a couple of girls that some of my classmates told me to be

   wary of.  They are suspected of being lesbians, and one of them seems

   to like me, though she hasn't done anything but be friendly to me, so

   far.

   Gad, you would not believe the pressure, the peer pressure in this

   school to get good marks.  I'd never seen a school where all the

   students were aggressive go gutters who were out to succeed.  They are

   very beautiful, and so pretty and so very dainty, but, boy, do they

   know how to cut into each other with just a few words, sometimes.  They

   seem to be jealous of every petty little thing.  I hate to say it,

   Diary, but, the pettiness seems like such sissiness, that I love it.

   It is so unboylike.  Boys like to fight out the aggressions.  Girls just

   don't seem to ever forget any little detail about each other.  I feel

   like I fit right in, though, fortunately, I have not had an occasion

   to be snarkey to anyone, yet.  I hope I don't, but, I like this way of

   dealing with aggressive or jealous feelings, so very much nicer than the

   way guys deal with things.  I belong in these circumstances.  I am

   certain now that I should never have been a boy.

   I know to that I am always hard, because, I have the privilege of

   experiencing a life that is so completely satisfying to me, and, yet,

   it is not my right to live this life.  I am sure that these girls would

   tear me to pieces if they ever found out that I had not the right to be

   in their society.  But, I cannot help feeling so stimulated by the

   circumstances that I am living in.  I would trade everything, if I had

   to, to be allowed to grow up as a normal girl.

   I hear them talk, and, I think that girls hate guys like me more than

   guys do.  They make such catty remarks about the fairies.  Like, for

   instance, last week, in the bathroom, I overheard Marsha.  She was

   telling another girl, Vivian about this guy she met at a school dance

   over at the Tech.  I happened to be in the stall at the time, and they

   thought that they were alone.  Well, Marsha started telling her about

   how faggy this guy was.  He was a "blueblooded limp-wristed Nancy", was

   her expression.  They giggled as Marsha related how her boyfriend, Rod,

   was going to get this faggot a place on the wrestling team.  Rod said

   that they were sure to win the trophy, because, he would win every

   match.

   Vivian giggled and asked how it was possible for a prissy fairy to win

   a wrestling match.

   "It's a secret hold.  None of the other guys would ever dream of using

   this hold."

   "So, what hold is it, Marsh?"

   "It's putting a liplock on the love muscle." They just roared.  Inside

   the stall, I smiled.  I could not help but remember how helplessly my

   friend acted, when I had put a liplock on his love muscle.  Maybe Rod

   was right about the school trophy.  I was not going to volunteer

   though.  I was fast learning that Sandra was rare in the world.  Girls,

   even though dainty and pretty looking, on their insides, could be as

   hard as a rock.  A lot of guys would have trouble matching them for

   hard heartedness, especially when it came to fairies.  They hated the

   thought of a guy sharing their world.  I could understand that.  Look

   what I was willing to sacrifice for the chance to share their world.

   It was worth it.  If I were a real girl, I would probably feel the same

   way they did.

   I have determined that I would not get too friendly with the girls in

   my class.  I would have to do that, just for self preservation.  Just

   being equal with them in all other areas seemed to be a very

   fulfilling and satisfying experience.  I would just keep to myself, do

   the best I could in my school work, and continue to be hard because I

   was a totally effeminated boy, who could not keep himself out of girl's

   panties, literally.

   But, Diary, the purpose of writing to you today, is to just tell you

   that I love being a girl.  Something inside of me, like a big bubble

   that rises to the surface of my psyche, just overwhelms me with a

   sensation of bliss, whenever I take a moment to look at the way I am

   dressed, in the classroom.  I have half decided that I will never again

   try to be a boy.

   I am just delighted, when I look at my school book, and see the

   fingers holding my delicate thin pencil, has long painted nails, and is

   soft to the touch, and delicate to the eye.  My handwriting has changed

   completely since I have been Karen-Anne.  I don't know whether it is

   from trying to learn how to adjust for the bracelets I wear, or because

   my girl self is completely taking over every area of my life.  My

   handwriting now, is pretty, with many swirls and such.  I like it.  I

   feel free, when I am expected to conduct myself with limp wrists.  I

   just cannot put into words, how liberated I feel, especially when I

   know, that I have no choice.  I have to never let down my guard.  I

   have to be dainty.  I have to be delicate.  I have to be as complete a

   sissy as it is possible for me to be.  If I am not, I could get into a

   lot of real serious trouble.  Fortunately, it is not hard for me to be

   feminine.  It is my nature.

   I am sure that those pills that Sandra has me take all the time, have

   their affects to.  I know of some of the affects.  For one thing, my

   voice should be changing by now, but it isn't.  I hope it never does.

   I like the sound of my voice, and, it is high enough to be quite

   girlish.  I hope it never changes.

   I am looking around, at this moment, Diary.  No one is looking, so I am

   doing something that I have started to do a lot of in the last couple

   of weeks.  I place my left hand inside my jacket and bend over so that

   no one can see what I am doing.  First, I rub the flat crotch of my

   skirt, even though I have a raging hard on, my crotch looks and feels

   like a girl's.  That gets me so excited, but, strangely, the excitement

   seems, somehow, to be far beyond sexual, although, I am very sore from

   the harden in my panties, right at this moment.  OOP, it hurts.

