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<head><title>Leslie in Petticoats</title></head>

<body>

<h2 ALIGN=CENTER>Leslie in Petticoats</h2> <center>

<center>For Nan Gilbert,

with heartfelt appreciation of

her pioneering effort.</CENTER>

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 1</H3>

MRS. CHARD AND MRS. ARGENTINA got along famously from the first time

they met.

Both ladies were divorced; both bitter about their former husbands;

both in their early thirties; both with thirteen-year-old sons. They had

each inherited more than enough riches to remain idle and indulge

themselves in their discontent.

They were tall, elegant women.

Mrs. Chard was blonde, so blonde her hair was almost white. Her

startling blue eyes were set in a fine-boned face that was only just

beginning to show the passing of thirty-two years. A slender and small-

bosomed figure gave her an appearance of fragility.

By contrast, Mrs. Argentina was dark. Her hair was black as a raven's

wing, usually piled on her head in an intricate hairdo, but when it was

unpinned it fell almost to her slim waist. Her body was lushly curved;

her bust, full. Generous lips suggested great sensuality. It couldn't be

said she was older or younger than Mrs. Chard, for her beauty had a

timeless quality.

When their neighbors in the condominium complex saw them together

they smiled and said, "As different as night and day," which was not at

all accurate, because the similarity of their personalities bridged

their physical differences completely.

Their children also got along well. The two boys were skinny and

smaller than average, which caused them to seek out each other's company

since they couldn't compete in the rough-and-tumble physical sports of

their bigger friends. Although they were at that age when girls become

of consuming interest to boys, and vice versa, in their cases the

interest was not reciprocated. The young ladies in their eighth-grade

class never gave them a romantic thought, preferring to make eyes at the

taller boys and athletes.

Johnny Argentina didn't resemble his mother much. He had inherited

her liquid dark eyes and his lashes were too long and pretty, but his

hair, which he wore long like most of the other boys in imitation of

rock stars, was an ordinary brown, unlike the luxurious ebony of his

mother's. Where she was dignified and poised, he was a scampy little

rascal.

Nor did Leslie Chard look much like his mother. Although he could

properly be called blond, his tangled curly hair, not quite as long as

Johnny's, was a dark honey color. His eyes were gray and his features

lacked the aristocratic fineness of his mother's. His nose, for example.

Instead of being thin, almost aquiline, was a cute turned-up button

hardly worthy of being called a nose; and he had an overbite which gave

him a friendly look that drew people to him.

In the open, innocent way kids have, Leslie and Johnny comforted each

other about their mothers's unfairness to them. It seemed they were

always in trouble. For being late, for making too much noise, for

getting too dirty, for being clumsy--for any and everything their

mothers could think of. In short, for being boys.

Not long after they met, Johnny revealed his darkest secret to

Leslie. Mrs. Argentina had devised an uncommonly cruel punishment.

She made him wear a dress.

"A dress? A girl's dress?"

"Yeah. If I do anything wrong, she has this dress she makes me put

on. And then I have to do housework like a girl. Even if I don't do

anything bad she just makes up something so she can punish me. It's not

fair. I have to wear the dress almost every day. She calls it petticoat

discipline."

Leslie didn't know what to say. He knew how mortified he would be if

he were in Johnny's shoes. Finally he said, "That's really pretty

creepy."

On the way home, he cut across the lawns that terraced the

condominium complex where he lived, just as the sprinklers came on. A

shocked moment later he laughed and raced for the safety of a walkway,

but by the time he got there he was drenched. He shrugged and ran back

on the lawn, charting a zig-zag course for home, pretending the

sprinklers were land mines.

He crashed open the front door in exhilaration, dropped his sodden

books on the hall table, and went to the kitchen, shoes squishing, to

gorge on the milk and cookies the maid always left for him.

As he sat happily dunking cookies in milk and slathering them down,

he became aware of a presence behind him.

Mrs. Chard stood in the doorway. Her eyes were blue chips of ice.

He ventured, "H-hi, Mom."

Silence.

He swallowed. "What's wrong?"

"What is wrong? Just look at yourself!"

"Oh. Well, it wasn't my fault, the sprinklers came on."

"So you decided to track water through the house and sit in a puddle

in the middle of the kitchen."

"I'm sorry."

"Not as sorry as you're going to be, young man. I'm sick and tired of

this kind of behavior. Go upstairs this instant and dry yourself off.

Take your schoolbooks with you. They're in the hall. Ruined. Put them

away in your room. And wash your hands and face, you're filthy. You must

be deliberately trying to annoy me. When you're finished come back down.

You're to be punished."

Leslie opened his mouth to protest but closed it again. When she was

in this mood there was no reasoning with her. He made a face behind her

back but did as his mother told him. When he came down, Mrs. Chard was

in the living room. One of Angie's maid's uniforms was laid out on the

couch.

"Leslie, you have become far far too careless and impudent lately.

You need to be taken down a peg. Remove your clothes and put on this

dress."

"What!"

"Do as I say, young man."

"No! What a dumb idea," he retorted, shocked into rudeness. "Where'd

you get it from, Johnny's mother? That's what she makes him do."

"Never mind. I think Mrs. Argentina and I know more about raising

children than you. Now do as I say."

"I don't want to."

"Leslie, you know the court gave me sole custody. You must obey me in

every particular. If you don't, I'll see to it that you are put in a

juvenile detention home. That's what they do with incorrigibly

disobedient children."

However unrealistic a threat, to a thirteen-year-old it was

effective. He shrank a little.

"Aw, Mom, please."

"Do as I say this instant."

Sullenly, the boy stripped to his jockey shorts.

The maid's uniform, black satin with white cuffs on the sleeves and a

Spanish lace collar, was almost a fit.

It was large around the waist, but when he tied the little white

apron around him it took up the slack. Since he and Angie were the same

height, the hem fell to mid-thigh as it was supposed to.

It felt strange. Air circulated freely around his bare legs. Somehow

wearing the dress made him feel more naked than if he had no clothes on

at all.

He was uncomfortable.

He was also confused, for his penis hardened in his underwear. True,

almost anything made him excited these days. Ever since he had

discovered masturbation a few weeks before, he got erect at the very

slightest provocation--but this was different. There was a special kind

of "no-no" about wearing a dress.

"Can I go up to my room now?"

"Let me look at you. Why, it's rather becoming." Mrs. Chard's eyes

softened. "You would have been quite an attractive girl . . ."

Her voice trailed off and she appeared to be lost in reverie.

The boy said again, "Can I?"

Mrs. Chard gave a start. "Can you what? Oh. No. I want you to vacuum

the living room. Angie didn't get around to it today. You'll do the

dishes after dinner too. That will give Angie time to run errands for me

in the morning."

Leslie hated housework.

"I don't have to keep wearing this dress while I vacuum, do I?" he

whined. "What if somebody comes?"

"Nobody's coming. You're being punished, and you will remain clothed

like that until I tell you different."

By the time his mother allowed him to go to bed, Leslie was in tears.

He had never been so humiliated.

Nevertheless, he noticed that he had to masturbate before he could

get to sleep, and what he fantasized about while doing it was wearing

the maid's uniform. If his mother hadn't put it in the laundry he would

have donned it, now that he was alone and safe in bed.

The next afternoon after school he and Johnny went to their hideaway

in an empty lot and Leslie told his friend all about it. The other boy

was sympathetic; he tried to take Leslie's mind off his troubles by

suggesting a hike over to Hilbert Park.

Somehow the time slipped away. They were late getting home. It was

Friday--being late shouldn't make any difference since they had the

whole weekend to do their homework, but both boys wended their way home

with foreboding.

Mrs. Chard was in the living room. "Where have you been? It's after

five o'clock."

"I'm sorry, Mom. Johnny and me, well, we just--" He broke off. He had

a feeling it wouldn't do any good to explain. He hoped she wasn't going

to make him wear the maid's uniform again, but a sinking feeling told

him that was what she had in mind.

"Leslie, dear."

He looked up in surprise. Her gentle tone put him off balance.

"Come sit here beside me." She patted the couch. "You remember I made

you put on Angie's dress yesterday?"

"Aw, Mom, you're not going to make me wear it again, are you?"

"Poor dear, you didn't like it much, did you?"

"No."

"Leslie, it couldn't be all that terrible. Girls wear dresses all the

time, after all."

"But they're girls."

"Yes, of course. Do you know," she said brightly, "I've always

thought it would be nice to have a daughter that I could dress up in all

kinds of frou-frou and teach to make up and, oh, all the things that

mothers do with their little girls. I don't suppose you can understand

that."

"Sure I can," Leslie lied.

"When I saw you in Angie's dress yesterday I thought you'd make a

perfectly lovely young lady. You're still so slender and delicate-

looking." She gazed at him earnestly. "I wonder if you would do

something for me," she continued. "Would you?"

Leslie was suspicious, but said, "Sure, Mom."

"Good. Come with me."

Mrs. Chard led Leslie upstairs to her bedroom.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 2</H3>

Leslie looked around his mother�s spacious sanctum of elegance and

femininity, hitherto all but off-limits to small boys. The carpet was a

figured old-rose color, complementing the pale pink of the walls. A

canopied bed jutted out from one wall; opposite were mirrors; a dressing

table covered with perfumes and cosmetics, scenting the very air with

mysterious sultry aromas, stood in front of the mirrored wall. The

setting sun shone gently through voile curtains on the windows.

On Mrs. Chard's bed was an assortment of lingerie and a sleeveless

blue dress.

Holding up the dress she said, "I bought some things for you today.

I'd like you to wear them."

Leslie's cheeks flamed. "But Mom--"

"Now, dear, I just want to see what it would be like if you were my

daughter, to get a chance to have a sweet girl around the house for a

little while. We're all alone and nobody can see. You will do

your mother this small favor, won't you?"

"It's embarrassing."

"You're a dear child. You won't regret it, I'll make it up to you.

Come into my bathroom, I'll run a bath for you. You can't put on nice

clothes if you're all grimy. Oh, dear, wait. You have to shampoo first.

How long has it been since you washed your hair? Never mind, here's some

lovely shampoo with a conditioner. Wash your hair in the shower while

the tub fills."

He undressed, keeping his back to her with the painful modesty that

afflicts children whose pubic hair is coming in. Through the wavy glass

of the shower door he saw her put bubble bath and a scented oil in the

water. She picked up his clothes and held them out at arm's length.

"Phew!" he heard, "These coarse old things can go directly in the

hamper."

He lathered his hair.

A dress. His mother wanted him to put on a dress and pretend he was

her daughter. Leslie wondered if she had gone nuts. Well, it wouldn't do

any harm to be nice, he guessed.

He was glad she wasn't mad about him being late.

Wait a minute. If she punished him for being late he'd have to put on

a dress. But he was going to have to wear one anyway!

At least she wasn't angry.

He held a towel in front of him while he stepped from the shower to

the tub, hair hanging wet and bedraggled over his ears. The foamy

bubbles in the tub concealed his body. He found himself relaxing in the

warm water.

"Lift your leg up." Mrs. Chard held a can of shaving cream and a

lady's razor.

What was she going to do now?

She knelt by the tub. Holding his ankle, she covered the leg with

lather and skillfully shaved the fine golden hairs. He squirmed, wanting

to protest. After repeating the process with the other leg, she made

Leslie put his arms behind his head while she shaved the light hair in

his armpits.

"But, Mom, what if the guys at school see?"

"Why? You don't take off your shirt in school, do you?"

"In gym!"

"Never mind, nobody will ever notice. It will grow back before you

know it."

Mrs. Chard looked at his face intently. "You have no fuzz at all yet.

I'm glad." She put the shaving equipment away. "Now finish your bath.

When you're all dry, dust yourself with this body powder and put on this

robe." She hung a negligée on the door.

Leslie used his mother's soft natural sponge. It slopped smoothly

over his shaven legs and hairless underarms. The fragrance of her

imported soap rose to his nostrils. When he had washed every inch of his

skin he lay back in the soothing water, not quite conscious of

deliberately avoiding getting up and facing her again.

Finally he forced himself out of the bath and toweled himself dry. At

the last minute he remembered to pat himself with the scented powder

puff.

The robe was pink satin with lace all down the front. Putting it on

made him bashful. The material slid silkily over his naked skin. It came

down to his ankles. He fastened the little snaps and made himself open

the bathroom door.

"Oh, there you are, dear. Sit down here. We've got such a lot of work

to do."

During the next hour and a half, Mrs. Chard fussed over him like a

little girl playing with her dolls. It really was like that. Surprised,

Leslie thought it was as if she had become a child again and he was a

Barbie doll or something.

She busied herself with his hair, trimming it evenly with scissors,

putting it in curlers, and blow-drying it.

While he winced and wriggled, she plucked his eyebrows judiciously

and darkened the blond hairs with an eyebrow pencil. False eyelashes and

mascara followed. When Leslie blinked, the eyelashes touched his cheek

and eyebrows.

She regarded him speculatively. "Oh, well, it's evening. A little eye

shadow won't hurt, just for fun. Even if you're so young." She suited

action to words and brushed a blue tint above his lids.

The mirror showed Leslie eyes that were embarrassingly wide and

innocent. Their gray was altered in hue by the eyeshadow. He didn't need

the touch of rouge on his cheekbones to give him color--his face was

blushing. A pink lipstick completed the makeup. It tasted perfume-y.

Pink plastic curlers stuck to his head made him look like some kind

of space alien. With an attack of shyness he recognized the same thought

he had when he saw Patty Perkins in the supermarket, rollers imperfectly

covered by a thin scarf, and was embarrassed to identify with her that

way.

He was thankful when Mrs. Chard finished drying his hair and removed

the curlers. She brushed it out so that it fell softly across his

forehead and curled around his ears. It made a big difference, Leslie

thought uncomfortably. Although the hair was no longer than it had been

before, it was unmistakably feminine in appearance. He'd have to wash it

again before going to bed so he wouldn't look like a sissy the next day.

"You're just darling. Oh, Leslie, I'm glad you're being a good child.

Come over here and we'll get you dressed."

She made Leslie slip off the robe. He covered his genitals with his

hands.

She pushed them away and smiled.

"Don't be so silly, Leslie. I'm your mother. You have no secrets from

me. Now put on this garter belt. Yes. Clasp it in front, then move the

clasp around to the back."

The lacy elastic exerted an unfamiliar light pressure on his waist,

and the garters dangled against his thighs and bottom.

She handed him a sheer brassiere and showed him how to fasten it in

front like the garter belt and turn it around before slipping his arms

through the shoulder straps.

"Put these in the cups," she said, holding out a pair of breast

forms. They were some kind of flesh-colored rubber, liquid-filled,

complete with rosy nipples. "At your age you would already have

developed this much."

It was too embarrassing. His eyes filled.

"Stop that, Leslie. If you cry, your mascara will run. Whatever is

the matter?" She dabbed at his eyes with a tissue.

"I don't know. It makes me feel all funny inside. Do I have to do

this? What if somebody sees me?"

"Nobody's going to come. Now pay attention. This is the way you put

on your stockings."

She knelt in front of him and helped him on with a pair of nylons.

The warm tan color made his legs look rounder and sleeker.

As she fastened the garters to the stockings, her arm kept brushing

the boy's genitals. Despite all he could do to prevent it, Leslie's

prick lifted. The tip peeked out from the foreskin.

"What's this?" Mrs. Chard stared. "I didn't know you were old enough

to-- Oh, dear."

"I'm sorry, Mom, I can't help it."

"See, you do like dressing this way. Never mind, here, put on this

pair of panties and tuck it down between your legs. Think of something

else. It will go away." She sounded flustered.

The panties were hardly more than a scrap of nylon, but Leslie was

relieved to have his private parts covered. He did his best to make his

penis bend down along the crotch, but it was too stiff. He made do by

pinning it up against his belly with the elastic of the panties. The

head still showed.

The blue dress came next. It was short. So short, Leslie saw, that if

he bent over carelessly, the tops of his stockings might show. He

enjoyed seeing girls in mini-skirts, but it was different wearing one.

A pair of dark blue pumps with two-inch heels finished Leslie's

ensemble. His mother had to force the shoes on. He complained they were

too tight. She assured him he would get used to them.

"There," she said. "Isn't that better? You're taller. Why, the top of

your head is on a level with my eyes."

She stood back, arms akimbo, studying Leslie attentively. Her

expression softened as it had the previous day.

"It's quite surprising, Leslie dear. You really should have been a

girl. You're far more attractive like this than in those awful old boy's

clothes. I'm pleased. I think I shall always want you to be dressed this

way when you're not in school."

She looked at the clock. "My goodness, it's past seven. Come, let us

get dinner together."

Leslie teetered after her on his heels. The garters tugged at the

stockings, making them move sensuously on his legs with each step. Air

circulated around them and up along his crotch. The falsies, alive

against his chest, bobbed gently.

At the table, Mrs. Chard kept reminding him to sit up straight and

eat daintily. She seemed to have got carried away with the game, out of

touch with reality. She kept referring to him as a girl or young lady.

She appeared secretly elated.

It troubled him--putting on a dress and makeup was crazy--but his mom

was being nicer to him than in a long time, so he didn't say anything.

For once he had her approval. He loved her. If it made her happy to

dress him up like a girl, he could put up with it.

It wasn't too bad if he didn't let himself think about somebody

seeing him. He was cleaner than he could remember, and he hadn't known

his hair could be so soft and light. The bar soap he usually used just

didn't do the job.

On the other hand, everything about him smelled like perfume. It

spoiled his dinner. The taste of his food mixed with the taste of his

lipstick.

The worst thing was being afflicted with an erection that wouldn't go

away. He still couldn't understand why these clothes made him excited,

but they did. When he moved, the imitation breasts bounced naughtily;

and each time he shifted his legs he could feel a sly tug on his

garters, and his prick would throb. He wondered if wearing a dress

affected Johnny that way too. Leslie wished he could go to the bathroom

to jerk off.

After dinner they had coffee in the drawing room. Leslie's was

"cambric coffee," mostly warm milk with only a little coffee. His mother

didn't believe in stimulants for young ladies. She instructed him in

sitting properly, knees and ankles together, skirt pulled down as

modestly as possible considering its shortness; and to lift the cup to

his lips instead of bending his head to the cup. She urged him to sit

straight, saying he had such a lovely young bosom he should be proud of

it and not hunch his shoulders.

At bedtime she insisted he wear a nightie and sleep in her bed.

"It's marvelous to have a girl in the house again. When I was your

age we used to visit and all sleep together."

Mrs. Chard got undressed in front of him, something she had never

done before. It was as if she really thought he was a girl. Leslie tried

to look away, but his eyes kept coming back to her body, and when she

stood naked a moment before putting on her nightgown he stared openly.

It was the first time he had ever seen a naked woman, and he couldn't

help looking. His eyes marked the sway of her breasts as she moved, the

soft curve of her belly and the gentle swell of her mound of Venus.

Her breasts were larger than they appeared when she was in her

clothes. The nipples, a rose brown in color, protruded stiffly. There

was a sparse triangular patch of silver-blond hair at the junction of

her legs. Through the hair he could see the beginning of her cleft, and

he had to sit down.

When she lifted her arms to slip the nightgown over her head, her

breasts rose enticingly. In the instant the falling gown covered her

eyes, Leslie leaned forward to try to see what was between her legs, and

caught a glimpse of pinkness between the white lips.

He was glad the panties were holding his prick. He was so hard he

feared they would tear.

From seeing his own mom! Heat rushed into his cheeks. He must be a

really bad guy.

She directed him to get undressed and come into bed.

How could he with his prick this way?

He sat on the edge of the bed, back turned, to remove his shoes and

stockings. Sliding the nylons down his shaved legs did nothing to lessen

the rigidity of his penis.

Not looking at her, he took the nightie she had laid out for him into

the bathroom and closed the door. After stripping off the dress he

removed the bra and falsies and garter belt, and stood quietly,

concentrating on reciting the times-table to himself in an effort to

make his cock go down. Six times one is six. Six times two is eighteen.

Six times three . . . After a while his prick softened; he was

able to crush it down into the crotch of the panties.

He put on the nightgown. Its nylon folds slithered down his body,

threatening to arouse him again. Still concentrating on not being hard,

he returned to the bedroom.

"Leslie."

Mrs. Chard's voice completed the job of rendering him flaccid.

"What?"

"Young ladies don't wear their panties to bed."

"Oh." He pulled them off under the gown and climbed into bed next to

her.

Mrs. Chard leaned over him to turn out the bedside light. For a

moment he was smothered by her breasts. Moonlight shone in the window,

illuminating the large room with a silvery radiance.

She spoke. "Isn't this nice? We can cuddle together."

She shifted against his back, spoon fashion. Her body was soft and

warm. The affection rather frightened him. He wondered all over again if

his mother was going nuts.

As if in response to his thoughts, Mrs. Chard said softly, "You don't

mind dressing like this, do you, Leslie dear? It's good for you, you

know. You've been getting too rough and coarse, and it will remind you

to be more gentle. Besides, it gives me great pleasure to look at you

and think of you as a daughter."

Leslie rolled over on his back and turned his face to his mother. Her

breath brushed his cheek.

"It's okay, Mom. I understand. I love you."

"Oh, Leslie, you're so sweet when you're like this." She hugged him.

"You deserve a reward."

She reached down and fondled his limp organ through the silky nylon

of his nightie.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 3</H3>

It was inconceivable that Leslie's mother could be touching her son

in a sexual way.

He was terrified that his penis might betray him and come erect.

That was the only thing that kept the organ from responding to the

manipulation of Mrs. Chard's hand. Leslie gritted his teeth, trying, as

his mother had suggested earlier, to think of something else. The times-

table again.

After a while her hand left his penis to slide caressingly down his

leg. He exhaled a shaky sigh of relief.

The relief was short-lived. When her hand reached the hem of his

nightie, it moved back up, this time under the garment, on his shaven

skin. Mrs. Chard took his weenie between her thumb and two fingers and

tugged it gently, making the foreskin slide.

She spoke quietly in his ear. "What's the matter? It was certainly

very big before. Don't you want your reward?"

"I--I didn't know you were d-doing it on purpose." His throat seized.

"Of course I am. Girls sometimes touch each other like this." There

was a nervous note in her voice. "It's like a big clitty."

"Wh-what?"

"A clitoris." Her breath fluttered.

Leslie's penis grew stiff.

"What's that?"

"Like this." She squeezed his organ gently. "It's just like this,

only smaller. It's what women have."

Mrs. Chard was silent a long moment while her hand caressed his

aroused penis. He held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut,

concentrating hard on maintaining his equanimity, but afraid he would

ejaculate anyway. After being hard all evening, he was ready to come at

the drop of a hat. Squirt in his mother's bed! He couldn't let that

happen.

A vagrant night breeze came through the open window, lifting the

voile curtains, and sighed across his forehead, chilling the sweat that

had sprung out in tiny droplets.

Mrs. Chard said unevenly, "As long as you're being a girl for your

mother, I suppose it would be all right for you to touch me too."

His scalp prickled; his heart began to thud so hard his chest

vibrated. Was she really going to let him touch her down there?

She let go of his prick; her body nudged against him intermittently

and he became aware that she was pulling up her nightgown. Her legs, and

then her belly, were suddenly soft against his back.

"Turn over," she whispered.

He squirmed around to face her, his own gown riding up to his waist.

He heard her catch her breath as his bare cock came in contact with her

skin. She held him close. His penis was compressed throbbing between

them. It felt a tremor in her stomach.

"This is your clitoris." She clasped his prick. "And this is where

mine is." She took his resistless hand and placed it on her triangle.

The fine hair under his palm was damp.

Leslie began to shake. His heart was racing so fast he thought he was

going to faint. He remembered the pink thing he had seen between her

legs. Was that what she meant? He let his fingers roam tentatively

through her fur until they pinched a tender moist finger protruding from

her crack.

"Not so hard!" She winced away. "Girls are gentler with each other."

A second later she said, "--I forgot. You don't know, do you? Would you

like me to show you?"

She released his penis and leaned over him to turn on the lamp. The

warm aroma of her body filled his nostrils.

He blinked when the light went on.

There was surprise and pleasure in her pastel blue eyes. They had a

humid look as she gazed at him raptly. "Leslie, you look just

darling. I had forgotten. --Take off your nightie."

"Huh?"

"I'll take mine off too. Go ahead, it's all right for girls to see

each other, especially when they're sharing a bedroom."

She crossed her arms, ducked her head, and pulled the nightgown off;

then helped him remove his own.

Mrs. Chard sat back against the headboard. "Kneel in front of me so

you can see." She raised her knees and opened her legs. "It's all

right," she repeated when he hesitated, "Go ahead, I want you to.

Come closer. Closer. That's right, look at it. That's what you wanted to

do before, isn't it?"

Leslie's face flamed, but he couldn't turn away.

He was having a lot of trouble just breathing. On his knees in front

of his mother's vulva, he saw that thing sticking out deep pink from

between the lips at the front. It reminded him of what he had seen when

he watched a toy poodle belonging to one of his mother's friends lick

itself.

"You can touch me. See this? It's my clitoris. It's just like yours,

only smaller. It has its own foreskin and everything. Push away the

tissue around it, you'll see. It's very sensitive, so you shouldn't

touch it as hard as you did before, but it feels good when you touch it

lightly. Down here is my vagina, see the opening? Spread the lips apart.

Right at the opening is where I tinkle--the little orifice there? You

can be closer." She pulled Leslie's head down to within an inch of her

vulva.

In an uncertain voice she said, "Girls sometimes kiss down there.

Would you like to do it to me?"

Leslie hesitated only a fraction of a second before dipping his head

and planting a kiss on the hairy lips.

"No, I meant--I meant really kiss it."

"I did."

"You're supposed to open your mouth. You're supposed to--touch it

with your tongue. My sex," she explained.

Leslie's face heated again. He was paralyzed.

"Don't you want to?"

"Y-yes. Oh, yes!"

His prick was leaking. A drip of viscous moisture hung from the head,

stretched slowly downward, and fell on the bed sheet.

He knelt between his mother's legs and bent over, honey locks falling

softly on her thighs. She moved her pussy to meet his mouth. It smelled

musky, an exciting odor overlaid with a faint hint of urine. He let the

tip of his tongue contact her lips, unbelieving, afraid every second she

would stop him, heart jammed in his throat, delirious with the warmth

glowing from her and the intimate aroma of her crotch, and licked slowly

from back to front.

Mrs. Chard's body shook. "Deeper," she gasped. "In the crack between

the lips."

Leslie forced the outer labia open with his tongue, dug inside the

inner, and licked up and down her cleft. Her juices were almost sweet;

the taste was redolent of her exciting musk. He began kissing and

lapping her secret parts in a frenzy.

His tongue discovered her vagina and stiffened and stabbed up her.

The hole was very wet. Her secretions flowed copiously. Her body

quivered.

She groaned, "Yes. That's right, that's wonderful. A little farther

forward. My clitty. Not too hard, just barely touch it. Oh-h."

On an inspiration, Leslie engulfed the little penis and the flesh

surrounding it with his lips, then sucked the whole area in.

Mrs. Chard gave a shriek. She convulsed. She held Leslie against her

as her lips flared open and closed repeatedly. Her slender thighs

clamped his head.

It went on a long time. He was suffocating. He tried to wriggle free

of her convulsive grip. At last her body relaxed, all at once, as if a

string had snapped.

Leslie breathed deeply and returned to his licking, but now she

flinched each time his tongue touched her clitoris.

"Wait," she panted. "Wait a minute." She tugged at his ears. "Come up

here, darling, and lie beside me."

She kissed his wet face and held him in her arms while she lay

recovering. Leslie controlled his high excitement, conscious of his

prick throbbing, knowing that after this, when he could decently get up,

he would have to go to the bathroom to jerk off. He made himself calm

down.

In a few minutes Mrs. Chard whispered, "Now for your reward."

She climbed over him.

Straddling him, she took his steaming cock in her hands and held it

pointing at her crotch as she slowly lowered her hips. An inward look

appeared on her thin face as she sat on his pole. She wriggled. Her cunt

made liquid noises.

Leslie was stunned. He saw his cock slowly vanishing into the hole

between her legs, felt the warm, wet sheathing tissue surround his

organ, palpitating around it, swallowing him deeper until the weight of

her body rested on his midsection. He couldn't take in what was

happening. Only when she lifted herself and dropped unhurriedly once

more did he get it.

His mom was letting him fuck her!

Her breasts bobbled in front of his face. He reached up and held

them. She bent toward him and said, "Yes, kiss my titties, darling."

He obeyed with alacrity. The nipples were stiff and wrinkled in his

mouth as she moved her hips steadily up and down. Her cunt was squeezing

his prick gently, rhythmically, wetly.

She leaned farther forward, straightened her legs so they were

between his, still keeping him in her, still moving her hips in that

sensuous rhythm. It made sucking noises in the silence of the lamp-lit

room.

It was too much for a poor overloaded child. Without warning Leslie's

cock jumped and he gasped, frantic, holding his mother to him, arms

around her waist as the liquid contents of his balls spewed into her

womb, pumping rapidly spurting through his prick into her intimacy his

mother's cunt massaging him milking in wet squeezes and sucks the room

dimming in front of his eyes as he CAME in her and kept coming,

semen flowing out around the organ adding to her wetness so their united

genitals slipped and slid and their entangled pubic hair was soaked.

It excited her. She spasmed. Her vagina gripped his surging cock

fiercely.

She gasped, "I can't tell if I'm doing it to you or if you're doing

it to me!"

Leslie was drained but so excited his penis remained rigid for

minutes while his mother continued her sensuous back-and-forth movement,

now moaning repeatedly, erotically. At last she slumped on him panting,

pelvis still making exquisite little rotating motions. He let his

shaking knees collapse to the mattress.

His penis finally got limp and slid out of her on a wash of semen.

Mistily he thought, My mom let me fuck her! but he was too overcome

to think about it. It was too much for him right now.

Mrs. Chard rolled off him. She fingered the flaccid wet dick and said

dreamily, "It's all small again, almost like a real clitoris."

She turned out the light. Holding him in her arms she said, "So nice

to have a girl around the house."

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 4</H3>

The next morning Leslie woke up slowly, swimming dreamily out of the

tides of sleep. A stripe of sunlight emerged from between the closed

drapes and lay lazily on the floor. The pink canopy overhead confused

him until he remembered where he was. He turned his head and saw that

his mother was gone from his side.

A fragrance of perfume filled his nostrils. His eyelashes touched his

cheeks when he blinked. He tasted the remnants of lipstick on his mouth.

His body was covered with a silken material.

Leslie's heart started to pound. His mom had dressed him in girl's

clothes, and as a reward for his cooperation had let him have

intercourse with her. She let him fuck her!

His prick, already half-hard as it frequently was in the mornings,

sprang erect. Fucking had been wonderful, more wonderful than he had

ever imagined it would be while jerking off. Would she let him do it

again? He would dress up for her any time.

But--his own mother!

He got nervously out from under the bedclothes and went to the

bathroom, nightgown swirling about his legs. Hiking the gown up, he

concentrated on making his cock soft enough to be able to relieve

himself in the toilet.

The pounding stream of urine faltered when he heard dishes clattering

in the kitchen downstairs.

