REPOSTED by Old Softy, if you want to see what started my story "Only 
Three Months."

From: jordan@u36.com
Subject: REPOST: Tomboy [mf] Jordan Shelbourne
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Okay, I'm still retiring. (I feel like I'm doing a going out of
business sale -- "Everything Must Go!") I don't want to wear out
my welcome here, but this isn't a not-quite-polished-enough
bottom-drawer piece, but one that hasn't been reposted for a year
(so far as I know).  And people seem to like it.

Oh, I have modified the story slightly since the last time it was
posted.

Jordan

Today's quotation:        "The greatest cunning is to have none at all."
                                                         [Carl Sandburg]



                                     TOMBOY

                      Copyright 1995 Jordan Shelbourne


"I'm a little old to be banished to summer camp," I said to Spike.
Spike was my best friend, had been since I was eight. "I mean, I'm
fifteen." I was sitting on a branch in an old apple tree, the last
one in the orchard.  I had my back propped against the tree trunk.
She was lying on the branch below me.

Spike said, "Wish my folks would send me to camp, Kip."  Her real
name was Danica, but I never called her that, just like she never
called me Clifford.

"Yeah," I said.  "Right."

"No, really.  First of all, you're gonna be doing canoeing and
shit.  That's like free training."

"Training?"

"You know, for the Olympics." Spike was a natural athlete, not like
me.  I was a two-left-feet guy, and no team would have me.  Spike
occasionally talked about trying pro sports, but usually she came
back to her other dream, being a mechanic on Formula Ones.  "They
wouldn't send me, though.  They'd be afraid it would just make me
worse."

"You go instead of me." I banged my head gently against the tree
trunk, making the leaves rustle.  "Maybe we could just send you on
the bus and you could say you were me."

"They'd notice in the shower.  And when I got my period."

I stared at her.  "I didn't know you got your period already."  To
be honest, I never thought of Spike as a *girl.*

She imitated me: "I'm fifteen, for Christ's sake," and she reached
up to whack my foot.

"I wish you were coming.  I'm not gonna know *anybody* there.  I
wish I knew why my parents are doing this."

She said, "It's obvious, Kip.  They think you're weird.  You spend
most of your time reading, and the rest of your time you spend with
a psychotic tomboy." She said it like she was proud of being one.
Spike was all limbs and joints, about as feminine as a plank.  She
kept her black hair short and she had an oval face with a long jaw.
She didn't look particularly like she was a guy or a girl.  "They
want to make you normal."

"Great," I moaned.

"Look, your folks aren't exactly thrilled about me."

"They don't mind you."

She snorted.  "They think I'm an unhealthy influence.  Your dad's
not a reading kind of guy, you know?  He's probably worried I'm a
dyke and I'll turn you into a fag." She plucked at her T-shirt.
Today's was Motorhead.

"What's a dyke?"

She dropped off the tree, agile as an ape.  "It's what a dutch boy
sticks his finger in." She picked a green apple off the ground and
shied it at me.  It stung me on the shoulder.  "A lesbian!  Don't
be a knob."

"I'm not a knob," I said.  "You're a knob." She hit me three more
times before I got down from the tree, but I managed to drag her
down to the ground and we wrestled a while before we both started
laughing.

Camp turned out to be okay; we spent a lot of time talking about
the girls' camp down the lake (you know, who was cutest, and did
she look at me when we had that intercamp competition, and which
ones kissed and which ones did more).  I figured out jerking off,
though there was almost never a chance to do it.

I sent Spike a couple of letters while I was at camp -- when I won
the across-the-lake race, for instance, and when I was coming home,
the week before school.  I told her I'd meet her at the tree the
day I got home.

The tree was gone and the field was torn up.  There was a sign
there that said a medical center was going to be built there.  I
waited on the bare dirt as night fell, getting that sick abandoned
feeling in my gut, but she didn't show.  Finally, after dark, I
rode my bike to her place.  Her folks' car was out and her bike
was still in her garage, so I locked mine to it and went around
back to her room.  Her curtains were drawn but there was a light
on.  I knocked at her window.  "Hey," I hissed.  "Spike!"