   I can hear the slight rustle of my uniform skirt as it rubs across the

   satin underslip.  I can feel the hem of my skirt moving against the

   back of my legs, as I rub my girlified crotch.

   Slowly, I move my hand upwards, over the right side of my rib cage.  I

   adore the feel of the satin uniform blouse.  I pretend that it is my

   boyfriend's hand, Diary.  My palm opens, and I press hard as my palm

   covers my right tit.  They are big enough now that I can feel them very

   easily.  It feels like a girl's developing breast.  The whole tit is

   so ultra sensitive.  If I was not wearing the training bra, the

   sensation of the blouse rubbing across my tits would be sheer agony.  I

   am thankful for the bra, believe me.

   My nipples are so painfully hard, like little rocks, and ache so, when

   I cup my tits in my hands like this.  I still find it hard to believe

   that I really do have tits, but, they are mine, and, they are getting

   bigger.  I am going to have to get new bras in a few weeks, if they

   keep growing the way they are now.  I move my palm gently over the

   fleshyness.  It fills my palm.  I can feel the lace trim on my slip's

   bodice.  Diary, it does not seem to matter how long I have been wearing

   girl's clothes, I never seem to get used to the idea, and, I get these

   horribly painful erections.  Gad, I do not know which is hurting more,

   my tits or my clit.  I guess this is just all part of growing up.  I

   really hope that my breasts don't stay sore like this.  As for my clit,

   well, maybe, I will, someday, meet a very understanding Prince

   Charming, who will like to take me in his mouth, as much as I might

   like taking him in mine.

   It seems lately, that I have been obsessed with two things.  One, I

   seem to be becoming more acutely aware of every little sensation of my

   clothing on my skin.  I am constantly aware of the fact that it is

   "GIRL'S" clothes that I am in, and, that I have to pass myself off,

   successfully.  I wonder if it is the hormones that is making my skin so

   sensitive to the materials that I wear.

   The other obsession that I seem to be developing, is a fascination with

   boys.  Sometimes, when I pass a boy on the street, I sneak a look at

   his crotch, and try to guess how big he is.  One of the girls told me

   that you can judge by the size of his hands.  If his hands are big, she

   said, his cock is big.  If his hands are small, his cock is small.

   I sometimes find myself practicing the facial expressions that the

   girls told me about, to see if they really do get a reaction.  I think,

   or am beginning to think, that a guy will do just about anything that

   he is able to, if he thinks that a girl likes him.  It just seems that

   acceptance by a girl, especially a good looking one, is so utterly

   important to their fragile egos.  I have to be careful.  My practicing

   has gotten me some unwanted attentions.  They seem to be ultra

   sensitive to girls.  I find that guys seem to really like just looking

   at a feminine face, and seem to enjoy the expressions and the emotions

   that are mirrored on her face.  I like the way that they look at mine.

   I am really beginning to get a sense of what it is to be cute, and to

   have to relate to a world that thinks of me as cute.  It so so ultra

   different from being nurdy, or, wimpy, the way I used to be.

   I like being thought of as cute.  I like watching their eyes move over

   my face, with that little smile that seems to be pleasure at what they

   see on my face.  I know this, from my very limited experience in the

   soda shop after classes, or in the grocery stores, guys want to get

   along with me, and they like my face.  It pleases them.  I see their

   pleasure in the twinkle in their eyes when they look at me.  I still

   have not had to shave.  I don't think I'll have to, now, ever.  That is

   a relief.

   They really try to impress me, sometimes.

   Diary, I loooove it.  In skirts, I can be myself, my real self.  I

   suppose some people would say I am as queer as a three dollar bill,

   but, I just adore all the sensations I get to feel, when I am

   Karen-Anne.

   Something else that I love, is the corsets.  I am the only girl in

   school, I think, who wears corsetry.  I love the feel of those tight

   ungiving fingers that are laced around my waist, making it small, and

   quite girlish.  Sandra measured me last night.  I am 5'4", 115 lbs., an

   my measurements are 34 1/2 chest, 19 inch waist and 33 inch hips.  I am

   very girlish looking.  The pills have made my waist smaller.  I

   remember that when she first bought the corsets for me, my waist could

   only go down to twenty-four inches.  I am also nearly twenty pounds

   lighter from when I came here last spring.  I am getting daintier and

   more and more helpless in the physical sense.  I know that I am losing

   most of my physical strength.  That feels so strange, to be helpless in

   that sense.

   I am in love with my girlishness, there is no doubt about that.  I will

   willingly live this way forever.

   My life, at present is so full.  Sandra made me sign up for two extra

   credit courses.  One is home economics, and the other is music

   appreciation.  Besides the phys-ed classes three times a week at

   school, she bought me a tape called Callanetics.  I have to get up at

   six, every morning and do the one hour stretching exercises, before I

   am allowed to have breakfast.  Sandra also has me enrolled at the

   local college taking a computer programming course.  I have very little

   time to myself.

   That is good though.  She is also taking extra courses and, so, she is

   not home a lot of the time.  Because of the peer pressure to achieve

   excellence, I find that I do spend a great deal of the time that I do

   have at home, studying and reviewing my lessons.

   Well, diary, I had better close now.  The five minute warning bell for

   a change of class just went off, and, I do not want to be late for my

   next class.  It is home economics, and, I am learning how to make a

   skirt.  Next week, we start on lingerie.