Angie was here, making breakfast. His heart jumped and his stomach

got scared. He had to get out of his mother's room and wash off the

remnants of the makeup and put on his own clothes before the maid could

see him.

The door opened. Mrs. Chard, her nightgown covered with a

negligée, said cheerfully, "So you're awake at last, sleepyhead.

How pretty you look this morning. But you don't have to be up. Angie

will bring us our breakfast in bed."

"Mom--"

"Don't worry about Angie, dear. I explained everything to her."

"But she'll see me wearing a nightgown! And with my hair this way and

lipstick still on. I can't. Aw, Mom, I don't have to wear girl's clothes

again today, do I?"

Mrs. Chard looked surprised. "Of course you do, Leslie. It's

Saturday. You don't have school."

"But Johnny and his mother are coming over later, remember?"

Her laugh tinkled.

"Don't worry about that either. Mrs. Argentina was with me when I

shopped for your clothes yesterday. She thought it was a delightful idea

and bought just as many as I did. I have no doubt Joan will be dressed

as nicely as you."

"Joan?"

"That's what Mrs. Argentina will call your little friend when he's

dressed properly--perhaps I should say when she is dressed

properly. Come, let's get back into bed."

"Aw, Mom," Leslie said, clambering onto the soft mattress.

"Now, don't make a fuss, Leslie." Mrs. Chard got under the covers

next to him. "Be a good child and do as I say. If you're specially

obedient, you may get another reward. --No, not now!"

She pushed playfully at Leslie's rigid prick under the sheets.

"Gracious, will you get like that every time I'm near you? Behave

yourself. Act like a lady."

There was a rap at the door.

Leslie's heart jumped. He wanted to hide under the covers.

Angie came in bearing silver breakfast trays. She was a plump dark-

haired girl in her twenties with a cheery expression. She wore the same

kind of black satin dress Leslie had been made to wear, and had a

French-lace cap on her head.

Her eyes widened when she saw the boy sitting up in bed next to his

mother.

"Oh, Les! I mean," she corrected herself archly, "Miss Leslie.

How pretty you look this morning."

Leslie felt his cheeks redden and looked down.

Angie put the trays on the table and bustled around the room picking

up discarded lingerie. She opened the drapes, letting in a flood of

morning sunlight, before arranging lap tables over Leslie's and Mrs.

Chard's legs.

Leslie saw her trying to appear nonchalant, but she kept peeking

curiously at him out of the corner of her eye. Her hand shook as she

poured the chocolate.

"Have a nice breakfast, Ma'am--and Miss." Angie grinned suddenly.

"Ooh. Our Miss Leslie is just too cute for words, isn't she, Ma'am?"

"Now, Angie, don't make her blush. That will be all for now. I'll

ring when we finish our breakfast."

Angie said, "Yes, Ma'am," and contrived to tip Leslie a wink before

she left the room.

"She called me 'Miss.' "

"Why, what else should she call you when you're in a nightie?"

"It's too embarrassing, Mom. Please don't make me."

"Nonsense, Leslie. You look very attractive. I'm sure Angie

understands. It looked to me as though she, too, preferred you this

way."

After breakfast Mrs. Chard opened the door of her walk-in closet,

revealing packages stacked on the floor. She piled them on the bed.

"Look at the lovely clothes I bought for you. See, here's a pretty

spring frock, you can wear that today. And shoes to match.

"This one," she held up a black taffeta dress with a low-cut neckline

and looked at it critically, "may be too old for you still. Perhaps it's

too daring, with that décolleté. Still," she speculated,

"you could wear a black bra, and pin the neckline together a little."

She opened another box and unwrapped the tissue paper inside. "Oh,

and this! I couldn't resist it." It was a brilliant yellow play dress

made of nylon, backless, with only thin silken strings for the shoulder

straps. It was slashed at either side of the waist; on the left the

skirt was open nearly to the hip. A matching pair of bikini panties of

the same material were evidently meant to be seen.

"Here are a couple that are more modest, a jumper--see what a darling

blouse to go with it!--and a shirtwaist. And look at all the beautiful

lingerie!"

She showed him lacy wasp-waisted garments with dangling garters.

"They're called merry widows. They'll give you an extra-special figure.

They're boned."

Mrs. Chard's face was alight with pleasure. "I just loved

buying all these things for you. See, four more pairs of shoes, and two

pairs of sandals. You'll be the best-dressed young lady on the block!

Now, get up, lazybones. It's time for you to bathe. I'll help you."

It was another scented bubble bath. When he was scrubbed pink she

dried him thoroughly. As the effect of her rubbing made itself shown,

she smiled and mischievously stripped back his foreskin to dab gently at

the swollen head with a corner of the towel, observing him twitch, but

said nothing.

She made him raise his arms and examined his armpits critically.

"You're still perfectly smooth, but let's shave you again anyway. I

want you to be perfect for Mrs. Argentina."

After his legs were done, she made him stand while she trimmed his

pubic hair and shaved the margins to shape it into a narrow triangle

with cleanly-defined edges, "so it won't show when you wear brief

panties," she explained.

She turned him to the floor-length mirror.

"Except for one thing," she said. "It's very naughty of you to be

this way. It will spoil the appearance of your dress."

Leslie felt his face redden. "I'm sorry, Mom. I can't help it."

She put her arms around him from behind, soft against his back.

"If you get dressed will it go away?"

"I don't think so."

"Why not? Are your new clothes so exciting for you?"

Leslie ducked his head shyly and whispered, "Yes."

"I'm glad. I knew you'd like them. But it leaves us with quite a

problem. What shall we do?"

Leslie shrugged hopefully.

She said, "We don't have time to-- Mrs. Argentina and Joan will be

here soon." There was a tremor in Mrs. Chard's voice. "Perhaps if you--

relieved yourself. Would that help?"

She took his hand and put it around his stiff penis and made it work

back and forth. It shocked Leslie. She said, "I'll close the door behind

me and you do whatever it is you do. Just be sure you won't disgrace me

after you're dressed."

He turned red all over as he watched the door close. Even if she

couldn't see it, she would know what he was doing. His penis softened

slightly. He had to do it, though. If he didn't, he would never get rid

of the hard-on.

He sat on the toilet and held his erect prick, fingers underneath and

thumb on top, pulling rhythmically, remembering the cool touch of his

mother's fingers the night before. He pictured himself wearing a

nightgown and making love to her in it, and felt once more the tight

warmth of her vagina engulfing his cock. In a short time semen splashed

on the floor in front of him. His knees were weak; he leaned against the

sink shaking while his organ softened.

Cheeks hot, prick now dangling, he went into the bedroom to face his

mother.

All she said was, "Good. Now you can get dressed without spoiling the

effect of your clothes. Come, Leslie, there's no time for lollygagging

around. It's almost noon. Mrs. Argentina and Joan will be here any

minute."

She made him stand still while she fastened one of the merry widows

around his waist. Despite its delicate appearance it was stiff on his

skin.

Mrs. Chard put her knee in his back and yanked on the laces.

"Ow! You're making it too tight," Leslie complained.

"Not tight enough, you mean."

She continued to pull until Leslie got dizzy from lack of air. When

she finally tied the laces, his waist had been forced into so small a

circumference that his hands could almost encircle it.

Leslie was gasping.

"I can't breathe. It's too tight."

Mrs. Chard said cheerfully, "You'll get used to it. We girls

sometimes have to suffer to be beautiful."

She kneeled in front of him and rolled a pair of nylons up his legs

and buttoned the garters to them. She planted a soft wet kiss on his

flaccid penis and hanging testicles before standing up.

"There!" She smiled at his expression.

Handing him a pair of white lace panties, she said, "Put these on and

tuck yourself in so nothing shows." As Leslie donned the flimsy garment

she picked up the false breasts.

"How real they seem. They have glycerin in them. The salesgirl said

foam rubber would be just as good but less expensive. I'm glad I didn't

let her talk me into it. These are much better." She pried the cups of

the merry widow away from his skin and filled them with the soft rubber.

The gentle pressure and weight tantalized his own nipples. "They give

you a lovely figure. Stand still while I put your dress over your head."

Mrs. Chard straightened a white sleeveless frock on him with the

serious, intent expression that again made Leslie think of a girl

playing with her dolls.

"There. You look very nice. Come, put on your heels and I'll ring for

Angie to help with your makeup while I get dressed."

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 5</H3>

"All done. Oh, Miss Leslie, you look just delicious. How exciting!"

Angie enthused.

The boy's hair fell in soft waves to below his ears. His eyes,

expertly mascaraed, looked wide and virginal, but the lipstick on his

mouth made his lips seem fuller, giving them a sensuality to belie the

innocence of his eyes. Garnet earrings added a subtle maturity.

Mrs. Chard had dressed him in a sleeveless frock. It was white

cotton, full-skirted, of a deceptively simple design. Nylons made his

legs golden and lent them a sleek roundness. White high-heeled pumps

matched the dress.

Angie had painted his fingernails the same deep pink as his lips, and

fastened one of his mother's gold bracelets, ringed with garnets like

his earrings, to his left wrist. To finish off her production, she

dabbed a light floral perfume behind his ears.

Mrs. Chard was calling him from downstairs. "Leslie! Your little

friend is here. Come and say hello to Joan and Mrs. Argentina."

He cast an anxious glance at Angie.

She said, "It'll be all right. You look so nice, nobody will blame

you for dressing this way. Come on, your mother is waiting. I have to

hurry and get the refreshments."

Leslie wobbled self-consciously after her on his heels. The pounding

of his heart made the falsies vibrate under the thin dress. He held the

rail as he descended the stairs, knees shaking.

Letting Angie make him up had been an ordeal. He kept looking into

her face to see any signs of disparagement or contempt, but she treated

his dressing in girl's clothes as perfectly natural.

He had finally burst out, "I look silly! Why do I have to do this?"

Angie replied calmly, brushing out his curls, "Because your mother

knows what's best for you, Miss Leslie. As a boy you are ill-mannered

and crude; now you have a chance to be sweetly demure. Your mother has

always wanted a daughter to fuss over. Believe me, your life will be a

lot more pleasant if you learn to enjoy your dresses and allow your

mother her little pleasure. Anyway, girl's clothes are ever so much

nicer and softer than boy's, and if you look at yourself in the mirror

without prejudice, you'll see how pretty a girl you can be. You don't

look at all silly."

"Really?"

"Really."

"But I don't want to be a girl."

Angie laughed, "What's wrong with being a girl? Half the people in

the world are girls."

"Yeah, but they're real girls. I mean--"

"Well, everybody can't be perfect. So long as you look like a girl

and behave like a girl, that's ninety percent of it."

Angie wasn't going to be much help, Leslie saw. He felt like Alice in

Wonderland. All this seemed so queer and unnatural; yet everybody else

took it in stride. At least they weren't laughing at him.

He tried to take a deep breath before venturing into the living room,

but the constriction of his waist prevented it.

Johnny was standing by the window looking somber.

With heartfelt relief Leslie saw the other boy was wearing a dress

too, just as his mother had predicted.

He knew it was Johnny, he recognized him, but his eyes kept telling

him his best friend was an attractive girl. It was like a magic spell or

something, or like seeing photographic double images superimposed on

each other.

Johnny's dress was pink, off-the-shoulder, a demure fold of white

material around its upper edge like a collar. His straight hair was

pulled up in a short ponytail. Like Leslie he wore stockings, and pumps

that matched his dress. His eyebrows were plucked tastefully and his

mouth was a vivid red, contrasting with his fair skin and melting dark

eyes.

The ladies were sitting at either end of a curved sofa that flanked a

coffee table with a piano finish. Mrs. Argentina was sleek and lustrous.

Sparkling jewels dangled from her ears. Her bolero jacket and skirt were

black silk brocade; under the jacket her blouse was white silk. She

looked formal next to Mrs. Chard's sky-blue cotton shirtwaist dress.

Mrs. Chard said, "Oh, there you are, dear. Come say hello to Joan and

Mrs. Argentina."

"Hi," Leslie said shyly.

"When you are greeting visitors you should say how do you do, and

curtsy." Mrs. Chard turned to the other woman. "She's quite attractive,

don't you think? But she has a lot to learn about deportment." To

Leslie, "Do it, dear."

Leslie's cheeks heated. He looked nervously at Johnny, then back to

the ladies.

"How do you do, Mrs. Argentina."

He dipped his knees stiffly because of the rigid undergarment, and

held his skirt out the way girls did in dancing class.

"That was very nice, dear. You don't have to hold your skirt the next

time. It's old-fashioned."

Mrs. Argentina was looking at Leslie entranced. "She's breathtaking,

Estelle, just breathtaking. So slender and feminine. You must be very

proud."

"I am," Mrs. Chard said with a touch of smugness, "but she has a long

way to go."

Angie entered carrying a tray. Her eyes flickered from one boy to the

other but her face remained impassive.

Mrs. Chard said, "Ah, here are our refreshments. Tom Collins for us,

lemon soda for the girls. Thank you, Angie."

"Will that be all, ma'am?"

"Yes, Angie, thank you," Mrs. Chard dismissed her.

"Your maid is a gem, Estelle. I envy you. Good help is so hard to

find." Mrs. Argentina smiled. "But do you know, I think our girls are

far prettier."

Mrs. Chard simpered comfortably. "They are, aren't they? We really

ought not to say so in front of them. They're likely to become vain.

Joan, come sit by me. Leslie, you sit next to Mrs. Argentina."

With sheepish looks at each other, Johnny and Leslie obeyed.

"Marie, I can't tell you how grateful I am that you suggested this,"

Mrs. Chard said.

"Not at all. It was your idea to teach them refinement by dressing

them this way. It's marvelous. When Joan is like this nothing about her

reminds me of her father or any of the other male chauvinist pigs.

Perhaps these children will learn how much better it is to be a woman

than a man."

"I certainly hope so," Mrs. Chard sipped her drink. "What do you say,

Leslie?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Joan?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Mrs. Argentina said, "It's doing them a world of good. My Joan is so

much better behaved."

"Yes," agreed Mrs. Chard. "She's a charming young lady."

Leslie finished his soda. He caught Johnny's eye. The other boy

nodded faintly, ponytail swinging. He put his glass down.

"May we be excused?"

"Yes, of course, dear. Run along and play. You may show your little

friend your lovely new clothes if you wish."

"Joan, don't forget your purse," Mrs. Argentina reminded her son with

a tolerant smile.

Once they were up in his room Leslie exhaled shakily. "Boy, I

couldn't have stayed there a minute longer. When I saw you dressed up

like that I started to get a hard-on and I was afraid they'd see it

through this, ugh, dress."

He bounced onto the bed, sitting carelessly on the edge of the

mattress, legs braced apart, everything his mother had taught him about

girlish mannerisms forgotten.

"Yeah, me too."

"You got a hard-on too?"

"Yeah," Johnny admitted. "I couldn't help it. You look pretty good. I

never knew your waist was so narrow. It's hard to believe you're a guy

and got a thing under there. Besides, I don't know why, but wearing

these clothes--" He stopped.

"Wearing these clothes what?"

Johnny looked down. His dark eyelashes glimmered. "I don't know if I

should tell you."

"It's okay, we're friends."

"Well, see, at first--when Mom first punished me?"

"Yeah?"

"I told you I hated it, remember? I didn't really. It kind of gave me

a kick. I even put the dress on sometimes without her telling me to. In

the bathroom when I--you know."

Leslie nodded. Johnny meant when he jerked off.

"So this morning when she dressed me all up, not just the dress but

undies and makeup and all, it made me feel all, kind of, funny. Real,

uh, sexy. Even though it was scary walking over here from the other

condo, it was a sexy scariness. I mean . . . girl's

clothes! I--" He shivered and finished shyly, "--I liked it."

"I can't believe you walked over here. Did anybody see you?"

"Yeah, Mister Anderson the gardener, but he wasn't paying attention.

And Mrs. Philpot stopped to say hello to us. Mom introduced me as her

daughter. She didn't even notice, she was so busy complaining about her

refrigerator that broke. And then Patty Perkins, that girl from our

school, came out and passed us. She looked at me but I don't think she

recognized me."

"I'd'a been scared."

"I was, but it was daring. I got a boner."

After a moment Leslie asked, "Did your mother ever see you?"

"Yesterday while she was dressing me, and then again this morning.

She got real mad. She said I'm not supposed to be a disgusting man, and

stop it right away or she'd cut it off. I knew she wouldn't really, but

I got nervous so it went away. How about your mom?"

Leslie was silent, making up his mind whether to tell Johnny what he

and his mother had done together.

"Well," he said finally, "Mine says she hates men, too, but I don't

know if really does. Anyhow, last night she made me sleep in her bed in

a nightgown. She was happy about me wearing a dress before, 'n she said

she'd give me a reward."

His face burned.

He went on, "She--touched me."

"Touched you? You mean, your thing?"

"Yeah. I didn't think she knew what she was doing at first, but she

made it hard. Then she let me put it inside her."

"I don't get it."

"You know. Inside her."

Johnny's jaw hung open. "Inside her? Like fucking? She let you fuck

her?"

"Yeah."

"Get outta here."

"No, really."

"Come on, you didn't do that."

"I did too."

Johnny looked stunned, then admiring. "You really fucked her? Boy,

that's something. Wow. That's terrific. How was it?"

"Great, what d'you think?"

Johnny shook his head, ponytail flirting. He looked up slyly. "Hey.

You know what that makes you? A mother-fucker."

Leslie started laughing. "That's right, I never thought of that."

Johnny was still shaking his head. "Boy, am I jealous. Your mom is

really beautiful."

"So's yours."

"Yeah, but she would never let me do that," he said mournfully.

"You're lucky. Boy are you lucky. I been wearing a dress for years, and

nothing, and the first time you do you get laid." He squirmed. "I got to

take down my panties, my thing hurts."

He reached up under his skirt and slid the panties down to his ankles

and stepped out of them. Leslie saw they were pink like his dress, with

little white ribbons threaded through them. Johnny's skirt was held up

like a tent.

Leslie followed suit. "Me too. Whew!"

He looked sidelong at Johnny. The awareness that they were all alone

together in the room hung in the air, almost palpable.

"I can see your thing under your dress. I'll show you mine if you

show me yours."

Johnny looked shy but said, "Okay." His hands shook a little as he

raised his skirt, exposing himself to Leslie. His prick was straight as

a rod, not curved upwards like his own. Leslie observed a certain lack

of skin on the organ. The head was red and shiny. A sticky drop of

moisture welled out of the hole in the tip.

Apart from his own it was the first erection Leslie had ever seen. In

the school locker room the boys were always limp. There was something

about seeing Johnny's hard-on that made his heart beat and gave him

butterflies in the stomach. He wanted to touch it.

He swallowed. "You're circumcised. It looks real neat."

"Aren't you? Let me see. I showed you."

Leslie pulled up his skirt, heart in his throat.

Johnny said, "Oh, I see. Hey, I like it. It's so skin-y, like a

collar in back of the head. Yours is bigger than mine, isn't it? I

always wondered what yours was like. Can I feel it?"

"If you want. I'll do it too."

Johnny's fingers clasped Leslie's cock gently. They were cold.

Leslie's organ throbbed.

Johnny said, "Oh gosh. You're really hard. Your thing feels so hot,

it's almost burning my hand."

Leslie shivered as he reached out to let his hand encircle Johnny's

prick. It felt very firm and warm and it twitched in his grasp. The drop

at the tip became a leak, and dripped stickily onto his fingers. He

couldn't help stroking his friend's organ, and as he did so, felt

Johnny's hand moving on his own.

He choked, "You know what else Mom let me do?"

"What?"

"Kiss her--down there."

"Kiss her!"

"Yeah, you know, like . . . lick."

A tremor passed over Johnny's body. His hand stopped moving. His face

was pale as he said, "You're so lucky." After a moment he went on, "Did

she do it to you, too?"

"What?"

"Kiss you there. You know."

"No! She wouldn't do that. My mother would never! That's gross."

"No, it isn't. Girls do. They suck it. I would if I was a girl."

Leslie looked sharply at his friend. Johnny's face was red. His

carmined lips were trembling.

A wave of heat went through Leslie. "You would?"

"That's what they do."

"Would you do it to me?"

"If I was a girl? Sure."

"Well, our moms want us to be girls, don't they?"

The afternoon sun streamed through the windows at the end of the

room, making bright squares on the blue carpeting. A fly buzzed in lazy

circles up near the tall ceiling.

Johnny's low voice broke the silence. "I will if you will."

Leslie looked anxiously at the closed door, then back at Johnny.

"What--" His throat caught and he had to start over. "What would we do?"

"You know. Suck each other's thing."

"Yeah, but what if we squirted?"

A new blush deepened the color on Johnny's cheeks. "Well

. . . I thought about it a couple of times when I was in the

bathroom with the dress on. I'd--drink it," he admitted, looking down at

the floor. "If you wouldn't tell."

"Oh, wow," Leslie breathed. Drink it. If Johnny did, he'd have to,

too. He didn't know if he could. Have another boy's jism in his mouth,

and then swallow it? It was so creepy it made him squirm inside. He

wondered what it tasted like. He remembered the sweet sexiness of his

mother's juices, and gasped, "Okay, let's."

The boys stared at each other appalled.

Johnny stammered, "I'll d-do it to you first if you promise to do it

to me after."

"We could do it at the same time." Leslie whispered. "Lie down next

to me on the bed, but the other way around."

He pried off his pumps and lay on his side, worrying briefly about

wrinkling his dress, but too excited to care.

Johnny pulled off his own shoes, got on the bed opposite.

Leslie tugged up Johnny's skirt. The boy's garter belt matched his

outfit--the garters were white ruffles with a pink stripe. He caressed

the other boy's smooth hips and thighs, and looked at the stiff prick

pointing at him. It was so rigid it vibrated with a fine tremor that

pulsed with his friend's heartbeat. With a preternatural clarity, he saw

the shiny red head dripping liquid; the white shaft with veins curling

along its length, rooted in a nest of dark pubic hair; the tight balls.

Leslie panted. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He felt as though

he were going to faint. He couldn't get enough oxygen because of the

tightness around his waist.

There was a rush of fresh air on his midsection as Johnny pulled up

his skirt. He heard the boy say, "It's so big." The voice got a

surprised note. "You shaved the edges of your hair! I like it. It's

really neat-looking."

Leslie sensed they were both putting off the fatal moment. He took as

deep a breath as he could, and pushed his head forward. His tongue went

out and licked the tip of the penis in front of him. It twitched. The

sticky fluid didn't seem to have much taste. Mustering his determination

he opened his mouth and took the prick in.

He had to open wide. He moved his head too far at first--the meaty

cock pushed against the back of his throat, making him gag. For a moment

he thought he was going to throw up. It was hot in his mouth. The nutty

odor of his friend's balls filled his nostrils.

Holding the base of Johnny's tumid organ, he moved his head back and

forth. It was hard to keep his mouth open so wide; his jaw began to ache

a little and his lips soon grew tender with the friction of their

movement. The fluid leaking from it increased in volume. It didn't have

much taste. It wasn't the real thing, though, only the stuff that came

before. He liked its slipperiness; he sucked to see if he could get more

of it.

His own prick was suddenly surrounded by Johnny's soft mouth. The wet

warmth was shocking. As the other boy's throat jammed against his cock,

he heard him choke the same way he had. His prick thrilled to the

movement of Johnny's tongue and the gentle, rhythmic suction being

applied. His friend's hand was fondling his balls.

Without warning Johnny's prick, now ringed halfway down with

lipstick, jumped strongly. Leslie's mouth got full of a strange new

taste, alkaline, tingly, like it was alive. He made a small noise in his

throat. He had to swallow; sperm was pumping in and dribbling out the

corners of his lips. He continued moving his head.

When Johnny became limp and squirmy in his mouth and his leg began

jerking each time Leslie's tongue wrapped around the soft head, Leslie

let the penis go.

He had done it! His face heated. What if Johnny told? Oh, gosh, then

if the other boys called him a, oh jeez, a cocksucker--he cringed

inside--he couldn't deny it. His cheeks burned.

Johnny, who had apparently been lost in the explosion of his

testicles, was no longer working on his prick. Leslie moved his hips to

remind him.

The warm wet motion resumed.

Johnny had already ejaculated; nevertheless he persisted, and in a

few minutes Leslie rewarded him with a fierce spurt and subsequent

rhythmic jets.

He heard Johnny say, "Guk." There were swallowing noises. The wet

pulling at his now-softening cock redoubled, as if the other boy was

seeking to drain every last drop of semen from his balls. He saw

Johnny's flaccid prick stir, trying to become erect again. After a while

his cock got too sensitive to the caressing touch of his friend's

tongue, and he moved his hips away.

The boys lay quiet for a time.

When they recovered they sat up side by side, avoiding each other's

eyes.

Leslie stared at the sunlight on the floor, full of mixed emotions.

He was shocked at his actions but thrilled by them. He was deliciously

drained, but he had performed the ultimately shameful act-- and what's

more, he had liked it. Was he what the guys called a homo? The thought

alarmed him. Wait a minute. He had enjoyed fucking his mother too. Maybe

he was only partly a homo.

The taste of Johnny's sperm was still in his mouth. He had swallowed

it! He could hardly inhale. The corset restricted his breath. He felt

weak.

What had he done! It was shocking. But he knew he would do it again

if he had the chance. He wondered what Johnny was thinking. Had he lost

respect for him? No, he'd done it too, and had seemed even more anxious

than Leslie to do it. Had he been disappointed?

Just then Johnny reached over and put his hand on Leslie's bare

thigh, making him aware that his skirt was still hiked up above his

stocking tops. As though reading Leslie's mind, Johnny said, "I liked

it. Did you?"

"Yes."

"I always wondered what it tasted like. When I jerked off I always

thought I would lick it out of my hand. But each time after I came I

didn't want to any more. I'm glad you shot in my mouth." He looked at

Leslie. "It's a sexy taste, isn't it?"

Leslie grinned in relief. "I'll say. Kind of tingly and slimy.

Thinking about it gets me hot."

"What, already?" Johnny lifted Leslie's skirt mischievously and

peered at his hooded organ.

Leslie tittered. "No. But the way I feel it won't be long. Do you

think your mom would let you stay overnight?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Let's ask. We better put on some fresh lipstick

before we go down, or they'll know what we've been doing."

When the boys got to the bottom of the stairs they saw that the

sliding doors to the living room had been pulled closed. Do not disturb.

They were about to turn away when they heard Mrs. Argentina moaning

within.

They looked at each other.

Warily, patiently, Leslie pried the sliding doors noiselessly about

an inch apart. He stared through the gap.

Turning excitedly to his friend, he made faces at him to indicate

that Johnny should look too.

The ladies were on the couch, their dresses hiked up to their waists

and their heads buried in each other's pussies. Mrs. Argentina was on

top, her bare ass in the air, and seemed to be pecking rapidly at Mrs.

Chard's vulva. Her head moved up and down swiftly; her tongue protruded

from lips that had the red lip gloss worn off.

Mrs. Chard's hands were on her friend's ass. Her face pressed firmly

against the woman's cunt. Her cheeks puffed in and out as she

alternately sucked in and released Mrs. Argentina's flesh, much, it

appeared, as Leslie had done to her the night before.

From their point the boys had a full view of Mrs. Argentina's private

parts. The cunt lips flared spasmodically. Mrs. Argentina moaned

continuously, yet managed to keep pecking at Mrs. Chard's clitoris.

Leslie got a fit of the giggles, put his hand over his mouth and

backed away, trying not to make any sound. His laughter was infectious:

Johnny started giggling too. They ran as quietly up the carpeted stairs

as their heels would permit.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 6</H3>

Earlier Mrs. Chard and Mrs. Argentina had gazed fondly after the

"girls" as they left in a swirl of skirts. Their high heels, to which

they obviously had to get accustomed--both girls' ankles gave way

occasionally--caused their hips to sway in the most charming manner.

Mrs. Argentina winced as she saw them hike up their dresses and take

the stairs two steps at a time. "Not very ladylike," she commented, "but

they'll learn, they'll learn."

If they had been asked, they would have said lesbians were half-

crazed homely creatures with mustaches who had been so thoroughly

rejected by men that they had resigned themselves to a life of unlovely

acts with each other.

The ladies had been content to sublimate their sexual urges in favor

of vilifying, and avoiding, men, but had never considered seeking out

other women for satisfaction.

Mrs. Chard, who had renounced any form of sexual contact since

divorcing her husband thirteen years before, was astonished by the power

of the urge that crashed over her when she saw her son in lingerie.

Penis concealed under frilly clothes, face and hair indistinguishable

from a young person of her own sex, Leslie seemed totally under her

control. His astonishing dewy appearance--she would never have imagined

how feminine he could look--aroused her.

She had succumbed to the temptation that had been whispering to her

ever since seeing her son's erection, and in bed last night she had all

but raped him.

Far from being ashamed of herself, she found a desperate excitement

in the degree of authority she exercised over her obedient child. She

made him serve her with his tongue and then connected her body to his in

a way that was so confusing to her overheated senses she could hardly

tell whether it was his penis inside her, or hers inside him.

It was her first ever orgasm. She had always been too tense under her

husband, who had his way with her carelessly and made her feel, not

loved, but used. She supposed it was her fault: she was frigid.

Nevertheless, she saw no point in remaining married if she were not to

gain either affection or sexual satisfaction by it; she divorced her

husband a few months before Leslie was born.

Now she had achieved the ultimate ecstasy--with her son!

At her doting grandfather's knee Mrs. Chard learned that great wealth

brought great privilege. If you were rich you were set apart from the

petty morality of less fortunate individuals. You could do what you

wanted; the world existed for you, and what other people thought didn't

matter. Nothing in Mrs. Chard's experience had given her any reason to

change that opinion. She didn't have to justify her behavior with Leslie

to anyone.

Nevertheless she felt a private guilt about having committed incest.

Even to Mrs. Chard that kind of conduct was beyond the pale.

Yet it carried with it rewards so compelling as to stiffen her

determination to repeat the activity. Leslie had enjoyed it too. Good.

She could kill two birds with one stone. She could satisfy herself while

using it as an inducement to keep him in dresses, to retain him as the

demure young daughter she had always wanted, and prevent him, for a time

at least, from developing that purely male arrogance and brashness of

bearing he had been taking on, so frightening in its prospect.

And--she kept coming back to it--to satisfy her needs. Her body had

been awakened, it demanded further stimulation.

Even now her vulva was wet. It squished when she crossed her legs,

warm and swollen, ready to open like a magnolia bloom. She could hardly

wait for bedtime.

Heat came to her cheeks. She got up and opened the window; the room

seemed stifling despite its spaciousness.

She thought about her childhood home in Chardsville, with its old-

fashioned tall ceilings with picture molding high on the walls, each

room large and airy and cool in the summer. She had been back once since

her marriage fourteen years ago; but that was only to settle her

mother's estate and arrange for the caretaker and his wife to close up

the house and maintain it against the day when she might return. It

would be nice to see it again.

Well, why not? She and Leslie could go up for the summer.

Mrs. Argentina's generous lips parted in a sunny smile as Mrs. Chard

returned to her seat on the couch.