I saw the shadow of her head behind the drapes.  "Go away, Kip."

"Why?"

"I don't want you to see me."

"Why not?" I repeated, feeling foolish.

"'Cause I look stupid."

"Stupider than the time you tried to become a blonde?"

"Way."

I whistled.  "That's pretty stupid."

"Thanks heaps.  Go away.  My life is ruined."

"What is it?" She didn't say anything, but she hadn't moved away;
I still saw the shadow of her head.  "I promise not to laugh."

I heard her sigh.  "I guess you'll know sooner or later.  Come on
in." She reached around the drapes and unhooked the screen.  It
only took me a moment to shinny in and flop on the floor.  Funny
thing: the window seemed smaller than it used to.

Spike was wearing cutoff jeans, a T-shirt...and a bra.  And the
bra she was wearing was not a training bra, like my sister had worn
for almost a year, but some kind of sturdy engineering marvel.
It was obvious, even to me:

Spike had big tits.

There were other changes, too.  Her hips had flared out, her waist
pinched in, she had fleshed out and rounded and generally become
a woman.

I kept staring at her tits.

"Jesus," she said miserably, "not you too."  I looked at her face
and it was all scrunched up like she was trying not to cry.  She
sat on the edge of her bed and put her face in her hands.

"I'm sorry." I went to grab her and then I stopped, because, well,
Spike had turned into a girl, and my hesitation made her more
miserable and she actually started to cry.  I had never seen her
cry and that made *me* feel miserable.  So I grabbed her anyway
and it turned into a hug, her clutching me and me clutching her.
She even smelled different, more perfumey.

"Kip, it's awful.  Everybody stares at me and then the same guys
who used to be afraid I'd beat them up come up to me and they look
at my chest and they don't say anything except 'Duh...' and *I
can't even run* because they *hurt* when I run and they're still
growing so fast I can't even buy a sports bra."

I could feel her tits pressing against me under that canvas-like
material or whatever they make those industrial strength bras from.
Her tits felt hot and soft against my chest.  I already had a boner.
"They're still growing?" I asked.  My voice squeaked.  "I hope they
don't explode."

She leaned back and actually smiled a bit.  "Don't be a knob."

"I'm not a knob.  You're a knob."  I pushed her (carefully, at the
shoulder) and she pushed me back harder, so I pushed her again and
she fell over and she grabbed at me as if we were going to wrestle
but her hand closed on my boner.

We both froze.  My face got hot.

"Kip?" she said.

"Sorry," I said.  "I guess...I guess I better go."

"Yeah," she said.  And then:  "No.  Kip, what's happening to us?"

"I don't know.  I guess we're growing up."

"I don't want to grow up like this.  'Cause if you won't hang out
with me we'll never see each other and I'll end up becoming a
simpering giggling empty-headed *girl.*"

I didn't see the logic, but I didn't think this was the time to
argue about that.  "What can we do?"

"We gotta keep seeing each other," she said.  "We gotta learn to
deal with each other anyway.  You know, adapt."

I nodded.  My throat was dry.  "Adapt."  Her hand was still tight
on my cock.

She squeezed it slightly and sat up straighter.  "Can I see it?"

"Uh," I said.  I mean, Spike and I had been naked together a bunch
of times when we were eight and nine but this was different.  On
the other hand, it was Spike.  "I guess," I said.  I reached for
my fly and then stopped.  "Your folks?"

She shook her head.  "They've gone to visit my aunt in Preston.
They won't be back until tomorrow."

"Oh." I unzipped my fly but my cock was down my leg and I couldn't
get it out of my jeans without either taking my jeans off or hurting
myself.  Here was an excuse to stop, I told myself.

"Well?" she said.  Before I could say anything, she peeled up her
T-shirt and sat there in that heavy white bra.  "To be fair," she
explained.

I'd seen more skin at the lake and managed not to embarrass myself,
but this was a bra, it was lingerie: she was a stacked woman in
honest-to-god lingerie.  I could feel my heartbeat not only in my
chest but all along the length of my cock.

I tried to swallow but I couldn't because of the big lump in my
throat.

"I gotta take off my pants," I said.  Then I said, "So do you."