   ****

   "Miss Brown?  How do you feel?"

   "Uhhh.....What happened?"

   "You had an accident.  We have had a doctor in to look you over, and

   there is no permanent damage, just a little bump on the noggin." The

   comment was accompanied by a warm smile.

   I looked around.

   I was in the school infirmary.  Then I remembered falling from the

   parallel bars in gym class.

   Fear swept over me.  Did they learn my secret?

   The only person in the room was the elderly gentleman, Mr.  Adams, the

   dean of the college.

   In a moment, Sandra entered the room as well, with a very worried

   expression on her face.  I gathered my resources as Mr.  Adams

   explained to her what had happened.  He also explained that in a school

   like this, such accidents were common place, as the girls were

   continually striving to outdo each other.

   He then asked if I was feeling better.

   I was.

   He then asked if we would accompany him to his office.  He said there

   were medical release forms that she would have to sign.  Sandra waited

   as I changed from my gym slip to the uniform, and then we followed Mr.

   Adams to his office.

   A bit light headed, I hung on to Sandra's slim arm as we walked the

   long stretch of hallway, from the infirmary area to the front office

   area of the school.

   When we entered, he was as cordial as before.  He hit an intercom

   button on a wood box on his desk and told Miss Reynolds, his secretary,

   that they did not wish to be disturbed.  He invited us to sit in the

   big comfortable leather chairs.

   "Well, Miss Brown," he looked at Sandra, "We have a situation here."

   "Oh?"

   "I have been reviewing Karen-Anne's file, and I find that she is indeed

   an excellent student, a girl who will do well for the reputation of our

   academy.  For that reason, I wish for her to continue on.  She is

   obviously excelling in the curriculum here, far superior to her past

   performance, according to these school records."

   Sandra beamed at me.  Her pride in me was evident and written all over

   her pretty face.

   "I have also checked with the county registration office, and I have

   been able to ascertain that, in fact, she holds the legal status of a

   young lady."

   My heart sank and my heart beat in my throat.

   "I assume that that was accomplished through your knowledge of the

   legal ropes that govern such matters?"

   "Yes?"

   "Well, it has been made very evident to me, that she cannot compete

   with the girls in some areas, though, in some other areas, she seems to

   excel in competition with them."

   "What are you suggesting, Mr.  Adams?"

   "Well, am I right in assuming that both of you, especially you,

   Karen-Anne, wish desperately to continue with this charade of yours?"

   We, Sandra and I, looked at each other.  We knew that this possibility

   might come up at some time.

   "Mr.  Adams, we are quite wealthy.  If it's money you want, let us

   discuss it." Sandra tried to take over the control.

   "Sandra, you misinterpret me."

   "Well, then, what is your point?"

   "Well, she should not be allowed to continue with her phys-ed classes.

   I wish to stress that there are two things we want to accomplish here.

   One, Karen-Anne wants to continue in this school, as a young co-ed.  I

   have no problem with that, provided my board of governors does not find

   out."

   "And, so Mr.  Adams, what will it take to insure that they do not find

   out?"

   "Well...uh...this is a delicate matter."

   "Just spit it out, and we will decide."

   "You are, aware, Sandra, that you to, could be held on criminal

   charges, for falsifying public records?"

   "Yes.  I thought that that was an acceptable risk, to see some joy and

   happiness finally come into my brother's life."

   "I admire your love for him...ah...her.  I am an old man now.  My wife

   died many years ago.  I am very lonely, as well.  I am also, a bit of a

   lecherous old man.  Seeing the pretty girls about me all day is one of

   the few pleasures left to me in my life."

   "Get to your point, Mr.  Adams."

   "Well, I would like it if Karen-Anne would consent to come to my house

   on occasion, say, one weekend a month, just to keep me company."

   "You are a lech, aren't you."

   "Well, with all due respect, young ladies, I am not the one with

   something to hide, am I?"

   Sandra looked at me.  "Well, K-A, it is your decision.  If you want to

   stay in school, you are going to have to go and suck off this old fart

   one weekend a month."

   "What do you think that I should do?"

   "It is up to you, Dear.  Personally, I don't think it's such a bad

   deal.  If we ever need his help, he is willing to help us, even if it

   is to his own benefit.  I guess the only thing that you have to decide,

   is, whether or not you are girl enough yet to suck off this old geyser.

   Actually, the question is not whether you are girl enough to hit up

   this guy, it is, whether you are girl enough to want to do this thing.

   I know that you view yourself as a girl, but, are you also queer enough

   to do it?"

   "I've sucked a cock before, Sandra."

   "Well, considering how easily you took to the feminine role I wanted

   for you to live, I am not too surprised.  You want to do this?  If you

   don't, we can try to find something else."

   I looked over at Mr.  Adams.  "Will you treat me gently, like I was a

   real girl?"

   "My Dear, when I look at you, I see a real girl."

   I smiled, mischievously.  "I guess that that means that you are my

   boyfriend, then, doesn't it?"

   He grinned back.  "Well, I guess that I am, aren't I?"

   I looked over at the hopeful and very very leering face that sat behind

   his desk.  "When do you want me to come?"

   "Well, this is Thursday.  Why not tomorrow night?"

   "Okay, but, I want to be home on Saturday night."