"Estelle, I can't tell you how grateful I am to you for thinking of

this. It's so exciting. I think Johnny, ah, Joan, makes a darling

girl, don't you? Yours too, of course."

"It is fun, isn't it? I enjoyed shopping for Leslie. I always wanted

a daughter so I could dress her up in all kinds of girly things."

"I know what you mean. I feel like keeping Joan in dresses every day

when school lets out next Thursday."

Mrs. Chard laughed. "I was thinking the same thing. I may take Leslie

up to the country house for the summer. Nobody knows him, so he can just

pretend to be a girl and go wherever he wants."

"Estelle!" Mrs. Argentina exclaimed. "You have such good

ideas. How far away is it?"

"Only three hours north of here. It's in a town called Chardsville,

named after my grandfather."

"Your ex-husband's grandfather?"

"No, mine. Chard is my maiden name. I took it back after the divorce.

But of course I have to say 'Mrs.' because of Leslie."

Mrs. Chard gave in to the temptation to let her friend know that she

practically owned a whole town. "Chard Industries is the biggest

employer in Chardsville, and we have a controlling interest in almost

all the other businesses. It's a pleasant college town, large enough to

have industry and shopping centers and apartment buildings, small enough

so that people nod to each other on the street."

"It sounds delightful! Do they have schools there?"

"Of course."

"Then if you lived there, Leslie could go to school."

"Well, of course."

"And nobody would know whether he was a boy or a girl."

The light dawned. "You mean Leslie could go to school up there as a

girl!"

"You wouldn't even have to change his name on the transcripts."

"I'm tempted!" Mrs. Chard considered. "But there would be so many

complications. He's at the age when boys and girls start dating and

girls form little cliques. It would be hard for him. He'd have to be so

careful."

"It would be worth it, though, wouldn't it." Mrs. Argentina said

earnestly, "You know, Estelle, I could buy a house up there too. Joan

could go to school with Leslie. I'm so tired of him being in the boy's

group at St. Swithin's Academy."

"Anyway, we'll have the whole summer to think about it."

"Yes, I'm looking forward it. Just think, two whole months. No little

boys screaming and yelling and playing in the mud. I'm going to keep

Joan under control. I wish we had done this ages ago." Mrs. Argentina

pursed her lips and went on, "You know, we don't have to stop here. I've

heard about sex-change operations. They're supposed to be quite

successful."

"Marie! You wouldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"Cut his little thing off and construct an artificial 'down there' ?

I didn't know you felt so strongly about it. Does Johnny's penis bother

you so much?"

The question gave Mrs. Argentina pause. "No-o. No, not his penis, I

think. It's the testicles hanging there and all those changes they are

making in his body. They give me the shivers."

"Oh. I see what you mean. I never thought. You're right. The penis is

only an enlarged clitoris, after all. It's the testicles that cause all

the trouble."

"I can't stand to see them."

"I'm trying to picture the boys being castrated. Like they used to do

in medieval times to preserve their voices for church choirs. It makes

me--I know I shouldn't say this--rather excited, actually. Anyway, I'm

sure it's illegal."

"I'm equally sure there are doctors that would do just about anything

for money."

Mrs. Chard shivered, then tittered. "Oh, Marie, why are we talking

like this? It's out of the question, isn't it? We wouldn't want to do

anything irrevocable to the children."

There was a flush on Mrs. Argentina's cheeks. "Nevertheless, I think

I'll look into it."

Mrs. Chard changed the subject. "Does your Joan ever--well, get

excited, when you dress him?"

Mrs. Argentina sighed. "I'm afraid he does, the wicked thing. Why?

Don't tell me Leslie--?"

"Yes, he does. It spoils the line of his dress. It's exasperating.

What do you do about it?"

"I tell him to stop it, but it helps only temporarily. He does it to

spite me. I wish I could think of something more permanent."

"At that age I don't think there is any permanent solution," Mrs.

Chard smiled.

Her smile faded gradually. The look she gave Mrs. Argentina was

appraising. "But did you ever think you might," she asked cautiously,

"er, relieve the basic problem?"

Mrs. Argentina looked alertly at her friend. "Relieve the basic

problem? You don't mean--?"

Mrs. Chard said sheepishly, "We have to do something to keep them

from giving themselves away."

"Tell me!" Mrs. Argentina's voice was breathless.

"Last night I--well, I confess I was aroused and he was too, and he

looked so cute in his nightie. I told myself he wouldn't get any sleep

unless I did something, so I-- Well."

Mrs. Chard took a sip of her drink.

Mrs. Argentina said, "Don't stop there! What did you do?"

"I--I relieved him."

"You . . . touched him? Masturbated him?"

"No."

"Then how? Not--" Intuition sharpened her gaze. "Estelle, you

didn't!"

"I couldn't help it. It's been so long."

Mrs. Argentina's eyes were wet. Her bosom heaved. "Your own son. How

terribly exciting. Oh, I'm dripping!" She stared at her.

Mrs. Chard had been afraid Mrs. Argentina might show disapproval of

her actions. Her heart warmed; her friend was so supportive. "Dripping,"

she said. She meant she had been sexually excited by the revelation.

Well, it was arousing.

Mrs. Argentina moved so she was sitting right next to Mrs. Chard. Her

mouth was slack and her face was pale. Her thighs squirmed against each

other. She rested her hand on Mrs. Chard's knee.

The blonde woman gave a little jump and felt her cheeks turn red but

didn't move away.

Mrs. Argentina squeezed the knee through her dress. "Were you, ah,

satisfied too?"

"Yes."

"I'm so envious. It's been so terribly long. I mean, since I

. . . experienced fulfillment. --But how convenient to

have the, er, opportunity right in the same house! It's marvelous."

Mrs. Chard shifted her body casually. Her leg pressed against the

other woman. In the same movement she contrived to draw up her skirt in

such a way that it pulled out from under Mrs. Argentina's hand leaving

the palm directly on her stockinged flesh. It was warm.

She leaned back against the sofa. The hand on her knee moved absently

upward a few inches as she said shakily, "I taught him how to use his

mouth on me--down there. It was wonderful how fast he learned. I

climaxed twice. Then I wondered what it would be like to feel it inside

me. I climaxed again. I think it makes a difference when you're in

control instead of the man. It's not so frightening."

"Oh-h. You must be every bit as sexy as you look."

"I guess so. I never knew it. It was the situation, you know, and now

I just can't stop--being aroused."

The hand moved a few more inches. Now it was under the hem of her

skirt, warming the bare skin above the stocking top. There was no longer

any chance that it was just an accidental friendly touch.

Mrs. Chard let her breath out. She reached over Mrs. Argentina's arm,

and held the inside of the dark woman's thigh.

As if she had been given permission, Mrs. Argentina slid her hand up

her leg, moving over the soft skin until it reached her panties.

"Are you as stimulated as I am? As wet?"

Mrs. Chard's legs moved apart. The women were sitting close, the

outside of their thighs pressed together, manicured hands under each

other's skirt.

Her voice wavered. "I don't know. If I felt your underwear

. . ."

"Go ahead." The dark woman's legs opened.

Mrs. Chard touched the damp panties, tracing the outline of labia. "I

still can't tell. Perhaps--" She tugged at the elastic waistband.

Mrs. Argentina lifted her hips to allow Mrs. Chard to pull the

panties down to the knees and let them flutter to her ankles. Her pussy

was hairy and wet to the touch.

Mrs. Chard said, "Gracious, you are. Almost as much as me." She stood

up, pulled down her panties, and stepped out of them.

"See?" She lifted her skirt, revealing a triangle of light pubic

hair.

Her breath came short; she gasped when Mrs. Argentina caressed her

vulva and impulsively slid a finger into her vagina. She stood

trembling, paralyzed, held prisoner by the finger which she felt could

lead her around as effectively as a leash. The dark-haired lady made

free of her.

With difficulty she roused herself. "Oh, wait," she whispered,

looking nervously at the open door.

She wiggled her hips and broke away. Tiptoeing swiftly to the doors,

she drew them closed. When she retraced her footsteps Mrs. Argentina was

on her feet stepping out of the panties that had been around her ankles.

The ladies faced each other. Similar emotions of lust and apprehension

chased themselves across their faces.

With shaking hands, Mrs. Chard fumbled at the buttons on her friend's

blouse. Mrs. Argentina was not wearing a brassiere. Her breasts were

full white globes, faintly traced with blue veins. The nipples were

erect. They were the size and shape of pencil erasers, yes, and much the

same color.

"You're beautiful."

Obeying an impulse, Mrs. Chard bent forward and kissed first one

breast, then the other, sucking each wetly. The nipples were hard and

wrinkled to her tongue.

Mrs. Argentina's knees gave way momentarily and she clutched Mrs.

Chard's shoulders for support.

Her mouth worked silently before she was able to say in a strained

voice, "That's so good. It's been so long since anyone-- Let me."

Mrs. Chard straightened up and tried to control her trembling as Mrs.

Argentina reached around her to unzip her dress and then unclasped the

strapless brassiere. Slipping the dress top down over the shoulders,

Mrs. Argentina sucked at Mrs. Chard's nipples lavishly, leaving traces

of her red lipstick on them.

Mrs. Chard couldn't get enough air. The manipulation of her tits sent

thrills directly to the complex of organs between her legs.

Without warning, her cunt convulsed. She moaned.

Her friend looked up in alarm. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," Mrs. Chard panted, "you made me climax. Oh, please, I have to

sit down."

Mrs. Argentina helped her over to the couch. "Just by kissing your

breasts? You really are sexy. Here, lie down."

Mrs. Chard stretched out supine. Her friend sat next to her stroking

her hair tenderly. She clutched the moving hand and brought it to her

lips, kissing the palm.

Eyes wide, she asked tremulously, "What are we doing?"

"Making up for lost time, I think. Making love." Mrs. Argentina

leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. Her lips were soft and full.

Mrs. Chard opened her mouth. The woman's tongue probed hers.

When the kiss ended, Mrs. Chard said, "I never did this before."

"Neither did I. I can't help myself. It's been so long, and when you

told me about having intercourse with your son you got me so heated you

can't imagine. I've never felt this way."

Mrs. Chard put her arms around her and drew her down, feeling the

woman's warm body yield and her generous breasts press against her own.

Mrs. Argentina whispered brokenly, "Should we--like Leslie--kiss each

other--there?"

"Yes, let's. I never did it, but oh, I want to."

"So do I." Mrs. Argentina sat up and tugged Mrs. Chard's skirt up to

expose her lower body.

Mrs. Chard felt the other woman's hand trace the swell of her belly

and the fingers twine in her pubic hair. Then Mrs. Argentina was

pinching her labia lightly on her clitoris, which was erect and slippery

and pushing out from between the folds of skin. The woman's warm breath

stirred her cunt hairs.

"Your clit is so big," Mrs. Argentina murmured. "I love it."

"Come over me." Mrs. Chard put her hands on her friend's slim waist

and urged her to straddle her. The brocade skirt was over her head. She

pushed it up to expose the naked midsection to the light. The asshole

was puckered; the outer labia tapered down to fullness, swollen slightly

open, showing the glistening of the inner lips.

She looked curiously at her friend's private parts. Like most of her

sex, Mrs. Chard had never clearly seen what was between a woman's legs.

Although girls shower together in school, their anatomies prevent a good

look at each other's genitals. She had sometimes bent over to look at

herself, but she couldn't see very well. This was the first time she had

an unrestricted view.

Heart pounding, Mrs. Chard touched her friend's privacy. She spread

the labia, seeing the pink inner lips pull apart and reveal the erect

clitoris. Mrs. Argentina's was smaller than hers. It didn't protrude

from its mantle, much less the lips, when it was erect. That was why the

other woman had said hers was big. Mrs. Chard wondered whether Mrs.

Argentina was normal there and herself too large, or if Mrs. Argentina

was small in that respect and she was normal. What were other women

like?

She felt feverish despite the gentle breeze that stirred the curtains

at the end of the room. A distant horn sounded in the street outside,

emphasizing the stillness within. The children were upstairs; the maid,

in the kitchen.

She put out her tongue and licked the length of the crack and

returned, tongue barely touching the clitoris.

Mrs. Argentina's head came up sharply, a groan issuing from her open

mouth.

Before Mrs. Chard's eyes the labia flared open and closed repeatedly.

The woman's body shook. Mrs. Chard almost had another orgasm herself.

When the spasms subsided Mrs. Argentina's head dipped. Her stiffened

tongue touched Mrs. Chard's swollen clitoris, feather-light and soft.

She dipped her head again. And again. Faster, now, she titillated the

organ, tongue fluttering.

Mrs. Chard put her arms around the other woman's ass, drawing her

pussy down to her mouth. She licked along the outer lips, then dug

deeper with her tongue to force the inner lips apart and traverse the

tender cleft, spearing momentarily into the vagina, continuing on to

stroke the clitoris in passing.

She loved the taste of Mrs. Argentina's vulva. Slippery and slightly

alkaline, like a weak solution of baking soda and water. A pronounced

odor of urine clung to the woman's dark cunt hairs. Normally fastidious,

Mrs. Chard welcomed the smell. It aroused something in her that she

hadn't known was there.

Remembering the ecstasy that Leslie had given her, she put her lips

around the pink-mantled organ and sucked it, and the tissue surrounding

it, into her mouth.

She heard Mrs. Argentina whimper, then start moaning loudly.

That, and the sight of the woman's labia twitching, sent her over the

edge. A wave of passion engulfed her, sweeping her up and crashing down

as she CAME, and CAME again, and she stifled her cry of

ecstasy by pressing her mouth more firmly against her partner's liquid,

hairy, odorous cunt.

Her world narrowed to the spasms in her vulva. She was unaware of the

sounds her throat was making or the soft twat rubbing on her face or the

wild trembling of her legs, until her orgasms, seemingly too intense for

her frail body, began to subside.

Finally she relaxed into the cushions of the couch. The other woman's

wet labia pressed against her face; she turned her head slightly to be

able to breathe. Mrs. Argentina's thighs twitched. A trickle of moisture

was edging out from her lips.

Mrs. Chard was delirious with shame and excitement. She had had sex

with another woman. It was worse, somehow, than having sex with her own

son--or daughter, which was it? She was confused. Only one thing was

clear. For the first time in her life her body was responding to sexual

stimulation. It was wonderful. She wanted more of it, wherever she could

get it. She felt as if a door had opened; she had passed through, and it

locked behind her. But she didn't want to go back.

When the two women had straightened their clothes, Mrs. Chard rang

for Angie.

"Please set the table for four this evening, Angie. Mrs. Argentina

and her daughter will be staying over. No, don't bother with a guest

room. Joan can stay with Leslie, and," her voice trembled, "Mrs.

Argentina can sleep in my room."

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 7</H3>

That night Leslie discovered his pajamas were gone from the bureau

drawer. In their place was an assortment of nightgowns. Some were almost

transparent; others satiny. He would have liked to try on one of the

gossamer nighties, but modesty made him select satin. Wordlessly he

tossed a gown to Johnny, conscious of a feeling of excitement because of

the memory of the night with his mom in a nightie, and because of this

morning with his friend. They put them on bashfully. Johnny's covered

his shoulders; Leslie's, with ribbon straps, left them bare. It made him

skittish at first, but when their mothers came in to kiss them good

night and praised them for dressing properly without being told, he felt

virtuous.

There was no moon yet. The room was pitch dark.

"You know what? I'm really glad your mother made you dress up too,"

Leslie said comfortably, lying next to Johnny in bed. "I'd of been

really embarrassed if I was the only one."

"Me, too. I was surprised when I saw you. You looked really good.

You're pretty, you know that?"

"Get outta here."

"No, really. You're prettier than any girl in school. Prettier than

me. I'm kind of jealous, in fact."

Leslie didn't know whether to be pleased or annoyed. He knew he

looked like a girl when he dressed up--the mirror's evidence was

incontestable--and he did have a sneaking suspicion that he was

pretty. But he was a boy. He shouldn't be "pretty."

"I don't know what you mean. You're the one that's pretty. You have

really nice eyes and your hair is shiny and straight. And your skin is

smooth-looking. Did your mother make you shave your legs like mine did?"

"And under my arms. I kind of like it," Johnny admitted. "It makes me

feel, I don't know, sexy, maybe. I'm going to ask Mom to shave me down

there like you. That's really sexy."

"I guess. Johnny, does wearing a dress make you hard?"

"Yeah, I don't know why."

"Me too. I thought something might be wrong with me. I wonder if our

mothers get excited too."

"From wearing girl's clothes? Probably not, they're used to it."

"Say, what about them this afternoon?" Leslie could hear a smile in

his own voice. "That was weird. I never thought I'd see something like

that."

Johnny giggled. "I bet they're doing it again right now. Did you

notice how anxious they were to get us in bed and out of the way?"

"We shouldn't laugh. We did it too, remember?"

"I remember. I been thinking about it all day. I liked having your

thing in my mouth even more than you doing it to me. I bet I could

squirt just by sucking you."

"Oh, don't say that. You'll make me come in my pants. My nightie, I

mean." Leslie laughed nervously. He turned serious. "You know, we can't

let any of the guys find out about it. They'd call us fags. C-

cocksuckers."

"I know."

The boys lay in companionable silence.

"Les? Did you like fucking your mother?"

"Sure."

"I wonder what it felt like."

"It was really great. I hope she lets me do it to her again."

"No, I meant, I meant what it was like for her. To be fucked. To have

a prick inside her."

"Oh. I dunno. Just the other way around, I guess. I'm pretty sure she

came, so I guess she liked it."

"I bet I would too. If I was a girl, I mean."

"I wish you were."

"Why?"

"We're in bed together. If you were a girl I could fuck you."

"I'm dressed like one."

"Yeah. Say--"

"What?"

"W-wanna try?"

"Try what?"

He was glad Johnny couldn't see his blush. "Me fucking you."

"I don't get it. How?"

"You know, your heinie."

"Oh."

After a silence Leslie repeated, "Want to?"

"I'd be scared."

"What of?"

"I don't know. I don't think it'll fit."

Something in Johnny's voice made Leslie think he'd be willing.

He put his hand on the other boy's silk-clad stomach.

"Are you hard?" He slid his hand down, remembering his mother's hand

moving over his own body only last night. Johnny's prick was holding the

nightie up. He grasped it. His friend gave a little gasp and the cock

twitched in his hand.

Leslie said persuasively, "Come on, let's try. It'll be fun."

In a moment Johnny rolled over on his front and whispered, "Okay."

Leslie felt the mattress tremble. He touched his friend. The boy was

shivering.

"What's the matter?"

"It's kind of scary."

"Yeah." Leslie pushed the bedclothes down and turned on the bedside

lamp.

"What are you doing?"

"I want to see. You're beautiful. From behind you look exactly like a

girl." He pulled his friend's nightgown up to expose his buttocks, and

spread the boy's cheeks to reveal the puckered brown asshole, and poked

his prick against it.

He pushed, but nothing much happened.

Johnny whimpered, "Ow."

"Wait a minute, I know what's wrong. It's too dry. Stay there, I'm

gonna do something. Promise you won't ever tell."

He spread Johnny's cheeks again, ducked his head, and licked the

asshole. It flinched at his touch. There was a slightly bitter taste but

it didn't smell bad, so Leslie went on to stiffen his tongue and spear

it up inside several times. He heard Johnny's sigh. The ass pushed up

against his face, asking for more.

When it was as wet as he could get it, about like his mom last night,

he straightened up.

Licking his friend so intimately excited Leslie. His prick was now so

hard it vibrated. The head was a shiny, angry red. A long leak of pre-

seminal fluid depended from the tip. He collected it with his finger and

smeared the sticky stuff on the head.

Leslie guided his now-slippery prick to the wet entrance. He exerted

pressure. Johnny moaned, but Leslie was in the grip of passion and

ignored the pained sounds his friend was making. He lay on top of him

and pushed against the resistance.

The anus quaked. Johnny was deliberately relaxing the sphincter

muscle but apprehension kept making it squeeze tight again. During one

of the moments of relaxation Leslie shoved hard.

Johnny squealed.

The head of Leslie's prick thrust past the muscle. Johnny's anus

clamped tight around his organ's neck in an uncontrolled spasm.

"Oh-h. You're in me." A gasp. "Wait. Oh, please, it's too big, it

hurts. Maybe this isn't such a good idea. Ow-w. Stop!"

Panting, Leslie pushed farther up his friend.

Johnny's breath was expelled in a moan. "It's so big! I didn't know

it would feel so hard. Don't."

Leslie couldn't have stopped if his life depended on it. He pulled

back and shoved forward again; he started moving rhythmically in and

out. The other boy was very tight around his prick, but rectal juices

were coming to their rescue, and Leslie's cock slid back and forth on

them.

"Ow. It's so huge," Johnny said. "It's stretching me." His voice

sounded like he was crying.

Each time Leslie shoved his penis up him, Johnny grunted; whenever he

pulled back, the boy mewed.

"Unh! You're fucking me. Just like I was a girl."

He was crying, but he wasn't trying to get away. Instead, his

ass started lifting and falling in counterrhythm to Leslie's thrusts.

Only the fact that Leslie had already ejaculated twice that day

enabled him to continue sodomizing his friend for another five minutes.

He was wild with excitement.

By the time he felt an urgent sensation in his balls and thrust ever

more swiftly, the other boy was whining continuously and writhing.

Leslie rammed in one final time. He cried out, "Oh, Joan!"

His prick jumped as semen pumped fiercely through it in regular

spurts, until at last the spouting slowed and he slumped onto Johnny's

back, breathing raggedly.

The anus was still relaxing and contracting. As his organ got softer

it was gradually forced out, to lie moist and heavy against his friend's

warm crotch.

Leslie rolled off and lay on his back catching his breath. Johnny lay

ravaged on his front, nightgown still pulled up and gathered about his

waist.

Leslie became aware that the other boy was whimpering into the

mattress. His shoulders shook.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Yes. No. I mean, yes it hurt, but that's not--" He swallowed. "Never

mind. I'll be okay."

"Do you want me to make you come?" Leslie didn't want any more sex

right now, but he owed it to his friend. Maybe instead of sucking it, he

could use his hand, that wouldn't be so bad.

"You already made me come."

Leslie was surprised but relieved. He patted Johnny on the bare ass,

turned out the light and closed his eyes. Before he fell into a deep,

exhausted slumber he heard Johnny sniffle next to him, "You called me

Joan."

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 8</H3>

Leslie was wakened by the sound of drapes being pulled back. He

blinked as sunlight flooded into the room.

"Good morning, children. Breakfast is ready in the kitchen."

Still in nightgown and negligée, Mrs. Chard had pulled the

curtains; Mrs. Argentina picked up some discarded lingerie from the

floor and walked to the closet with it, alluring ass swaying. Leslie

thought the ladies were beautiful.

When Johnny stirred next to him, he remembered the night before. His

morning half hard-on threatened to increase in size, but their mothers

were with them; it declined instead.

"Wake up, girls, time to get up. You can go down in your nighties,"

Mrs. Chard said gaily. "We'll help you bathe and dress when you've

finished breakfast. Hurry now, before it gets cold."

Leslie yawned and got out of bed and padded downstairs with his

friend. He took the opportunity to grasp one of Johnny's ass cheeks

through the satin of his gown, but the boy said sharply, "Don't!"

"Sorry." Johnny must be upset about the night before. Leslie

remembered his tears.

Johnny looked abashed. "You'll make me hard, and it'll show in this

thin nightgown."

"Oh. Okay."

Before it gets cold, indeed. It was Sunday, Angie's day off, and the

best their mothers had been able to come up with was corn flakes and

sliced bananas. They ate the stuff and returned upstairs with

trepidation. What next?

The ladies led them into the bathroom. The tub was full of bubble

foam and smelled like flowers.

"All right, girls, you can take your bath together," Mrs. Chard said,

and waited.

Leslie and Johnny looked at each other. They didn't move.

"What's the matter?"

Leslie's cheeks got hot. He glanced anxiously at Mrs. Argentina, then

back to his mother. "B-but--"

"Oh, now I see. Leslie, how silly. A certain amount of maidenly

modesty is always in order, but it's just us girls here."

Before he knew it, she had pulled his nightgown over his head,

leaving him stark naked in front of his friend's mother. In the moment

before he stepped into the tub to conceal himself under the bubbles, he

saw the tip of Mrs. Argentina's tongue peek from between her generous

lips and move from one side to the other. Her eyes were fastened on his

organ.

Johnny's whole body was blushing as he removed his nightclothes with

trembling hands. Leslie admired his circumcised penis. Even dangling

limp, its head was revealed just as if he were hard. He saw his mother

looking at it too.

The tub was large, but not large enough to enable the boys to avoid

touching each other as they washed. The slippery feel of Johnny's limbs

under water threatened Leslie's equanimity. His prick wanted to get

hard; only the presence of Mrs. Argentina and his mother constrained it.

Now he realized his bladder was full. He shot a quick glance at Johnny.

The foam would hide anything he did. He let go, feeling enormous relief.

While the boys took turns with the sponge, Mrs. Argentina turned the

toilet cover down and sat on the seat, crossing her legs. "Estelle,

yesterday I called--that person we were talking about," her eyes moved

cautiously to the boys, "and made an appointment for this afternoon."

"Who--" Mrs. Chard, seeing her friend's warning look, remembered the

conversation they had about taking the children to a doctor. "Oh.

Already?"

"I want to find out as much about it as I can."

"Marie, you shouldn't do anything precipitate." Mrs. Chard knew her

friend's propensity for impulsiveness.

"I won't. I just want some information. It's an interesting idea,

don't you think?"

It was interesting. Mrs. Chard felt herself becoming

stimulated as she pictured Leslie castrated and with breasts. But it was

just an exciting thought. She would never do such a thing to him. She

was uneasy. She hoped Marie would be able to separate fantasy from

reality like she did.

Leslie was dreading the moment when he would have to get up out of

the concealing foam. He wished the ladies would leave before then, but

his fears were realized when his mother said at last, "All right, girls,

that's enough lollygagging around. Leslie, get out of the bath and I'll

dry you off."

Mrs. Argentina said, "You, too, Joan. Here." She held out a towel for

him.

Leslie kept his back to Mrs. Argentina as his mother rubbed him down.

He wanted to get through this ordeal with as little loss of composure as

possible.

His heart sank when Mrs. Chard looked intently at the armpit she was

drying off. "Oh, dear. I completely forgot about shaving you. Turn to

the light and stand still. I'll do it right now."

As Leslie stood trembling in an agony of embarrassment, now facing

Mrs. Argentina and Johnny, his mother lathered him with shaving cream.

She did his underarms first. She wielded the razor carefully, expertly,

with a childlike pleasure. When she kneeled in front of him and made him

spread his legs to have better access to them with the razor, Leslie

looked down. Tears of humiliation blurred his vision. Then his gaze

became fixed on his mother.

The bodice of her nightgown was cut so low that from above Leslie

could see her cleavage plainly, and because she had somehow got splashed

with water, the silky material was plastered to her nipples, which

showed rosy and erect through the gossamer. Leslie wondered if Johnny

was looking at her.

He closed his eyes. He heard Mrs. Argentina say, "You trim her hair

down there, too, don't you?"

"Yes." There was an unexpected tremor in his mother's voice. "I'll

get to it in just a moment. I think it looks rather coquettish."

Her fingers were pushing his balls up out of the way as the razor

moved up against his crotch. Only his shame at being naked in front of

Mrs. Argentina and having his friend see this highly-intimate part of

his bath, prevented an immediate erection.

"One of these days I might shave her between the legs and the cheeks.

I'm thinking of her personal daintiness."

"Oh, yes, Estelle! What a good idea. Removing the hair there will

prevent it from retaining any disagreeable odors. I think I'll do the

same to my Joan."

"It would have to be done every day to keep from chafing. But I guess

the girls could do it themselves once they were shown how. As part of

their toilette."

The coolness of the shaving cream spread over Leslie's pubic area.

His eyes snapped open and he flinched when his mother's slippery fingers

clasped his hanging meat.

Oh, gosh, did she have to touch his thing?

His anxiety increased as she moved his cock from side to side to

shave the margins of his pubic hair.

She couldn't know what she was doing to him, her fingers were

manipulating the organ unbearably, stroking it in the slickness of the

shaving cream, pulling it gently and touching that sensitive area just

back of the skin-covered head.

He tried reciting the times table again, but it was no use.

In despair, Leslie saw his prick swell, stiffen, the head push out

through the foreskin and finally stand rigid and shamelessly exposed.

His mother's unknowing touch had caused him to lose control.

She let go as if her fingers had been burned. "Leslie! How dare you!

That's not at all ladylike."

The corner of her mouth twitched, as though she were trying to

control a smile.

"You're incorrigible. Now see what you've done. You've made your

little guest misbehave too."

Johnny was staring at Leslie's erection, his own prick equally stiff.

Mrs. Argentina's eyes moved back and forth between them. There was a

humid expression on her face.

Mrs. Chard said, "I simply won't have this kind of behavior. I shall

do something about it right now. Help me, Marie. Hold him while I get

the solution to this problem and make sure it doesn't come up again," he

heard a smile in her voice, "at least for a while. Leslie, you're

disgraceful."

Mrs. Argentina put her arms around him from behind, holding him

against her. Somehow one of the shoulder straps of her nightgown had

slipped down and her breast, a soft white globe tipped by an erect brown

nipple, pressed against his cheek.

Mrs. Chard put her hand around his stiff penis again and worked it

gently back and forth. Her other hand lifted to caress his testicles

with slippery fingers.

A shock ran through Leslie. His mother was jerking him off! In front

of Mrs. Argentina and Johnny!

She glanced up and said softly, "It's all right. You can let yourself

go. You don't want to disgrace me when you get dressed, do you?"

The head of Leslie's cock gleamed. His skin slipped sexily under the

pressure of his mother's hand. Helplessly he felt his prick thrill. His

breath came short. His knees began to weaken and he leaned back, giving

himself up to Mrs. Argentina's softness and Mrs. Chard's manipulation,

panting.

It was out of his control. As his mother fondled his tight balls and

continued the sensuous movement of her fingers on his cock, an

irresistible surge grew in his genitals. The room darkened.

His hips jerked spastically.

An ecstatic squirt of his most private and intimate juice issued

violently from the head of his prick.

He strained against Mrs. Argentina's grip as Mrs. Chard quickened the

rhythm of her stroking hands and successive jets of semen arced out and

splashed on the floor as his cock pumped deliciously pulse after pulse

prick massaged by slippery fingers he CAME and CAME and CAME

spurting fiercely into the air; he whimpered.

Then it was over. Awareness of his surroundings returned to him. He

shuddered. The jets became drools that flowed onto his mother's hand.

Mrs. Chard kept moving her slender fingers and fondling his balls

while his prick slowly softened. She was crooning in a low voice,

"That's a good girl, let it go, oh, such a good girl."

A warm liquid pattered on his belly and trickled slowly down.

He opened his eyes. Johnny was standing beside Mrs. Chard, staring at

Leslie's softening cock. His prick was standing straight out. Semen

jumped from it. He didn't seem to be aware of it.

Mrs. Chard's eyes widened and she looked up at the other woman, who

finally noticed what was happening.