She thought about it for a moment, and then said, "Okay."  We both
stood up facing each other.  She undid the button on her cutoffs
and eased them over her ass, dropping them to the floor.  She
stepped out of them and kicked them under the bed.  Her underpants
were peach, with flowers on them.  They would have looked very out
of place on the old Spike; I had no idea if they suited the new
Spike.  We were making up new rules.

"Now you," she said.  I undid the button on my jeans and my jeans
didn't fall until I gave them a shove.  My wallet made a thump as
it landed on the floor.  I went to step out of them, like Spike
had, but my feet got tangled, and I had to grab her shoulder for
support.  She grabbed me back.  Her shoulder was smooth and hot,
and the strap of her bra felt a mile wide under my palm.  I pulled
up my foot and turned the leg of my jeans inside out.

"What a knob," she said, but there wasn't any annoyance in it.
She knelt down in front of me, her face only inches from where my
cock was making a circus tent of my white cotton jockey shorts,
and pulled my jeans from my feet.  I had gooseflesh all along my
legs.  She ran her hands up the outsides of my thighs and rested
them on my hips.

"Go ahead," I told her.  "Take off my..."  I couldn't quite say
"underpants" or "shorts."  I wished I was wearing something sexy.
I wished I were a hunk.

I thought maybe she'd hesitate, but not Spike.  "Okay." She grabbed
the waistband and pulled straight out and then delicately uncovered
my hard-on.  She'd caught her lower lip between her teeth and I
heard her suck in her breath.  Then I blushed because I'd thought
the word "suck."

Finally, she said, "Cool."  That was so old-Spike that I relaxed,
and my cock bounced a bit.  She grabbed it and I started like when
you're really into a book and someone interrupts you.  She looked
up at me, sort of bewildered.  "Sorry.  Did that hurt?"

"No, I was just..."  She rubbed her hand along the length, then
started to pull it in different directions, testing how stiff it
was.  Her hand slipped to the end of my cock, making the head hard
and purple and smooth, then slid back to the base, touching my
sparse blond pubic hair.  It felt great.

"It feels neat," she said.  "It feels hot."

"Your hand's cold."

"Oh," she said, and then, "I'll warm it up," and she breathed on
my cock, short hot breaths, like she was panting.  Like she'd run
a mile or...or something.  My balls tightened.  I could feel myself
getting ready to come.  I tried not to clench my butt.  "I like
how you smell," she told me.

"Uh, Spike?"  I really didn't want to come in front of her.

"Your balls are really neat.  Kinda--compact." She traced her
fingers along my balls.  "How do you sit down without hurting
yourself?" Her other hand slid over the head of my cock and she
stroked the underside with her thumb, smearing something wet.

"Spike, I'm gonna--"

She started moving her hand faster, and I groaned as I came.  A
shot of jism hit her hair beside her ear and she watched, fascinated,
as I shot a second and third which hit her shoulder and breast.
She kept pumping my cock and squeezed out a bit more, which ran
over her fingers.

"*Very* neat." She opened her hand, and looked at my come smeared
across her fingers.  "Well, messy." She chuckled and sucked one
knuckle clean.  "It tastes okay."

"Spike!"

"Well, it's not gross.  I read some women think it's gross."

My cock was softening.  She took it between her thumb and forefinger
and leaned forward with her mouth open; just as I could feel her
breath on it again, she looked up at me and said, "You don't mind,
do you, Kip?" She looked very serious and I suddenly wondered if
I did mind.

I know that sounds stupid.  I mean, I was looking forward to the
first time I ever really fucked a girl and all that, but I never
thought it would be *Spike.*  Spike was something permanent in my
life, and I thought our friendship would never change.  But it had.
Spike had just become something, someone, totally different and I
didn't know what and I didn't know what was allowed between us.

It had become different the moment she grew tits, though I hadn't
known about it.  I killed the chance for it to go back to what it
was when I came through the window.  All we could do was something
new, and hope we liked it as much.

I touched her mouth with my fingertip.  Her lips were soft and warm
and wet.  I wondered what it was going to be like kissing her.
"Don't be a knob," I told her, and I kissed her.

It wasn't gross.


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