   "Fine.  She will be here to meet you, after school hours tomorrow

   afternoon.  Mr.  Adams, you better never let me hear that you have done

   anything to abuse my sister, or, I guarantee, hell will freeze over

   before I get even with you."

   "Hell hath no fury...."

   "You better believe it, Mr.  Adams."

   That Friday, I sat outside of his office.  My pink canvass tote bag

   rested on the floor, between my high heeled feet.  My skirt was tugged

   modestly down over my knees.  My hands were folded gently in my lap and

   I waited patiently.  I was acutely aware of the fact that I was wearing

   nothing but girl's clothing, and I had a very very painful erection in

   my panties.

   The air conditioning was on, though it was only May, and the satin of

   my blouse seemed to pick up the coldness.  I was thankful for the

   blazer of my uniform.  Under my skirt, it was not cold, though.

   I knew that as the secretaries were leaving, one by one, that when they

   glanced at me, they were seeing a demure and modest young lady sitting

   here.  Little could they imagine that in my mind's eye, I was seeing

   myself, kneeling submissively before my college dean, and lovingly

   placing gentle kisses on his cock.  I hated the fact, that, though I

   knew I was being forced into this activity, that something inside of

   me...wanted to do it.  It astounded me that I wanted, really wanted to

   do this.  I relished the fact that I was being forced to do it, but,

   still, I really desired to do this.

   Mr.  Adams came out of his office about half an hour after the last

   secretary had left.  He smiled at me.  I stood, and, nervously,

   curtsied, as I'd been taught in this school, to do, at the entrance of

   an authority figure into the room.

   "No one in their right mind would ever ever believe that you are a boy.

   You are just so delightfully dainty, not to mention, pretty, that I can

   understand that you would have a great deal of difficulty trying to

   live in the harsh world of the male animal."

   "Thank you, Sir." My ears rang and my soul sang at his words of praise.

   If this was an ensample of my days with Mr.  Adams, I may very well

   enjoy them a great deal more than I had already fantasized that I

   would.  He made me feel...dainty.

   He came over and stood in front of me.

   Mr.  Adams was not a thin man, but, it did not look like he was fat

   either.  As I looked at the three piece gray silk and wool suit that

   covered his body, I wondered if, even at his age, which must be in the

   sixties, he worked out in a gym.  At my 5' 4" I felt positively petite,

   standing in front of this man that must be close to 5' 9" tall.  I saw

   a hard on twitching in his pants.

   He saw that I saw it.  He smiled at me.

   "That is for you, Karen-Anne.  That is what you have made me feel all

   day, just thinking about what it would be like to put my arms around

   you, and squeeze you tightly, and kiss those pretty lips of yours."

   He took a step towards me, and, I had to look up to see his eyes.  I

   watched his eyes as I felt his hands slide under my blazer and encircle

   my waist.  He gently pulled me to him.  I did not resist him.  I wanted

   him.  He pressed his hard cock into my belly.  I felt flattered that I

   could make such a dignified man act like that.

   Involuntarily, my arms had slid up the front of his suit and around his

   neck, before I even realized what I was doing.  I moved my belly, to

   tease at that cock, the way the girl's I'd listened to, had said that

   they do it, on the dance floor.

   My eyes closed and I hungrily sucked on that tongue as he slid it past

   my lips.

   I knew I was behaving like a girl.

   I knew I was behaving, in a way, that was normal for me, even if I was

   a boy.  A tinge of guilt at my betrayal of boyhood flashed across my

   mind, but, just as his hands were tracing and caressing along the bra

   straps under my blouse, so, they caressed away those unwelcome feelings

   to.

   Uncontrollably, I moaned.  I wanted him to take me home, and to make

   passionate love with me.

   Mr.  Adams, however, wanted to tease me, first.

   "Are you wearing something to hold you back between your legs,

   something to hide your little secret, Karen-Anne?"

   "Yes."

   "I want you to take it off."

   "But, if I do, everyone who sees me will know that I am a boy in a

   girl's school uniform."

   "Let me worry about that, okay?"

   "Okay, Sir," I answered dubiously.

   I turned my back to him, raised my skirt, and worked the apparatus down

   my legs.  When I stood up, an erection was jutting the front of my

   satin panties out, obscenely.  It felt delightful to be free.  It felt

   even nicer when I saw how he looked at me, with sheer lust in his

   gentle brown eyes.

   I placed the tiny but strong elasticized apparatus in my left blazer hip

   pocket.  I stood, passively, submissively, and let Mr.  Adams reach

   out, and wrap his strong fingers around the bulge in my skirt.  I

   nearly swooned with the ecstasy that rippled over me.

   I was being accepted, as a boy, wearing girl's clothes, behaving like a

   girl, and, wanting to do what girls do.  This man was accepting me for

   just exactly who I was, and, he was making me feel so very good about

   my wanting to live as a girl.  I just knew that he could do anything

   that he wanted to with me, and that I would accept it as a form of

   love.

   He kissed my lips again, then bent down to pick up my pink canvass tote

   bag, put his arm around my shoulders and walked me to the front doors.

   I waited for him to lock the doors, then he accompanied me to his car.

   He opened the passenger side for me, and smiled when he saw my skirt

   ride up to reveal the frothy white lace on my basic beige silk slip, as

   I slid across the seat.  I felt so dainty, exposed and,

   vulnerable...and, I loved it.