Mrs. Argentina grabbed Johnny's prick, holding it as the last of the

ejaculation was urged out. No longer under great pressure, the thick

mottled fluid flowed down the underside of the prick to leak stickily on

her fingers.

"You naughty girl. Are you quite through? If not," her hand pulled

his organ back and forth, squeezing more semen out of it, "If not, I'll

do it to you. Just to make sure."

Johnny gave a start and went a deep red all over.

"I'm s-sorry, Mom. I didn't know what I was doing."

"You must apologize to Mrs. Chard and Leslie too."

"I'm sorry," Johnny whispered, eyes downcast.

"All right. Joan, if you're sure you're quite finished, I'll

shave you. Leslie, you should get back in the bath and undo the damage."

As he turned to step into the tub, Leslie saw his mother take some

toilet tissue and wipe his semen off the tile floor. He looked down at

the liquid on his belly. Surreptitiously he wiped it off with a finger,

then stuck the finger in his mouth. Johnny was right. It was a sexy

taste. When he glanced up he saw his mother watching him. He dropped his

eyes, blushing, and didn't look at her again. What must she think!

Leslie watched from the security of the bubble bath as Mrs. Argentina

made her son bend over and keep his cheeks spread with his hands. He was

glad Johnny was getting it too. He didn't want to be the only one.

Johnny's asshole, as Mrs. Argentina shaved carefully around it, was

plain for the world to see. Leslie remembered sticking his prick in it

last night--he had even licked it.

Before Mrs. Argentina had finished with Johnny's toilette, Mrs. Chard

took Leslie back to the bedroom to dress.

She handed him a pair of sheer panties. Gratefully he slipped them on

in haste.

"Which dress would you like today, dear?"

"I don't know. Whatever you think."

Mrs. Chard patted his cheek. "You're such a dear child, Leslie. I

know how difficult this must be for you. I appreciate the trouble you

are taking to please your mother. I'll make it up to you, I promise.

It's so lovely to have a demure, well-behaved daughter."

Leslie flushed with mixed pleasure and chagrin. He was glad his

mother was happy with him, but felt helpless, and now that he had been

made to ejaculate, somehow weaker and less masculine, as if he were

becoming the girl his mother was fantasizing.

He gritted his teeth when she laced a pink merry widow around his

midsection. It was as unforgiving as the white-lace garment he had worn

yesterday. At her instructions he held his arms high in the air while

she pulled the laces with what he thought was unnecessary force, leaving

him gasping. He knew better than to complain.

She slipped the falsies into the cups and whispered in his ear, "I

think we've taken an inch more off your waist than yesterday. Isn't that

wonderful?"

Yeah, wonderful. What had started out as a one-time favor to Mrs.

Chard two days before, now threatened to become a way of life. He might

have to be Mrs. Chard's "daughter" whenever he was home from now on. It

wasn't fair. What if his school friends found out? Life wouldn't be

worth living. At least Johnny was in the same boat. He would have

company.

Maybe their mothers would get tired of the game soon, he hoped as he

held his arms up again to let Mrs. Chard drop a light summer frock over

his head. It was pink; the color gave his skin a luminous glow. The top

was cut straight across under his arms. Like the nightgown, it had

ribbon straps and left his arms and shoulders bare. He was glad his

mother had shaved his underarms, after all.

"There's no reason for you to wear hose with that dress. It's going

to be a warm day, and you'll be more comfortable without."

Mrs. Chard gave him a pair of sandals. "Now, just a touch of lipstick

and a little mascara because your eyelashes are so light, and we're

done." She brushed his hair in soft waves.

"There! You look so pretty, darling. So fresh and young, it almost

makes me jealous."

"She is pretty," Mrs. Argentina said, emerging from the

bathroom with Johnny. She had pulled her shoulder strap up and her

breast was no longer bare. "Leslie, you're a perfect doll!" She turned

to Johnny, who was stark naked, penis dangling limply in front of him.

"You are too, darling. And don't you feel fresh and smooth down there?

Perhaps Leslie has some undies you can borrow. When you are so clean you

don't want to put on yesterday's panties. I wish I had thought to bring

extra clothes, but staying over was so spur-of- the-moment. Never mind,

you can change when we get home."

Mrs. Chard said, "Oh, Marie, you don't want her to go out in the

dress she wore yesterday. She and Leslie are the same size. I'm sure

Leslie wouldn't mind if she borrowed a frock. Leslie?"

"Sure."

"That blue one, I think."

Leslie was surprised to hear Johnny exclaim, "It's beautiful! See the

lace on the sleeves and collar! Mom, you have to get me one like this,

it's just too much."

Leslie couldn't believe his friend was carrying on about a dress.

What had got into him?

He watched Mrs. Argentina fasten the boy's stockings to his garters,

kneeling in the same way his mother did. His eyes kept straying to the

woman's full bosom, wishing the nightgown would slip again, until he

heard his mother say, "My turn for a bath!" and became aware that she

had stripped off her own nightie.

All eyes turned to her. Mrs. Chard seemed unconscious of the

nakedness of her slender body as she walked gracefully to the dresser,

pert breasts bobbing, to select her lingerie. Leslie caught a glimpse of

something pink between the lips at the juncture of her thighs,

imperfectly concealed by the sparse silver pubic hair. He wondered if

her--what did she call it?--clitoris--was always erect like that. She

had said it was like a miniature penis, so he had imagined it got small

when she was not aroused.

He saw Johnny staring at her. Jealousy seized him. Johnny shouldn't

be seeing his mother naked. He got angry. Why was she displaying herself

like this? It was one thing for them to be "all girls together" when it

was he, Leslie, who was being undressed. It was something else for his

friend to be allowed to see his mother.

A look passed between Mrs. Chard and Mrs. Argentina. The dark-haired

woman hastily finished her son's makeup and hair and told the children

to wait for them downstairs while the ladies bathed and got dressed.

Leslie and Johnny were shy with each other until Leslie said, "I'm

kind of hungry again. Want to raid the refrigerator?"

Johnny had a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, but Leslie confined

himself to a glass of milk. The corset was so tight he would be lucky to

finish it. A guy could starve to death, he thought, looking at the

lipstick traces on his glass. He was still annoyed by his mother

undressing like that.

He said, "Wasn't that a pain?"

Johnny surprised him. "I liked it."

"You did?"

"Yeah, the way they acted was like we were really girls, so I didn't

mind. I liked taking a bath with you. I wished we were alone."

"Yeah, I did too," Leslie admitted.

Johnny started to giggle, his ponytail swaying.

"What is it?"

"I know something you don't know."

Leslie couldn't help smiling. "What?"

"I peed in the bath."

"You did! So did I."

The boys laughed until Leslie gasped, "No more! My waist is too

tight, it hurts."

There were tears in their eyes.

When they sobered at last, Johnny said diffidently. "Your mother sure

is pretty. I can see where you get it from."

"Yours is too." Leslie remembered the exposed breast, so much fuller

than his mother's. He forgave his friend for looking.

"That was really something, what your mom did. I got all turned on

when she jerked you off. Did you hear my mother? If I didn't already

squirt she was going to do it too. I never thought anything like that

would ever happen. Your mom's good for her. I'm glad they're friends."

"Yeah, but if they didn't both have the same ideas we wouldn't be in

this fix."

"I guess so." It was clear from Johnny's voice that he wasn't sure it

was so bad. "Anyway," he said, "maybe she'll do it to me at home the

next time I get hard. I hope so."

It was more than two hours before the ladies came down, flushed and

rosy, sheepishly avoiding each other's eyes.

Mrs. Argentina said, "Come, Joan. Time to go downtown. We have an

appointment--and you have to get some rest, for we have a busy day

tomorrow."

Downtown. Leslie hadn't been able to understand how Johnny had dared

to walk over here from the other condominium yesterday, in full view of

everyone. Now Mrs. Argentina was going to make him go downtown dressed

like this. He looked at Johnny to see his reaction, and was impressed

with his friend's equanimity. He knew he couldn't do it.

Johnny said merely, "But tomorrow's a school day."

Mrs. Argentina smiled mysteriously. "Never mind. I may have a

surprise for you."

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 9</H3>

Leslie wondered what kind of "surprise" it was that made Johnny fail

to show up for school the next day. He was disappointed at not seeing

his friend; he wanted to talk about the weekend with him, and maybe,

after school, go with him to their hideaway for a couple of private

hours, during which anything might happen.

Maybe it was only a new dress or something, and his mother made him

stay home to wear it. Missing school didn't matter. There were only

three days left, and nobody was doing anything.

Leslie was glad to be back in his own clothes again. Enough was

enough.

They felt strange at first. He could see what his mother meant when

she called them "coarse."

His jeans were rough against the smoothness of his shaven legs, and

he didn't feel comfortable until he had tightened his belt an extra

couple of notches. Apparently the effect of the merry widows carried

over. His shoes were heavy and loose until his feet spread to their

normal size.

He washed his face carefully that morning, scrubbing off the remnants

of his makeup. For a while it seemed the lipstick had made a permanent

stain, until he realized it was the scrubbing that was making his lips

pink. He still felt too clean and sweet-smelling to fit his idea of a

boy. His hair remained soft and shining, and despite all he could do,

the feminine wave his mother had made over his forehead kept coming

back.

Nobody seemed to notice, however, not even the trace of nail polish

on one of his fingers that he saw while he was eating lunch and

frantically scraped off with his teeth.

He spent most of the afternoon slouched at his desk in the back of

the classroom daydreaming about the weekend and getting hard whenever he

thought about his mother. His prick kept telling him if she wanted him

to dress up he would do it happily--if she would "reward" him; and even

the thought of putting on girl's clothes began to seem exciting. Maybe

he would do it even if she didn't ask him to. He'd be kind of shy about

letting her know he liked it, though. Maybe she'd think there was

something wrong with him.

When he got home he hugged her around the waist, burying his head in

her bosom, and let her feel his hardness against her thigh.

Instead of responding, Mrs. Chard said, "Come into the living room,

dear. I have something to talk to you about."

Oh-oh. "Talk" was never good news. What had he done now?

"Leslie, we're going to spend the summer in Chardsville. I've sent

Angie up to give the caretakers instructions about opening up the house,

so we'll be camping out for the next few days without her to cook and

clean. You remember my telling you about Chardsville. It was named after

your great-grandfather."

"Aw, do we have to? I wanted to play with Johnny this summer."

"You can, dear. Mrs. Argentina and Joan will be coming with us."

"Oh," he said, "Well, then, okay." Leslie started to get up.

"Wait, dear. There's one more thing. Nobody knows you there, so I

thought you would do your mother a favor and continue to wear the

clothes I bought you."

Leslie had a sinking feeling. "You mean wear dresses every day? Some

vacation. Stuck in the house all day."

"In the first place, nobody knows you and Joan, so you can go out and

make lots of new friends."

Leslie knew he could never appear in public in a dress. "What's the

second place?"

Mrs. Chard looked at him under sultry lids. "You won't regret it."

She touched the hardness he thought she hadn't noticed.

"Oh." Leslie gave her a sunny smile. "Okay."

Mrs. Chard looked gratified. "You'll see. We'll have a marvelous

summer. Now," she said, "go up and change your clothes. The paisley

dress, I think. I want you to look nice when Mrs. Argentina gets here.

She'll be staying with us and will make the trip north with us on

Friday."

He was downcast. He wouldn't be able to sleep with his mother if Mrs.

Argentina was here.

"Is Johnny gonna stay over too?" That was second best. Or maybe

first. Leslie wasn't sure.

"No, Joan's away at a resort. It's a graduation present."

"A resort? Wow. What kind? A dude ranch or something?"

"Just a resort. I don't know. I'm sure she's in good hands. She'll

join us up there in a few weeks."

She kissed him. "Upstairs, now. I'll be along to help you with your

eyelashes and evening makeup."

Leslie was right about not being able to sleep with his mother. Mrs.

Chard put him to bed early and retired to her bedroom with the other

lady.

In the morning she took one glance at Leslie in his school clothes

and thereafter ignored him.

It made him feel bad until he realized it was only because he was

dressed as a boy. He went to school resolved to change into a dress just

as soon as he got home.

The whole thing was confusing. He wasn't one thing or the other. A

boy by day, a kind of girl in the evenings and in bed at night.

He was cut adrift from his schoolmates. When he thought of the summer

coming up, it was a relief to realize he wouldn't have to switch back

and forth. His mother wanted him to be her "daughter," which was his

second choice, but okay, he would be. Especially--his cock got warm in

his jeans--because she had promised he would profit by it.

Johnny would be there, too. He supposed he would also be wearing a

dress. He didn't understand what had got into their mothers, but for the

sake of peace in the family he was willing to go along.

Graduation was on Thursday. Leslie took part in the exercises wearing

the white class gown and mortarboard, receiving his elementary-school

diploma from Mr. Jacobowicz, the headmaster. His mother and Mrs.

Argentina were in the audience and applauded politely with the rest as

he stepped down from the stage. And that was that. Leslie was faintly

let down. He knew graduation from grade school wasn't anything much, but

somehow he had expected it to be more than it was. He wished Johnny was

with him, though Johnny was probably better off at the resort.

Mrs. Argentina took his arm and guided him through the crowd of

parents and children.

"Your mother has something to do. She asked me to drive you."

"What is she doing?"

"I don't know exactly. Something to do with your school transcript, I

think."

His transcript? Leslie wasn't sure what that was. Probably about his

marks. Why did she care? She had a report card every couple of months,

and his grades were okay, B's and C's, and anyway he graduated, didn't

he?

They rode home in Mrs. Argentina's Cadillac. He sneaked a look at his

friend's mother out of the corner of his eyes. It was hard to believe

that he had seen this tall, beautiful, elegantly-dressed woman almost

naked, her curves clearly outlined by her nylon nightgown, her tit

exposed. She looked as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

Sophisticated, dignified, authoritative. He was half in love with her.

When they got home she sent him upstairs to take a bath and change.

Leslie bathed unenthusiastically, not using the bubbles, but

nevertheless pouring in a little bath oil.

While he was drying himself Mrs. Argentina knocked perfunctorily at

the door and walked in without waiting for a response.

"Hi," she said as he hastily wrapped the towel around his waist, "All

done with your bath? All clean? Let me see you."

She examined his underarms, and exclaimed, "Why, Leslie! You haven't

been attending to your shaving recently. You have a very light growth,

but you really should shave every day. How long has it been? Let me see

your legs. Oh, my. Come, I'll do it for you."

When he hesitated, she said, "Don't be timid, Leslie. I have a little

girl of my own, you know."

Mrs. Argentina shaved him thoroughly. When it came time for him to

remove the towel from around his waist, the attention she paid to that

blushing private area at the join of his legs caused his penis to swell.

He was terrifically embarrassed.

"Leslie." She stood up and turned him away so that he was facing the

mirror on the back of the door.

"I'm s-sorry."

From behind she said, "You know what we have to do."

"What?"

Her left hand reached around his waist and held him to her; her right

clasped his penis. "Your mother's technique seemed to work admirably.

Let me help."

As before, he felt helpless but extravagantly excited. The other day

she had been holding him while his mother worked on his thing. Her tit

had been soft and warm against his cheek.

She moved her manicured hand back and forth. Leslie watched in the

mirror. Her expression was businesslike, but her breath in his ear was

tremulous and her heart thumped against his back. He gave himself up to

the thrill of her kneading hand, alone and secret with Johnny's mother

in the bathroom, seeing her eyes intent on the stretching and

contracting of the skin of his prick. He was stunned with humiliation

but dazzled. If he had known wearing girl's clothes would lead to this

kind of thing, he'd have done it long ago!

When he came, her face got pale. She continued manipulating his

softening cock, squeezing and milking it like a farmer pulling a cow's

teat, until he could stand it no longer and pulled away. Though

gratified by the ecstasy she had given him, he was still hideously

embarrassed in front of her.

She allowed him no privacy. Kneeling in front of him again, she

stripped back his foreskin and dabbed at the remaining moisture on the

head of his cock before continuing with the interrupted shaving job. As

with Johnny, she made him bend over, and shaved the area between his

legs and buttocks, saying, "I'm sure your mother would wish us to do

this. She's right, it is so much daintier."

That night Mrs. Chard tucked Leslie in and kissed him good night.

"Mrs. Argentina tells me she helped you with your toilette this

afternoon. Good. She's such a good friend, she's almost family. Do

whatever she says."

They left for Chardsville the next day.

By means of the accursed waist-cinching garment Mrs. Chard and Mrs.

Argentina managed to fit him into a simple form-fitting shirtwaist dress

"perfect for traveling, dear," and made him up, bickering cheerfully

about the amount of cosmetics suitable for daytime wear. It reinforced

his sense of being a doll for them to play with.

He had a nasty fright when he saw the moving men come in. He ran to

his room and begged his mother to let him change clothes.

"Don't be so silly, dear. You look just adorable. Now for goodness'

sake, be a good girl and don't try my patience. There is far too much to

do without you distracting me."

Leslie sidled furtively from room to room, keeping out of sight of

the moving men who boxed his mother's belongings and covered the

furniture with dust covers. It looked like a major project for just two

months vacation, He noticed that except for the frilly clothing Mrs.

Chard had so recently bought for him, none of his own things were

packed.

When the time came to leave the condominium townhouse Leslie

practically ran to the Cadillac, heels clicking, and hunched down in the

back seat, praying none of the passers-by had recognized him.

The three-hour trip was uneventful, aside from Leslie having to use

the rest room when they stopped for gas. When he swiveled his legs to

get out of the car, his skirt rode briefly up to show the tops of his

stockings right in front of the gas-station man. He had a shock of panic

and pulled it down hastily. He avoided looking at the man as he minced

across the concrete apron in the tight shoes, accompanied by Mrs.

Argentina. She guided him to the door marked 'Ladies'.

He had to wait outside fidgeting, heart pounding with anxiety, until

she got the key from the attendant. He was acutely conscious of the

precarious modesty, the unreliable concealment, of a dress, and the

embarrassing bobbling weight of falsies on his chest. Here in the open,

with the station employees and gas customers, and cars whizzing by on

the highway, it was like one of those frightening nightmares where

you're naked in a crowd. He was sure that if anybody gave him a second

look they would know instantly that he was a boy wearing girl's clothes.

He couldn't understand how Johnny had been able to go out in a dress

with such apparent composure.

When Mrs. Argentina returned with the key he was so relieved to

escape into privacy that he didn't protest when she helped him down with

his panties as if he were a child. She made him sit on the toilet to

pee, explaining that when he was in public he had to be careful to do

everything like a young lady. When he was through she dabbed at the tip

of his prick with a piece of toilet paper and pulled his panties up for

him.

Mrs. Argentina took her turn. He listened to the sizzle of her urine,

remembering the sight of her bare cunt that day when he and Johnny had

peeked in on his mother and her, and wondered about all the personal

attention she had been giving him. He thought about her jerking him off.

That had been embarrassing. But exciting. Maybe he could get her to do

it again some day. He couldn't tell for sure, but she had seemed to be

kind of breathless, like she was taking pleasure in causing him to

squirt whether he wanted to or not. That was okay; he wanted to.

She was so beautiful. Out of the corner of his eye he tried to see

her pussy, pretending he wasn't looking, but her skirt covered it even

when she reached between her legs to wipe herself.

The house was magnificent. A mansion. Angie showed Leslie his room at

one end of a second-floor balcony which overlooked the entrance hall. It

had been his mother's when she was a young girl. It smelled faintly like

stale old roses, a musty, unused odor redolent of ancient perfume. Not

just a room, a suite! With a sitting room as well as a bedroom, and a

luxurious bathroom. He asked Angie what the extra appliance in the

bathroom was.

She turned pink. "It's called a bidet. Ladies use it," she said, and

would say no more.

Leslie was shy in front of the Creeches, the elderly caretakers who

were now acting as butler and cook, but when Angie told him they had no

idea he was anything but a girl, he made himself relax as best he could.

Boy-like, during the next few days he explored the three-story house

from attic to wine cellar and wandered over the sixty acres of lawn and

trees and lakefront. He wished Johnny were there to explore with him.

Mrs. Chard and Mrs. Argentina were vague about the resort at which

Johnny was staying, but said he would be joining them soon.

The weather was hot, and the lake, which stretched wide and flat and

blue between the house and Chard's Lake Park, looked inviting, but going

in the water was out of the question. Even if Leslie had been willing to

show himself in any of the swimsuits his mother had bought for him, the

tops were too skimpy to conceal the fact he was wearing falsies, and

when he put on the bikini bottoms a bulge made his gender known. Mrs.

Chard agreed that he would have to forego swimming until they could

figure something out.

That didn't mean she would indulge his bashfulness about being seen

by others. She forced him to go shopping with her and took him through

numerous women's boutiques, introducing him and arranging for him to be

able to sign her charge accounts.

At first, he thought he would faint on the spot. He suffered agonies

of humiliation when Mrs. Chard led him into the lingerie section of

Dresser's department store, and later, when a distinguished man in a

crowded elevator seemed to be leaning against his front, a desperate

fear that the man would notice that the yielding protrusions on his

chest were less than genuine.

He found himself behaving like a shrinking violet, looking down,

blushing furiously, and responding inaudibly when Mrs. Chard introduced

him to somebody.

It exasperated her. "Speak up, Leslie. And stand straight. You look

fine. No one would ever know you are anything but a charming young

girl."

He learned that his mother was right. Nobody seemed to realize he was

in disguise. In one boutique a salesgirl entered the dressing room to

show him a skirt and caught him tucking his falsies into a new bra. It

scared him to death, but she said only, "Don't be embarrassed, all young

girls want to appear bigger than they are. You'll grow." It didn't occur

to her he was a boy.

Mrs. Chard made him go with her to a Fourth of July band concert in

Chard's Lake Park. They picnicked on the lawn with hundreds of other

people. Leslie sensed she was showing the town that she had come back to

stay. Again, nobody caught on to him. The smiles directed at him were

friendly, and a little curious, for, as Mrs. Chard explained, they

wanted to see what the daughter of the richest woman in town was like.

Aside from these harrowing occasions there was nothing much for

Leslie to do. He moped around restlessly for a few days, feeling like a

prisoner, confined to the house and grounds. He made a start on building

a secret tree house in the woods surrounding the acres of lawn, but

abandoned it because it was no fun without Johnny.

Then one night things began to look up.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 10</H3>

Lwas settling into dreams when the lamps went on in his sitting room,

sending a shaft of light through the bedroom doorway.

Mrs. Chard's voice said, "Leslie? Are you asleep?"

"Huh?"

"Leslie, wake up."

"Okay."

The edge of the bed sank. Mrs. Chard's hand stroked his brow. "I know

you must be lonely without your little friend. Why don't you come in bed

with me and Mrs. Argentina?"

When what she said penetrated, Leslie's heart lurched and he came

wide awake. His prick started to get warm.

Wait a minute. He wasn't going to be able to do anything. Not if Mrs.

Argentina was there. Well, even if he couldn't, it would be nice to

sleep with her after all this time. Them. Sleep with both of them. He

wondered if he could manage to sleep between the two of them. Maybe he

could sneak a peek at Mrs. Argentina's tits. He remembered her hand on

his prick, and jumped up and followed Mrs. Chard back to her room.

Only the lamp by the side of the huge four-poster was lit, but it

shone directly on Mrs. Argentina.

Leslie gawked.

He didn't have to peek. Mrs. Argentina was sitting up in bed, sheet

down to her waist, top bare.

She was so beautiful and sexy, he thought. Her breasts were full soft

orbs with proud nipples that gave him the instant urge to mouth them.

Her figure was lushly curved. The way her belly swelled sensually before

dipping under the sheet filled him with excitement.

She smiled at him. Her dark, liquid eyes were fastened on Leslie's

midsection. It made him realize that his body had gone ahead without him

and that an erection was holding his thin nightgown out.

Mrs. Argentina said, "It's such a warm night. Why don't you two make

yourselves comfortable like me before coming to bed?"

"What a lovely idea, Marie." His mother took off her gown and turned,

naked and wanton, to Leslie. "Let me help you."

He raised his arms to let her pull the garment over his head,

exposing his hard-on.

Mrs. Argentina's eyes widened. There was a twinkle in them. "Why,

Leslie, I'm shocked. You're only a child. How dare you be aroused in

front of grown-ups? Come lie down while your mother and I discuss the

situation."

Mrs. Chard was smiling.

He climbed into bed next to Mrs. Argentina. He lay on his back, prick

standing brazenly in the air. His mother got in next to him. He was in

heaven--between their soft bodies just as he had been wishing. His

mother pressed close, and Mrs. Argentina turned and cuddled against his

side, breasts squashed against his upper arm. The ladies were taller

than he; Leslie felt surrounded and secure and protected.

Impulsively, without quite thinking about it--if he had, he never

would have dared--he reached down with both hands and twined his fingers

in their pubic hair.

Mrs. Argentina made a small noise and then spoke over Leslie in a

tremulous voice. "Your daughter takes after you, Estelle. She certainly

has a big clitoris. It seems to need attention. What shall we do?"

Mrs. Chard giggled nervously. "I don't know if we should take the

problem in hand or kiss it to make it go away."

The dark woman laughed, then as the boy pinched her labia lightly,

said, "Ooh Leslie. What are you doing?" Her thighs writhed and her leg

came up over his. She started pushing her cunt against his hip. It was

wet.

She gasped, "Estelle, I'm so aroused I can't wait. Tell me again how

to do it with your daughter."

Mrs. Chard looked excited.

"Sit down on it. Here, I'll help."

Leslie's heart began to gallop. When he dared to touch Mrs. Argentina

before, it had been out of mischief, a kind of you-did-it-to-me-so-I-

guess-I-can-do-it-to-you gesture, coupled with an impossible hope. Could

it really be coming true? He held very still, silently willing things to

be as they seemed, not a misunderstanding.

Mrs. Argentina straddled Leslie's hips. He stared fascinated at her

dark-haired vulva as she lowered herself onto the cock Mrs. Chard was

holding with both hands and guiding to her friend's vagina. Oh gosh it

was true! His mom was really going to let him do their private thing

with Mrs. Argentina!

Delicious wet heat surrounded his prick little by little, until she

was sitting on him. The entire length of his cock was sheathed in tender

flesh.

"Open your legs, Leslie." His mother panted shallowly. "That's it.

Now, Marie, lie forward on her and straighten out your legs between

hers. Careful. Don't let it come out."

Mrs. Argentina lay on top of him, supporting most of her weight on

her elbows. He put his arms around her. Her big breasts nearly stifled

him. Leslie was ecstatic. He was fucking Johnny's mother. Or was it the

other way around? It was hard to tell. He knew he was fucking her, he

was the man, but their position made everything a little confusing to

him.

He lifted his knees. She moved her hips rhythmically, cunt slurping

up and down on his cock. Leslie whimpered in joy. He determined to make

it last all night long if he could. It might be his only chance, and it

was too good to waste by coming right away.

Eyes avid, Mrs. Chard was on her knees next to them watching every

stroking movement. Leslie saw her rest one hand on Mrs. Argentina's ass,

then slip her finger down between the dark woman's smooth white cheeks.

She said breathlessly, "Give it to her, Marie, give it to her! Make

her come."

Mrs. Argentina keened, "Oh, God, Estelle. You were right. It's just

like being the man," she said, humping him with abandon. "When I move

like this my clit rubs against her. I can't tell if I'm inside her or

she's inside me! Leslie, you're such a darling young girl. I've wanted

you for so long."

Her full lips descended on his and a moment later her tongue speared

between them and pushed inside.

Ugh, her tongue! It roved freely, a big fat slippery organ filling

his mouth, playing with his own tongue then lengthening to reach to the

back of his throat, the base of it forcing his lips wide. He felt

violated, then, as the kiss went on, excited.

Now he knew what it was--a French kiss! He never did it before. In a

way it seemed even more intimate than fucking. He responded, curling his

own tongue about hers. They were joined at both ends.

She grunted. Tensed. She broke the kiss and threw her head back, eyes

looking inward. A whine issued from her wet mouth.

"Unh! I'm--I'm com-- Oh!"

Her cunt seized his penis. He could feel the labia flare against his

pubic area. Her body was jerking back and forth in spasms.

The noise she was making in her throat grew in volume, then subsided,

then increased and fell back again.

He gritted his teeth and tried to remember what the product of nine

times nine was.

Finally her hips stopped moving and she slumped on top of him. He

welcomed her weight, arms still around her. She lay quiet, cunt hot and

quivering around his stiff prick.

After what seemed a long while, she started moving again, just a

little, then a little more, until she was again pulling his cock in and

out in a sweet, wet motion that caused an ineffable sensation to grow in

Leslie's balls.

Each time she moved down on him Leslie felt the tip of his prick kiss

the end of her canal. He wanted to wait, but his organ had a mind of its

own. It no longer paid attention. He had been without sex for more than

a week. It was too long. His balls were swollen.

An eruption, the most violent he had ever had, took place, and he

blindly spurted into the woman. Squirt after squirt pumped into her. His

cock was awash in sperm. When she got full, it poured out of her onto

his pubes, and still his prick jerked as his seed flowed.

She groaned, but her cunt kept moving. There were squishing noises

down there.

Mrs. Argentina started moaning again and her body jumped and writhed

as if she were in the throes of an epileptic fit.

By the time she stopped coming, Leslie's prick was flaccid and his

leg twitched in sympathy to the sensitivity of the head of his organ,

which was being milked by the woman's insatiable cunt.

She lay heavily on him again, breathing hard in his ear.

Leslie closed his eyes, exhausted. A tear leaked from beneath his

lid. It had been a totally draining experience. His balls were empty. He

thought he would never come again.

With alarm, he realized she was moving once more. Just a little at

first, as before, but now increasing in vigor, rhythm quickening, her

mound of Venus pressed hard against his spermy pubic area.

As her movements got stronger and wilder, his cock slipped out of the

cunt. She hesitated only briefly and continued to fuck him, rubbing her

slippery pussy on his lax weenie until she screamed thinly as she found

relief.

Breathing so hard she was sobbing, Mrs. Argentina rolled off him. Her

head moved from side to side.

Leslie lay supine. His heartbeat seemed to shake his whole body. He

heard his mother sigh.

"That was so beautiful." Mrs. Chard's voice trembled.

After a while Leslie heard Mrs. Argentina say in a low tone, "How can

I ever thank you, Estelle? You're so generous to lend me your daughter--

and to show me this new way of making love to her. I never knew it could

be so rewarding. I almost wish--"

She broke off.

Leslie opened his eyes to see his mother holding her fingers to Mrs.

Argentina's lips and warning her against further speech with her eyes.

What was so secret?

Leslie didn't have a chance to find out. Mrs. Chard kissed her son

and touched his penis. He lay unmoving, face turned up, a faint hint of

a satiated smile pulling at the corners of his ravaged lips. His prick

was so shriveled that instead of lying limp on his thigh, it stuck

upright, a short fat thing with transverse wrinkles of skin, like an

accordion that had been squeezed shut. The foreskin was so much longer

than the head that it made a twist, looking like a pursed mouth.

"Oh, the poor thing, it's so tired," Mrs. Chard said. She whispered,

"Leslie, don't go to sleep. I want you to satisfy me with your tongue.

There's a good girl."

Facing his feet, she put a knee on either side of his chest and

lowered herself onto his face. Her position caused her outer lips to

spread apart, revealing the tender, turgid pinkness of her inner lips.

Leslie saw a drop of clear liquid squeeze out from between them. It

dripped on him. Her clitoris was a stiff, glistening worm pushing out of

its sensitive mantle.

Mrs. Chard sat on his face.

His nose was in her vagina; he had to breathe through his mouth. Her

cunt moved slippery on him, and he put out his tongue to touch her

clitoris. In a short time she spasmed. Her cunt lips squirmed on his

face, and he heard her wail.

There was a spray of thin liquid. It was salty. It took a long moment

for Leslie to realize his mother had lost control of her bladder. He

wriggled, but his head was held firmly between her slender thighs and he

couldn't move even when a new spurt issued from the hole she had showed

him that first day. The bed was going to get wet and she would be

embarrassed in front of Mrs. Argentina. In a panic, he opened his mouth

and let her pee flow in. His mouth filled. He had to swallow. A wave of

heat flashed over him. He was drinking his mom's piss! He pressed his

mouth up for more, and was disappointed when the stream trickled to a

halt, spurted once more, and stopped as she regained control of herself.

He hesitated, then continued licking up and down his mother's vulva,

cleaning it with his tongue. She lifted herself from his working mouth

as she convulsed in a new orgasm. With a crystalline kind of clarity,

Leslie saw Mrs. Chard's thighs braced apart to straddle his head,

genital area six inches above his face, full white outer lips open,

showing her glistening private pinkness. He saw each individual hair of

her pussy, some with golden drops still clinging. The anus was a

puckered, clean old-rose color; vividly he remembered sticking his

tongue in Johnny's hole and had an urge to do the same to her. Her

clitoris was so engorged it was possible to imagine that the spray of

urine had come from it, like from his own peepee thing.

When she leaned forward and her mouth engulfed his cock, he was

surprised to realize that he was already more than half erect. She made

loud slurping noises as she sucked and caressed and licked it. Her teeth

scraped its length. His mother was sucking his cock! Gosh, Johnny was

right. She did do that. Leslie got hard and ready.

Mrs. Chard sat up and said, "Wonderful thirteen!" It had been no more

than five minutes since he had ejaculated. She turned around, got

between his legs, and put him inside her. Her hips began a thrusting

motion. Leslie raised his knees, relaxed, and let himself be fucked. It

went on a long time.

Mrs. Argentina sat up weakly and watched them with moist eyes.

When Mrs. Chard put her nipple in his mouth and whispered, "Suck my

titty, darling," he clutched her waist to him and ejaculated as

violently as before, moaning from a tit-stuffed mouth.

When she was through with him she rolled off, and the three of them

lay side by side until Mrs. Argentina gathered strength enough to turn

out the bedside light.

The room was full of the sultry odor of sex; their wetnesses slid

against each other's skin as they cuddled together in a tangle of legs

and arms and fell into exhausted sleep.

Next morning it was abundantly clear that far from being ashamed of

their actions, the ladies' appetites had only been whetted. Leslie was

required to serve them again before rising. After a brief cheerful

discussion about who would take him first, they decided to share him at

the same time. Mrs. Chard sat on his stiff cock; Mrs. Argentina, on his

face. They kissed and fondled each other while the boy underneath did

his best to please them.

He was shaking when they let him go and went downstairs to have

breakfast. It took a long soak in a warm tub and a leisurely private

grooming to stop trembling. Refreshed, he dressed in a blouse and light

cotton jumper and clattered downstairs in his favorite leather sandals.

His mother and Mrs. Argentina passed him on the stairs; they had already

finished eating. He blushed when they smiled and gave his bottom

affectionate little pinches through his dress.

Angie served him breakfast. She remarked on the dark circles under

his eyes, and urged him to spend more time in bed.

Now that Mrs. Argentina had tasted the forbidden fruit, she displayed

an insatiable appetite. Three times that day she managed to corner him

away from Mrs. Chard and the servants. She pushed him down, held his

arms above his head with one hand while he giggled helplessly, stripped

down his panties, excited him expertly, and inserted his erection in her

love canal. She got quite skilled at it by the end of the day; the last

time she was able to bring them both off in less than a minute, from

beginning to end.

Leslie had hardly a moment to himself for the remainder of the week.

He developed a hunted look, and jumped when anybody walked up behind

him. He was relieved to hear Mrs. Argentina say at breakfast that she

was leaving to pick up "Joan." She would bring her daughter back in late

afternoon, but they would have to leave for the city again in the

morning to pack her things. They'd return in a couple of days.

His heart leaped at the news. As the day went by he got excited

waiting for his friend, and when he heard the Cadillac drive up to the

front door he dashed downstairs in a flurry of skirts.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 11</H3>

Leslie smiled happily when Johnny and Mrs. Argentina came in, but the

smile faded when Johnny gave him a frightened glance and dropped his

eyes.

Johnny looked like he had been crying.

"Come into the drawing room," Mrs. Chard said to Mrs. Argentina. "I

have just the thing for a warm evening. Gin and tonic."

"Lovely! Joan, you can go play with Leslie while Mrs. Chard and I

have a chat."

Leslie led the way up to his rooms, casting sidelong glances at

Johnny's sober face.

When he closed the door behind them he asked, "What's the matter,

Johnny? Where've you been the last couple of weeks?"

Johnny sat on the bed, automatically smoothing his skirt under him.

His face was pale.

Leslie sat next to him. "What is it? Are you okay?"

"I guess so. But, boy, did I have a close call."

"What happened?"

Johnny looked down. "It's too embarrassing."

"Why? What'd you do?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, I'm your friend, you can tell me."

"Well . . ." Johnny took a deep breath. "I guess so. You remember

when we stayed over at the condo and she said she had a surprise?"

"Yeah. My mom said it was a resort."

"Is that what they told you? Some resort. It was a sanitarium."

"A sanitarium? What for?"

"See, she took me to the doctor."

"What doctor?"

"I'm trying to tell you. Dr. Goody. She said somebody named Bellows

recommended him." Johnny paused, then said all at once, "She told the

doctor to give me a sex-change operation. You know, one of those jobs

where they whack it off and put in a cunt and make your tits grow." His

lips trembled.

"Oh, my gosh! You didn't let him, did you?"

"I wouldn'a had much choice, would I? You know how she is. But the

doctor said no. He wouldn't do it. He said it was only for people who

really thought they were women trapped in a man's body, and even if I

did, I was too young to really know."

"What did she say?"

"She would take me to another doctor."

"Did she?"

"Come on, Les, it's hard enough to tell you without you interrupting

all the time."

"Sorry."

"Okay, so the doctor saw she meant it, and she could probably get

somebody else to do it, so he said Wait. He would do something else. It

would be what she wanted but it wouldn't be illegal."

After a moment Johnny blurted, "He gave me breast implants."

Leslie waited, then asked, "What're those?"

"They're kind of like our falsies, only surgical." Johnny didn't meet

his eye. "They can be removed when I'm older and can get away from her."

Leslie waited for him to continue, but it was apparent from the

expression on Johnny's face that was all he was going to say.

Tactful, he said merely, "Gee, that's awful. But you were lucky to

get a guy like him."

"You too."

Leslie knew what that meant. Every time one of their mothers got a

new notion the other seemed to follow suit, only more so. They had some

kind of competition going. Leslie shivered.

He wasn't clear about what Johnny meant when he said "surgical

falsies," but it didn't sound good. What did they do, stitch rubber

forms to his chest? He winced at the thought. He didn't want that.

Maybe his mother would leave him alone. She seemed pleased with him

these days, affectionate and loving.

He put aside his curiosity for the moment. Mrs. Argentina and Johnny

would be staying until they found a house. He'd have a chance to ask

Johnny more about it tonight, maybe see for himself.

They went down to dinner. Mrs. Chard kept glancing from Johnny to

Leslie. He wondered what she was thinking. He had an idea it was nothing

good.

After dinner the children watched television until their mothers sent

them to bed.

They were awkward when the bedroom door was closed. It was more than

three weeks since they had been alone together, the night Leslie had

inserted his erection in the other boy. The memory caused his prick to

stiffen. He wondered if Johnny would let him do it again. His friend had

been upset but had gone along with it.

It was strange, but the thought of fucking Johnny was more exciting

than fucking Johnny's mother. Leslie wondered if he should tell his

friend what he had done. Maybe not. He remembered how annoyed he had

been when Johnny had seen his mother naked. Johnny might not want to

know that not only had he seen Mrs. Argentina naked, he had repeatedly

put his prick inside her and squirted in her, and that she had liked it.

"I guess we better get ready for bed," Leslie said.

For some reason Johnny looked scared. "Yeah, well. I got to take a

shower first." He took a nightgown and overnight-case into the bathroom

with him.

Leslie was sitting up in bed when Johnny came back in.

The lace bodice of his nightgown was full.

Surprised, Leslie asked, "Are you wearing falsies to bed?"

"I told you," the other boy answered defiantly, "The doctor gave me

implants." His hands crept up to cover his chest.

"My gosh, I didn't know what you meant. Let me see. Sit down here."

Leslie patted the bed.

Johnny hesitated, then sat down next to Leslie. "Oh, all right. I

guess you'll see sooner or later anyway."

He pushed the straps of his nightgown over his shoulders and let the

garment slip down to his waist.

Leslie's mouth hung open.

"But--they're not falsies. They're real!"

"I didn't say they were falsies. I said they were like

falsies. He gave me implants. Didn't you ever hear of implants?"

Leslie was still agape. "No."

"I guess I didn't either. They're kind of like bags of stuff called

silicone and they go inside. See?" He lifted his right breast. "You can

still see the scar where he put them in."

There was a thin pink line curving under the breast.

"My gosh! Let me touch them. Hey. They're really real! Wow. Say, your

nipples, they're bigger."

"Yeah. I guess they stretched."

"Does it hurt?"

"No. They felt tender at first but I got used to it."

Leslie stared at Johnny's breasts. The pink areolas were the size of

half dollars. They made little mounds above the soft white skin sur-

rounding them. The nipples themselves were not appreciably larger, but

were appropriate to a virginal young maiden who hadn't breast-fed

babies. Leslie's erection got so stiff it was painful.

"I know you don't want to hear this, but they're beautiful." He

reached out and hefted the breasts in his hands. "Really beautiful. You

sure it doesn't hurt?" he asked, still holding them.

"No, in fact it feels kind of good," Johnny admitted. He appeared

more relaxed after seeing Leslie's reaction.

"I guess," he said, "I guess I better show you the rest."

He stood up and let his nightgown slip to the floor.

Leslie's mouth fell open again. Under Johnny's dark pubic hair there

was only a mound. There was no sign of a penis. Leslie looked sharply at

the join of the boy's legs. Lips showed.

"They did cut it off!"

"No, it just looks that way." Johnny did something with his finger

and his penis, warm-looking and moist, appeared. "See?"

"You had me scared to death. I don't get it. How'd you do that? Can I

see?"

Leslie lifted Johnny's prick out of the way and looked fixedly at his

friend's genital area. The boy's scrotum didn't hang below the penis. It

was somehow welded to the skin up between his legs, folded on itself,

giving the appearance of drooping cunt lips.

"I don't get it. Where are your, you know, your nuts?"

Johnny pointed. "Up in here. The doctor pushed them up inside me.

Then he sewed the bag together to make a kind of holster for my thing.

He said I'd be like James Bond with a secret weapon." He gave Leslie a

tremulous smile, the first since he'd arrived.

Dr. Goody had performed a simple operation with a local anesthetic.

He gently raised the boy's testicles into his body and secured them

there; then flattened the now-empty scrotum along his crotch. He

stitched the lowermost point of the sack to the skin of the crotch as

far back as it would go.

Bending the limp penis down, he folded the sack around it, like a bun

closing on a hot dog. Sewing only through one of the inside skin layers

on each side so the stitches couldn't be seen, he formed a pocket for

Johnny's penis. He left the last quarter-inch open in back to provide a

passage for urination so the boy could sit on the toilet without pulling

out his organ. The seam bore an uncanny resemblance to the crack between

a woman's labia.

It took two weeks for the scars under his breasts to heal and for the

pricking of the stitches in his scrotum to subside. During that time Dr.

Goody took the opportunity to reassure the boy that nothing irrevocable

had been done. He could cut and remove the stitches quickly and

painlessly, and he would remove the implants free of charge when Johnny

wanted. Taking them out was more complicated than putting them in--there

would be excess skin to be cut away, and the nipples would have to be

trimmed and relocated--but the procedure was well understood and had a

high percentage of a successful conclusion.

"He was a pretty nice guy. He saw what was happening and did as much

as he could to make it easier for me. Suppose he did what Mom wanted in

the first place!"

"Wow," Leslie breathed. "You're lucky. I mean, lucky he was a nice

guy," he said hastily, "not lucky to have all that stuff done to you.

Show me again how it goes in. Do you sleep with it in or out?"

"I don't know. Usually in, I guess."

Johnny bent his prick with one hand and stretched the pouch opening

apart with thumb and forefinger of the other. He inserted the penis and

pulled the skin around it, almost as if he were putting on a sock, until

the opening fit tightly around the root and there was no sign of the

organ under the pubic hair. As before, the seam showed as a pronounced

cleft.

"That's really something! I could swear you were a girl. You don't

mind me saying that, do you? I think it's neat."

"No, it's okay. It makes me feel better."

"Do you feel bad about it?"

"Not any more, I guess. I mean, it's just temporary, right? I was

feeling, I don't know, embarrassed, I guess. Put down. But you're really

a nice guy, you know? You make me feel like everything's all right."

Johnny blushed. "I'm glad you're my friend."

"Me too. Come on, let's get in bed and talk a while."

Johnny bent over, breasts hanging, and picked up his nightgown. He

put it on and got between the sheets, sitting up next to Leslie. "Your

hair is longer," he said.

"Yeah, yours too. It's down to your shoulders. I wish mine was

straight like yours. When it's this long it's hard to handle, and Mom

always wants me to look so well groomed. I'd like to get a haircut, but

I'd be embarrassed to go into a beauty salon."

"You're crazy. Curls like yours are so much nicer looking. I really

like them."

There was an awkward silence.

Leslie said, "Remember last time you stayed over?"

"Yeah." Johnny's voice was low.

"When we--?"

"Yeah."

"Were you mad?"

"No. I--"

"What?"

"I liked it," Johnny confessed. "That's what was scary. It was like

Mom was having her dream come true, that I was a girl, and I didn't want

to like it. But you made me feel so, so--I don't know, kind of like you

could do anything you wanted to me and I'd like it." Johnny's face was

red.

"It was neat. Want to do it again?" Leslie placed his hand on his

friend's nylon-clad thigh under the sheets.

"Ow! Ow, ow, ow."

"What's the matter? What did I do?"

"Nothing," Johnny gasped. "I got a hard-on and my thing can't get

straight."

"Take it out!"

"It won't come out," Johnny moaned. "It's too stiff to bend."

Leslie began to laugh.

"Don't. It's not funny. Ow."

Johnny threw off the sheets and pulled up his nightgown. The skin of

the pouch between his legs was distended and shiny. In this state a hint

of the stitches holding the bag folded together could be seen.

"Think about something else."

"It's too late. I have to, uh, do it to myself." The boy began rub-

bing himself with the palm of his hand.

"Let me." Leslie put his hand on the bulge. The skin, two layers

really, the bag and the skin of the prick itself, slipped back and forth

tightly as he moved his hand. The concealed prick was vibrating.

In a short time it jumped, then jumped again and settled down to a

steady pulsing. A sticky leak appeared through the opening in the rear

of the distended enclosure. The boy sighed.

The swelling subsided. Leslie moved his hand firmly. More liquid was

pressed out to leak down the crack of Johnny's ass. Johnny squirmed.

"Okay, that's enough. Whew. Thanks."

"You must've really needed it. It was so fast."

"Yeah. But it was special. It felt like you were touching my balls

and my cock at the same time. I guess the skin there is just as sensi-

tive as on my prick."

"Uh, you probably don't want to any more, but I'm still pretty hard.

Could I . . .?"

A new blush appeared on Johnny's face. "You mean like last time? But

I already-- Oh, okay." He turned over on the bed and lay face down. "I

once heard Mom say women have to put out even when they're not in the

mood."

"You sure? I don't want to force you or anything."

"No, it's okay. It'll be nice. Intimate, kind of. Besides," Johnny

buried his face in the pillow and mumbled, "I brought a douche bag along

and cleaned myself out back there when I took my shower, just in case."

"Turn over for a minute. Let's do something."

"What?"

"Kiss. Let's kiss."

"K--? Oh. What for?"

"It'll be nice. You know, a real kiss. A French kiss," Leslie ex-

plained shyly.

"I never did it before."

"Me neither." Leslie remembered Mrs. Argentina's tongue filling his

mouth.

He leaned toward his friend's pink face and pressed his mouth on soft

trembling lips. He slipped his tongue between them; a surprised instant

later Johnny's slippery tongue met his. He pushed in and out, gaining

depth each time, thinking it was like fucking Johnny's mouth. He put his

arms around him. His prick was squeezed between their bellies; Johnny's

tits yielded softly against his chest. He wondered how it felt to have

breasts.

He broke the kiss, needing air.

Johnny said shakily, "Wow. That's something. If I didn't come already

I would've. Where did you learn to do that, your mom?"

Thinking of Johnny's mother, Leslie said, "Yeah. Did you like it?"

"I'll say. It makes me want--"

He broke off.

"What?"

"It makes me want to give myself to you." His face was red. "To let

you put it in me."

"Turn over again."

Leslie spread his friend's cheeks and looked at the asshole. It was

shaved clean, and glistened with the semen that had leaked from the

aperture in the folded scrotum. He pulled up his nightgown and lay on

top of the other boy. Reaching down he grasped his erection and moved it

in the slimy wetness of Johnny's crotch a few times before placing it on

the hole. He pushed.

"Oh."

"Am I hurting you?"

"A little. But I want you to."

Leslie shoved firmly. The sphincter muscle was tight, but he kept

pushing against it. It quavered. His prick gradually moved forward into

the hole despite the resistance. Lubricated with his own sperm, Johnny

couldn't have kept him out if he tried.

"Ouch! Oh. I forgot how hard it was."

"You're really tight." Leslie forced his erection farther up.

Johnny's grunt was loud in the silence of the room. "Unh! It's so

big. It hurts, but it feels good."

His ass lifted and angled itself to the invading meat.

Leslie shoved forward until his balls were pressed against Johnny's

crotch. He stayed there a moment. His friend's anus clamped spas-

modically around his prick.

He pulled back.

Johnny gasped. "You're going to turn me inside out. Oh, gosh, yes.

Fuck me."

Leslie moved back and forth rhythmically. He pushed the shoulder

straps of Johnny's nightgown down and grasped the boy's breasts, cupping

them and pinching the nipples lightly between his splayed fingers as his

mother had taught him.

Johnny stiffened.

Leslie stopped manipulating the breasts. "Does it hurt?"

"No. Yes. No. It's strange," Johnny panted. "Do it some more. It

makes me . . . I can't tell if it's what you're doing to my

tits or if it's your prick inside-- You're making me crazy. No, don't

stop, it's wonderful."

Johnny shuddered. His ass wiggled wildly. His whole body went rigid

for a long heart-stopping moment before collapsing.

"What's the matter?" Leslie was alarmed.

"You made me come again," Johnny squealed. "I wasn't even hard. How

did you do that?"

Leslie didn't answer. He plunged back and forth out of control.

Johnny's jaw muscles clenched and he breathed shallowly as Leslie's

cock drove in and out in a violent rhythm.

Leslie's stabbed his prick in one final time. It swelled impossibly

larger, then began jumping as semen squirted strongly into Johnny's

rectum. His body stiffened. His lips drew back in a rictus of ecstasy.

His hands, now claws, clutched the other boy's breasts, heedless of

Johnny's whimper of pain.

Finally he relaxed and slumped down, breathing hard. The anus spasmed

around his softening cock, squeezing and milking it and gradually

expelling it.

They lay still, Leslie's meat resting between Johnny's legs.

Johnny moved. "Oh," he sighed. "It was wonderful. Did you feel me

giving myself to you? Let me up. I have to go to the bathroom. I'm all

wet."

He squirmed out from under Leslie and sat up with care. "You made me

come again," he said in a small wondering voice. "I didn't know people

could come when they weren't hard."

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 12</H3>

A playful summer breeze dispelled some of the warmth of the sun while

mothers and "daughters" had Sunday brunch on the terrace overlooking the

lake. The ladies sipped their Silver Fizzes, chatting comfortably as

Angie removed the dishes. Leslie and Johnny, pretty in light frocks, sat

at another cafe table finishing their orange juice.

"May we be excused?" Leslie asked. He wanted to exhibit the incipient

tree house to Johnny.

"Just a minute, girls," Mrs. Argentina said. "Joan, my dear, I

promised Mrs. Chard I would show her your new, ah, figure."

Johnny's face got red. He shot a glance at Leslie, and turned

pleading eyes back to his mother. "Here? Oh, please, Mom, don't make me.

What if somebody sees?"

They were in the open air, and although nobody was in view, you could

never tell when a boat would pass. People in boats always seemed to slow

down as they went by the long manicured lawn leading down to the lake

and look up at the mansion curiously.

"Nonsense, Joan. It's just us girls here. Come over here and turn

around so I can unzip you."

Johnny gave Leslie a despairing glance and obeyed his mother. Red-

faced, he pulled his dress over his head and stood trembling in the

bright sunshine, clad only in panties and brassiere.

"The bra."

Hesitantly he reached behind him and stopped.

"Joan, don't be so silly. Take off your bra."

The boy unclasped the brassiere and shrugged out of it. His lips

quivered; his eyes were lowered.

Mrs. Chard exclaimed, "Why, she's absolutely gorgeous! How clever!

Come here, Joan, dear. Let's see you more closely."

Johnny reluctantly stood before her. She caressed his fair breasts.

Cupping her palms under them she weighed them, then bounced them gently.

"They're completely real! Do you have any discomfort, dear?"

"No Ma'am."

"Her nipples are much larger than before, aren't they? How very

beautiful."

"Yes, I don't know how he did it. That man is a genius. Joan, take

down your panties and show Mrs. Chard what else we had the doctor do."

Apparently resigned to going through with this display and wanting to

get it over with, Johnny hesitated only briefly before pushing down the

sheer garment.

"Oh!" Mrs. Chard leaned closer. "It's gone! And she has labia." Her

face was puzzled as she turned to Mrs. Argentina. "Did you decide to

have the--the complete operation after all?"

"No, it's all there. More's the pity. It's just concealed between her

legs and up inside. Go ahead, see for yourself."

Mrs. Chard touched Johnny. With a suffering look he spread his feet.

"I don't-- Where--? Oh, there it is. Now I can feel it, I think." A

rush of color went to Mrs. Chard's face as she continued to inspect

Johnny's privates, pinching the "lips" together and parting his pubic

hair to see the intricate Chinese puzzle of skin.

"I still can't see how . . ." She sat back. "But it's fabulous! Are

you sure, er, everything is still there?"

"Dr. Goody said it was completely reversible. Isn't it just too-too?

Now Joan will be able to participate in the swim party at the

condominium in town this afternoon. I'm looking forward to introducing

her to our friends. Are you sure you can't come into town with us?"

"I wish we could. But perhaps," Mrs. Chard looked thoughtfully at

Leslie, "perhaps it's just as well. Leslie couldn't wear a bathing

suit." She said absently to Johnny, "All right, dear, you can put your

clothes on now. You're adorable."

Johnny was quiet as they walked across the green sea of lawn in the

warm sun, heading for the woods.

Leslie glanced at his friend's red face a couple of times before

putting an arm around his shoulders and saying, "Don't feel bad. They're

a pain, but they don't mean any harm."

"It was embarrassing."

"I know."

"Suppose somebody saw."

"I checked out the lake, and there wasn't anybody."

A tear trickled down Johnny's cheek.

Leslie gave his shoulder a squeeze.

The other boy said, "I just can't get used to the way I look. I can't

wear my own clothes anymore or anything."

Leslie had mixed feelings. He was sorry for his friend, outraged on

his behalf for what they'd done to him--but had to admit he was

captivated by the boy's new appearance. He had really looked good

standing naked in the sun, with all evidence of masculinity removed from

the triangular patch of hair at his groin and real-seeming cunt lips in

its stead, just like a real girl. His tits were oversize for his thin

frame, Leslie thought, but probably he would grow into them.

He wouldn't let himself think that Mrs. Chard might force him to

undergo the same treatment. Mrs. Argentina . . . well, Mrs.

Argentina was nuts, but his mom had more sense. He could tell she was

interested, though. She touched Johnny there.

When he saw it he had a twinge of jealousy, then had been afraid

Johnny would get a hard-on while his organ was still "inside," like last

night, but he hadn't. Leslie guessed it was because he had already come

this morning, when he let Leslie dork him again.

Johnny had been curled on his side away from him, still asleep. He

cuddled against him, spoon-fashion, enjoying the boy's slumbering

warmth, feeling a rising excitement at the memory of the night before.

Quietly he reached down under the covers to lift his friend's nightgown,

baring his ass. He pulled up his own nightie and pressed close; there

was exquisite pleasure in the feel of the other boy's bare skin against

his prick.

Johnny stirred, half-waking, subsided back into sleep.

Cautiously Leslie pried the boy's ass cheeks apart and let his cock

rest between them, prodding gently at the entrance. It was sticky with

the secretions of the night before.

Johnny sighed, waking. He tensed, then slackened in unspoken

acceptance. His ass moved, making a small complaisant rotation. He

reached back and took Leslie's hand to place it on his tit.

Leslie held him close and pushed. So relaxed was Johnny with sleep

that Leslie was already inside before the anus clamped down reflexively.

Johnny writhed drowsily. "It's like we were married or something,

sleeping in the same bed, and you just go ahead and do it to me without

even--unh!" He gasped as Leslie shoved all the way in. "It feels

good. Hold me."

He moved his ass in a counterrhythm to Leslie's strokes.

Afterward Leslie asked, "Didn't you like it?"

"I loved it!" Johnny exclaimed. Looking down, straight dark hair

hiding his face, "I know I shouldn't."

"You didn't get hard."

"No way." His smile flashed. "I started to, but you stuck it up me

too quick. It's so big and it strains me so much I can't get stiff." He

added softly, "You made me come anyway."

The coolness of the woods brought Leslie to the present. It was park-

like inside, shorn of underbrush, just moss and violets under their

sandals, and huge old trees with branches interlaced. The temperature

was ten or fifteen degrees lower than on the lawn. Sunlight speckled the

shadowed forest floor.

Leslie hugged his friend's shoulder again.

"The tree-house tree is over there by that big flat rock. See?"

Johnny looked vaguely in the direction he was pointing, but when he

spoke it was as if he hadn't heard.

He said, "Do you think I'm pretty?"

"What? Oh. Yeah. You really look nice."

"I mean, like a girl."

Leslie wasn't sure what to say. He didn't want to hurt Johnny's

feelings. If he said he did look like a girl, he might start crying

again. If he said he didn't, he'd worry about other people seeing him.

"Well . . . yes. In a nice way. Really nice."

Johnny was thoughtful.

"I guess I better be one then."

"What do you mean?"

"Like, pretend to myself I am a girl. You know, do girl things

and all. Act like one. I mean, get interested in things like dresses 'n

sewing 'n hairdos 'n stuff like that. Just . . . you know, be

a girl. So when they call me 'she' it won't bother me."

"Play with dolls, huh?"

"You know what I mean."

Leslie pulled his dress away from his skin to let the sweat dry. His

falsies were bouncy and warm on his chest, and the elastic straps of his

brassiere irritating.

He looked at Johnny out of the corner of his eye. "One good thing

about it. When it's hot like this you don't have to wear a bra to keep

your falsies in."

Johnny looked surprised, and burst out giggling. "I guess you're

right. I could've left it off."

Grinning, Leslie led him over to the tree. It was an old oak with

massive branches sticking out almost level eight feet from the forest

ground. Under it was a granite rock with a surface so flat it looked

artificial.

"That could be our doorstep," he said. "If you stand on tiptoe, you

can almost reach the first branch. We could hang a rope ladder down, and

when we were up there we could haul it up behind us so the monsters

couldn't get in."

Johnny laughed. His melancholy had dissipated.

Leslie said, "Can't you just see it? We'd build a platform between

those two branches, then we could put up regular walls and a roof so we

could come here in the rain."

"It would be cozy."

Leslie stood on the rock, picturing the completed house. Johnny

stepped up beside him, looking around. The tree was between them and the

mansion; the woods extended as far as they could see. They were alone in

the wilderness.

Leslie said suddenly, "I gotta take a leak."

"Me too. Too much juice for breakfast."

"Bet I can piss farther than you."

Leslie tugged his panties down to free his cock, lifted his skirt out

of the way, and with a practiced movement of his fingertips pulled his

foreskin back enough to prevent spraying. He let go. The yellow stream

traveled a dozen feet to splash at the base of a tree before dwindling

to darken the ground in a rapidly-approaching line.

Johnny watched with a half smile.

Leslie shook his weenie free of the last drops, let his skirt fall,

and said, "Okay, see if you can beat that."

Johnny shook his head. "I'm going to be a girl, remember? I only did

it once, when the nurse at the clinic showed me how, but I guess I

better get used to it." His eyes moved from side to side. "Where can I

sit, do you think?"

"Sit? Without taking it out? You can do that?"

"Sure. The doctor left that opening. I told you." His cheeks pinkened

again.

"Hey, that's neat. Can I watch?"

Johnny hesitated before shrugging.

"I guess you saw just about everything else. It's kind of

embarrassing, though."

Leslie got excited. "You can do it right here on the rock."

Johnny took off his panties altogether and squatted, an inward

expression forming.

Leslie said, "Wait. Lift up your dress so I can see."

He knelt on the cool stone and looked at his friend's bare crotch. In

a moment the folded skin between Johnny's legs bloated, and a long

heartbeat later urine sprayed from the orifice, accompanied by a drizzle

through the seam of the imitation vaginal lips. The stone puddled.

A steaming odor of piss rose to Leslie's nostrils. He watched

fascinated. The loose skin of the opening didn't permit a clean stream;

the yellow liquid showered out under pressure, sometimes splashing the

boy's thighs, making him spread his knees and squat lower, and sprinkled

from the interstices between the hidden stitches. The aroma reminded

Leslie of the time his mother peed in his mouth. His prick got hard

under his dress.

The hissing spray subsided and stopped, but liquid kept dribbling

from the folded skin.

Johnny said, "Oh ick. I forgot how messy it is. I wish we had toilet

paper. I have to squeeze the rest of it out or it'll keep dripping."

"Like last night? I'll do it."

Leslie pressed his palm on the squirmy mass. He pushed toward the

rear. His hand got wet as piss was forced out. He pushed again firmly,

breath coming short with excitement.