   Mr.  Adams tossed my tote bag into the back seat, then went around to

   the driver's side of the car.  When he got in, he looked around

   furtively, realized that no one was around, and bent over to kiss my

   lips again, while his left hand fondled the bulge in my skirt again.

   He rubbed me, grinding the girl cloth into my penis, making femininely

   rustly noises from the friction of my undergarments sliding across each

   other.

   "Take me to your house, Mr.  Adams," I sighed.

   "Why?  Are you that desperate to get those pretty little lips around my

   cock?"

   I looked at him.  He was smiling.  There was no point in lying to him.

   He would find out soon enough anyway.

   "Yes."

   He laughed.  "Karen-Anne, you are not only pretty and graceful, you

   have a delightful capacity for candor.  You just delight me because of

   the way you are."

   He decided to tease me.  He drove up to a Mc Donalds and ordered some

   cheese burgers for us.  We ate in the parking lot.  He kept reaching

   over to rub the front of my skirt.  I wished that I had the courage to

   reach over and feel that big tool of his.  I wanted to, but, the

   intensity of the teachings of modesty in the school, prevented me from

   doing it.  After all, this was a school that placed great pride in

   turning out young ladies that were a credit to the academy for their

   whole lives.  They made their living by their reputation, and, the

   girls who graduated, were ladies, regardless of the way some like

   Marsha talked in the can, they were still ladies.  Not only that, but,

   there was also an overwhelming attitude, that young ladies were

   passive, docile, and serving of men.  No one ever said it, but, we, all

   of us girls, felt it.  I had been at the school long enough that this

   feeling towards men had already been ingrained, and, so, I waited

   patiently for him.  I hoped that he liked the results of his school's

   training in me.  It made me feel a bit more of a lady to wait for him

   to decide when he wanted me to suck it for him.  I just wanted it to be

   sooner than later.

   Finally, we drove off to his home.

   He lived in a beautiful large house on the outskirts of the city.  I

   was delighted to see where I would spend the weekend.  It took nearly

   an hour for him to familiarize me with the house and its facilities.

   He had an indoor swimming pool and a small gym.

   Finally, the time came.

   "Karen-Anne, would you like to go swimming?"

   "I did not bring a suit with me."

   "Would you be a Dear, and indulge me.  I have a little fantasy that I

   would like to have acted out."

   "Uhh...sure, I guess so."

   "Well, do you remember, on the third floor, where all the bedrooms

   are?"

   "Yes?"

   "Well, there is one room that we did not look into.  Do you remember

   it?"

   "Yes."

   "Well, that was my daughter's room.  She died about thirty years ago,

   in the mid fifties.  She was your age then.  I could never bring myself

   to throwing her things away...."

   I could see that he was experiencing great emotion and having trouble

   managing it.  I felt tender towards him.

   "Mr.  Adams, would you like for me to pretend to be her for you?"

   It was like I'd won a prize or something, the way he reacted.  His face

   nearly lit up.  He almost slobbered over me, as he thanked me for being

   so understanding.  For me, it was totally selfish.  I'd fantasized many

   many hours, of what it must be like to be a teenager in the fifties,

   wearing things like long crinolines under poodle skirts.  Girls dressed

   like girls then.  I nearly hit the roof at the possibility that such a

   fantasy could actually come true, with the real thing, clothes that a

   teenager had actually worn at that time in history.

   I took my tote bag up the stairs to that room, wondering what I would

   find in there.  It was a bit musty, but, it was clean.  I opened a

   window to let the spring breezes in.  Her room, Shannon had been her

   name, was a dream come true.  It was like the room or boudoir of a

   fairy princess.

   There were pictures of Shannon on the dresser.  She was not gorgeous,

   but, not too many guys would turn her down either.  Her hair was long

   on the sides and the back, with those short little bangs that girls

   seemed to prefer then.  She wore glasses with really pointed frames.

   The furniture was all in a white with a gold antique motif.  Two

   bureaus, one with drawers and drawers of lingerie, the other full of

   sweaters and neatly folded shorts and halter tops.  Here, I also found

   swimsuits and boxes of jewelry.

   Off to one side were two doors.  One led into a beautiful bathroom,

   delicately tiled in pink, white and black, with flowers painted

   everywhere.  It had a toilette, sink, vanity, bidet, and a shower/bath.

   The other door led to a huge walk in closet.  There were rows and rows

   of full skirted dresses with crinolines, prom gowns, and ordinary

   school dresses.  One small section had three pairs of slacks on

   hangers.  Shannon obviously was not a girl who liked wearing pants very

   much.  I could understand that.  I have not had on a pair of pants,

   even girl's pants, for over eight months, now.  Of the slacks that were

   there, two were lame peddle-pushers, the kind that are skin tight and

   reached to mid-calf.  I wanted to see what those felt like, to wear,

   but, I would wait.  I'd seen pictures of girls in them, and I had

   always thought that they were not only sexy, but very feminine.  I

   checked to see if they had a zipper up the back.  They did.  I could

   tell that like the pictures that I had seen, the waist was high, and

   would expose a large expanse of tummy at the front.  They also looked

   like they were new, as did all of the clothing here.  Shannon was a

   girl who knew how to care for things.  Her father must really have

   appreciated that.

   In all, there were four rows of dresses and skirts.  I did not count

   them but, I was sure there were at least twenty outfits per rack.  It

   was a transvestite's dream, and, I was living it.  I just knew I would

   be able to wear all of these delightfully feminine clothes over the

   next few months.  Mr.  Adams, if he liked me enough, might even give

   some of them to me, I hoped.  The closet, though not used in a long

   time, still retained a delicate scent of perfume in the air.

   The back wall of the closet had a recessed clothes rack.  There must

   have been ten or twelve coats in various styles hanging there.  Beside

   them, were drawers containing purses, scarves and gloves.  Neatly

   arrayed under the coats were shoes of all descriptions, including those

   black and white saddle shoes that girls seemed to favor back then.

   There were sandals with sky high heels, loafers, running shoes and flat

   sandals, not to mention snow boots, some would be knee high.

   I felt as though I had fallen into a treasure trove.

   I took my clothing off, and hung everything up neatly in this closet,

   then went out to the bedroom again.  The bed looked marvelous.  It was

   four-poster, with a satin ruffled canopy, satin ruffled comforter and

   lace trimmed pillows, all of it in pink and white.  Sitting neatly were

   three very pretty bride dolls.  Shannon was one very well treated young

   lady.  I envied her for a moment, till I realized, her father wanted me

   to take her place for a while.  That, I would willingly do.  I just

   hoped that if he decided to spank me, that it would not be too hard.

   I went over to the record player, and turned it on.  It worked.  I put

   on a long play record, and let the soothing rock and roll temper my

   fantasy.  Then, I rooted in the drawers again.  First, I needed a waist

   nipper.  I found one, and I laced it so tightly that I was not sure if

   I would be able to bend over in it.  I selected a pink satin swimsuit.

   It had a white stripe going from the left shoulder strap to the right

   hip.  It had a little skirt of about six inches, that flipped about

   prettily.  The bra cups were lined with a rubber padding.  Her clothes

   fit me well.  My breasts looked a good deal bigger than they normally

   did, but, I was not unpleased.  My besatined bum reflected light from

   its curves, prettily, also.

   I found a pair of beach sandals and tied the laces about my ankles.  I

   draped a satin beach robe over my shoulders, picked up a pink beach

   bag, stuffing a purse and some towels into it.

   I located a bathing cap and stuffed my long hair up into it.  I decided

   to put on some bracelets, then, walked down the stairs.

   Mr.  Adams was laying on a deck chair, naked, absentmindedly handling

   himself.  He smiled when he saw me.

   I dropped my bag, shimmied out of the robe, loosed my sandals, took one

   longing look at his erection, and dove into the water.  I relished the

   feel of the tugging of the water at my shoulder straps.  In only

   seconds, he was following me.  When I came up for air, I felt his arms

   encircle me from behind.

   "Did you like what you found in Shannon's room, Karen-Anne?"

   "Mr.  Adams, for a girl like me, that was like walking into a bit of

   heaven.  I hope that I will be able to wear everything that is in

   there."

   In the water's buoyancy, he lifted me a bit.  When I settled back down,

   pulled tightly against his torso, his cock was poking between my legs.

   I could not help myself.  I lay my head back on his shoulder and

   moaned.  His lips were nibbling at my ears, and his hands were busy.

   The right one was exploring my breasts while the left one was gently

   massaging my imprisoned cock.  I squeezed my legs, wondering, at how

   strange it felt to have someone elses cock between my legs.  I liked

   it.  I loved what he was doing to me, and I yielded, passively,

   enjoying that I was being made love to.

   "I want you to pretend to be my daughter, okay?"

   "You want me to be Shannon?"

   "No.  I want you to be Karen-Anne, my daughter.  I want you to wear

   Shannon's clothes.  If you were my daughter, I would have bought them

   for you anyway."

   "Promise not to spank me, Daddy?" I moved my head to let him better

   access to my neck.  I loved the way he was nipping at me with his

   teeth.  His tongue tickled my nape.  I was his.

   "When you need, it, I will put you over my knee, and paddle that pretty

   pantied bum for you, Karen-Anne.  I promise you that.  Now, this is

   enough exercise for today.  Go and get into something pretty for

   dinner.  Take your time, as I have to drive into the city to get it."

   I managed to get off his cock, and turn in his arms.  I ran my arms up

   around his neck, and lovingly kissed him.  I whispered into his ear,

   "Yes, Daddy."

   I felt his cock on my belly, and, I wanted it.  He helped me from the

   pool, by pushing at my bum, and gave me a playful pat as I stood.

   About an hour and a half later, I descended to the dining room.  I

   rustled loudly.  My skirt bounced from all the crinolines under it,

   with every movement of my knees.  I had found something rare, a pair of

   bloomers in the purest white silk, decorated at the knees with delicate

   white lace and woven red ribbons.  The waist buttoned with dainty white

   pearly buttons.  They were so delightful, that just feeling them

   sliding up over my silk stockings had nearly made me orgasm.

   My dress was an off the shoulder, in royal blue satin.  The bodice was

   a ruffle of some gauzy material.  At the left hip was a large rosebud

   of the same color and material as my dress.

   Under the dress, I was securely laced into a very tight Victorian style

   corsolette.  The padding pushed my breasts up, so that they protruded

   in milky white mounds from the bodice of my dress.  The hem fell to

   nearly mid-calf length.  I wore three satin crinolines under the skirt,

   which flared out and caressingly danced over my silk encased legs, with

   every step.  I felt like I was in a movie, the way this lovely dress

   moved about with even the slightest of movements on my part.