Johnny choked, "Don't!" He jumped to his feet. "Darn it," he said

shakily, "it's getting big." Hastily he hooked his finger into the

crescent of skin concealed by his pubic hair and yanked. His penis

emerged with a sucking noise, glistening with moisture and distending

rapidly.

He looked down, dark silken lashes concealing his bashfulness. "I

can't help it. When you touch me there it gives me a boner."

"Me too." Leslie stood up. His dress was raised in front. "See?"

Johnny's smile flickered. "We're disgraceful." His voice

imitated Mrs. Chard.

Laughing, "Yeah. We'll spoil the line of our dresses." Leslie

sobered. "We can't stay like this, you know. Our mothers'll get mad."

Johnny looked down again. "What should we do?"

"W-we could suck each other again," Leslie offered timidly. "I'll do

it to you if you do it to me after."

He had been aroused by the pissing exhibition and was stimulated by

the thought of having the other boy's prick in his mouth, but knew that

if he came first he might not want to do it anymore.

Johnny's eyelashes fluttered. "But it's all wet."

Leslie flushed. "That's all right, I don't mind. I'd like it," he

admitted, remembering his mother.

A flicker of sunlight through the leaves illumined Johnny's stiff

ball-less cock as he sat on the edge of the rock, pink dress hiked up to

his waist.

The first time he had done this, Leslie worried about what his friend

would think of him. Since then he had fucked him every time they were

together. It gave him an edge. It wasn't like he was submissive on his

knees, though he was on his knees. It was more like he could do anything

he wanted to Johnny, make him come, deplete him to exhaustion if he

chose, use him for his own pleasure--much as he in turn was used by Mrs.

Chard and Mrs. Argentina.

Before his eyes the orifice in the tip of Johnny's glistening prick

gaped. A slippery drop of fluid welled out. The breathless eagerness he

felt made him wonder about himself again. Maybe he was half

queer, he thought, before a fever of lust gripped him.

He tossed his curls out of his eyes and bent forward, inhaling the

acrid fragrance. Obsessively he pushed his face into the humid groin and

licked the folded skin, tongue traversing the seam, plunging stiff into

the flexible hole of the "pocket", reaming back and forth as if it were

one of the ladies' vaginas. He heard Johnny's gasp in the silence of the

woods. The pelvis tilted, angling toward him.

He lifted his head and let his tongue run up the underside of the

rampant penis. He opened his mouth and sucked it smoothly in,

deliberately taking it deeply, letting the head push against the back of

his throat, controlling the gag reflex it triggered. Almost all of it

was in; only an inch more and his lips would be in the boy's pubic hair.

He pulled back, tongue curling around the urine-slick organ, tasting

its aroma. Traces of his lipstick were pink on the shaft.

It was over too soon. His licking must have got Johnny excessively

stimulated. The prick began to hum in his mouth, jerked suddenly,

ejecting a spout of warm liquid. Leslie's cock enlarged implausibly; the

blood drained from his head. It wasn't like making their mothers come.

Their juices were harmless and pure, sweet secretions that gave off an

aroma of sex,. This was different. It was potent, a distillation

of Johnny's masculinity, a thick rich tangy gush swarming with sperm. He

swallowed when semen leaked from the corners of his lips, swallowed

again.

As his mouth felt the pulsing falter, he sucked hard to get every

last drop. Clamping his lips firmly around the hot meat, he urged the

emission of all that was left in the tube, wrapping his tongue lavishly

around the head to squeeze out any remaining seepage. The prick softened

until it yielded stretching to his pull.

Johnny's hands pushed him away. He heard his desperate whisper, "It's

too sensitive."

Leslie sat back on his heels panting.

He got on the rock next to his friend and hugged him.

"Did you like it?"

"I feel like I'm never gonna squirt again. Let me rest a minute, and

then I want to do it to you, okay?"

A sigh of air lifted Leslie's curls, fanned the sweat on his face and

neck. With a flutter of wings, a blue jay landed on the lowest branch of

the oak and cocked its head inquisitively, tail flirting. They were

private in the forest--unless the ladies chose to take a stroll, or one

of the gardeners decided something needed trimmed. A thrill of fear of

discovery only heightened his excitement.

Johnny's semen was slippery in his mouth, seasoned with the pungency

of urine. He couldn't believe he had made such a spectacle of himself on

his knees, slobbering and slathering, poking his tongue into the piss-

filled "pocket", and then massaging the hot prick until it ejaculated.

Johnny slid off the rock and knelt in front of him. He lifted

Leslie's skirt.

He looked up at him, eyes deep and liquid. "It's all shiny. You gonna

come right away?"

"If you just breathe on it, it'll go off like a rocket."

"Don't. Think about something else. I want to fool around."

Leslie gritted his teeth as the boy ducked his head and licked his

balls. Johnny took the skin of his sack between his white teeth and

rolled it back and forth, nipping gently, sending a thrill up Leslie's

spine. He sucked the balls in one by one, and reached behind him to

fumble with the clasp of his bra.

His mouth left Leslie's testicles; he looked up again, holding his

eyes. With a sensuous grace he released his breasts from their

confinement and leaned forward to compress Leslie's seething rod between

them, masturbating him with his tits. The nipples touched Leslie's

belly.

The soft movement was too much. Leslie uttered an inarticulate sound,

grabbed Johnny's ears under the fall of dark hair, and shoved his prick

into the open mouth. The boy's eyes widened. The muscle behind Leslie's

balls contracted violently, sending an enormous spurt ramming hard

against the back of Johnny's throat spewing semen copiously urgently

pumping seeing Johnny choke gasp sneeze simultaneously, semen issuing in

twin streams from his nostrils, his Adam's apple moving as he swallowed

repeatedly, a slurping noise loud under the trees as with glazed eyes he

looked inward concentrating on the jism being fed to him.

Leslie's cock stayed hard a long time. Johnny worked on it dutifully

until it was finally flaccid. The boy's lips were swollen as if a bee

had stung them and were devoid of lipstick.

Johnny stood up and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

"Did you like watching me s-suck your cock? I was pretending to be a

girl."

Leslie took a deep breath. "I wish it could'a been longer. You got me

too hot."

Johnny straightened his frock.

"We better go back to the house. I have to use the bidet. I feel all

wet and stinky down there."

"The bidet? Is that what it's for!"

"The nurse showed me."

They put their clothing in order and went out into the sunlight.

Their mothers were still on the distant patio. They cut across the lawn

toward a side door, walking with studied leisure so as not to alert the

ladies to their presence, wanting to repair their lipstick before anyone

saw them.

Johnny said reproachfully, "You came in my nose."

Leslie scuffed his sandal against the grass. The picture Johnny's

words evoked caused mirth to grow in him. He couldn't help it. He

started laughing.

In a moment the boy's mouth quirked. He tittered. They laughed

together until tears came to their eyes, and even after they achieved

the sanctuary of Leslie's suite, fits of giggles still overtook them.

Johnny said, "It's too warm. I think I'll take off this slingshot,"

and they collapsed again.

They spent the time before Johnny left hauling boards to the tree-

house site, and promised each other to finish it when he returned the

next day.

Leslie eyed him sympathetically. "Everybody knows us there at the

condo."

"Yeah. Well, what do I care? They can't blame me. It's her fault, not

mine."

"I'd be embarrassed."

"Maybe they won't recognize me."

"Yeah." There was a good chance of that, Leslie thought in surprise.

Johnny had come a long way from the active little monkey he was only a

few weeks ago. Now, to all appearances, he was an attractive, trim,

though over-buxom, teen-age girl. It could be that nobody would connect

the two. "They might not."

Mrs. Chard was unusually quiet at dinner. For once she didn't correct

Leslie's table manners. She seemed preoccupied.

The evening passed quietly. Just before bedtime she hinted that

Leslie could come into bed with her if he was lonely because his little

friend had gone.

Leslie was glad Mrs. Argentina and Johnny were away. He would be able

to sleep in his mother's arms all night. After that first night the

ladies had made him go back to his own bed after having sex with him.

Maybe, if he waked up early, he could put it in her while she was still

asleep, like he had with Johnny. He undressed and bathed and shampooed

his hair and put it in curlers. After slipping into his nightie he

padded into his mother's room. She was sitting up in bed reading a

fashion magazine.

"Oh, Leslie. Come in. Poor baby, are you lonesome?" She put down her

magazine and propped two pillows against the head of the bed so he could

sit by her. Patting the mattress, she said, "Sit here, darling, let's

talk."

Leslie got into bed with her. As always, her warm body next to his

aroused him. His prick lifted his gown.

"Leslie, dear, how do you like Chardsville?"

"Okay, I guess. I haven't really seen much of it."

"How would you like to stay here?"

"Not go back to the city?"

She snuggled softly against him. "There's no reason to. You graduated

from elementary school and will be going to high school in the fall. It

would be a new school in either case."

Her nearness aroused him further.

"I guess so."

"It's really a very nice town. You and Joan would make lots of new

friends."

"Is he going to be here too?"

"Yes. Mrs. Argentina is buying the house next door."

The "house next door" was a mansion on twenty-eight acres with

sweeping lawns and formal gardens. Leslie had seen it from the gazebo

that stood near the patio.

Mrs. Chard went on, "You know, we own the largest industry in town.

You'd be an important person here."

"Oh."

"It's settled then."

"Okay." Leslie turned on his side and put his arms around his mother.

His cock prodded her.

Mrs. Chard made agreeable sounds. "Wait, Leslie. I want you to do me

a favor."

"What favor?" He touched her nipple through her nightgown.

"I want you to continue being my daughter."

"Okay."

"Then we'll register you in school as a girl."

Leslie froze.

"You mean go to school dressed?"

"Yes. Oh Leslie, you've made me so happy these last few weeks. Nobody

knows you here. There's no reason you can't go to school as a young

lady."

"Aw, Mom. I can't do that. I wouldn't know how to act."

"I'd teach you. Besides, you're doing fine already."

Leslie pictured himself masquerading in class. Wearing a dress in

school. Pretending to be a girl. Taking a Home Economics class, maybe.

He couldn't get away with it. They would know. It was one thing to wear

a dress in the house, but he couldn't do it in front of other kids.

"I couldn't."

"Don't be difficult. Of course you can."

When his mother got that tone in her voice Leslie knew better than to

argue.

"I guess so," he mumbled.

She threw her arms around him. "You dear! You know I'll make it up to

you."

He pushed his erection against her suggestively.

"Yes, that's what I mean. Oh-h, that's exciting. But wait, darling.

If you take on the role of a girl all year, you have to be prepared. You

can't run the risk of exposure. I think you should go to see Dr. Goody

soon. Tomorrow."

"Mom! No!"

"Now, Leslie."

"I don't want to!"

"You have to. It's too much of a risk, otherwise. Besides, don't you

want to be beautiful like your little friend? She did it, why can't you?

It doesn't hurt, you know."

"I don't want to," Leslie repeated.

"Leslie."

He felt like crying. His prick went limp. Closing his eyes, he said

once again, "I don't want to."

"You must." Her voice was flat.

Taking on a persuasive tone, she continued, "You'll see. You'll like

it. You'll do this little favor for your mother, won't you?"

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 13</H3>

Leslie was morose when they returned to Chardsville. He said nothing

during the long drive, and ignored the anxious looks Mrs. Chard kept

giving him out of the corner of her eye. When they got to the house he

excused himself and went up to his room to sit dejected on the couch in

his sitting room.

His body had been outraged.

Breasts had been made to grow; his balls were concealed inside him;

and his penis had been encased in the folds of his scrotal sack, which

had the appearance of labia between his legs.

Wearing dresses was one thing. Embarrassing at first, it had become a

source of sexual excitement. But it was only a masquerade, a sexy,

thrilling masquerade. He was a boy dressing up like a girl. There was no

doubt in his mind.

Now he wasn't all that sure. Boys didn't have tits. Real tits at

that, not implants.

He had to wear dresses now. He couldn't just put on his

regular jeans and T-shirt and reassume his true identity. He was trapped

in what amounted to a new body.

The doctor's technique had altered since working on Johnny. He had

given Leslie hormones, estrogen, prolactin and progesterone, to cause

his breasts to grow naturally. He said there was less risk of breast

cancer than with implants. The hormone dosage had been large, to

stimulate fast growth. Leslie felt sick and dizzy the entire time he was

there. He began weeping excessively. The least thing could cause him to

dissolve in tears.

The treatment had side effects, for his pubic hair, once bushy and

darker than the hair on his head, had become thinner and lighter in

color, reminiscent of his mother's; the skin on his slim body developed

an extra layer of fat, rounding the angularity of his contours; his hips

curved gently from his waist, and his buttocks filled out. His voice,

which had shown signs of changing, stopped breaking and reverted to the

high purity of childhood.

Before treatment Dr. Goody had spoken to him privately and had

ascertained that, like Johnny, Leslie was only obeying his mother's

wishes in the matter. To set his mind at ease, the physician told him

any of the changes he was going to make could be reversed at any time.

He made the same offer he had to Johnny: when Leslie was of age and had

control of his own destiny he would restore his body to the masculine

state free of charge.

In some respects the treatment was more successful than Johnny's; in

others, less. His breasts, though smaller, were better-formed due to the

natural growth induced by the hormones, and his slender curves were more

feminine; but since his genitals were considerably larger than Johnny's

they were not as inconspicuously disguised.

Although his scrotum was big enough to enfold his penis with plenty

of skin left over--the simulated labia were generous--the size of his

member caused the "vulvular" area to appear larger than usual.

His testicles were barely able to fit in the cavity assigned to them

and made his pubic mound more pronounced than Johnny's. Until he got

used to it, their constriction gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his

stomach.

Leslie learned at first hand the inconvenience that Johnny had

reported about urination when his penis was encased. When he sat on the

toilet to relieve himself, the first thing he felt was surprisingly hot

liquid engulfing his penis and the pouch expanding. A moment later,

urine flowed from the small aperture in the center of his crotch under

pressure, a pressure which slackened only gradually and caused him to

appear to be urinating--"tinkling," the nurse called it--even after his

bladder was empty.

To get rid of the last of the stuff, he had to press the bag, palm

moving back toward the aperture. Moisture seeped through the interstices

between the stitches, leaving his "labia" wet until he wiped himself;

and of course, his penis remained wet and slippery inside the confining

skin. After he got used to it the wetness was kind of pleasant; unlike

Johnny he did not get compulsive about washing himself each time he

"tinkled," although the nurse told him he was supposed to. She showed

him how to use a bidet like the one in his bathroom at home. The warm

fountain was enjoyable, but it was all too much trouble if you tinkled

more than once a day.

Leslie found that his scrotum tightened or loosened around his penis,

depending on his emotional state, sometimes clamping it firmly and

sometimes so lightly he almost forgot about what had been done down

there.

He could never wholly forget it, however. The absence of hanging

parts was appalling. In a way it was neat, for there was nothing there

to get in the way of crossing his legs or straddling a fence, but not

even the outrageous presence of breasts could distract from the constant

awareness of the void at the juncture of legs and torso.

His mother's arrival at the clinic to drive him home took him by

surprise. He had to pack in haste while she tapped her foot.

She kept looking at him curiously, but he was sullen and spoke to her

only in monosyllables. The dress he had chosen to wear had a high neck

which effectively prevented her from glimpsing any part of his new

breasts. It gave him satisfaction to refuse her that much.

The dress was form-fitting: he had resigned himself to wearing a

merry widow so he would fit into it, but he discovered he didn't have

to. The treatment had slimmed his waist, or broadened his hips, or both,

so the dress fit him without it.

Now, in his sitting room, a breeze stirred the chenille curtains. He

looked around as if he had never seen the room before. The furnishings

were totally feminine: delicate polished period French, with ruffles and

embroidery everywhere. A fresh scent of roses was in the air. He was

condemned to spend the next five or six years in this suffocating

atmosphere of femininity. He felt weak from his stay in the hospital,

indecisive. He was near to a fresh flood of doleful tears.

There was a tap at the door. Mrs. Chard entered.

"Leslie, I'm not going to permit this to go on one moment longer. You

must stop sulking. If you can keep from feeling sorry for yourself for a

minute, you will realize that everything has been done for your own

good."

"Huh."

"If nothing else, you need have no fear of somebody learning your

status by accident. You will be able to play with other young people,

even go swimming, without the slightest worry."

Leslie turned his face away.

"Look at me when I speak to you. I'm losing patience."

The boy's eyes flashed. "Well, why do I have to pretend to be a girl,

anyway?"

"Because I say so."

"Huh."

"That will be enough of that, young lady. You're not too old for me

to turn you over my knee. Now, get undressed. I want to see what the

doctor did."

A tear leaked down Leslie's cheek as he took off his clothes. With

resignation he reached behind him to unclasp his brassiere, and then let

his undies slip to the floor.

Mrs. Chard inspected him as he stood with downcast eyes. Her

breathing quickened. She had an air of suppressed elation.

"It's fabulous, Leslie," she said simply. "Fabulous. That man is a

genius. Turn around. That's right, all the way around, face me again. I

can't believe it. You really are my daughter now, aren't you? You have

one of the most beautiful figures I've ever seen. You should be very

proud."

She advanced and cupped his breasts. "They're lovely. So young and

pert. Down there--it looks so real. Is your thing all right? Can you

remove it?"

Leslie nodded.

"Do so."

He crimsoned.

He pried his flaccid organ from its sheath with no further protest.

It was moist and warm.

His mother exhaled. She clasped it in a cool hand and lifted it to

look at the new folds of skin in his crotch. She pinched them together.

Her face was pale with excitement; her lips trembled.

"It looks like you don't have--like you've been--but you haven't,

have you? Your testicles are still there, are they not?"

Leslie nodded again.

She stepped back. Her hand went absent-mindedly to the join of her

legs and pressed it.

"Marvelous. A real daughter at last," she breathed. She swallowed.

The sound was loud in the silence of the room. "Leslie, I'm very pleased

with you, and I assure you, you won't regret a thing."

She caressed his hair and looked at him with tender eyes.

Her voice took on briskness once more.

"All right, you can put it away and get dressed. Change into

something more casual. That pink off-the-shoulder frock is becoming.

Hurry up, now, dear. Mrs. Argentina and Joan are driving up from the

city and will be here any minute. They'll be staying with us until Mrs.

Argentina can close on her new house. Won't that be nice? You'll have

your little friend again."

Mrs. Chard turned to leave. "Mom?"

She turned back. "Yes, dear?"

"You won't make me show Mrs. Argentina, will you?"

For a moment it looked as if Mrs. Chard would say no, but apparently

thinking better of it, she said, "I'm afraid so. I'm so proud of you. I

want her to see that you are prettier than Joan. You won't deny me that

pleasure, will you? Don't fret, it's just us girls."

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 14</H3>

Leslie got through the ordeal of displaying himself to Mrs. Argentina

and Johnny with no more than a momentary loss of dignity. Johnny's

cheerful demeanor and the genuine affection with which he had greeted

Leslie had heartened him immeasurably. At least it was in the drawing

room, not outside, and although he was painfully diffident about

displaying his new breasts to Johnny and Mrs. Argentina and had to

endure their comments, it was soon over.

It was another hot day. Leslie hadn't wanted to wear the skimpy

yellow sun-dress his mother had laid out for him--it was so brief, low-

cut, and backless that it made him feel naked--but he appreciated it

now. Anything else would have been too warm. Perspiration trickled down

his side from his armpits.

The two boys walked lazily to the site of the tree house, vaguely

intending to work on it, but instead sat on the moss under the tree.

It was too hot to do anything. They basked in the shade and in the

occasional breezes that stirred their hair. Beads of sweat stood out on

their brows and upper lips. Johnny kept pulling the top part of his

dress away from his skin.

He listened attentively to Leslie's tale of woe, and offered

encouraging comments. What did most to raise Leslie's spirits was

Johnny's pragmatic suggestion that it was too late to worry about what

had been done: Leslie should enjoy it instead of wasting time regretting

it; if he had to dress like a girl, well, he should look like one; and

hey, as long as it helped him get a piece of ass from Mrs. Chard from

time to time, and, uh, Johnny himself--the boy blushed--then, hey, why

not?

Leslie swatted leisurely at a fly. He was surprised to realize he

felt pretty good. Johnny's acceptance of the things that had been done

to him made him feel better. Maybe he would follow Johnny's advice and

relax and enjoy it.

He was already enjoying his breasts. They were sexy. When he caressed

them the nipples stiffened and an indescribable titillating sensation

traveled down to his groin. He had discovered back at the hospital that

he could make himself come just by fondling them.

He remembered how alarmed he had been when he observed a leak from

the nipples. Dr. Goody explained that it was nothing to worry about. It

was caused by one of the hormones he was being dosed with, prolactin,

which appeared in the bodies of women who had given birth and which

caused their breasts to produce milk. The oral doses he had to keep

taking were primarily prolactin, since that hormone maintained the size

and shape of his breasts without reducing his sex drive as estrogen

would. Leslie's breasts would drip milk from time to time, but if he

left them alone, the secretion would be minimal.

Leslie had been ashamed--whoever heard of a boy giving milk!--but

fascinated. Despite Dr. Goody's advice, he milked himself several times

a day, pinching the nipples in the fork of his fingers and tugging,

squirting the fluid into a water glass and drinking it afterward. It was

lukewarm and sweet and faintly blue in color. He wished he could suck

his own tits, but no matter how he tried, the nipples barely remained

out of reach of his lips. Maybe he'd let Johnny do it some day, but he

was still embarrassed to tell him about it.

The other boy broke into his reverie. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"I cheated on you."

"What do you mean?"

Johnny fluttered his eyelids. "I had sex with somebody else while I

was down in the city."

"Yeah? Who?"

"My mom."

"You did?" Leslie started to say, "Me too," but thought better of it.

He picked a buttercup and looked at its shiny yellow petals. "So how was

it?"

Johnny hesitated. "Okay, I guess."

"Just okay? I thought you were really eager. She's beautiful."

"Yeah, but I don't know."

It happened the evening after the swimming party, Johnny said. He was

scared to go to the party at first, and there had been a difficult

moment when Mrs. Argentina introduced him to everybody, but most of her

friends in the condominium complex were too full of themselves to notice

that the youngster had mysteriously changed from "son" to "daughter."

Only one or two had looked at him oddly, but polite and tactful to the

end, they had said nothing. It gave Johnny confidence and he had ended

up having a good time frolicking with the other children in the water.

At bedtime, Mrs. Argentina insisted on attending him while he got

ready for bed. She seemed fascinated by the ambiguity of his featureless

crotch.

"I'm so glad to see those things gone," she said, patting him gently

between the legs. "Mrs. Chard is right. Your, ah, thing is no more than

an enlarged clitoris. It's those others that cause all the trouble in

the world."

She made him sit down to go to the toilet, and watched, an

indecipherable expression on her face, as the urine sprayed from the

middle of his crotch. When he finished, she used toilet paper between

his legs and kept him sitting there while she got a douche bag, and

filled it with soapy, perfumed water.

"Take your clitoris out, and I'll show you how to clean yourself."

Johnny was no stranger to the douche bag; he had used it in his

rectum when he anticipated sleeping with Leslie. Leslie. Would Leslie be

operated on tomorrow? And after the operation would he still be

interested in having sex with him? He hoped so. His friend's penetration

of him, and having Leslie's prick in his mouth, had been the most

exciting thing he had ever experienced.

Despite his fear of his mother, the combination of these thoughts and

a sensual flow of warm water in and out of his "holster," made Johnny's

penis come alive. With horror he saw that he was stiff, and flinched,

anticipating a scolding.

Instead, she looked at him again with that peculiar expression and

led him to his bed.

In what seemed one motion she stripped off her nightgown and put him

down on his back, forced a knee between his legs until he opened them,

lay on top of him, and stuffed his rigid cock into her.

With one hand she held his arms above his head and bent and sucked

his nipples.

He was so astonished he couldn't move.

Her cunt was wet and warm around his cock; and looser than he would

have thought. He guessed he was misled by how tight he had been for

Leslie's prick.

He realized, My mother is fucking me!

It blew his mind. The suction of her lips, her tongue's slippery

caress on his nipples, sent him over the edge right away. He came, but

Mrs. Argentina went on thrusting against him, even when his flaccid cock

slipped out. He was frightened by her intensity. He lay quiescent,

letting her have her way with him.

When she was done she rolled off him and lay still for a while,

breathing raggedly. She got up, patted his face as if to say, "That's a

good girl," and went to her bedroom. Johnny wept; he wasn't sure why. He

wished Leslie was with him.

"She did it to me other times, too. You won't laugh?"

Leslie shook his head, honey-colored hair brushing his shoulders.

"I never could get hard again. I tried to pretend it was you making

love to me, and it would almost work. But it was too different. It

wasn't inside me, you see."

Leslie recognized Johnny's description of Mrs. Argentina's behavior.

The same as she treated him. The difference was, it turned him on.

Something about being "forced" rang a bell with him.

The boys sat a while longer in the shade of the tree. Johnny said,

"Hey, I know. Let's go down to the lake and wade."

Wade? That would be nice. It would be even nicer to go swimming.

Leslie didn't suggest it. Although he could wear one of his bikinis now

without fear of detection, his new appearance made him even shyer about

being seen than before. He needed time to get used to it.

They walked down to the narrow strip of sand at the lakefront, kicked

off their sandals, and splashed around barefoot watching water-skiers

and boaters on the lake.

Two boys and a girl putted by in a boat propelled by an outboard

motor. With alarm Leslie saw Johnny wave at them.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.

"Just being friendly."

"What if they come over, you jerk?"

"So?"

"But--"

"Oh, Leslie, don't worry. Nobody can tell about us."

Leslie paled when he saw the boat come around again and ground right

in front of them with a scraping of sand on the hull. The three jumped

out, leaving the boat lurching, and splashed over to them.

"Hi!"

The boys were about fifteen; the girl might be a year younger.

Leslie turned his face away, but Johnny responded cheerfully, "Hi."

Leslie sneaked a look. The two boys had friendly, open faces and

clean, straight bodies. The girl, trailing behind, was auburn-haired and

pretty. Her bright hazel eyes sparkled.

She looked familiar.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Alice and these hunks are Joe and Michael. Are

you new around here? I don't think I've seen you before."

Alice? Alice Bryant! Leslie's heart chilled.

Now he knew why she looked familiar. She had been in his English

class at St. Swithin's. She had moved away in mid-semester, he

remembered. He knew something like this would happen.

He wanted to warn Johnny but his friend was already speaking.

"Hi, I'm Joanie Argentina and this is my friend Leslie Chard."

Joe said, "Chard? You any relation to Chard Industries?"

Leslie opened his mouth but nothing came out. Alice was looking at

him with a strange expression.

"Sure," Johnny said. "Her mother owns it."

"Wow. You must be rich."

A light was dawning in Alice's eyes. They widened. She looked him up

and down unbelievingly.

There was a silence during which Leslie pleaded Alice with his eyes

not to say anything.

She stared back. "Leslie Chard," she said softly. Then, "Joe, you

have a big mouth, but it isn't big enough for both your feet."

"What'd I say? They are rich, aren't they? You girls live in that big

house there, don't you?"

Johnny said, "I'm just visiting her. My mother's buying that house

over there, though, so we'll be moving here for good."

"What house? Oh, the Mackey place. See?" the boy turned to Alice, "I

told you they was rich."

"Oh, Joe, shut up." She was still staring fascinated at Leslie,

roving over his figure.

The other boy spoke. "It's nice to see new faces on the lake. You

girls want to take a ride with us?"

Johnny said, "Come on, let's." He pulled Leslie's arm.

Alice said, "Sure, let's motor across to the refreshment stand for

hot dogs and Cokes." She gave Leslie a mischievous look. "We'll let the

boys buy. What do you say, Leslie?"

He couldn't prevent himself from blushing.

Joe looked at them curiously. "You two know each other?"

"Nope. Never met these girls before. Come on, gang, last one in the

boat is a rat's ass!"

With deep misgivings Leslie clambered into the boat with the others.

He pretended not to see Alice pat the seat beside her and sat next to

Johnny and Joe instead.

Michael spun the motor and headed the boat across the lake. His

passengers shrieked and giggled and waved enthusiastically at everybody

in sight.

Leslie held back. He was acutely conscious of Alice's knowing look.

He was relieved when they got to the dock and tied up. He would make an

excuse and walk around the lake back to the house.

The young people jumped out of the boat and ran up the dock. Johnny

acted as if he hadn't a care in the world, laughing and joking unself-

consciously.

Leslie trailed behind. Alice hooked her arm in his and said

privately, "Come on, Leslie, don't be shy. I won't say anything. Let's

get a hot dog and talk."

After they got their wieners she led him aside to a small grove of

maple trees and they sat on a bench under one of them. "Isn't this nice?

It's so quiet here. Nobody around to bother us. You are Leslie

Chard from St. Swithin's, aren't you? 'Fess up."

He might as well admit it. "Yes."

"Well, what happened? Why are you dressed like that?"

"It's a long story."

"I got time." Alice's voice was kind.

Leslie wondered if he could trust her.

He had to.

She knew about him. There was nothing he could do to stop her if she

wanted to snitch.

"M-my mother, she--she said I was getting too unruly, and I'd be

better off wearing a dress and trying to learn to be a lady. S-so when

she saw m-me in it," he stammered, "she liked it, and took me to a

doctor so I'd look more like a girl."

Alice absorbed his story.

"She took you to the doctor? What'd he do?"

"This." He indicated his tits. "And," he choked, "made me so--I

wouldn't show so much down there."

"Oh-h. Did he--cut it off?"

"No! Everything he did he said he could fix later. When I don't have

to obey my mother any more."

Alice thought a while, then asked, "Do you like being this way?"

"No!"

"You should. You look very nice."

"Really?"

"Sure. I wouldn't have known except I recognized your name and

remembered you from Mrs. Mortola's class."

"Oh."

"Anyway, I think it's nice."

"You do?"

"It's sexy. I mean, looking the way you do, and knowing you're a boy

underneath, it gets me squirmy."

"You won't tell, will you?"

"Of course not. It'll be our secret."

Leslie was so relieved his knees turned to jelly.

She smiled, "What are you doing this evening?"

"Nothing much."

"Why don't you come over to my house and have dinner with us? I bet

my parents would like to meet you. My dad works for Chard Industries.

He'd be thrilled to meet the--daughter--of the owner. Come on," she

said, as Leslie was about to refuse her invitation. "It would be neat.

He'd never know. Besides, you want to be nice to me, don't you?" She dug

him in the ribs, deliberately reminding him that she knew his secret.

Leslie laughed nervously. "I'll have to ask my mom."

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 15</H3>

Alice accompanied him home and telephoned her mother while he

changed. Mrs. Chard gave no trouble about his going to Alice's house for

dinner. In fact she seemed delighted to meet the girl, and Leslie heard

her entertaining her while he got into a shirtwaist dress and quickly

put on lipstick. He omitted the mascara and false eyelashes: Alice

wasn't wearing any; he guessed it would be too much for just a pair of

teen-age girls at home.

The Bryants's house was small and painted green, sitting modestly in

a row of similar houses on a back street. Mrs. Bryant was effusive and

fawned over Leslie.

"Roy!" she called, "Miss Chard is here!"

Alice's father came in holding a newspaper. He was an ineffectual-

looking man without much vigor. He had a sly look.