   The gown fit me, snugly, emphasizing my enhanced cleavage and the

   narrow waist, by its flaring skirt.  I felt lovely, and, I knew I was

   moving about as though I were a princess.  The skirt flared so much

   that even my engorged cock was not discernible under it.  I had not

   tied it up, as I usually did, because, I wanted for Mr.  Adams to feel

   it again, like he did in the foyer of his office, after he'd made me

   remove the gaff.

   Besides that, the weight of my petticoats under the dress, ground the

   silk of my bloomers into my penis in the most delightful fashion.  I

   just could not resist feeling this.  It was so ultra feminine, I nearly

   swooned when I thought about it.

   I walked daintily.  I had no choice.  I was perched on blue satin

   slippers with 4" heels, tied by a delicate strap about my ankles.  The

   only way to keep my balance was to take tiny steps, carefully, one

   foot, in front of the other, sliding the sole of the shoe along the

   carpet, directly in front of the other foot.  I noted that this way of

   walking also caused my skirt to not only bounce foreword, but, to swish

   sideways at the same time, as my hips were made to thrust forward with

   each dainty step.  Every step was accompanied by the rustling of my

   undergarments.

   I'd found some old magazines that showed some pretty uses for ribbons,

   interwoven in the hair.  I'd experimented, and was quite pleased with

   the results.  Sandra had taught me enough of the basics of coiffuring

   long hair, that I was able, without too much difficulty, to accommodate

   some of these designs.  My hair was piled from the sides onto the top,

   and the back tresses, bounced in large waves on my bare shoulders and

   back.  On my head, I had pinned a blue satin pillbox hat, with a

   delicate net veil that reached to my nose.

   I floated amidst a cloud of delicately scented perfume.  I'd adorned my

   wrists and fingers with flashy rings, delicately jangly silver

   bracelets, and an ultra delicate silver wrist watch.

   A very thin, almost invisible gold chain suspended a dainty heart

   shaped locket, just at the point where my cleavage started.  I was an

   actress, loving her role.

   I also wore Shannon's pointed glasses, decorated with rhinestones at

   the corners.  I was vampy, and I loved it.  This was heaven, to be able

   to wear such delightfully sensuous clothing, and, to feel so pretty.  I

   knew by the look on his face when I made my grand entrance to the

   dining room that

   Mr.  Adams was also as enthralled with my prettiness as I was.

   He stood, pulled a chair out for me.  I swooshed up my voluminous and

   loudly rustling skirts, and sat, daintily, as he moved the chair back

   for me.

   He served the salad first.  As I ate, he stared at me.

   "Karen-Anne, you really, I mean, really, from the depth of your soul,

   enjoy being such a pretty, dainty girl, don't you?"

   I looked at him.  He was not making fun of me.  He had a questioning

   look on his face, as though he were totally amazed that a boy could

   feel the things that I was feeling.

   With a delicate jangle of my new bracelets, I put my left hand out and

   touched his right wrist, caressingly.

   "Mr.  Adams, I feel like I have died and gone to heaven."

   "Uh...not Mr.  Adams, okay?"

   "Yes, Sir...uh...Daddy."

   "Good Girl.  Now, finish up, lest I be tempted to turn you over my knee

   and spank you, for wasting your food."

   He looked at me.  "You know, Karen-Anne, I just bet that you would like

   for me to turn you over my knee and spank you, wouldn't you?  Be honest

   now."

   I blushed, but, managed to look him in the eye.

   "Well, if it did not...hurt...too much...I might."

   We ate, enjoying our roles with each other.  Every sentence, I made a

   point of calling him Daddy, and I could see that Mr.  Adams was eating

   up my treatment of him.  I still wanted desperately for him to make

   love to me, but, I was very thankful that he was making the night drag

   out to such a delightful experience of sensuous sensation for me.  I

   knew that I would be looking forward to coming here again next month.

   Here was a man who cared enough about me to romance me, not just use me

   to get his rocks off, though, admittedly, I would have accepted that

   role readily enough to, from him.

   After we ate, I had my first sips of white wine.  My heavily boned

   corseting made the idea of eating a big meal a ludicrous one.

   Consequently, the wine hit me hard and fast.  I think it felt the best

   when we were dancing.  He was constantly kissing my neck, my eyes, my

   cheeks and once in a while would bend over far enough to place his lips

   on the mounds sticking up out of my dress.  What I loved the most

   though was the feeling of his thighs moving across the front of my

   dress, gently and romantically caressing my very very painful erection,

   as we danced.

   Then, without warning, I was pulled down, almost rudely, across his

   thighs, as he went in one movement from dancing with me, to sitting on

   a couch.

   His legs pinioned mine, so, movement was nearly impossible.

   I could hardly believe it.  Daddy was actually going to spank me.  My

   weight pressed my cock into his thighs, grinding my girl clothes into

   it, in a most intoxicating fashion.

   I felt and heard my skirts and petticoats being raised, to expose my

   delicate underpants.  He sighed, audibly when he saw what panties I was

   wearing.  His fingers very gently explored my inner thighs and my

   protruding derriere.