"Alice's new friend. Happy to know you, Miss Chard. Welcome to Casa

Bryant."

During dinner Mrs. Bryant plied Leslie with questions about the

extent of his mother's holdings. Leslie could satisfy her curiosity only

a little. He knew Mrs. Chard owned Chard Industries and majority

interest in all three of the town's banks.

"Did you hear that, Roy? Leslie's mother probably holds the mortgage

on our house!"

Leslie thought Mrs. Chard also owned a number of apartment buildings,

stores, and other real property in town, but he wasn't sure which they

were.

He was aware of Mr. Bryant's foxy eyes on him as he spoke about his

mother's assets.

Alice remonstrated, "Please, Mom. Leslie doesn't care about all that

stuff. You're embarrassing her. Anyway, she shouldn't be telling us all

about her mother's business."

"Don't be silly, dear. You and Leslie are best friends. I'm sure she

knows we wouldn't breathe a word of it to anybody. Here, Leslie, have

one of these delicious �clairs."

Mrs. Bryant handled the plate as if they were rare delicacies. He

guessed she had squeezed the last penny out of her household budget to

buy them. It made him uncomfortable when she served him first, before

Mr. Bryant and herself.

After dinner Alice and Leslie played a game of Monopoly, both

cheating wildly, laughing hilariously.

"It's such a pleasure entertaining Alice's friends, especially you,

Leslie," Mrs. Bryant gushed. "I hate to see the evening end. I have an

idea. Why don't you stay the night?"

Leslie was taken aback. "That would be very nice," he said politely,

"but my mother is expecting me."

The woman said eagerly, "I'll call her!" It was clear she wanted an

opportunity to introduce herself to his mother.

"I better get home. It would be too much trouble for you."

"It wouldn't be any trouble at all! We'd love to have you stay over,

wouldn't we, Roy? Please say yes, Leslie."

Alice said, "Sure, Leslie. It's a wonderful idea. Come on, stay. For

me." There was a mysterious twinkle in her eye.

"But I don't have anything with me."

Mrs. Bryant said, "That's all right! You can borrow one of Alice's

nighties and there's an extra brand-new toothbrush in the bathroom

cabinet. Say you'll stay."

Leslie looked at Alice, who held his eyes and gave a little nod.

"Well, if it's okay with my mother."

"Oh, good! Isn't that wonderful, Roy? I'll telephone her right this

moment."

She dialed. He noticed she didn't have to look up the number.

"Mrs. Chard? This is Rose Bryant. What? Oh." She put her hand over

the mouthpiece. "That was the maid." She looked impressed.

"Hello? Mrs. Chard? This is Rose Bryant. Alice's mother. Alice.

Leslie's friend. Yes, that's right. Oh, thank you. Leslie's a charming

young lady too. You must be very proud of her. Well, the reason I

called. Leslie and Alice are having such a good time it occurred to me

that perhaps Leslie could stay the night. You know how girls are. What?

Oh, yes, Leslie would adore to. I could deliver her back

personally tomorrow morning."

She listened a moment longer, and put her hand over the mouthpiece.

"Leslie, dear, your mother wants to talk to you."

He took the phone. His mother said, "Leslie, who was that perfectly

awful woman? What have you got yourself into now?"

"Nothing."

"Do you really want to spend the night there?"

"Well--" Leslie looked sidelong at Alice. "Yes."

"I suppose there's no harm in it. But you will be careful, won't you?

You know what I mean?"

"Yes, I will."

"All right. I'm glad to see you made friends with a girl your own

age. Give me Mrs. What's-her-name."

While Mrs. Bryant arranged the details of Leslie's return home in the

morning, he looked searchingly at Alice. She glanced at her father, who

was reading his newspaper laboriously, lips moving, and winked.

At nine o'clock Mrs. Bryant came downstairs saying, "I've made up

your bed, children. There's a nice fresh nightgown for you, Leslie.

Alice will show you where everything is. Don't stay up all night

talking, mind, young ladies need their beauty sleep." She presented her

cheek. "Come give me a kiss good night and get up to bed."

Leslie shot a look at Alice, but she returned it blandly and

dutifully pecked her mother on the cheek.

Helplessly, Leslie followed suit. Mrs. Bryant smelled like dime-

store perfume.

Upstairs with the door closed, Alice burst into a shriek of mirth.

"If you could only have seen your face! Did you think we had more

than two bedrooms?" she asked breathlessly.

He couldn't help smiling. "You wanted us to sleep in the same bed

together? How do you know you can trust me?"

"I don't know. Trust you to do what?" Alice went into another fit of

laughter.

"You nut. What if somebody finds out?"

Alice's grin changed. "Then if we get the name, we might as well have

the game."

She opened the door. Her voice took on briskness. "I'll go and change

in the bathroom. Your nightie's on the bed, you can change in here."

Leslie, bewildered, took off his clothes and slipped into the

nightgown. It was thin cotton with a low d�collet�, a tiny blue print on

white material. He got in bed wondering what was going to happen.

Thoughtfully, he put his hands under the bedclothes and pried his prick

out of its skin container. He thought, You never know.

The door opened and Alice came in swiftly. She was dressed in baby-

doll pajamas, her legs long and slim and tanned by the summer sun. The

diaphanous top did little to conceal her breasts. Leslie had a glimpse

of an auburn triangle through the sheer panties when she jumped into bed

beside him.

She said, "Wow, you look good enough to eat. I wish I had been here

when you got undressed." Alice's hazel eyes were straightforward and

direct.

"Why?"

"I've been real curious to see your breasts. It seems so strange,

tits on a boy. Don't get me wrong," she said hastily, "I like it. It's

really nice. It makes you seem, um, not as threatening as the other

boys."

Leslie recognized the words he had once heard his mother say.

Alice shifted closer. "It's so exciting. I get all squirmy thinking

about it. Can I see? I'll show you if you show me."

Pink on her cheeks betrayed a certain shyness at odds to the boldness

of her words. She put her thumbs under her shoulder straps and slipped

them down over her arms. Taking a deep breath, she pushed her top down,

freeing her breasts. They were pert and full, fuller than Leslie's. He

saw that her nipples were erect, like his got when he was turned on. He

was glad he had released his penis from its confinement because it

immediately started growing.

"Do you like them?"

Leslie nodded and exposed his own breasts.

"They're beautiful! Here, let's press them together. I can't believe

it. Are you sure you're a boy? Can I see?"

By now Leslie was pretty sure Alice would let him fool around with

her. He pulled down the sheet to reveal his rigid penis.

"Oh, gosh. Gosh! I never saw one before except when I peeked when my

father was going to the bathroom. But yours is stiff. That means you're

feeling sexy, doesn't it? It's so big. Could I--could I touch it? I'll

let you feel me if you want."

She clasped it in a hand which trembled a little. "It's nice. It's

hard, isn't it? And the skin moves. Oop. The skin came off the tip, does

that hurt? Oh, no, I see, it goes back and forth. I like it, it's so,

like, squiggly. There's a drop at the tip. Do you have to go to the

bathroom? Oh! It's not sperm, is it?"

Leslie told her no, it was just something that happened when he got

hard.

"I know! It's like when I get wet when something gets me hot. Oh,

Leslie, it's so warm in my hand. How strange to see a prick on a girl. I

wish I had one."

"Somebody told me girls do. It's called a clitoris and it's smaller

but it's supposed to be the same kind of thing."

Alice was quiet, still fondling his stiff penis. All at once she

said, "Let's take off our nighties and cuddle."

"What if somebody comes in?"

"We'd get under the covers. But nobody will. Anyway, what's wrong

with two girls seeing each other that way?" Alice smiled like a

conspirator.

"Now," she lay back enthusiastically as soon as they were naked,

"show me where my prick is."

"Clitoris. It's called a clitoris."

Her pussy was lightly endowed with dark hair that had red tones in

it, and looked so sweet and tender that Leslie thought he would die. He

fumbled between her legs until he felt the little bump and squeezed her

labia together on it.

"Oh! That feels good. It's getting bigger. Do it some more."

Leslie wanted to lick her down there, but was too shy to suggest it.

He continued to manipulate her button, and before long her body got

stiff and her cunt lips flared open. The inner lips, wet and shiny,

turned from pink to red. A guttural moan came out of her throat. Her

eyes were wide open but didn't seem to see him.

She shivered and collapsed back on the pillow.

"I did it. I had an orgasm! A real orgasm. I came! I never knew what

it was like. Oh, Leslie, it was wonderful. I want more. Seeing you like

that, your prick so stiff, really turns me on."

She turned to face him, pressing her breasts against his, the whole

length of her body touching him, his cock squeezed between their two

tummies. "Do you want to put it in me?"

"Yes."

"Come." She rolled onto her back and spread her legs and urged him

over her. Grasping his prick in both hands, she guided it to her vagina.

"Come in me. It's my first time. Is it yours?"

"Yes."

"I'm glad."

He poked his cock against her. The head penetrated her lips and

caught in the indentation that marked her love canal. She made a breathy

sound.

She was very wet. It didn't surprise Leslie, since his mother and

Mrs. Argentina had both been equally slippery. He pushed.

"Ow. Oh, yes. That's right. No, don't stop. I want you to do

it."

Leslie shoved hard and felt his prick move suddenly forward as if

something had broken.

She cried out, "Ouch!"

His cock was gripped by the young girl's hot little inexperienced

cunt. She was much tighter than either Mrs. Chard or Mrs. Argentina,

almost as tight as Johnny.

He continued shoving forward.

He felt pressure against the head of his prick and she grunted. He

guessed he had come to the end of her vagina.

Alice lifted her knees and moaned, "Oh, gosh. You're in me. I'm a

woman at last. I'm not a virgin any more. It's so much bigger than I

thought it would be, but oh, gosh, it feels wonderful. I love it. It's

doing something to me. Oh!"

Alice writhed under him and started mewing like Mrs. Argentina.

He had lied when he said it was his first time, but in a way it was.

Unlike with his mother and Mrs. Argentina, Leslie was definitely fucking

the girl. There was no doubt about it. He was moving his prick in and

out of her, not the other way around. With Mrs. Chard and Mrs. Argentina

he could never be sure who was fucking who.

He lay on top of Alice, weight supported by his elbows, hips pumping,

his cock sliding deliciously in her clutching cunt. He bent his head and

sucked her nipples. Her body trembled. Alice sighed. Her hips lifted and

fell in a counterrhythm to his.

"Oh, Leslie, I love it. Keep doing it to me. Unh." She

spasmed. Her vagina gripped his prick hard. She squealed and writhed

under him and held him to her.

The familiar surge grew in his balls. His nipples stiffened. He gave

a gasp, "I can't help it. I'm--I'm coming too!"

He thrust harder and faster and rammed into her, making her cry out

so loudly that he feared her parents would hear, but his anxiety was

swallowed up in an urgent, fierce, consuming ejaculation which rapidly

filled the little vagina. The girl wriggled, caught up in another climax

of her own.

When after long ecstatic moments their orgasms subsided and they

separated their sweat-covered bodies, they lay side by side, letting

their breathing come to normal.

Alice whispered, "Oh, it was so wonderful. I feel all warm and

relaxed. Was it as good for you?"

Leslie summoned the energy to answer, "The best."

"I'm glad."

She switched off the light and turned on her side to cuddle next to

him. "Ooh, I'm all wet down there. The stuff, the sperm, is

leaking out. I guess I should get up and wash, but I'm too comfortable.

"I have your juice now. It's in me. I'm glad. I love what we did.

Nobody will ever know, will they? And we'll be able to do it lots,

because you look like a girl and nobody could ever guess. Hold me. No,

I'll hold you. And never let you go. It must have been fate when we met

at the lake. I love your body, it's so slender and girlish and turns me

on. Your tits feel so good against mine. Maybe I'm really a lesbian, but

I love your prick, I don't think lesbians do. What do you think?

Leslie?"

His breathing was quiet and regular. She smiled, snuggled closer, and

lay her head against his breast and closed her bright eyes.

After a while a tear leaked from under her lids and ran down her

cheek. "I'm not a virgin any more," she whispered.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 16</H3>

More coffee, Roy?"

Mr. Bryant grunted.

"That's what she served me this morning."

"Mm?"

"Coffee. And little croissants. Mrs. Chard asked me to have coffee

with her when we took Leslie home. Just like regular people. Of course,

the maid served it. I think we're going to be best friends. Mrs. Chard,

I mean, not the maid. She's such a charming woman, so elegant and

beautiful and poised. She's our age, or a few years younger. Imagine

being so rich and powerful so young!

"You should see their house, Roy. It's a mansion! I didn't see all of

it, but Mrs. Chard, I mean Estelle, received us in a great big

room she called the drawing room, and then we had coffee on a terrace

overlooking the lake. It was just beautiful. I think she likes me. She

sent Alice and Leslie away so we could chat privately."

Here Mrs. Bryant's cheeks got pink. In fact, Mrs. Chard had spoken

with her quite coolly, ignoring her tacit invitations to exchange

confidences and letting pass without comment her mention of a "soir�e"

at her house some evening.

Mr. and Mrs. Bryant were sitting across the kitchen table from each

other. Mrs. Bryant picked nervously at the red-checkered plastic

tablecloth and winced at the playful screams of the children in the yard

next door.

It was all so depressing--the smell of cabbage in the kitchen; the

film of grease dulling the brightness of the yellow cabinets, painted so

many times the paint was almost as thick as the wood and the hinges

barely worked; the loud family next door; the scrubby tufts of weeds and

bare dirt she could see through the window to the back yard. She knew

she was born to live in the kind of clean and airy graciousness she had

experienced that morning, not this squalor.

"Alice said Leslie's and her mother's rooms are just beautiful.

Leslie showed her everything. Do you know, Leslie has a suite? Imagine,

a sitting room and a bedroom and a bathroom of her own. Alice said she

had a four-poster bed with a canopy."

Mrs. Bryant fell silent.

She fidgeted. Her face lost its animation.

"Roy, don't read your paper yet. Something's bothering me."

"What?"

It was congenitally impossible for Mrs. Bryant to say anything

important directly. She had to ease into it in an elliptical fashion.

Her husband was used to it. He got a part-patient, part-exasperated,

expression on his face.

She said, "You never had any sisters, so you probably don't know

about slumber parties. I remember our mothers would put us to bed, but

we'd stay up until all hours giggling and gossiping about boys and, er,

sex. Sometimes the bolder girls would even--"

Mrs. Bryant broke off in confusion, then continued, "They'd even show

themselves to the rest of us, you know, how well-developed they were and

if they had any hair down there, and so on. Pretty soon we would be

doing it too."

"Yeah? So do guys. Only worse."

"Yes, well." She didn't want to hear about that. "Last night when I

came to bed I could see the light was still on in Alice's room. It was

shining under the door. I thought I would stop in to see if there was

anything the girls wanted, but then I heard something."

After a moment Mr. Bryant said, "Well? Go on."

"It sounded like Alice saying ouch, and then she began making sounds

like she was in pain. I had my hand on the doorknob when I realized it

wasn't pain--it was something else. So I opened the door real quiet and

peeked in."

Mrs. Bryant looked down. Her face was flaming. "They were on top of

the bed. Leslie was on Alice, between her legs, you know. At first I

thought they were fighting."

Her husband showed no reaction. She went on, "They were naked, and

Leslie's hips were moving up and down, and Alice was moaning in a way

that made me shiver. She was kissing her! I closed the door and told

myself they were just doing a little harmless experimenting, you know,

rubbing against each other."

Her face twisted. "But this morning I saw that Alice had made the bed

with fresh sheets, so I searched until I found where she hid the sheet.

Roy, it had blood on it, and it's not time for her period. Our little

Alice's not a maiden any more. I--I think they were using one of those

things lesbians use, what do y'call 'em, dildos."

"No."

"No? What do you mean no?"

"They weren't using a dildo."

"Then what? There was blood, I tell you."

There was a moment's silence before Mr. Bryant said, "Leslie's not a

girl."

She stared at him. "What?"

His voice had a note of impatience. "He's a boy."

"B-but--"

"You remember when I got the job and went down to pick up Alice from

that fancy expensive school where you said she could make valuable

contacts? One of the teachers pointed out Leslie Chard to me. He was in

her class. I looked at him real careful because we was coming up here

and I wanted to see what the owner's kid looked like. I don't know why

he's wearing a dress now, that's their business, but he's a guy, all

right."

"And you didn't say anything?"

"Listen," he said with asperity, "you want me to go around and mouth

off about how the owner's kid is a guy wearing girl's dresses? Real

smart. I ain't doing too well in the job as it is. We can't afford for

me to lose another one. Just mind your own business, and if Alice wants

to have Leslie over again, okay, don't make waves."

She was speechless.

"It won't do no harm for you to be pals with Mrs. Chard and Alice to

be pals with Leslie. If the boss knows about that he'll think twice

about firing me. Might even get promoted to foreman."

"Roy. They're having intercourse."

"So?"

Mrs. Bryant digested her husband's lack of reaction.

The light dawned.

Why, with Leslie in her daughter's bed, little old Rose Bryant was

practically a member of the Chard family.

She smiled.

Maybe Alice would get pregnant. Then he'd have to marry her. Her

daughter would be an heir of the richest woman in Chardsville. It

occurred to her that fourteen was a little young to be married and there

was such a thing as abortion. But if something went wrong and they

didn't get married, at least Mrs. Chard would have to do something nice

for the Bryants. A settlement, maybe.

The next time Alice asked Leslie to spend the night, Mrs. Bryant

ushered them upstairs enthusiastically at bedtime. "Go ahead, girls, get

in bed," she said archly. "I won't disturb you."

She was proud when Alice stayed at Leslie's house and took every

opportunity to let her friends know her daughter was staying with

Estelle and Leslie.

Mrs. Chard became quite fond of Alice. She told Leslie his little

friend was adorable and frequently invited her to stay over, although

that meant she had to put up with visiting Alice's mother the next

morning. She let the two sleep together in the same bed as if Leslie

were in fact a young girl. He wondered if his mother thought he was

maintaining his disguise or if she realized Alice and he were making

out. He was afraid to ask.

Sometimes they were alone in the house except for the servants, since

Mrs. Chard often visited Mrs. Argentina. It seemed that Mrs. Chard had

crossed the border into Lesbos permanently, because she left Leslie

alone even when he was not with Alice. Not Mrs. Argentina, though. She

continued to corner him and take her pleasure whenever nobody was

around. He wondered if she were still fucking Johnny. He didn't think

so. Nobody saw much of him these days.

He was going out with a boy, Leslie knew.

Johnny had burst into his room one morning while he was trying out

new hair styles in front of the mirror and thinking about getting it cut

shorter.

"You'll never guess what happened!"

Johnny was always so enthusiastic. "What?"

"You know that guy Michael?"

"Michael Jaffe? Sure."

"He's a really nice guy. He asked me to have a soda with him down at

the malt shop last night, so I said okay. It was a date! We talked a

while, and then he asked if I wanted to go for a drive."

Johnny grinned. "I knew what he was up to, all right, but I said to

myself what the heck, it's kind of exciting, daring, you know? So he

borrowed his father's car and we went to Makeout Point to watch the

submarine races. After a while he put his arm around me. I leaned my

head on his shoulder, figuring I could call things off before they went

too far. I just wanted to see what would happen."

"What did happen?"

"He kissed me." Johnny wriggled happily. "I mean a real kiss, you

know, like you do to me? A French kiss, with his tongue in my mouth. His

mustache tickled."

"Ugh." It was one thing to do it with Alice, she was a girl, or even

Johnny, who was shaped like a girl--but Leslie couldn't imagine doing it

with a boy, especially one with a mustache.

"Yeah, but after a while it didn't seem so bad. Then he touched my

boobs through my dress. And me without a bra. Guess what?"

"What?"

"I got a boner."

Leslie laughed. "You get a boner every time you turn around."

"Yeah, but, you know, I was inside."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. What was I gonna do? So I rubbed my legs together on it until

I came. Boy, was that a relief."

Leslie laughed again, but his prick stiffened in his panties at the

thought of his friend petting with a boy.

"Wait, I haven't finished yet. He saw me doing like that. The next

thing I knew his hand was up my dress. I screamed and pushed it away,

but not before he grabbed me. Suppose I was still hard?"

"Scary."

"Then he looked at his fingers and said your panties are wet down

there. That means you're hot. When girls are hot they get wet. Let's get

into the back seat and make out. Of course, I wouldn't do that, but he

kept on. To make a long story short, I sucked him."

"What!" Leslie yelled.

"Well, I had to," Johnny said defensively. "He put my hand on his

cock to show me how hard he was and said I was being a prick teaser.

Finally I unzipped his pants and gave him a blow job. I had to," he

repeated hastily. He brightened. "He has a nice one. It's bigger than

ours."

"He's older. How old is he?"

"Sixteen."

"So when we're that old, we'll be big too. What happened then?"

"Nothing much. We sat and talked a while. He said it was the first

time for him. I said me too. He said he usually didn't like girls very

much, but there was something special about me." He giggled. "Little

does he know. Anyway, he asked me out again."

"Are you going?"

"I told him I'd let him know. I think I will, though."

"You're not going to do that again, are you?"

Johnny hesitated before saying, "I don't know. I might."

"Johnny."

"Well . . ." His cheeks flushed. "It was kind of fun.

Anyway," he said defiantly, "I do it to you, don't I? And you do it to

me. What's the difference?"

"You know what the difference is. We're best friends and it's private

between us. Besides, he might find out. He already touched you down

there and it was pure luck you weren't hard."

"Yeah, I know. I'll be careful."

"You better be careful. I mean, not only that," Leslie indicated his

friend's midsection, "but you might get a bad reputation."

"He won't tell what I did. I think he likes me," Johnny said shyly.

From then on Leslie didn't see much of Johnny. It seemed the boy was

always out with Michael, holding hands and acting lovey-dovey. Alice

gossiped about it. Michael, she said, was standoffish and his only known

close friend was a willowy boy suspected of being gay. She guessed Joan

was good for him.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 17</H3>

The summer passed swiftly. There was something to do always--beach

parties, picnics, swimming, boating, even just going to the movies with

a gang of other kids. Joe, Alice's sixteen-year-old boyfriend, became

increasingly annoyed at her preoccupation with her new best friend.

Alice and Leslie were inseparable. When she agreed to meet Joe for

sodas at the malt shop, she made Leslie come along. Finally Joe enlisted

the help of his football teammate, Duane, to turn the meetings into

double dates.

She thought it was funny. When the boys suggested they go out to

Makeout Point. Alice agreed without hesitation and gave Leslie no chance

to beg off. Once they were parked, she kept turning around in the front

seat to grin at Leslie's efforts to fend off Duane's hands and lips.

Leslie was genuinely frightened, however. Duane was so big and strong.

Leslie could see what girls meant when they said they felt threatened by

men. There was an animal sensuality about the boy which was alarming.

Leslie was relieved to get away with no more than a mussed dress and

smeared lipstick. Alice said merely, "Now you know how it feels," but

the evening had aroused her. When for the first time she asked to be on

top, the lust in her eyes was unmistakable. He could see her imagining

she was Duane.

The next day Johnny dropped over. "I saw you at Makeout Point last

night."

Leslie was happy to see his friend. The incident with Duane had

shaken him up more than he knew. Johnny had more experience with boys

than he did. He told Johnny all about it.

"That's okay. It won't do your reputation any harm. Don't worry about

it. Boys are all like that. They only want one thing, but they never

blame a girl if she doesn't put out."

Johnny was radiant. He wore a man's shirt, sleeves rolled up, the

tail coming down to mid-thigh. It looked as though he didn't have

anything but panties on underneath. When he moved you could glimpse his

form under the straight garment and almost, not quite, see his nakedness

through the intervals between the buttons.

"It's Michael's," Johnny said. "It makes a nice dress, doesn't it?"

Leslie wanted him to take it off and lie down on the bed, but Johnny

blushed and said, "I'd like to, but I can't. I promised him."

Leslie was disappointed. Then he thought, Promised him?

Johnny dropped his eyes. "He knows."

"He knows about you?"

"Yes."

"Oh my gosh. What'd he say?"

"He liked it. He said he preferred boys anyway. We--we did it. We've

been going all the way for two weeks. He's wonderful."

Leslie had a pang of jealousy.

"You're doing it with Michael? Next thing you know you'll be a

complete homo," he said disagreeably.

Johnny winced and colored as the shot went home. He was silent long

enough for Leslie to regret having flashed out at him.

"Well," Johnny said slowly, "I am, you know. I am gay, I admit it. I

guess I always was. When I jerked off I was always thinking about your

thing. But I didn't really know it until I couldn't get it up with my

mother. Anyway, you are too, aren't you?"

"No!" Leslie was suddenly frightened. "Me queer? Of course not. I'm

only like this," he indicated his dress, "because my mother made me do

it."

"You made love to me, though, didn't you? And you sucked my cock

too."

"But-- That was--different. I mean--well . . ."

Leslie was at a loss for words. It was crazy. He knew he wasn't

queer. Why did his best friend think he was? His feelings were hurt.

Stung, he burst out, "You don't know it, but I'm fucking Alice. Is

that gay? And your mother too. So there! How could I be gay?"

"My mother?"

"I'm sorry, Joanie. I didn't mean to say that."

"Did you really fuck my mother?"

"Well . . ."

"It's okay," Johnny said hastily. "I don't mind. In fact, it turns me

on. We kind of shared her, didn't we? She's hot, isn't she?"

"Yeah." Leslie wanted to change the subject. A thought occurred to

him. "Michael knows about you, but he doesn't know anything about me,

right? You wouldn't tell him about me."

Johnny didn't look him in the eye. "Of course not. Anyway, even if I

did he wouldn't say anything."

One late evening a dramatic change in Leslie's relationship with

Alice occurred.

It was after a drive with Joe and Duane. Leslie had come to

understand that dating boys was good protective coloration. Nobody would

suspect there was anything between Alice and himself if they went on

dates. It still made him nervous when Duane put his arm around him, but

he found out he could handle the other boy. He also discovered that

seeing him being fondled by a boy excited Alice, and she was almost

insatiable in bed afterward. She complained when he came and couldn't

continue making love to her.

Mrs. Chard was waiting up for them.

"Hi, children." She held their hands and gave them her cheek to kiss.

"You're late this evening. Where have you been?"

"We went for a drive with some of the gang," Leslie said.

Leslie's mother put her arms around their waists and headed them

toward the stairs.

"Time for bed if you don't want to waste half of tomorrow morning

sleeping. I'll come up with you. It's my bedtime too."

Leslie wondered why Alice jumped.

In his bedroom while they were undressing Alice seemed preoccupied.

She said at last, "Did you see what your mother did?"

"No, what?"

"She touched my tits. I know she couldn't have meant it, but it felt

real sexy."

"Maybe she was feeling you up."

"That's a terrible thing to say about your own mother!"

"No, I'm serious. She could've been."

"What do you mean?" Alice got in bed without bothering to put on a

nightie.

"Well, see, Mom's all alone. She doesn't have a man anymore. So

lately she's been, uh, seeing Mrs. Argentina."

"You're kidding. To--?"

"Yeah."

"Wow," Alice breathed. "How do you know? Did you ever see them

together?"

"Yeah." Leslie pulled his prick out. It was funny; lately he hadn't

had to worry about getting hard while his cock was still encased in its

skin holster. In fact, sometimes Alice had to work on him before he got

an erection.

"You did? What were they doing? Tell me."

Leslie almost said that he had been to bed with them both, but that

might be too much for Alice. Instead, he told her about the first time

he and Johnny had seen them. She wanted to know all the details.

By the time he finished, Alice was visibly agitated. "Joan saw it

too?" Irrelevantly she asked him if he had ever slept with Joan. As he

denied it, he sensed that sleeping with another girl--Alice had no

inkling that Johnny was a boy too--wasn't what was on her mind.

"But they're not lesbians, are they?" she asked finally. "They both

have children. I mean, they must have been with men."

"Yeah. No, I don't think they're--what you said. It's probably just,

well, like fun."

"Oh-h. Come, I'm so wet. I want you. Shall I be on top?"

"Okay. Kiss my tits first. I really like that."

Alice knelt and sucked his nipples lavishly. Normally she enjoyed

nursing on his breasts, drinking the milk that flowed from them, but

today her face was pink and abstracted, as if she were thinking of

something else. When he was hard she straddled him and lowered herself

on his pole, skewering herself sensuously, and moved up and down, eyes

closed, concentrating.

Mrs. Chard came through the doorway from the sitting room.

"Why, children."

They froze. Leslie felt the blood drain out of his face. Alice was

suddenly ashen.

"No, don't move. It's all right," Mrs. Chard said. "I didn't mean to

startle you. I think it's charming. Here, I'll sit up in bed with you.

You don't mind if I keep you company?"

She took off her robe. The nightgown she wore was so sheer it was

almost transparent. Her slender figure showed through it.

"Don't mind me, keep on with what you're doing."

Alice's face went from white to very red.

She hesitated, then seemed to give an internal shrug and resumed her

up-and-down movement defiantly.

Her movements were awkward and self-conscious. Her cunt made sucking

and squishing noises.

Leslie's prick hardened even more. The situation was so perverse it

aroused him beyond all measure. His breath came short.

Mrs. Chard opened her mouth to say something but her throat caught.

She started over. "It's beautiful. You're both so beautiful."

She reached out and ran her fingers through Alice's pubic hair. When

Alice twitched and sighed but made no effort to pull away, Mrs. Chard

fondled her labia and manipulated her clitoris. Immediately Alice gave a

muted shriek and spasmed around Leslie's cock.

When her convulsions subsided, Mrs. Chard pulled up her gown, took

the young girl's hand and held it on her own vulva and returned to

caressing Alice's clitoral region. Alice's hand, at first uncertain,

moved on Mrs. Chard's cunt.

Leslie couldn't stand it any more. He ejaculated into Alice, pumping

uncontrollably into her womb.

Alice shrieked once more. Her teeth chattered. She clutched Mrs.

Chard's pussy while her body quaked.

The sight of his mother and Alice touching each other was so stirring

that it almost seemed Leslie's cock was going to remain hard, and that

he would come a second time, but the organ softened inexorably until at

last it slipped out of the girl's still-moving vagina.

She groaned.

"Oh, it's all soft again. You're leaving me in the lurch."

Mrs. Chard sat up and pulled off her nightgown. "Isn't it awful?" Her

lips twitched humorously and she patted Leslie on his bare tummy. She

said to the young girl, "Just when we women wake up they go to

sleep. Maybe I can help."

Her blue eyes were clear as she looked directly into Alice's.

Hypnotized, Alice climbed off Leslie. She waited until Mrs. Chard put

her arms around her. She gave a trembling sigh. They kissed.

Leslie lay flat on his back, panting. His weenie was limp and wet,

scrotum empty between his legs.

He was amazed to see them sink slowly down on the bed next to him,

holding each other, caressing each other in a way that threatened to

make him jealous, though he was exhausted and momentarily tired of sex.

Mrs. Chard whispered in Alice's ear. The girl hesitated, nodded shyly.

Mrs. Chard turned around on the bed so that her face was opposite

Alice's reddish pubic hair. Leslie remembered doing the same thing with

Johnny. Simultaneously they bent their necks and pressed their lips on

each other's cunt.

Leslie watched them. Every now and then one or the other would shiver

and cry out, go through the throes of orgasm.

Imperceptibly he sank into sleep.

During the night he waked briefly. The light was off. Alice's trim

young body was cuddled on one side of him and Mrs. Chard's tall, mature

figure soft against him on the other.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 18</H3>

Alice wasn't any longer his exclusive bed partner and he could no

longer count on her any time he felt like having sex.

She explained, "It's not that I don't love you, Leslie, it's only

that your mom satisfies me over and over again. Women can have lots of

orgasms. When you squirt in me, I love it, but then you're finished

until the next morning, and it leaves me high and dry--or, uh, wet," she

smiled. "Anyway, we can have fun when you stay overnight at my house."

His disappointment when Alice chose to sleep with Mrs. Chard instead

of him wasn't as great as he would have thought. The truth was, sex with

the girl had begun to lose some of its excitement. He missed being made

to submit the way he had to with Mrs. Argentina.

Leslie began going out with Duane even when he and Alice weren't

double-dating. It came about when Alice and Mrs. Chard closeted

themselves in Mrs. Chard's bedroom early one evening, immediately after

dinner, in fact. Bored and lonely, Leslie walked down to the malt shop.

Duane was there alone and bought Leslie a soda. Away from his friends

Duane showed himself to be a rather pleasant, rather dull, boy, and

Leslie agreed to go with him to Makeout Point, feeling exhilarated and

reckless.

The pleasure he had in fooling everybody had diminished with

repetition. What intrigued him now was a certain sense of power--and

risk--as if he were a lion tamer handling a dangerous beast, which was

the only way to describe a sixteen-year-old football player with a

strong sex drive.

There was a full moon. Duane parked his father's car under the shade

of a tree overlooking the lake, where the shadow was dense compared to

the bright silver sparkle of the water. Gentle zephyrs touched Leslie's

cheek and ruffled his curls through the open windows of the sedan.

When Duane casually rested his arm on the back of the seat, Leslie

smiled to himself. Boys were just as transparent as Johnny said they

were. He leaned against Duane as the arm dropped on his shoulder. His

stomach had butterflies. He was alone with an older boy, with only his

wits to protect him.

Duane's hand slipped under his arm and cupped his breast through his

dress. It made him shiver, all the more because he had no bra. The heat

of the boy's hand stimulated him.

Leslie was sharply reminded of the predicament Johnny had described.

His penis swelled inside the constricting skin between his legs. It

stretched him unbearably. He remembered Johnny's solution, and as

inconspicuously as possible rubbed his thighs together on the organ to

masturbate himself. It didn't take long. The situation produced a fierce

ejaculation that left his cock swimming in sperm as it softened. His

sigh, almost a groan, was heartfelt.

He was able to turn his attention to the boy's hand, which had

unfastened the top three buttons of his dress and was about to clutch

his naked tit.

Leslie put his hand over Duane's and held it in place. "Be a good

boy," he whispered.

Duane pulled Leslie toward him, pressing his mouth on his. His tongue

slipped between Leslie's tender lips.

Leslie stiffened, started to push the boy away, but the tongue was

moving sensually in his mouth in a simulation of intercourse and the

boy's strong arms were tight around him. It gave him a helpless feeling

that reminded him of Mrs. Argentina and made him excited despite having

orgasmed only a minute before.

He melted in Duane's embrace and gave himself up to pleasure. He'd

put a stop to it in a moment, just a moment. On its own, his tongue

responded to the other boy's. Leslie's heart beat wildly. He knew he was

in danger of losing control of the situation.

Duane's hand slipped inside his dress. The horny palm, surprisingly

gentle, caressed his tit; the fingers pinched his nipple lightly. Leslie

became alarmed. His breast would leak under the stimulation. He made a

quiet noise in his throat and pulled himself away.

"Oh, please, Duane." He dredged up an old-fashioned expression: "I'm

a good girl," and buttoned up his dress with fingers that were

unaccountably clumsy. He was shaking.

But soon Duane was kissing him again, and the scene, with only minor

variations, was repeated. Leslie got dizzy with trepidation.

Duane grated, "Let's get into the back seat and make out."

Leslie tried a feeble joke. "I thought we were."

"You know what I mean. Go all the way. You know you want it as much

as I do. It's dark here, nobody can see. Come on, you got me all hot and

bothered, babe." Duane's embrace tightened.

"No, I can't. Please. Let me go." Leslie struggled. An inspiration

struck him. "I'm a virg--I never did it before."

It bought him a minute . . . but only a minute. Then Duane

said, "Okay. But you can't leave me like this." He took Leslie's hand

and put it on his warm crotch. The bulge in the boy's jeans was hard as

a stone. "Gimme your lips. Even if you're cherry you can put your mouth

around it." A heavy hand on the back of his neck forced Leslie's head

down toward Duane's lap.

Despite the boy's confident tone, Leslie sensed Duane was not sure of

himself. Wriggling out from under the grip, he pulled away and wedged

himself against the passenger door, chest heaving with simulated

outrage.

"No! What kind of a girl do you think I am? Take me home."

Sullenly, Duane did just that, and only as Leslie was stepping out of

the car did he say gracelessly, "Hey, I'm sorry. I got carried away,

y'know. Can I see you tomorrow?"

Leslie turned and looked at him a long moment. "Maybe. But you have

to promise not to do that again," and went into the house, fairly

bursting with a sensation of triumph. His thighs rubbed slippery against

each other as he walked. The panties he was wearing were too sheer to

soak up the semen that leaked from the aperture in his skin "holster."

At least, he thought, I won't need Alice tonight. I already came.

In ensuing halcyon days of summer, Leslie managed to keep the boy

interested in him without giving away his secret. He was tempted to

emulate Johnny; to suck his boyfriend's prick which felt so hard and big

in the boy's jeans when he pressed against him. After all, he had done

it to Johnny before he took up with Michael. But it was too perilous:

what if Duane lost control?

It wouldn't last, he knew. There would come a time when Duane would

demand more than he was giving, and the whole thing would be over. In

the meantime, Leslie enjoyed dating. He discovered that other girls

envied him. Duane was a first-string halfback, good-looking, and

although he was said not to do well in classes, his slowness was

regarded as an attractive masculine trait. A sense of daring spiced

Leslie's days. He was having the time of his life. He loved it that

Duane was expected to pay for everything and hold doors for him and

stand up when he came in. It was a thrilling, scary, joke on the world.

Most of their dates were casual and with other people present--

picnics, swim parties, clambakes, and excursions. His days were always

full.

There were also slumber parties. Alice insisted he go with her. She

thought the whole idea of a boy being present in disguise was hilarious,

and only laughed at him when he told her he didn't dare go. He needn't

have worried. Other girls their age were more innocent than Leslie and

Alice had become. There was lots of giggling and talk about boys, but

that was all. They were modest about undressing. Leslie was able to

change into pajamas alone. The pajamas were a new thing, bought at

Alice's suggestion. She said girls at slumber parties didn't wear

nightgowns; the clothes Mrs. Chard bought for him were sometimes too

feminine. There were times when jeans were better than dresses, she

said, and pajamas better than nighties.

The girls all seemed to like him, and so did their parents. Leslie

was welcome everywhere.

The boys showed their interest. It was flattering, and reassured him

that not only was he passing successfully as a girl, but passing as an

attractive one. He was self-conscious about his overbite until one of

the boys told him he had been watching an old movie on television and

except for his blonde hair Leslie was the image of a gorgeous movie star

named Ann Blyth. Because of Duane, however, they confined their interest

to surreptitious flirtation. Duane was known to have a jealous temper.

By the time school came around, Leslie knew most of the kids that

would be in his class, so the first day was easy.

Being in a classroom again was strange. Instead of sprawling

carelessly in a seat in back, Leslie found himself sitting prim and

straight in the front of the room, skirt tucked neatly under him, knees

bare. He had Home Economics this year, as he had feared--two courses,

one in cooking (which they called "Dietary Science") and one in sewing

("Fashion Design"). They weren't so bad. Kind of fun, in fact. His

mother was pleased and proud when he brought home his first chocolate

cake and hand-made skirt.

He had been worried about maintaining his disguise in the face of

certain school requirements. The first hurdle was surmounted by a

medical report from Dr. Goody, which carelessly omitted mention of his

gender, but which sufficed to let him out of a physical exam by the

school nurse.

Other hazards were overcome even more easily. The girl's bathroom,

for example. Unlike the boys room in St. Swithin's, there were doors on

the booths, and he could tinkle in privacy. It probably wouldn't have

mattered anyway; he remembered he had been unable to see Mrs.

Argentina's pussy in the gas station rest room. When he pulled his

panties down to his knees without lifting his dress and sat on the

toilet like the girls, his skirt concealed his skin-encased penis and

the drizzle of urine between his legs.

Physical Education was something else. He was terrified the first few

times he had been required to shower after P.E. He held a washcloth in

front of him when he went into the shower, and turned his back as he

soaped himself. It was no more than many of the girls did, he noticed.

They were more modest that way than boys.

His disguise held up. He realized what his mother and Mrs. Argentina

already knew, that unless you looked very closely it was all but

impossible to see the root of his penis disappearing into the folded

skin between his legs; and his pubic hair further concealed the

deception. Seeing girls naked wasn't particularly troublesome. Maybe it

was his familiarity with Alice's body--or the look of his own in the

mirror--but the sight of feminine nudity in the shower and locker rooms

didn't seem to arouse him.

After the hectic opening week, life settled down to a comfortable

routine. By now, Leslie was adjusted to his new role, and acted it

naturally. Everybody was friendly to him. He deliberately didn't

question whether it was only because of his mother's exalted social

position or his own personality, which, with the loss of his self-

consciousness, emerged as vivacious, friendly and easygoing. From time

to time he suspected he was happier as a girl than he had been as a boy.

He was certainly more popular.

Johnny was popular too, and became one of the gang. Alice, still

completely unaware that Johnny was a boy, liked his enthusiasm and sense

of humor. She continued to wonder about Michael but said nothing to

Johnny.

There were two clouds in the sky. One was Duane's frustration, which

finally resulted in his breaking off with Leslie, in view of Leslie's

continuing refusal to satisfy him with his mouth. He took up with a

bosomy girl named Loretta, who, Leslie believed, was giving him

everything he wanted. Leslie was surprised to realize he was jealous of

her.

In the aftermath of their split-up, Leslie found himself looking at

other boys, noticing the outlines of genitals in their tight jeans,

wondering if a new "romance" would come into his life. Dating was fun.

He thought he might not be so prudish next time, and caught himself

wishing he had done what Duane asked.

The picture came to him involuntarily. He had to reject a thrill of

excitement in his tummy; it made him nervous when he remembered his talk

with Johnny about not being gay.

The other cloud was Joe's undeclared, but very apparent, enmity.

Alice had dumped him and he blamed Leslie for it. Alice had a crush on

Mrs. Chard, and spent as much time with her as she could, leaving no

time for Joe. The guilty fleeth when no man pursueth: although nobody in

Chardsville would have suspected what was going on, Alice asked Leslie

to cover for her and say they were together when she was visiting Mrs.

Chard. The older boy made it clear that he blamed Alice's friend for all

his troubles and glared at Leslie with smoldering rage whenever they

passed in the hall. It was upsetting. Leslie got shivers down his spine

every time it happened and tried to avoid him.

Johnny had his troubles too. It seemed that for no particular reason

Michael had become the target of persecution by the other boys in his

class.

"They keep ganging up on him in the locker room or some other place

and push him around."

"Why?" Leslie asked.

"They say he's gay. Well, I guess he is, you know."

"Yeah, I know, but nobody else does. I mean, he goes out with you,

and they don't know about you. As far as they know he's going out with a

girl," Leslie said practically.

"They just think that's a cover, that he's making out with Sylvester

when he's not with me."

Sylvester was a slender youth, obviously homosexual, with whom

Michael was friendly.

"Is he?"

"Of course not. I don't think. Any more, anyway. He told me it was

all over."

"It might not be, you know."

"Thanks a bunch. You're so encouraging." Johnny pouted. "I'm having

trouble with Sylvester, too. He keeps coming on to me."

"I thought he was gay."

"He is."

Leslie puzzled it out. "You mean, he knows about you?"

"I think so. I think Michael must have told him."

"Gosh, Joanie, does everybody in the world know?"

Leslie was exasperated. If they knew about Johnny they might guess

his secret too.

"Well, we're not all perfect like you, you know. I have to have

some fun."

On balance, the whole situation was too precarious to be stable.

Something had to happen.

Something did.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 19</H3>

It happened after school on the day of the freshman class picture.

Like the girls, Leslie had taken special care with his appearance. He

had worn stockings and high heels to school, so instead of cutting

cross-country in penny-loafers through Chard's Lake Park as he normally

did to get home, he took an asphalt path, cradling his textbooks against

his chest.

There had been a couple of light frosts a week earlier, but Indian

summer had set in and the day was bright and warm. Leslie thought it was

warm enough to go swimming, except the lake water was probably chilly.

Maybe he'd take out a rowboat and drift along enjoying his dreams.

The park was quiet and peaceful. Apart from an occasional chickadee

the only sound was the staccato tap of his heels, until, in a remote

area, he heard someone calling.

"Hey, wait up."

He stopped and turned. It was Joe, Alice's former boy friend, looking

as handsome and hateful as always. With him was what appeared to be the

whole high-school football team. Leslie counted. It was. All eleven of

the first string.

Joe spoke without preamble. "I been talking to Michael Jaffe." His

voice was level.

Leslie had a sharp pang of fright, but widened his eyes ingenuously.

"About Joan?"

"No. About you." He sneered. "Did you really think you could get away

with it?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You don't, huh. We was going to have some fun with Jaffe, but he

bought himself off by telling us about you. All about you. You

goddamn faggot. You thought you'd just come in and take away my girl

friend and I wouldn't do nothing about it, huh?"

Leslie looked around desperately. The boys were so big.

"I don't know what you mean," he said again. "Let me by, please. My

mother's expecting me home."

"Yeah? We'll let you go home after we teach you a lesson."

Leslie shrank from Joe's fist.

"Don't!"

"We're gonna teach you, you little fairy."

"No, please! Don't hurt me."

The boy advanced. His face was mask-like.

Leslie panicked.

He turned and ran off the path into the woods, hearing the boys

shout. It was like one of those dreams where your legs won't move. They

pursued him closely; he never gained any distance. His heart pounded.

Terror lent him wings, but one of his heels caught and twisted under him

and his skirts flew as he tumbled down a leafy incline.

He was at the bottom of a grassy hollow. He looked up. The boys,

menacing silhouettes against the sunlight that dappled through the

trees, surrounded him.

Leslie panted, less from the effort of running than from fear. He

began to shake. He stammered breathlessly, "P-please don't hurt me. I

never did anything to you."

Joe yanked him to his feet.

Leslie was astonished by the power in his muscles.

Two of the boys grabbed his arms. He tried to pull away, but they

held him easily. Never before had he felt so helpless. One of them

squeezed his tit through his dress. He wished he had worn a bra for the

class picture, but no, he had wanted to show off.

He started crying.

"Please," he whimpered, "let me go. My mother made me do it."

They weren't listening.

Joe said grimly, "Let's see what you look like under that dress."

He yanked at Leslie's bodice. The organdy tore like paper. Leslie's

soft young breasts were exposed.

He screamed.

A big hand clamped over his mouth. He squirmed, trying to free

himself.

Someone said, "Hey, wait a minute, Joe. You said she was a guy. Those

are real tits."

"Yeah, that's what the fag said. She had some kind of operation. But

she's got a cock, too, and I bet she's been sticking it in my girl

friend. Let's take a look."

Leslie felt the dress tear again. And again. In vain he twisted and

pulled against the hands holding him, breathing desperately through his

nose. The dress fell free. His panties were ripped from him, leaving him

clad only in garter belt and stockings.

He was naked in the open air. His scrotum and concealed penis were

both shrunken with fear, tight up against his crotch.

The same voice said, "Look, she hasn't got a prick. You're bananas,

Joe. Let's get outta here. The fag was putting you on, man."

Through eyes that were dim with terror, Leslie saw that Joe appeared

nonplused, and for a moment he thought they might let him go free.

One of the boys--it was Duane--stepped forward and fondled Leslie's

tits. There was a lascivious expression on his face. Leslie sensed

through his panic that Duane still believed he was a girl but was taking

advantage of the situation to touch him. He shrank back.

Despite his paralyzing fear, Leslie felt his nipples come erect as

the boy pinched them. A milky drop leaked out of each, but Duane didn't

notice.

Joe grated, "Wait a minute, the fag said-- Pick her up and spread

her. Let's take a look."

Leslie got light-headed as they lifted him bodily into the air. His

legs were pulled apart. There was fumbling at his genitals, a tugging at

the simulated lips, a finger trying to poke between them.

He tried to scream again but the boy's meaty hand muffled the sound.

If only somebody would come! He had run in the wrong direction, right

into the woods, instead of keeping to the path where there would be

someone to see what was happening.

"Yeah. See, that's not a real cunt. The guy said her prick would be

hidden some way. Wait a minute."

The fumbling continued. There was a jerk, a sucking noise, and

Leslie's limp cock was pulled out of its place of concealment. He was so

frightened he lost control of his bladder.

In a frozen moment Leslie saw the boys around him staring in

astonishment at the male organ on his otherwise-feminine body spraying

urine into the air.

"Jeez, you were right, she has got a cock."

There was laughter. "You scared the piss out of her."

Leslie's eyes darted from one boy to another. Without exception their

blue jeans were bulging.

Joe said, "So you wanna be a girl. We're gonna show you what we do to

girls. Put her down. I mean, him. Put him down."

The grass was cool against Leslie's back. He could smell its sweet

odor. They spread-eagled him; a boy at each wrist and stockinged ankle;

a fifth boy keeping a meaty hand on his mouth. Two others were touching

his breasts. He whimpered.

Joe unbuckled his belt and zipped down his blue jeans. His prick

sprang loose. It was huge. Leslie remembered Johnny saying the big boys

were larger than they were, but Leslie hadn't understood they were

that much bigger.

"Bend his knees up, let's get a look at that pretty little asshole."

Leslie's garters stretched on his stockings as his knees were forced

against his breasts. His anus, shaved bare, was in full view of their

salacious eyes.

He wanted to plead with them, tell them he had never done it before,

but the hand over his mouth smothered the sounds he made. He couldn't

move. Any one of the boys alone could have held him prisoner; five made

any struggle out of the question. Leslie started hyperventilating

through his nose.

"You got the stuff, Duane, your mom's jelly?"

"Yeah, here."

In a moment something cold and slippery touched his hole and a rough

finger jammed up inside. He jumped and squirmed like a butterfly impaled

by a pin.

Through a blur of tears he saw Joe kneel. The boy placed his cock

directly on Leslie's anus.

Oh God, he was going to be raped!

Joe shoved brutally. Leslie tried to scream again.

His anus was forced open painfully, inexorably, with such strength he

didn't believe it. The shaft moved into him. It was too big. It was

stretching him beyond endurance. Leslie had never felt anything so hard

as it pushed inside his tender, virginal flesh, into that opening that

had never been penetrated by so much as a thermometer.

It was the ultimate violation. A boy's live cock was inside his most

intimate self. He cringed, stretched full of hot throbbing prick.

Whenever Leslie had made love to Johnny it had been from behind, with

Johnny lying on his stomach. It had never occurred to either of them

that the act could be performed this way, belly up, open and exposed,

legs apart, knees bent up, submitting to the man on top like a real

girl. The humiliation was more than Leslie could bear.

He felt himself fainting from shame and fear and pain as the cock

inside him moved back and forth. Each time it pushed forward it was as

if the head was pressing against his diaphragm--his breath was expelled

through his nose. Each time it pulled back, it felt as though it was

going to turn him inside out.

The boys watched him with wet eyes. One of them giggled.

The rhythm of Joe's strokes quickened. Leslie realized the boy was

going to ejaculate. Fresh tears spurted from his eyes. Something

terrible would happen if a boy injected his seed in him. He writhed,

impaled by the thrusting organ.

Joe's cock repeatedly passed over a certain spot on the front side of

Leslie's intestine, giving him a peculiar sensation somehow connected

with his genitals. His struggles weakened as the growing feeling

distracted his attention.

Joe rammed back and forth in short, powerful strokes. The prick was

expanding. Leslie grunted through his nose as the cock shoved up him to

the hilt one final time, balls pressed against his tailbone, and stayed

there, jerking inside him. Hot gushes of liquid pumped into his

intestine. The rape had been consummated.

With the realization came a peaking of the strange sensation in

Leslie's loins. Ecstasy seized him as his own limp penis squirted. It

didn't pulse; flaccid, it merely issued a long, weak trickle that flowed

onto his belly. Johnny's voice was in his ears saying, "I didn't know

people could come when they weren't hard."

Shame and pleasure combined in his nerve endings. It confused his

mind and did damage to his emotions.

After a moment that seemed like an eternity, the stiff prick pulled

out of him, leaving his anus sore and quaking.

"Hey, I made him shoot. He musta liked it." Fingers lifted Leslie's

limp penis and touched the sticky stuff on his belly.

"My turn."

Duane loomed up. He stripped back his foreskin. The flaring head of

his cock was so tumid it was shiny and purple. A moment later it poked

against Leslie's hole. There wasn't any question of resisting. Leslie's

asshole was lubricious with Joe's sperm; the cock was able to push

steadily by the sphincter. The muscle clamped down on Duane's organ.

"Man, he's tight. I wouldn't mind keeping this at home under the

bed." To Leslie, "You're not so high and mighty as you was that time at

Makeout Point, are you?"

Leslie endured the pain of the other boy's erection moving in him. He

tried to relax his hole to relieve the hurt. It worked. The suffering

was less. But relaxing, angling his ass to the strokes of his former

boyfriend, was tantamount in his mind to a servile surrender. It made

him bitterly ashamed.

When Duane finally ejaculated in him, Leslie cried like a baby. He

wanted to die.

A third boy took Duane's place. Leslie remembered his name. Larry.

His prick was narrower than the others, and he treated Leslie more

gently than they had. It was almost as if he felt sorry for him. Not

sorry enough to keep from raping him, however. He moved back and forth

in Leslie slowly, almost tenderly. He told the boys holding Leslie's

legs to let them go, and as Leslie lowered his shaking knees a little,

leaned forward and kissed him on the side of his neck, sucking to make a

hickey.

The mysterious sensation in his groin increased again. Without

thinking, Leslie let his ass rise and fall, matching Larry's rhythm.

There was no warning. Leslie's flaccid penis leaked again as Larry

came in his cunt, no, his ass, what was he thinking of?

"I'm gonna take a little souvenir," Larry said when he pulled out.

Leslie felt his shoe being removed.

The other boys guffawed.

Although Leslie was now free to move his legs, he didn't struggle

when Dick Strong, captain of the team, inserted his stiff erection. He

endured the boy's movement dazedly, hips again moving, this time

deliberately, to induce a quick ejaculation. So submissive was he that

the boys who were holding his wrists let them go and the hand was

removed from his mouth. He sobbed brokenly, tears running down his

cheeks, head turning from side to side.

When Dick finished, he unbuttoned the garter holding Leslie's

stocking, stripped the nylon down his leg and tucked it in his hip

pocket before the next boy, Sam, took his place.

He was a burly black youth, a fullback, Leslie remembered

hysterically. His cock was so big Leslie thought he would tear. He

raised his knees, clamping Sam with his thighs, holding his arms around

his neck in an effort to accept the pressure of that enormous shaft. The

effort was so great he hardly noticed Sam's thick lips come down on his

and the black man's tongue probe his mouth. Not content with kissing

him, Sam bent his head and sucked hard at his breasts, nipping them with

his teeth, making Leslie cry out.

"Hey, this suckuh's givin' milk!"

The other boys gathered close as Sam squeezed Leslie's breast to show

them. His strong hand made milk squirt from the nipple while Leslie

winced and uttered a squeal.

"Jeez, it is milk! What is he, pregnant?" Their laughter was loud,

but there was a nervous sound to it, as if they didn't know quite what

to think.

Sam apparently harbored no doubts. He returned to sucking the tit,

draining it. Evidently excited beyond measure, he rammed up him one last

time. The black cock pulsed as it spurted its charge in him.

By the time all eleven had come in him, it was past five o'clock,

Leslie knew, for the sun was low in the sky, its orange light making

speckles and streaks on the grass. His torment had lasted more than two

hours. His ass was numb, drooling semen. As though he were standing

outside himself, he saw his form lying despoiled in the center of a ring

of boys. They had taken everything from him--his virginity, his self-

respect, his clothes, even the imitation pearls he had worn around his

neck.

His empty breasts, nipples chewed and wet with saliva, were exposed

to their lustful gazes. His penis lay limp on his belly in a pool of his

own sperm. He had been made to come four times during his ordeal. His

face was hot with shame.

It wasn't over yet, he realized. In despair, he saw that half the

boys had regained their erections. He cowered. When would it end?

Joe hauled him to his knees and shoved his cock in his face. Leslie's

ass spasmed. A warm gout of semen trickled down the inside of his thigh.

They had violated him, subdued him, left their come in him; he had to

do whatever they wanted. Nervelessly he opened his mouth and started

sucking the boy's rigid cock.

There was a taste of his own anus on the organ, but the smell of

Joe's balls, a heavy, nutty aroma, filled his nostrils. The skin slid as

he kept his lips compressed around the curved prick. He had to open very

wide. His jaws ached with the strain of holding them apart, and his lips

got swollen with the friction of his moving head.

It was taking a long time. Leslie reached up to fondle Joe's tight

scrotum, stroking it gently and scratching lightly behind with polished

nails.

He was hideously conscious of the other boys watching him. They must

think he was enjoying this.

At last, a jet of sperm hit the back of Leslie's throat. His mouth

filled. The liquid tasted stronger than Johnny's. It leaked out the

corners of his lips as they slid up and down the curved shaft. Leslie

was afraid to spit the stuff out, so he swallowed it in front of them,

blushing furiously.

He stayed on his knees, eyes downcast, skin prickling in the open

air, waiting for the next one.

It was Sam again. His black cock was so big that little more than the

head fit in Leslie's mouth. He had to work hard, using both manicured

hands on the shaft to masturbate him while pulling with his mouth.

Nothing was happening. Leslie let the cock go and buried his face in

Sam's crotch, licking the dark brown balls wetly, kinky pubic hair

against his nose. A squirt of liquid pattered on his hair and bare

shoulder. He put the black prick in his mouth again until it had

finished spurting.

The boy they called Yacko had been circumcised. His cock was straight

as any spear. The rubbery head flared knobby in Leslie's spermy mouth.

By now, Leslie was so numb he didn't know what he was doing. He slurped

wetly, eyes blank, until the boy came, and swallowed automatically. He

serviced Duane in the same way, not hearing him say, "That's what he

should'a done when I took him up to Makeout Point."

Two of the young men got playful: in turn, they yanked their cocks

out of his semen-filled mouth at the last moment and ejaculated on him,

one on his face, the other up his nostrils, making him sneeze wetly.

They seemed to think it was uproariously funny, and shook their dicks

out over him.

He didn't know when he had started crying again. It was only when he

looked down and saw teardrops on his breast that he realized he was

doing it.

He was starting on his ninth blow job, a boy named Ernie, when there

was a shout.

"Hey! What's going on there?"

The boy pulled his erection out of Leslie's mouth hastily, cursing,

and stuffed it back into his jeans.

"It's a cop. Let's get outta here."

Leslie let himself collapse to the ground. There were pounding

footsteps going away. The glade was quiet until the policeman stood over

him and said, "What the hell is this."

Leslie burst into hysterical tears. "They-- They--" he gurgled

through the semen in his mouth.

"Jesus, what are you, a girl or a boy? What's your name?"

"L-Leslie Chard," he managed to say.

"Chard! Oh my God. Can you get up?"

His grip on Leslie's upper arm was gentle. The boy staggered to his

feet, still sobbing. His knees were shaking violently; he almost fell

again. Walking was painful. They went slowly back to the patrol car, the

policeman's arm around his waist supporting him. With each spraddle-

legged step, sperm dripped from his ravaged asshole.

The policeman gave him a blanket to cover himself. The next thing

Leslie knew they were standing in the entrance hall.

"It looked like the whole high-school football team, ma'am," the man

was explaining to Mrs. Chard. "Ordinarily I'd advise you to press

charges, but maybe in this case it wouldn't be wise. Maybe the fewer

people know about it the better. I didn't even take her--him--down to

the Emergency Room."

"Her. Thank you, officer. You've been most helpful and discreet. I'm

grateful, and I'll take the earliest opportunity to show it. You won't

say anything, I know."

She put her arm around Leslie. "Come, dear, I'll clean you up and put

you to bed."

Alice's voice said, "Oh, Leslie! What have they done to you?"

He burst into a new freshet of tears.

Upstairs, Alice and Mrs. Chard ministered to him.

"Your poor nipples," Alice said. "Those beasts made them so

long."

They put him face down on the bed. After ascertaining that the

insertion of a douche nozzle would be too painful, they washed the blood

and sperm off his thighs, marveling at the quantities of semen that kept

oozing from the abused anus.

Mrs. Chard said, "Thank God she can't be pregnant."

"It's so swollen and bulging back here," Alice whispered. "It looks

like the stem end of a tomato. Will she be all right?"

"I'm sure. There's a little bleeding, but that's only from being used

so hard. She'll be all right in a day or so. I don't know about her

breasts. It's like when you nurse a child. The nipples don't become

small again." She helped Leslie up. "Let's put this nightgown on you,

dear, and you can get between the sheets. You'll be fine by the end of

the weekend. You won't even miss a day of school."

"School!" he cried brokenly into the pillow. "No! I can't go back

there. Everybody will know that they--that I-- I want us to go away

someplace where nobody knows me."

"Nonsense, Leslie. These things sometimes happen. Nobody will blame

you for it. In time, people will forget."

"But they know I'm not a--"

"No buts, Leslie. You'll see. Things will look better in the morning.

Good night, darling. Alice and I will be right down the hall if you need

us."

She stroked his forehead tenderly and turned out the light.

Leslie closed his eyes in exhaustion.

Everybody would know. He'd be fair game, a boy dressed as a girl.

They would think he was dressing like that because he wanted to be

fucked. They wouldn't leave him alone.

He shifted uncomfortably. His cunt pulsed, still ejecting gouts of

sperm that trickled down his crotch.

Whirling before his eyes were all the cocks that had been inside him,

subduing him, squirting in their sex fluid. They had been so big and

hard.

He had been raped by eleven boys. Helpless under them, like with Mrs.

Argentina, only more so. He had been forced to receive their penises and

doing so repeatedly made him orgasm. When he went back to school, what

would happen? Would they catch him and use him again?

He gave a delicious little shiver.

Leslie's prick was already swelling as he swam down into an excited

slumber.

If you enjoyed this, let Sweet <a href="mailto:LXJE46A@prodigy.com">Jenny</a> know. Flattery will get you more.

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