   I braced myself for my first spanking, as a girl.  His hand came down

   with a near whistle, and I felt the solid smack in the form of a very

   sharp sting, that drove me down onto his knees.

   It hurt and he was serious about spanking me.

   "Oooooo", I cried.  It was so sore, he was making tears come to my

   eyes.  But I had a bigger fear.  He was going to make me cum in these

   beautiful clothes.  I desperately did not want to soil such lovely

   garments.  I struggled to get loose, but, all it did was aggravate the

   grinding of my feminine underclothing into my engorged last remaining

   seven inches of boyhood.

   I blubbered out, "Daddy...please stop...you're going to...you're going

   to make me cum...ahhhh...I can't hold it much more...please

   Daddy....please...please stop...pleeeaase."

   His spanking suddenly increased in intensity.  He wanted me to

   associate the pleasure of sexual orgasm with the feeling of helpless

   girlishness on her father's knee, I realized.  He wanted me to identify

   wild sensual pleasure with firm discipline and the feelings associated

   with delicate pretty clothing.

   I was overcome with the feelings of being helpless.  This combined with

   the utter delightfully sensuousness of the clothing I was wearing, and

   the romanticism that had preceded this point, and, I had to admit, the

   eroticism of those painful slaps, overwhelmed me.

   I screamed, the sensation was so intense.  I loosed what felt like a

   gallon of sticky cum into my lovely drawers.  The grinding continued as

   his hand continued to spank my besilked derriere.  I fainted, the orgasm

   was so intense.

   When I came to again, I was sitting on his knee, my arms around his

   neck, and he was kissing me, whispering about what a beautiful and

   feminine girl child I was.

   Involuntarily, I responded.  "Daddy, I love you.  Thank you."

   Now, it was my Daddy's turn.  Suddenly, I became aware of his engorged

   cock, poking at my sensitive besilked bum cheeks.

   "Daddy, will you...let me...suck you...your cock?"

   "Do you really, really really want to, Karen-Anne?  I do not want you

   to do it because you have to, though you do have to.  I want you to

   please me because, somewhere, deep inside of you, there is a girl that

   desperately wants to please a man in that way."

   "It is all I've been thinking about today.  All day I had a picture of

   myself kneeling in front of you, and making love to your cock with my

   lips, my tongue, and my mouth.  Oh, and, now, after you have treated me

   like this, I want very very much to please you, and to taste you."

   I got up, and stood watching him as he started to undress.  I hurried

   to do it for him.  In only a few minutes, I had my Daddy naked.  He was

   again sitting on the couch, this time, his bum cheeks on the edge of

   the cushions.

   His loving daughter, in a loud rustling, frou-froued her skirts and

   settled to her knees, dress splayed out around her, between his knees,

   lovingly massaging his shaft for him.  He lay back and gave himself

   over to the sensations that I was giving him.  I felt flattered at his

   shudderings.

   I lowered my head and gently paid homage to this man of mine.  I kissed

   and adored his real man cock.  I'd never have anything like this.  I

   did not want one.  But, I wanted to pay homage to this one.

   Then I licked the head and slid it into my mouth.  I sucked, with love,

   for the sole purpose of pleasing this man, my Daddy.  I was his

   girl/son, and his lover.

   My tongue moved delicately over the shaft as I moved my head up and

   down, trying hard, to suck it out of him.

   "Oh, Baby...can you suck a cock.  You have got to be the best

   cocksucker that I ever met...."

   I raised my head.  "I want to be the best cocksucker my Daddy ever

   had." I smiled and quickly filled my mouth with him again.

   When I finally made him cum, he grabbed my head and drove into me like

   I was a cunt.  I could not breathe.  I wanted to swallow his cum, but I

   could not even breathe, let alone swallow those gobs he was spewing

   into my mouth.  I thought for a moment that I might even die, it took

   him so long to get it all out of him, into my mouth.  But, I was

   servicing him, like I would, if I had been a real cunt.  I was drawing

   his sperm out of him and into my body.  I felt so very womanly at that

   moment.  I was his cocksucking daughter, and I knew I would willingly

   do this for him again and again.  I loved his taste.

   I admitted to Sandra, that I had had a weekend that was like a dream,

   and, she noted the dreamy look on my face when I told her when Mr.

   Adams would pick me up again.

   Her only comment was to give me pack of Trojans.  She told me that she

   did not want her little sister coming home carrying some old man's baby

   in her belly.

   Mr.  Admas told me that considering about AIDS and all that, it would

   be good for me to get into the habit of using condoms, regardless of

   whose cock I was sucking.

   Mr.  Adams and I increased my monthly visits to last from Friday

   afternoons to Monday mornings.  I have worn everything in those

   closets, including those most delightful lame peddle-pusher pants.

   They are a dream, really they are.

   Mr.  Adams has also let me wear his wife's clothes to.

   If he is still in good health, Sandra has agreed to let me move in with

   him, provided that he still wants me to, in three and a half years,

   when I turn eighteen, if I am graduated from the Michael's Academy for

   Girls.

   Sandra and Mr.  Adams, are even starting to like each other.  I love

   them both.

   Sandra wants me to get a boyfriend my own age though, but she is

   willing to let things transpire as they are, as long as I enjoy the

   circumstances, and, I readily assure her that I do.

   END OF PART FIVE

   *****

   (To be continued)

   
